SHE WON’T GIVE UP

Erica James has spent the past three years as a skip tracer, hunting down others and hoping one day it will lead to her kidnapped daughter. Now she has a new suspect—Max Powell’s missing sister. Max, a private investigator, has found evidence that connects the two missing girls, and together, he and Erica search for answers. The closer they get to finding answers, the stronger their feelings for each other become. But the kidnapper will stop at nothing—including murder—to keep them from finding Erica’s daughter.

Family Reunions: Bringing loved ones back together

Max gave the family photo another look. “You seem like a close family.”

A snort slipped out before Erica could stop it. At his surprised look she shook her head. “Looks can be deceiving. We’re not close. It’s been months since I’ve seen or talked to my parents. Things changed after Molly was taken.”

He lifted a brow. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It is what it is. Maybe one day things will be different.” Only if you make an effort to change them, said that little voice that was always right about such things. She cocked her head. “And maybe one day I’ll tell you about it.”

Max nodded and made his way to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep lightly and be careful,” he said before he left.

She knew what he meant. He was worried about Peter.

Erica got that—she was worried, too.

I’ll sleep with one eye open.

Not to mention with my bedroom door locked and my gun close by.

LYNETTE EASON

makes her home in South Carolina with her husband and two children. Lynette has taught in many areas of education over the past ten years and is very happy to make the transition from teaching school to teaching at writers’ conferences. She is a member of RWA (Romance Writers of America), FHL (Faith, Hope, & Love) and ACFW (American Christian Fiction Writers). She is often found online, and loves to talk writing with anyone who will listen. You can find her at www.facebook.com/lynetteeasonauthor or www.lynetteeason.com.

Hide and Seek

Lynette Eason

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?

—Matthew 6:26

To my wonderful Savior, who lets me write for Him. I also want to dedicate this book to my sweet niece, Willow Dorris, and my nephews, Jonah Dorris and Liam Dorris. Thanks for being such great kids and good friends as well as cousins to my kids. You guys rock!

Acknowledgments

Thanks to my family for all their support. This is my fifteenth Love Inspired Suspense book. I’m so thankful that you understand about deadlines and the desperation of pulling a plot and scenes from thin air—or your lives. (I suppose I should thank you for your forgiveness in this regard.) I love you all so much. I thank God for blessing me with you.

Thanks to Emily Rodmell, my Harlequin editor, for all her hard work on every single book I’ve written for Love Inspired. We made it to fifteen!

Thanks to Officer Jim Hall, who critiques and corrects all of my police procedural. If there’s anything wrong in here, it’s not his fault! Jim, you’re awesome. So glad God dropped you into my life when you were living in North Carolina. God bless you!

Thank you to the ACFW Romantic Suspense loop and all of you who brainstormed this book and the next one with me. Thanks to Mary Lynn Mercer, Michelle Lim, Terri Weldon, Beth Ziarnik, Misty Kirby, Jeff Reynolds and Jessica Patch. You guys gave me some fabulous ideas, and even if I didn’t use them all, you gave me some direction and inspiration. God bless each of you in your own personal writing journey.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXCERPT

ONE

Searching for a crack house had not been in Erica James’s plans for the evening. However, Detective Katie Randall had uttered the one sentence that could send her into one of the worst neighborhoods in the city.

“We’ve found new evidence in Molly’s disappearance.”

Erica let the words ring through her mind as she drove, looking for the address of the crack house that had been raided two days ago.

New evidence. New evidence.

“It’s been three years,” Erica exclaimed. “What possibly could have come to light now?” she’d asked, hating the shakiness in her voice, the desperate hope that she knew was carved on her face.

Detective Katie Randall had shown her a photograph of a crime scene. Even now, Erica’s fingers curled around the steering wheel as she remembered the little outfit clearly pictured amidst the trash and rubble.

The outfit three-year-old Molly had been wearing when she’d disappeared from the day-care field trip to the zoo. Erica touched the picture with a shaking finger.

“That’s her hair bow.”

“We got a fingerprint from it. A girl by the name of Lydia Powell. Her prints are in the system for a shoplifting charge two years ago.”

“So what does she say? Did you ask her about Molly?”

“We haven’t been able to find her,” Katie admitted.

“Then I will.”

Now, two days later, on a cold Tuesday evening, Erica glanced at the sky. The sun would set in about ten minutes and she still hadn’t found the address.

In this dark, dank part of town.

Drug deals on one corner, the selling of bodies and souls on the other. Her heart shuddered at the thought of her child being in the middle of all of this. And yet at the same time, her heart ached for the innocents trapped in this cycle of crime and abuse. For those who wanted out, but didn’t know how to accomplish that. Or were too young to try.

Narrowed, suspicious eyes followed her progress down the trash-strewn street. The sun crept lower and her pulse picked up a notch.

As daylight disappeared so did the people on the street. One by one, everyone in a yard or on a porch made their way behind a closed, locked door.

She hadn’t counted on it being dark by the time she got here. Then again, she hadn’t counted on the place being so hard to find, either. Her GPS had led her down one street and up another until she was so twisted around she’d never find her way back out.

For the first time since Katie had told her the news, fear started to replace the hope she’d allowed herself to feel. She’d taken the information and run with it. Straight into one of the most dangerous parts of town.

What was she doing? Was she crazy?

After another hesitant second, she picked up the phone and dialed her brother, Brandon. Nerves on edge, she watched the street as she waited for him to answer. Finally, she heard, “Hello?”

“I think I’ve gone and done something stupid.”

“Who, you? You’re kidding.” He didn’t sound concerned—or surprised.

With good reason, she had to silently admit. She bit her lip. “No, Brandon, this time I’m serious.”

That got his attention. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The mechanical voice from the GPS told her, “Turn left and your destination will be on the right.” Erica rolled to a stop and looked to her left.

Brandon said, “Where are you?”

“Five sixty-seven Patton Street.”

“Patton Street! Are you crazy?”

Now she heard the concern. “Yes, I think so. If I stay in my car and wait, will you meet me here?” Uneasy and on alert, she glanced around, felt unseen eyes watching her every movement. “Because while I’m not comfortable here, I’m not leaving yet, either.”

She heard him muttering and thought she heard the words “crazy woman” in there somewhere. “I’m getting you home and then you’re going into a safe occupation like accounting or—”

As Brandon continued his tirade, Erica chewed her bottom lip and tuned him out. Brandon worked with her at Finding the Lost, an organization dedicated to finding missing children she’d started after Molly disappeared. Erica, Brandon and Jordan—Brandon’s best friend who’d needed a job and came highly recommended—worked together to find children who disappeared either through criminal activity such as kidnapping, or because they ran away.

Erica glanced in the rearview mirror and saw two rough-looking characters headed her way. Her stomach flipped. She whispered, “Oh, yeah, bad idea. Bad, bad idea.” She had her self-defense training and her weapon, but—

“Bad idea is right. What made you decide to go there?” he demanded.

“New information about Molly’s disappearance,” she said with her eyes still on the rearview mirror.

Brandon paused then sighed, a small breath of understanding. “Ah.”

