“They found her the next morning, dead. She died in her sleep the day they took her home,” Alyssa said, staring off into the distance.
“Codi was heart broken. She’d go play there, and act as though Bethany was still there…I didn’t say anything at first. The doctor said she had to grieve in her own way. But then, Vanda starting calling Codi Bethany, and dressing her in her daughter’s clothes.
“I had to tell Codi she couldn’t go over there any more, and watch her start to cry. Codi didn’t like wearing Bethany’s clothes, but she knew wearing them made Vanda stop crying for just a while. Codi’s just got such a soft heart.” Her voice fell into a soft monotone and Dylan suspected she wasn’t really seeing him right then as she started to rock back and forth, staring at a picture of her daughter that she held in her hands.
“Vanda was furious. Started saying things like I had stolen her daughter away. Her husband took her into the house, but you could see an almost, desperate look in his eyes as he looked at Codi.”
Lifting her eyes, she stared at Dylan, and he felt the punch of that look in his gut. “They took my baby. My heart is broken that they lost their daughter, but they stole mine.”
“You think they have her,” Dylan said quietly.
“We know she does,” Alyssa said softly, her pretty blue eyes confident. “She was in her room, napping. Vanda came by, and I let her in. We were in the kitchen, talking. I thought it was a little weird, at the time, but…Bethany had died and I felt so bad for her, so sorry. We were in the kitchen. I thought I heard the door open, but then Vanda spilled her drink and while I was cleaning it up—”
Dylan felt his heart squeeze in his chest as tears filled her eyes. “We think her husband just walked in and took her,” Alyssa whispered brokenly. “He just took my baby. Vanda left a few minutes later and I heard their car drive off. I went to check on Codi about ten minutes later but they were gone.”
“You called the cops right away?” Dylan asked.
Alyssa gave him a dirty look. “No. I sat and twiddled my thumbs and moaned and screamed for an hour. Yes, I called it in right away. But either Morris knows too much from watching TV or from living next to me. He had changed the license plate on his car. With mine.”
She started to reach into her pocket and then she stopped, a half a grin forming at her mouth. “I stopped smoking when I first got pregnant, but sometimes I still forget,” she said.
Dylan smiled back. “I stopped when I joined the Army, otherwise I’d offer you one,” he said, shrugging. “Have your contacts in the field found anything?”
Leaning forward, Alyssa said quietly, “No. They’ve disappeared to the wind. But now I want to know what you are doing here.”
Dylan, was now wishing he had a cigarette tucked away somewhere. He had the choice here—he had enough information, he could make up some bullshit story that would lead her nowhere.
Or he could tell her what Kris knew.
Hell, he already knew what his choice was going to be.
Had there ever really been any doubt?
“I’m retired Army, you know that?’ Dylan said conversationally. “Little over a year ago, I got a call from a friend of my sister’s. She had this dream…”
It took nearly an hour to explain it all, and when he was done, Alyssa hadn’t done much more than nod and stare at him.
“You realize that sounds absolutely crazy,” she said softly.
Rising, she walked out of the room.
He listened, ears pricked, as she opened the refrigerator, and was still waiting patiently when she returned, a beer in hand. Popping the top, she drained half the can and continued to stare at him. “I don’t drink much. After my ex-husband, I sort of lost my taste for it,” she said, licking her upper lip. “You know, about four people know how my daughter got the ugly little scar on her back. He knows, my lawyer knows. His lawyer, the pediatrician. That’s about it. Both my parents and his parents are dead. We mentioned a birthmark in the paper. Not that scar.”
She settled back on the chair and stared at him with unsettling eyes. “Okay, so…can you find my daughter?” she asked.
Can you find my daughter?
****
He pushed his palm against his forehead, trying to silence the voice in his head. Ever since Kris had wakened him, shoving that paper into his hand, he had known it would come to this.
Did I ever really have much choice?