Erica had to admit having a good working relationship with several police officers afforded her information she’d otherwise have trouble getting. Katie was her friend and Erica had proved herself trustworthy over the past couple of years. Which was why she now found herself in a possibly very bad situation.

A police cruiser rolled past on the street perpendicular to hers and the two figures behind her took off. She blew out a relieved breath, looked at her GPS one more time and turned left. And there it was.

“Give me about fifteen minutes,” Brandon said. “Stay put.”

The house she wanted loomed ahead on her right. She pulled to the curb two houses down and cut her engine, then her lights. The street lay empty, quiet as a tomb. She had a perfect view of the front of the house.

Night approached, sneaking in as though even it was reluctant to be found in this area of town.

“Erica? Did you hear me?”

“I heard you. I’ll be waiting. A cop drove by and scared away the riffraff.”

“If you’re determined to stay, stay in the car with the doors locked. I mean it.”

“Okay.”

She had every intention of staying hunkered down in the front seat and waiting for Brandon to get there.

Until she caught a glimpse of a slim figure in a hoodie, hunched over and slinking down the street toward the deserted house.

Erica’s stomach twisted. She reached for the weapon she’d earned the right to carry in a concealed holster, but on second glance, the person didn’t look to be a threat. Male or female? She couldn’t tell.

Erica glanced at the clock, then back. The figure shot a look over a thin shoulder every so often. Finally, under one of the few working streetlights, Erica caught a glimpse of a pale face and scared eyes that flicked in every direction, watchful and jumpy. She looked to be about fifteen or sixteen and walked with quick jerky steps, shoulders bowed, arms crossed protectively across her stomach as though she wanted to make herself as small as possible.

Excitement spun inside Erica. This girl looked familiar. Could it be Lydia?

Did she need help? She kept looking over her shoulder.

Was someone behind her? Following her?

Erica watched for a few minutes until the girl disappeared around the side of the house. She put her hand on the door handle. If that was Lydia, she couldn’t let her get away. She started to get out of the vehicle and stopped when she caught sight of another figure who had emerged from the shadows. He trailed the young girl, his steps quick and hurried.

Dread centered itself in the middle of her stomach. This didn’t look good. Her fingers tightened on the handle, everything in her wanting to leap from the car. But she’d promised Brandon she’d wait.

When a shrill scream rent the night air, she could wait no longer. Erica threw open the door and raced toward the dark house.

* * *

Private investigator Max Powell shifted his eyes toward the older-model Ford Taurus parked on the street and leaned forward over the steering wheel as though that would give him a better view.

The car’s open door and empty driver’s seat set his nerves on edge. That didn’t bode well. His gut tensed. Was his sister in that house? He’d gotten word from one of his street sources that she’d been here last night and would probably be back tonight. Max had rushed over to see if he could intercept her.

Max got out of his truck and peered inside the empty Ford. Relieved to see no evidence of foul play, he walked toward the house, his head swiveling in all directions, trying to discern whether there was a threat nearby or just someone who’d broken down and went looking for help.

Neither was a good option for the owner in this neighborhood.

Two feet away from the front porch steps, he stopped and checked the area one more time. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention and adrenaline shot through his veins. He didn’t have a good feeling about this—at all.

The brief thought that he should call one of his cop buddies flashed through his mind. But he wanted to find Lydia first, have a chance to talk to her before they found her.

He’d take his chances on going in alone.

He pulled his weapon and headed toward the front door.

* * *

Erica turned the corner around the back of the house and stopped. The door hung on one hinge, the darkness yawning beyond it now silent. In fact, it was so quiet, Erica wondered if it was possible she’d imagined the scream.

No. That had been real enough. Erica pictured the young girl she’d seen walking down the street. Her destination had been this house. Had that been her scream?

Her heart kicked into overdrive, pounding hard enough to make her gasp.

She swallowed hard and looked around. She couldn’t just stand here waiting for Brandon. Where was he? What if the girl needed help?

Nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach as she looked back at the house and thought about her precious baby being held in such a place.

A crack house.

One that kept its secrets hidden, maybe forever lost, her daughter’s whereabouts never to be revealed. Had Molly cried for her, expecting her mama to come rushing in to save her?

The girl in the hoodie was someone’s baby. And she might need help.

Tears clogged her throat even as she put one foot in front of the other to enter the black hole of a doorway. She hadn’t been able to save Molly, but maybe she could help someone else’s child.

She slipped just inside and moved to the left. The kitchen. The rancid smell of unwashed bodies, rotten food and...other odors she couldn’t identify assaulted her.

Doing her best to ignore the offense to her nose, she listened. And heard nothing but her own ragged breathing. Erica moved farther inside. The moonlight sliced through the kitchen window to her left, casting shadows on the walls. Shadows that danced and mocked her. Should she call out?

Just as she opened her mouth, a creaking sound reached her ears. A thump sounded from down the hall, a scuffle. A muffled curse.

“Help!” a high scared voice called.

Erica dashed through the kitchen and into the hall. She tripped over the debris on the floor and managed to catch herself before she fell. Glass crunched beneath her feet, but she didn’t stop. Light pierced the darkness behind her, illuminating the filth surrounding her.

“Hey! Who’s in here?”

The deep male voice coming from behind her penetrated Erica’s fear even as she rounded the corner into the nearest bedroom only to come to a screeching halt.

A male in his midthirties had the girl by the throat with his left hand, a knife in his right. The girl’s fingers clawed at his hand.

“Stop it!” Erica yelled. “Get away from her!”

Running footsteps sounded behind her. Erica moved and placed her back to the wall so she could see who entered the room, but she didn’t want to take her eyes off the scene in front of her.

The attacker froze then shoved the crying young woman away from him and stepped toward Erica, knife raised, his eyes darting toward the door then back to her.

Adrenaline flowed, fear pulsed and she swallowed hard as she felt for the weapon in the holster just under her left arm.

In all the situations she’d found herself over the past three years, never once had she been forced to pull her gun.

It looked like tonight might be the night.

In the moonlight, she could make out the man’s harsh features: glittering dark eyes and a scar that curved from the corner of his right eye to his jaw.

She shivered, notched her chin and demanded, “Leave her alone!”

“Stay outta this, lady, or you’ll be sorry,” he snarled.

“Drop the knife! Now!”

Erica whirled to see a man, weapon drawn and aimed at the young man in the torn jeans and black sweatshirt.

Blue lights flickered and flashed against the walls as backup arrived. The attacker licked his lips, shifted his feet.

“Drop it!” the man yelled again. The knife clattered to the floor. Erica nearly wilted with relief. “Up against the wall!” he shouted.

More footsteps sounded in the hallway as the man spoke into his cell phone. Erica’s head spun as she watched the young girl’s terrified eyes snap to the man then to the window.

Before Erica could call out, the young teen ran to the window and climbed out.

“No! Lydia! Come back.”

The man’s shout hung on the empty air. Erica raced for the window, the breeze blowing back her blazer.

“Police! Hands in the air!”

She spun, shocked to see an officer’s weapon trained on her.

TWO

Max spotted the concealed weapon under the woman’s blazer and knew his pal, Officer Chris Jiles, had his gun on her. Her eyes, wide with shock, simply stared. Max brushed past her, careful to stay out of Chris’s line of fire, and stopped at the window. Lydia was nowhere to be seen.

Max slapped a hand against the wall and spun as Chris said to the woman, “Put your hands on your head.”

She finally blinked and said, “My name’s Erica James. I...I have a concealed weapons permit.”

“We’ll get to that in a moment. Hands on your head.” The woman complied and Chris stepped forward to remove her weapon from her holster. “Now show me some ID.”

Max knew Chris had the situation under control, and he turned and dashed from the room. He raced down the hall and out the door. “Lydia!”

He spun to the left, then back to the right.

She was gone.

Heart heavy, he returned to the scene to find Chris’s partner, Steve Shepherd, had the attacker on his knees. The man’s hands were bound behind him and his cries of innocence fell on deaf ears.

Two other officers had gone after Lydia. Two more had cleared the rest of the house.

Max looked into the woman’s face across from him. Beautiful pretty well summed her up—huge green eyes and curly red hair pulled back in a ponytail that accentuated high cheekbones. She had a fragile appearance that made Max want to offer his protection. Right after he questioned her and found out everything she might know about what just went down.

Chris ordered, “Let me see the permit.”

“It’s in my purse.” She frowned. “Which is still in my car. Hopefully.”

Chris looked at Max. “What are you doing here?”

“You have to ask?”

Chris scowled. “Right.” Then he motioned for the woman to walk. Max followed them down the hall and out the front door. As they exited, Max heard, “Erica!”

Erica stopped and waved at the man, who looked like he was ready to start pounding the officers holding him back. “I’m all right, Brandon.” Brandon gave her a fierce frown as she said, “Thanks for being willing to come to my rescue, but I didn’t need you, after all.”

His brows shot north. “What did you stumble into now?”

While she retrieved her license and showed it to Chris, she gave the man she’d called Brandon an abridged version of the events, which Max thought was still too long. She must have sensed his impatience because she finally said, “Go on back home, Brandon, I’ll be all right now.”

“I’m not leaving until I know you’re home safe.”

Max said, “I’ll see to it she gets there.”

Brandon rubbed his nose. “And you are?”

Max held out a hand. “I’m Max Powell. Former cop. Currently a private investigator.”

Brandon shook Max’s hand with a glare at Erica. “I’m Brandon Hayes, Erica’s long-suffering older brother.”

A sigh escaped her, and Max felt protective instincts surge to the surface once again. He couldn’t help but wonder at his strange reactions to this woman. Maybe he was just stressed out and overly tired.

Erica stiffened, and Max saw her start to say something then stop. Finally she seemed to decide on her words. “Brandon, I’m fine. Go home. I’m sorry I called you out here on a false alarm.”

The man wilted. “Aw, Erica...” He leaned over to give her a hug then shot a look at Max. “You’re sure?” Max nodded.

“Go, Brandon. Jordan’s probably wondering where you are,” Erica said.

“Your boyfriend will be fine without me,” Brandon said, giving Max a pointed look. The disappointment that shot through Max at the mention of Erica’s boyfriend was just one more emotional surprise today.

“Knock it off, Bran. Just because you want him to be my boyfriend doesn’t make it so. Now go home. I’ll text you when I’m behind locked doors.” She shot a look at Chris, who still held her license. “Hopefully they won’t have bars on them.”

Chris handed her wallet back to her. She spun away to stuff it into her purse as her brother got in his car.

He said, “I’ll be checking on you.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Brandon pulled away just as the officers who had gone after Lydia returned—empty-handed. Anxiety twisted inside Max. Would he never be at the right place at the right time?

“Do you know the girl?” Erica asked.

He hedged. “Do you?”

“No.”

Max watched as Steve led Lydia’s attacker to the nearest cruiser and stuffed him in the back.

He felt her eyes on him. “But you do,” she said.

“Why do you say that?”

She shot him a look full of exasperation. “Because you called her Lydia.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know her.”

“I’m looking for a girl named Lydia, too.”

Max stilled, tense. “Why’s that?”

“Because she’s a suspect in the kidnapping of my daughter three years ago.”

The breath left his lungs. “You’re Molly’s mother?”

She paled. “You know who Molly is?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been following the story since I saw Lydia’s face on the news.”

“So who is she to you?”

Max blew out a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his head. “My sister.”

* * *

Erica rolled with the shock wave. Of course. Lydia Powell, Max Powell. “Your sister?” she said. Anger swelled inside her. “Your sister had something to do with my daughter’s kidnapping.”

His eyes flashed. “She wasn’t involved. She wouldn’t do something like that. When I saw her face on the news, it floored me. To hear that she was wanted for questioning about kidnapping a three-year-old?” He shook his head. “She wouldn’t. There’s got to be some explanation.”

Erica tucked her purse back behind her seat, thankful the car was exactly as she’d left it. She supposed having several police vehicles next to it had helped. “Well, I’d sure like to hear that explanation. And so would the cops.”

His lips tightened and he narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Erica lifted her chin, struggling a little to keep it together. “This is the house where my daughter was kept right after she was taken. When they did the raid last week, they found the clothes she was wearing when she disappeared. Along with the hair clip that had your sister’s fingerprint on it. I couldn’t believe that stuff was still here after three years. So I came to see... I hoped...” Tears clogged her throat as her failure hit home.

Max swiped a hand across his eyes but not before she saw the brief flash of sorrow in them. He sighed. “Let’s get this wrapped up here, and we’ll talk. I want to know what you know about Lydia.”

“And I want to know what you know.” She slid into the driver’s seat.

He spoke to the officers, and she focused on slowing her rapidly beating heart. Her emotions were on overload. She had accomplished nothing with her impulsive trip to the crack house.

No, that wasn’t completely true. She’d found Lydia’s brother. Maybe that was the first step in finding Lydia. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. Oh, baby girl, where are you? Please Lord, help me find her.

Sobs threatened once again as the helplessness overwhelmed her. With an effort, she focused on what she had to do next. The next step in the plan.

“I’ll follow you home.” She recognized Max’s voice and opened her eyes.

She sighed. “It’s all right. I can manage.”

His jaw firmed. “It’s late and you’re in the toughest neighborhood in Spartanburg. Plus, I promised your brother I’d make sure you got home safe.”

“I thought we were going to talk.”

“We are.” He tapped the hood of her car. “But you need some rest and I’m not through with my search for Lydia tonight.” He paused and glanced at his watch. “Would you be able to meet for breakfast?”

Erica mentally went through her calendar. She had two appointments she could delegate. “What time?”

“Eight thirty?”

“Sure.” She cranked her car.

Max pointed to the weapon that had been returned to her. “What made you feel the need to carry that?”

Erica felt a wry smile cross her lips. “A job that brings me into neighborhoods like this.”

Curiosity lifted his brow. “What kind of job is that?”

“I find missing people. Children mostly.” Sadness filled her. “I have a great track record, too. Mostly.”

“Then why the sad eyes?”

She started, surprised he’d noticed. “It seems I can find everyone’s child but my own.”

He looked away for a brief moment, but not before she caught another flash of raw grief in his blue eyes. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“Lydia?”

He nodded.