No, not really, Dylan thought as he studied the water line. He bypassed the rickety old dock and headed for the shore of hidden cove. The moment he had seen that picture, he had been lost. Those innocent blue eyes, that sweet smile. Bring me home… he had felt those words being whispered, deep in his gut. Bring me home…
Once he had the light little craft on shallow ground, he leaped nimbly onto the dock, holding the rope loosely. Glancing over his shoulder, he checked the lake, made sure nobody had seen him. None of the early morning fishermen came in this area and hunting was off limits in this heavily wooded part of Rough River.
He had the boat shored and ready for his return, tied in a complicated knot nobody but him could hope to undo. Tossing a light pack over his back, he drew one last item from the boat. Hoping like hell he didn’t need it, he holstered the sleek semi automatic easily. In his boot, he had a knife sheathed, as well as another one at his hip.
Bring me home…
If worse came to worse, and that little girl was being held there, he could always take up a position in a tree and radio his position to the police. But if she was being hurt, or if they were getting ready to bolt, he couldn’t take that chance. So Dylan was prepared to do what he had to do to get that little girl home.
Bring me home…
“Hell, she probably isn’t anywhere around here,” he muttered to himself as he started moving on silent feet through the dense undergrowth.
But his gut told him otherwise.
She was here.
Somewhere.
A cabin in the woods, where lovers liked to come. He walked for hours, slowly, checking for any sign of somebody other than fishermen. Several cabins were scattered all throughout here but none revealed anything more than fishermen, the occasional odd poacher, or honeymooners.
Dylan crossed the gravel road nearly five hours after he had sped across the lake in his small craft, tired, hungry, frustrated. Moving off the road, he took chose a path directly into the woods this time, instead of the marked path, moving soundlessly, his booted feet moving from rock to leaves to ground without disturbing anything.
He sighed and shoved his hands through his hair, about ready to turn around and head back for the day, but then his eyes caught sight of something.
Bring me home…
Kneeling down, he eyed the small, torn scrap of silky pink. With grim eyes, he moved his eyes sideways and saw it. The broken trail of people moving through the woods, people who didn’t know how to do it.
Finally, something to track. Something to follow. Taking the tiny bit of pink, he rubbed between finger and thumb before pushing it into his pocket and focusing his eyes on the trail. They’d been moving in from the reservoir, the way he had come, heading west.
Hunger forgotten, he continued to move, now following the broken trail.
It took him roughly an hour.
At some point they stopped letting her walk. He could see her footsteps from time to time, over the rocks, muddied little impressions from her sneakers. But she had tripped, and then the woman had knelt down in the leaves and picked her up, probably held her and loved on her, convinced herself it was her child.
“Some people are going to feel sorry for her,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. They would see a grieving woman who had lost a baby and latched onto something to comfort herself.
But he was having a hard time doing it.
Nik had lost a child herself, to a terrible tragedy, after living through a life of them. Had it driven her to steal another person’s baby? No.
Moving on, he knew he was getting closer. The smell of smoke was getting thicker in the air. And food, then finally, voices. Raised ones.
“We can’t stay here! Her face is all over the news!” Morris yelled.
Sliding behind a tree, watching in shadow, Dylan eyed the cabin, looking for the best way to get closer. A red Blazer was now parked in front of it. Dylan checked the license plate and shook his head. The guy was smart. He had changed the plates, again. But there red Blazer was way too noticeable.
“Not her face…Codi’s face. Poor Codi died, and they are convinced it was my Bethany. I won’t let them take her away again,” a woman hissed.
The voice was full of passioned fury that made Dylan re-evaluate all he had ever known about sanity. That woman, without even looking at her, Dylan knew she was crazy.
“I know, I know,” Morris crooned. “But baby, if we stay here, they will take her. Her mother is a cop. They’ll believe her before they believe us. Damn cops, always so fucking crooked.”
Dylan edged around the tree, dropping to the ground and creeping along it as he moved closer. He had to see Codi, see if she was awake, able to move, able to scream.