“She ran from you,” she said softly. Even though she thought Lydia had something to do with Molly’s disappearance, Max didn’t. He obviously believed in his sister, and Erica’s heart hurt for him. “I’m sorry.”

He swallowed hard. “At least I know she’s still alive. As of tonight anyway.”

“Who was the guy attacking her?” Erica asked.

He frowned. “He’s a punk who preys on young girls.”

“A pimp?”

“That, and more.”

She shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

With another shake of his dark head, he straightened and gripped the door, ready to close it. “Which is why we need to talk. Tomorrow.”

“Right.” She let him shut the door and waited for him to get into his vehicle.

Relief that she’d survived this night swirled as her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. Jordan. She frowned. “Hey, is everything all right? Did Brandon get home okay?”

“Yeah. He told me what you’d been up to. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” She was really tired of that phrase.

“Glad to hear it, but you’re not home yet. I’ve been sitting on your front porch for the last few minutes and Mrs. Griffin is giving me the evil eye from her window across the street.”

Mrs. Griffin. The street busybody who kept her nose in everyone’s business, but was a sweet woman. “Why are you on my porch?”

Max flashed his lights to tell Erica he was ready, and she pulled away from the curb and made her way out of the neighborhood. She lived about ten minutes away, on the opposite side of town, and right now, all she wanted to do was get home, crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

But she couldn’t. Not if Jordan was there.

Jordan was saying, “Because I care about you, Erica. Brandon does, too. He shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“I’m not alone.” She grimaced. A sigh slipped out. “Look, go home.” Those words were getting old, too.

Jordan paused. “All right. I’ll just wait until you get here. Make sure you get inside safely.”

“A P.I. is following me home. I’ll be—” She refused to say it again. “All the drama is over.” Please don’t add to it, she finished silently.

“Okay.” He didn’t hang up. At this rate, he’d still be there when she pulled into the drive.

“So go.”

“Right. I’ll just be going.”

Erica frowned. He sounded weird. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I was just—”

“Just what?”

“Nothing. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Erica hung up and glanced in the rearview mirror. Seeing Max following behind her was comforting in an odd sort of way, even though she knew he had questions for her. That was fine—she had questions for him. And she would not notice his blue eyes again. Even though she had a feeling she could get lost in them, wondering what was going on behind them. Wondering what it would feel like to see them soften and sparkle for her. But she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t. She wasn’t interested in getting to know the brother of the girl who’d helped kidnap Molly. And she’d keep telling herself that as long as she had to in order to make herself believe it.

A few minutes later, she turned into her drive.

Jordan was gone and she breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been hovering like a mother hen lately—she couldn’t figure out what was going on with him. And Brandon calling him her boyfriend just added to the confusion. Why would he say that? Jordan was a nice guy, but he was like a brother to her, and Brandon knew that.

Max pulled up against the curb and rolled the window down. Erica got out of her car and walked up to him. “Thanks for the escort.”

“You want me to check out your house?”

“No thanks. No need.”

“So. Tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.” Her heart did a funny pitter-patter thing as his lips curved in a gentle smile. Shocked, she swallowed hard. She hadn’t felt an attraction for a man in such a long time, she almost didn’t realize what it was when it hit her. Ever since her husband had left her, she’d gone out of her way to avoid men. And now, in this crazy situation, she was finding herself attracted to a man she just met?

She shook it off and said, “We never picked a place.”

“Where’s your office?”

“On East Main Street in the same complex as the post office.”

“How about the café?”

“I’ll be there.”

“You have your phone?”

Erica lifted a brow and pulled it out.

He gave her his number. “Call me if you need anything, or if something changes and you can’t make it.” She punched in the number and heard his phone ring. When she hung up, he nodded toward her house. “Now go inside while I’m watching. And lock the door.”

“I always do.” Irritated by his bossy manner, Erica turned and made her way into the house, twisting the dead bolt after shutting the door. The lamp on the end table next to her sofa gave off a soft light that reached into the foyer, casting friendly shadows on the wall beside her.

Much friendlier than the ones in the crack house.

Erica glanced out the window and watched Max drive away. Without his distracting presence, images from the night bombarded her and she shivered. “So close,” she whispered to the empty room. So close to some answers, and once again they’d slipped away from her grasp.

Erica crossed to the mantel and picked up her favorite picture of Molly, the one taken the day before she disappeared. As always, the tears threatened, but she couldn’t look away from Molly’s bright smile, her unruly red hair pulled up into a ponytail and her green eyes glinting with good-humored mischief.

Well, the answers may have slipped away tonight, but at least she had a name to follow up on, thanks to Katie, and now she’d seen Lydia’s face up close and personal. She would recognize her again when she saw her, even if she was still trying to hide beneath that hoodie.

Erica set Molly’s sweet picture back on the mantel and turned to flip the lamp off.

Darkness covered her and for a moment she just stood there, nearly drowning in her grief. It had been three years and still sometimes the pain of missing her child made her go weak.

Erica forced herself to head for her bedroom. She needed her rest. She would be no good for anyone if she let herself get to the point where she couldn’t sleep again. Thankfully, she no longer needed medication most nights.

Tonight might not be one of those nights.

In her bedroom, she flipped on the closet light and let the warm light filter into the room. She wasn’t in the mood for the strong overhead light tonight.

Just as she started for the bathroom to get ready for bed, she heard the distinctive click of the front door closing.

THREE

Max sat in his den staring at the file in front of him, wondering why he couldn’t get Erica James off his mind. Her story touched him. Her fragile beauty drew him to her. But her accusations made him angry. The fact that she thought Lydia was involved with Molly’s kidnapping made him more determined than ever to find his little sister and prove her innocent.

He ignored the little niggling of concern at the back of his mind that Erica might have a reason to be throwing her accusations out there.

Which was why he’d made a point of doing his homework on her.

Erica was twenty-eight years old, and had, by all appearances, been happily married until her daughter’s kidnapping three years ago. Her husband had left and moved overseas about a year later.

Erica had pulled herself together and started her own business working as a skip tracer, learning how to use specialized equipment and unique skills to locate missing people—or in Erica’s case, missing children. He remembered the sadness in her eyes, and what she’d said about being able to find other people’s children and yet not Molly.

Thanks to his contacts at the police station, acquiring Molly’s case notes hadn’t been a problem. He flipped to the evidence section.

A witness had reported seeing a woman with red curly hair, large sunglasses and a long coat at the zoo that day. Another witness claims he saw a man following the preschool group. Too many reported seeing nothing unusual.

Curly red hair. Erica had curly red hair. But she had an airtight alibi. She’d been working another missing persons case and had even had a police officer with her.

And then there was the matter of that pain in her eyes. No, she hadn’t had anything to do with her daughter’s disappearance.

It had been a chilly day in November when Molly had gone missing. This month would be a tough one for Erica.

And now she was looking for Lydia. Max felt anger surface again. Twenty-one years old, his sister could pass for thirteen or thirty, depending on how close one looked. He supposed the drugs and sporadic eating could do that to a person. His heart ached for her. If only...

An idea hit him, and Max hauled himself out of the recliner and made his way into the kitchen to get his phone. He grabbed it only to frown as he saw an unfamiliar number listed, indicating he’d missed a call.

He dialed the number and listened to it ring.

When the phone went to Erica’s voice mail, he hung up and felt the heat climbing into his face as he realized she’d called him earlier, when he’d given her his number. And here he was, calling her at nearly midnight. He shrugged. If she asked, he’d explain.

Then again, he couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t answered. Was she all right? Or had something happened?

He clenched his jaw.

He had no reason to think that anything had happened to her.

Just like he’d had no reason to think anything had happened to Tracy. His throat tightened at the thought of his fiancée, dead because he hadn’t worried enough.

He’d ignored his instincts and she’d died.

Max grabbed his keys.

* * *

Erica’s pulse pounded as she stood frozen, unsure what to do.

When the door had clicked, she’d raced into the bathroom and twisted the lock.

Leaving her cell phone on the end table in her bedroom.

She listened to it ring and put her hand on the knob. When it stopped, she bit her lip and looked around.

The only window in the bathroom was stained glass and didn’t open. That cold hard knot in the pit of her stomach turned to granite as she realized what she’d done.

She’d trapped herself.

Desperately, she tried to control her ragged breaths so she could listen.

She pressed her ear against the door and heard nothing.

Except her phone ringing again.

Should she stay and assume whoever had entered her house would get what he was looking for and then leave?

Or should she try to slip into the bedroom and grab the phone?

Indecision warred with her fear. By the time she decided to stay put, the phone had stopped again.

How had her intruder come in the front door—the one she remembered locking? Mentally, she ran through a list of people who had a key to her house. Her brother, Brandon; her best friend Denise Tanner, who’d moved to New Mexico; her parents, although they’d only used the key one time in the past three years; another friend, Ginny Leigh, and...

Footsteps sounded outside the bathroom door. She gasped and pulled back. He was in her bedroom. What would she do if he tried to get in the bathroom? Frantic, she cast her gaze around, looking for something she could use as a weapon.

A razor, a can of hair spray, the towel bar.

Then the steps receded. Faded. Stopped.

Was he gone?

Did she dare open the door? She waited. And listened.

Still nothing. Just the pounding of her heart.

The minutes ticked by.

Silence.

Her shaky fingers twisted the lock. She gripped the doorknob and turned it slowly, then pulled the door open a crack.

The door exploded inward and she cried out as the edge of it caught her on the chin. She fell to her knees as a tall figure reached down to grab her by the arm. “I knew you were in there.”

“Let me go!” She twisted, kicking out and catching a shin.

Her captor grunted.

“Hey! Let her go!”

She froze once again. “Peter?” Disbelief made her dizzy. “What are you doing?” she cried. Peter approached her, his hands replacing her captor’s on her arms.

Erica hit him in the chest to push him away from her, but he kept his grip on her upper arms. It didn’t hurt, but she didn’t like it.

“Hey, chill, sis. We just need some cash, okay?” His foul breath made her grimace.

“Let. Me. Go.” She kept her voice low and did her best to rein in her fury and fear. Peter—her younger brother, the black sheep, the ne’er-do-well. Whatever one wanted to call him, he had also once been a suspect in Molly’s disappearance but had been cleared when there’d been no evidence to support his involvement. He released her and she backed away from him until the back of her knees touched the bed. “Where did you get the key?”

“Let’s get the cash and get out of here.” Erica swiveled toward the man who’d grabbed her when she’d exited the bathroom. Menace dripped from his gaze.

Real fear clutched her. “Who’s he?” she asked Peter.

Peter advanced. He stopped in front of her, but he didn’t attempt to grab her again. His sullen, bloodshot eyes slid from hers, and she reached for the cell phone on the end table. “It’s late, Peter, and I’m tired,” she said, trying to sound normal. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

And she wouldn’t give it to him if she did.

He was twenty-four and in spite of the drugs he pushed into his body, still looked young and innocent. He shot his buddy a black look. “I told you to wait outside.”

“I got tired of waiting. You were looking in the wrong place.” Drug-addled green eyes lingered on her and he licked his lips.

Peter stepped between her and the other intruder. “Back off, Polo. That’s not what you’re here for.”

Polo leered. “Says you.”

Peter stood tall and straightened his shoulders. “Yeah. I do. Now get out of here.”

Erica blinked at Peter’s defense of her. All of a sudden, she had a glimpse of the man he could have been.

Polo shrugged and backed down. “I’ll be outside.” He gave Erica one last look and she shuddered with distaste when he finally turned his back.

“Peter, get rid of that loser, then give me back my key.” She paused for a moment, knowing she probably shouldn’t say what she was about to say. “You can stay in the guest room tonight.”

Peter lifted his hands and raked them through his hair. They trembled. He paced from one end of the room to the other, glancing at the door as though expecting Polo to return. “I need you to give me some cash. I’ll give it to him, and he’ll leave you alone.”

What was he coming down from? His drug of choice was usually cocaine or heroin.

He shook his head. “I’m so tired.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Look, Erica, I’m sorry about all this.”

She lifted a brow. “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I’m—” He waved a hand. “I wish...”

“Wish what, Peter?”

Erica took his arm and tried to lead him from the room but he jerked away from her. “What are you doing?”

“Police! Anyone here?”

Peter froze like a deer caught in the headlights. “You called the cops?” he snarled.

“No! I didn’t.” She turned and yelled, “We’re back here! Everything is fine.”

Had they seen Polo?

Footsteps sounded on her hardwood and for the second time that night she faced the officers Max seemed to know personally, with their weapons drawn. She held her hands where they could see them. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“Everything all right?” The officer in front stepped forward, his narrowed eyes taking in the scene before him.

Erica nodded. “Yes. Fine.”

The officers exchanged glances and the first one holstered his weapon. The second only lowered his.

“Who called you?” Erica asked.

“Your neighbor said she saw a suspicious man hanging around your front door. He was on his way over to see if you needed help when he heard you scream. Decided to call the cops instead.” He motioned to the bruise on her chin. “Want to explain that?”

Erica looked at her brother as she reached up to touch her chin. “He surprised me and I got banged with the door.”

Peter looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Was he sorry? Or was he sorry he wasn’t going to get what he came here for? She honestly didn’t know what to think of him anymore. She just knew she wanted to help him, couldn’t give up on him.

He was her brother, plain and simple.

The cop nodded, suspicion still written on his face. “What’s he coming off?”

Pete glared at the officer and Erica sighed. “I have no idea, but I’ll take care of him.”

“You’re not helping him by covering for him.”

“I know.” Weariness invaded her as she looked at her little brother. How had he become this stranger she didn’t know anymore? Someone she didn’t trust and was afraid of some of the time, like when he came into her apartment with a creep and tried to shake her down for cash? “He had someone with him. A guy named Polo.”

Peter winced and the officer’s eyes shot wide. “Polo Moretti?”

She grimaced. “I didn’t get a last name.” She looked at her brother. “Peter?”

“I just met the guy,” Peter muttered. “I don’t know his last name.”

“Who is he?” Erica asked.

The two officers exchanged a glance. Then one said, “He’s involved in all kinds of nasty stuff. You don’t want to mess around with him.”