Their voices carried on over his head and Dylan had to focus on them as well as being quiet. Shoulda brought a recorder. I’ll do that next time…
Next time?
“What about going to Arizona?” Morris asked. “We can cut her hair, dye it red. That will change how she looks…”
“But I love her hair,” Vanda sobbed.
“Honey, if they see her—”
A soft, tired voice broke into their conversation. “When is my mama coming to get me?”
Vanda started to sob. “Why doesn’t she remember me? Damn it, you ungrateful brat, I am your mother! You call me Mommy! Now! Do it! Do it!”
Dylan’s lips peeled back from his teeth and he started to rise from the ground into a crouch, but Morris said, “Vanda, that’s enough. She’s been sleeping. Had a nightmare, that’s all. We’ll give her some of the nice medicine and…”
Dylan reached the window and rose, watching from the side. Drugging her. He watched Morris feed a spoonful of clear liquid to the child and within minutes, her lashes was fluttering, and her eyes, already cloudy, went glassy and opaque.
“Vanda, you can’t yell at her like that. She doesn’t remember yet. But once we get her safe, we’ll take her to a special doctor, like one who gave me the medicine and he’ll make her remember what we want her to remember,” Morris said, turning and focusing grim eyes on his wife. “But no more yelling at her. It’s cruel.”
“And her not calling me mama, or not remembering who I am isn’t cruel?” Vanda shouted, throwing a glass against the wall, her long red hair flying around her shoulders.
Dylan saw the knowledge their, the refusal to accept. Oh, she knew she was wrong. She was deluding herself and she knew it. Crazy or not, part of her knew that wasn’t her child.
“She lost her best friend. Give her time.”
“That boring, plain little Codi. Little brat. Her mama is such an insignificant little thing,” Vanda muttered as she started to pace back and forth, her legs scissoring angrily as she stared feverishly into nothing. “We’re better off away from them, from them both.”
‘Honey, I need to go out, get supplies for the trip. While she’s sleeping, I want you to cut her hair, get it dyed. The color kit is in the bathroom. We bought it so we’d be prepared. Color and cut yours as well. We need to look as different as we can, so if we’re stopped we look nothing like who we are,” Morris murmured, catching his wife around the waist and stroking her back.
“Yes, baby. I know. I understand that, I’m just so upset with Bethany right now. She should be coming out of this…it’s those drugs we have to keep giving her,” Vanda said, her face folding into a perfect little pout.
Dylan wanted to hit her. Plain and simple. Melting back into the forest, he hid away from sight and waited for Morris to leave. He’d wait until the man was gone.
Then he’d take care of the woman and get the child back to her mama.
“Women are the damnedest creatures,” Dylan swore under his breath.
She bolted, with the kid.
Catching a tree limb and hauling himself up into the tree, Dylan moved out of sight before Morris came out and climbed into the red Blazer, shaking his head, scrubbing his face with his hands.
Settling there in the tree, he waited until the truck was gone, eyeing it until no sign of red was filtering through the trees, until the faintest sounds of motor had died away and then he slithered down from his post. A slight sound betrayed his position but he wasn’t worried about it. He heard it, but they wouldn’t.
He winced though. Just a year or so out, and look…of course, the stiffness of his back could account for it. And he no longer trained for field operations.
On soundless feet, he moved the house, keeping out of the line of sight as he listened. The girl was crying again, in soft, broken little sobs as she slept. The pitiful, heartbreaking little mewls tore at Dylan’s heart like daggers, and he wanted to howl, to rip something apart in fury.
Vanda was pacing the room, swearing under her breath. “When, damn it? When is she going to remember?”
A woman’s instinct would undo a man’s most careful plan. Every damn time.
Dylan had made the fatal error of backing away for a few minutes, not trusting her erratic mood. But something, not a sound, not a sight of him, but something alerted her to him.