Erica drew in a quick breath. “Peter, what are you involved in?”

“Erica?”

She frowned—she knew that voice. She shot a look at Peter to let him know the conversation wasn’t over. “Max?”

Max stepped into the hall and greeted the officers by name. Then he looked at her. “What’s going on? I kept calling but you didn’t answer.”

“So you drove over here?” Erica felt a thrill in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t explain but didn’t want to think about.

“Yeah. It’s not that far.” Pain flashed in Max’s gaze for a brief moment—long enough for her to wonder about it— until his gaze shifted to her brother, a question on his face.

Peter’s eyelids drooped. He didn’t seem so dangerous now. In fact he reminded her of the sleepy little brother she used to put to bed. Erica said, “Look, let me get Peter settled and we’ll talk in the den.”

Max and the other two officers left the room. “Go on in the bedroom. I’ll take care of this,” she said to Peter.

For once, he didn’t argue with her, just shuffled his way down the hall with one last look toward the front door, probably wondering where his friend went.

If Peter stayed here, would that Polo guy come back looking for him?

She felt sick at the thought.

The guest room door shut with a decisive click. Erica stood staring at the door for a brief moment then shut her eyes as she fought the weariness that threatened to make her keel over. Oh, Peter. What was she going to do with him?

Voices from the den grabbed her attention. She’d worry about Peter later.

Erica made her way back into the den where she found Max sitting on her couch and the other officers standing in front of her fireplace looking at Molly’s picture.

Max said, “This is Chris and Steve. You remember them from earlier tonight?”

Erica nodded, shook their hands and said, “Sorry for all the trouble. Peter’s going through a rough patch and...” Her voice trailed off. What could she say? Peter’s actions, the company he was keeping and his appearance spoke for themselves. She refused to make excuses for him anymore.

Chris nodded and said, “Just give us a holler if you need any more help with him.” He paused. “But I’ll caution you. Don’t trust him.”

She sighed. “I know.”

After Chris and Steve asked her a few more questions and finally left, Max rose. “Guess I’d better be going, too.” He glanced down the hall. “I’d feel better if he wasn’t here.”

So would she, but Erica wasn’t going to tell him that. “Peter will sleep awhile and so will I. I’ll talk to him in the morning, see if he’s open to a plan—or rehab. Again.”

Max nodded. “Okay.” He rubbed his chin. “I talked to the detectives who handled Molly’s case.”

She lifted a brow. “Lee and Randall.”

“Yes. Good detectives.”

“Not good enough.” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I can see why you would think that. But I work with them on a regular basis. And I’ll tell you, not a week goes by that Katie—Detective Randall—doesn’t review Molly’s case. She keeps it fresh in her mind and is always ready for something to break. She’s the one who recognized Molly’s dress at the crime scene.”

“Really? She didn’t tell me that.” Erica reached up to rub the rocklike muscles at the base of her neck. “Well, it’s good to know they really do care,” she said softly. She truly was touched to know that Katie reviewed Molly’s case on a regular basis. Katie had become a friend during the nightmarish days and then months following Molly’s disappearance. Erica had checked in with Katie regularly, but the woman had had nothing more to tell her.

Until the raid had unearthed Molly’s dress and bow.

Erica watched Max walk over to her mantel and pick up the picture of Molly. “She looks like you.”

Tears threatened, but Erica held them back. “Yes. She does.”

He placed the picture back and looked at the others. “Your parents?”

“They live across town.” Erica snagged the family portrait that had been taken at Christmas almost four years ago. “This is the brother you met tonight at the crack house—Brandon. He has a town house on East Main near our office. And this is Peter during one of his better times.” She sighed. “He lives in our grandparents’ old home on the west side of town. He doesn’t have to pay rent so at least he has a place to sleep at night when he runs out of money.” She reached out to trace a finger over Molly’s image. “This is the last picture we had taken with all of us.”

“And this one?” He pointed to the small silver and blue frame in the line.

Erica gave a sad smile. “That’s Denise Tanner, my best friend. She and I were inseparable from third grade to graduation. We were even roommates before I got married. She lives in New Mexico now but we talk at least once a week.”

Max placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve moved on. You haven’t forgotten Molly or given up hope, but it hasn’t broken you.”

She could feel the warmth of Max’s hand through her heavy sweater, and the sudden desire to lean into him and let him take a share of her burden nearly overwhelmed her. She resisted, but barely. “I didn’t exactly have a choice and it hasn’t been easy. But that’s a story for another time.” She really needed him to go or she was going to be a blubbering mess.

He gave the family photo another look. “You seem like a close family.”

A snort slipped out before she could stop it. At his surprised look she shook her head. “Looks can be deceiving. We’re not close. It’s been months since I’ve seen or talked to my parents. Things changed after Molly was taken.”

He lifted a brow. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It is what it is. Maybe one day things will be different.” Only if you make an effort to change them, said that little voice that was always right about such things. She cocked her head. “And maybe one day I’ll tell you about it.”

Max nodded and made his way to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep lightly and be careful,” he said before he left.

She knew what he meant. He was worried about Peter.

Erica got that—she was worried, too.

I’ll sleep with one eye open.

Not to mention with my bedroom door locked and my gun close by.

FOUR

Max glanced at his watch for the third time in as many minutes. Was she coming? He sipped the cup of coffee he’d ordered and stared at the door, wondering if her brother or his “friend” had caused her any more trouble last night.

He frowned and shifted in his seat. How was he going to convince Erica that Lydia had nothing to do with Molly’s kidnapping?

He finally concluded that he wasn’t going to be able to convince her—not with words, anyway. He would have to show her who Lydia was, help her see his sister the way he saw her.

The mixture of smells in the café, such as cinnamon and coffee, tantalized him, making his stomach growl. The bagel and cream cheese in front of him was going to be too much temptation to resist if he had to wait on her much longer.

Max pulled out his phone, ready to punch in Erica’s number when the door finally opened and she stepped inside, bundled against the frigid November wind.

She spotted him and smiled.

He waved her over.

Erica settled into the seat across from him and he said, “Any trouble last night?”

She shook her head. “He was gone when I got up this morning. I heard him leave around five o’clock.” And she hadn’t asked him to stay.

“Does he show up like that very often?”

“Every once in a while. That was the first time in about three months.”

And Peter had never brought anyone with him before—the appearance of Polo Moretti was new. Erica wasn’t sure what to make of that yet.

“You want some coffee?”

“Yes, I’ll be right back.”

Max sat back to study her as she headed to the counter to order. He decided he could look at her for a long while without growing bored. Very pretty, with auburn curls and green eyes. She was also tall. He put her at around five feet eight inches or so.

Within minutes, she had her coffee and a pastry, and she settled back into her seat with a sigh. “It was a long night, but we survived.”

“Indeed.” He rested his elbows on the table and clasped his fingers together in front of him. “Do you mind if I say a blessing?”

Erica set her coffee cup down. “Of course not.”

Max bowed his head and thanked God for the food and for His guidance in finding Lydia and Molly. Short but effective. He saw Erica blink away tears and take a deep breath.

His heart ached for her loss. He couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to have someone steal your child. Not knowing where his sister was nearly ate him alive, but if it was his child...

Erica took a bite of her pastry, which dripped with chocolate sauce, and said, “Do you mind telling me about your sister?”

Max sighed and said, “It’s not a pretty story.” Of course, in telling her about Lydia, he would also be opening himself up and revealing information he didn’t share with just anyone. She must have seen this on his face because she reached across the table and placed her hand over his.

“Please,” she said.

Max felt his stomach twist at her touch.

She thinks Lydia had something to do with her daughter’s kidnapping, he reminded himself.

He drew his hand away and snagged his coffee cup. Her face flushed and she clasped her fingers in her lap. Guilt hit him. He hadn’t meant to make her feel awkward.

“Look, Lydia’s not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. And I know she’s a suspect, but I really don’t think she would have anything to do with kidnapping.”

Erica gave a small shrug and her lips tightened. “I don’t know your sister, of course. I only know that her fingerprint was found on the bow Molly was wearing when she disappeared. That makes me want to find her and talk to her. And if she didn’t have anything to do with it, why is she running?”

He had to admit that running didn’t look good, but that was typical Lydia. She ran from problems instead of facing them whether she was guilty of causing them or just in the wrong place at the wrong time. “I want to find her, too, give her a chance to explain.”

Erica took a sip of her coffee and studied him. She finally asked, “Can we work together?”

He paused. Work with her? Maybe. Keep an eye on her? Definitely. “I think we can. But you have to understand I’m looking to prove she didn’t have anything to do with the kidnapping.”

Erica nodded. “I’m not looking to prove her guilty of anything—I’ll leave that to the cops. I just want to talk to her, find out what she knows. Ask her why her fingerprint was on my daughter’s bow.”

He could live with that. For now. Plus, keeping her close and under his watchful eye would be better than having her go off on her own and finding Lydia before he could.

“All right,” Max said, “I’ll tell you Lydia’s story.”

Erica waited while Max gathered his thoughts. Her nerves danced and her heart pounded. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the man seated across from her or what he was about to say. She reluctantly admitted it was probably a combination of both.

Max had dark good looks, and his no-nonsense attitude matched her own. She liked that he was willing to work with her even though he knew she thought it was very possible Lydia had something to do with Molly’s kidnapping.

She liked him. Period. And for the first time in a long time, she wanted to see if she would still like him the more she got to know about him.

But for now, Lydia was her priority. Erica couldn’t afford to have romantic feelings, not when there was a new lead in Molly’s case.

“The short version,” Max said, “is that Lydia and I grew up in the neighborhood you found yourself in last night.”

Erica hadn’t expected that one. “Oh wow.”

“Yes. It was a bad situation. Our parents were also products of that neighborhood. I’m eight years older than Lydia so by the time she came along, I was already a seasoned pro at staying out of the way of the fights and the drug dealers.” He shrugged. “I felt like I had to protect her, but for an eight-year-old that was a lot.”

“No eight-year-old should face a responsibility like that,” she whispered, appalled and yet amazed he’d survived to become the man he was today. “Why are you different? How did you get out?”

He gave her a rueful smile. “Foster homes. One of them anyway. I learned that the world was not just pain and drugs and abuse. I learned about love and God, and that if I wanted to climb out of the hole that was my life, I could do it as long as I wasn’t afraid of hard work.” He rubbed his chin. “You want to hear something silly?”

“Sure.” Her fingers curled into her palms as she fought the urge to offer comfort.

“I watched a lot of movies growing up, and I saw these families portrayed as loving, kind to one another. Not perfect, but definitely not like my family.” He gripped his knife and looked at it, then laughed—a sad, derisive sound. “I used to picture my family sitting around me at Thanksgiving or Christmas while I carved the turkey.”

“And you wanted a family like that?”

“Yeah.” He flushed and shook his head. “I don’t know why I told you that.”

“It’s okay,” she said softly. This time she didn’t fight her feelings. Erica reached over and squeezed his hand. “I know exactly what you mean.”

He shook his head. “So anyway, I guess you see that we didn’t have a great childhood.”

“But you rose above it. So many people don’t. What happened with Lydia?”

Pain flashed in his eyes. “I lost touch with her for a while. When I turned eighteen, she was ten and a ward of the state. I didn’t find her again until she was sixteen. She’s the reason I quit the force and turned to private investigating. I could spend more hours on tracking her down as a P.I. than I could as a cop. When I finally found her, I asked her to come live with me, but she was pretty happy with her foster mother, a woman named Bea Harrison. So I didn’t push the issue. The next time I went to visit her, though, she was gone.” His mouth tightened at the memory and his eyes flashed.

“Did you find her again?” She knew Lydia was alive as of last night, but she still tensed as she waited for his answer.

He took a bite of his bagel and nodded. “Yes. Turns out our mother had gone through some kind of program and completed it successfully. And the court gave Lydia back to her.”

Erica gaped. “What?”

“I couldn’t believe it, either. I was furious. I went to the house and found Lydia high and my mother passed out on the couch. Alcohol and drugs were everywhere.” He swallowed hard. “I called DSS and the cops and waited for them to get there. They took her back into the system, and Lydia has been mad at me ever since.”

Erica swallowed hard. This was the girl Molly had possibly been with? What had her child experienced while with her? Erica shut off that line of thought. She just couldn’t go there.

Max was saying, “I finally got custody of her about two months before she turned eighteen, but she refused to stay with me. The court sent her back to Bea, and Lydia agreed to that arrangement as long as I wouldn’t come around. The only time she talks to me now is to beg money for a hit.” He paused. “I had hoped things were turning around when she agreed to let me take her out on her eighteenth birthday. Things were definitely looking better between us, but about a month later, she was back to her distant, I-hate-Max self.”

Her heart ached for him. “I’m so sorry.”

Max ran a hand down his face. “She was stabbed around that time and ended up in the hospital. I never found out what the circumstances were, but she almost died. I sat with her day and night, hoping to show her how much I loved her, but once she was released, she disappeared again. Over the last three years, we’ve had minimal contact.” He grimaced at Erica. “There—you have the whole ugly story. You sure you don’t want to run screaming in the other direction?”

“No, your story doesn’t scare me. It makes me hurt for you and Lydia, but it doesn’t scare me.”

She thought she saw relief in his eyes before he glanced out the window.

“I hate to point this out, Max, but Lydia’s lifestyle makes it more likely that she would be involved in something like Molly’s kidnapping than not.”

His jaw hardened and she could tell he didn’t like her statement. “You don’t know her. I do.”

“Do you really? You said yourself you two have been estranged, and she will hardly even talk to you. How can you claim to know her?”

Max’s nostrils flared. “You’ll just have to trust me on this.”

Erica bit her lip. “I’m not deliberately pushing you, but surely you can understand where I’m coming from. Her fingerprint was found on the bow.”

He nodded. “I get that. But I’m sure there’s an explanation for it. Which is why I want to find her. To help her. Because the police aren’t going to care about helping her.” He brought his intense gaze back to Erica. “I’d really like to find her first.”

I’m sure you do, Max. And I plan to be there when it happens.