And as he stood in the woods, wishing for the cigarettes he had stopped smoking years before, she bolted, seizing the girl and running out the back door. Dylan heard the door slamming and his head whipped around with a snarl on his lips as he lunged through the woods, running lightly through the undergrowth, breaking out into the clearing where the cabin stood and following the sounds of her headlong rush through the woods easily.
The poor baby was crying loudly now, screaming, “I wanna go home! I want my mommy!”
“Shut up! I am your mommy!” the woman shrieked.
Dylan hurtled through the woods after them, running all out, his eyes locked on the red of her sweater, his nostrils flaring as he scented her perfume, her fear. And the poor baby…
Codi bucked and threw herself out of the woman’s arms suddenly and took off running away. She ran down the path, away from Vanda, at a ninety degree angle, up the hill, and away from the lake.
Thank You, God, Dylan thought as he lunged for Vanda and took her down before she could leap after the tiny little faery in her little blanket pajamas.
Grabbing her hands, he cuffed them at her back before flipping her over and leaning down, nose to nose. “Mrs. Hart, I presume?” he mocked lightly. Then he forced himself to straighten and wipe the cruelty from his face. She had, regardless of her crimes, lost a child. Bitch, she was, she had lost a baby. Maybe it had driven her a little crazy.
But she had known what she was doing. He could see it in her eyes. “Get the hell off of me. Who do you think you are?” she hissed.
“A friend of the little girl’s mama. Don’t worry, I’ll take those cuffs off once the police get here and replace them with their own,” he assured her.
“You can’t just –you aren’t a cop?” she stuttered.
“Nope,” Dylan said as he rose, scanning the hill. Cocking his head, he studied the tiny little bit of gold crouching at the top. Kids are such amazing things. He had heard her stop running, almost as soon as Vanda’s pursuit had stopped. And now, like a little kitten, she was watching the show. “Miss Codi? Your mama sent me to bring you back to her.”
“Go away.” The little girl’s voice floated down to him like a faerie’s whisper. “You’re a stranger and I don’t talk to strangers.”
“Well, hell.” The kid sounded just like Mandy.
Sliding the woman at his feet a look, he said, “This is a bitch. I don’t want to let you out of my sight, but it’s too damned cold to leave her up there. I’m takin
g her to her mother.”
“I’m her mother,” Vanda snarled, kicking at him.
“No, you’re not,” Dylan said firmly as he shrugged out of his back pack, reaching for the slim, strong rope he had brought with him. With an arched brow, he said, “Move over the tree.”
She didn’t.
Kicking and screaming, she fought him the entire time until Dylan jerked her upright and said coldly, “I can knock you unconscious and tie you that way. Or you can sit nice like while I bring that pretty little girl down here so she doesn’t catch cold before her mama can get here. Your choice.”
The sullen silence that ensued had him smirking inside. Stupid bitch. While the knocked unconscious held its appeal, he couldn’t really say it was very likely to happen. And he’d gone the majority of his life without hitting, well, he had unfortunately had to strike a woman or two in the service. The world was changing and he didn’t always fight up against just men any more.
And he didn’t think it counted the times he had had Nikki when he was little. At least he hoped not.
Stepping over her legs, he glanced down at her. “If you’re good, I might untie you and take you to the house before I take her home. Otherwise you can freeze your ass off while you wait for the cops.”
“You’re going to get your ass thrown in jail, treating me like this,” she hissed.
Quirking an eyebrow at her, he asked, “Why? For getting a little girl home where she belongs?”
Then he headed up the hill to play tag with a pretty little faerie as he reached for his cell phone.
Chapter Seven
Six Months Later
“Hell, Kris. I don’t know about this.” Studying the website, he shook his head before looking around the office, his hands tucked into his back pockets as he walked around.
In the past six months since he had returned Codi Martin to her mother’s arms, Kris had finally convinced him to do this. But she knew he was still rather reluctant. Eying him, she wished that he could see himself the way others saw him, the way she was seeing him now.
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