“You said you’d gotten custody of Lydia before she turned eighteen. Does she still have a room at your house?”

He lifted a brow. “Yes.”

“Do you mind if I take a look at it?”

“She doesn’t stay there.” He looked away. “I keep it for her, hoping one day she’ll show up and want to work things out.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe not, but maybe I could have handled it differently. Instead of calling DSS, I could have just taken her out of there and...” He shrugged.

“And maybe not. If there’s anything I’ve learned over the past three years, it’s that we can’t avoid making mistakes, and when we do, we should learn from them. Unfortunately, you can’t rewrite the past.”

“I know.” He offered her a sad smile.

“So what happened to your parents?”

“My dad was killed in a car accident about seven years ago. After I called the cops on her, my mom went back to jail for possession. When she got out, she went right back to drugs and died from an overdose.”

Erica gasped. “How awful, Max. I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t seem to find any other words. No child should have to live the way he and Lydia had, scrambling and scraping to survive.

He sighed. “I couldn’t help her, but I’m going to do my best to help Lydia.”

“I understand. That’s how I feel about Peter.” She paused. “I still want to see Lydia’s room. Do you mind?”

He shook his head. “She’s only stayed there a handful of times. Mostly when Bea caught her doing something wrong. Since I actually had custody, it wasn’t something her social worker worried about. And after she turned eighteen she was out of the system anyway.”

If Lydia had been in that room for even one minute, Erica wanted to see it. “Do you mind if I ride with you, or do you want to take me to my car?”

“I don’t mind driving. Come on.”

Erica’s mind clicked with renewed hope. Seeing Lydia’s room was a great start. Something the cops hadn’t had access to three years ago—simply because they hadn’t known about it. Praying the room would lead somewhere, she got into the car.

On the drive to his house, Erica checked in with her office. Rachel Armstrong, Erica’s cousin, answered the phone. “Hey, Rachel, anything I need to know about?”

“No, it’s kind of slow right now,” Rachel replied. “You’ve got two calls to return, though—the parent of a runaway and someone who wants a status update.”

“Okay.” Erica gave instructions for the update and then said, “Give the parent of the runaway to Jordan. I’m working on this lead we’ve got on Molly.”

“A lead on Molly? Really?”

“Yes.” The hope mingled with sadness in Rachel’s voice tugged at her. Rachel had loved Molly like her own. “I’ll be praying it pans out.”

Rachel, along with other family members, had given up hoping that Molly would ever be found. Erica didn’t hold it against any of them, but she refused to join ranks. She hoped, she believed, she prayed and she searched. And she’d never give up. Ever.

As a result of her obsession with finding Molly, she’d pushed a lot of her family away, including her own parents. With a start, she saw the parallels between her life and Denise’s. When Denise’s husband had left her, she’d also pushed away her family and friends and focused on her job. Denise allowed her work to consume her. Erica had allowed finding Molly to do the same.

Acting on impulse, Erica said, “What are you doing tomorrow night, Rachel? Want me to bring over some Chinese and we’ll play Scrabble until we can’t think straight?”

“Seriously?” The stunned tone in Rachel’s voice caused Erica to wince.

“We haven’t done that in forever. It’ll be like old times.”

“Oh, I’d love to, Erica. That sounds like a ton of fun, but I already have plans tomorrow. What about another time?”

“Sure, you let me know when,” Erica said. “But soon, okay? I need some girl time.”

“You bet.”

Erica hung up and chewed her bottom lip. Was she too late to reconnect with her cousin? She hoped not. She hoped Rachel was simply busy and not avoiding her. Vowing to do better at reaching out to the people in her life, she stared out the window.

Cutting into her thoughts, Max asked, “How many people do you have working for you?”

“We’re a crew of four right now.” Erica tucked the phone in her jacket pocket. “There’s me and Brandon, who was a detective on the police force but gave it up to help me put this business together. And then Brandon’s best friend Jordan joined us. He was with the FBI, but he quit.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “I still don’t know the whole story. Maybe one day he’ll feel like he can share it.”

“You’ve got a lot of skills and resources at your disposal. What about Rachel?”

“She’s my cousin. She’s also the administrator—she answers the phones and does whatever office work needs doing. She and I used to be much closer than we are now.” She sighed. “It’s time to do something about that.” The last sentence was more for her than for him.

“Sounds like quite a team.”

“I don’t mind bragging a little—it really is an amazing—”

Max slammed his foot on the brakes and Erica’s seat belt locked hard as she rocked forward, crushing it against her chest. Tires squealed, horns blared—and Erica screamed as a green car came straight at her.

Max turned the wheel a split second before the other vehicle hit, managing to avoid the worst of the collision. Like fingernails on a chalkboard, the green car scraped down the passenger side and Erica felt herself thrown against the seat belt once again.

Max brought his truck to a shuddering stop.

“What happened?” Erica gasped.

“That guy ran a red light,” he said. He reached out and grasped her arm. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.”

The green car quickly backed up and spun into a three-point turn. “He’s leaving,” Erica warned.

Max grabbed his phone. “I have a hit-and-run to report. License plate is NRV444.” He looked at her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Erica took a moment to gather her wits and make sure she was still in one piece. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Are you?”

He nodded. “It looks like the only real damage is to the car, thank goodness.”

A knock on her window made her jump. She tried to roll the window down but she couldn’t. Next she tugged on the door handle. “I can’t open the door, Max. It’s stuck.”

He opened his door and she crawled across the seat, letting him help her out onto the asphalt. Questions from the bystanders and witnesses started instantly. The police arrived, and Erica felt her head begin to pound.

There was something about that green car....

An officer approached her. “Hey, you look really pale. Do you need to sit down? Do you need an ambulance?”

She felt Max take her arm and lead her away from the cop to the curb, where he helped her sit. “Take a minute and get your breath.”

She looked up at him. “I think I know who hit us.”

“You saw the driver?” Max asked.

“No. But I saw the car.”

His eyes narrowed. “And you recognized it?”

“Maybe.”

“Who does it belong to?”

“Well, I didn’t get a good look, but I’m pretty sure it was my brother Peter’s.”

FIVE

Erica waited while Max shared all the information he could with the officers and they promised to get a BOLO—a Be On the Lookout—on the vehicle and find Peter for questioning. He looked at Erica, who had risen from the curb to pace. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“I think we need to find Peter.”

“The cops are going to be looking for him.”

“I know. Which is why I want to find him first.”

“Where do you think he is?”

She sighed. “He has a job doing construction. When he’s sober, he’s working but it’s a different job every week. But if that was him in the car...”

“You want to try his house first?”

“Okay.”

“Then let me tell the officers we’re leaving and we’ll head over to see if Peter’s at home. I’m pretty sure my truck is drivable.”

She nodded. “I’ll see if I can reach him on his phone. Depends on if he has any minutes or not.”

While she tried Peter, Max let the officers know they were leaving and to contact him if they needed anything else.

As they drove, Erica tried Peter again. “He’s not answering his phone. Who knows where he is?” She chewed her bottom lip.

“We’ll find him.” He glanced at her. “You’re going to be sore. You really flew into that seat belt.”

“I’ll be all right. I’ll take something if I need to.”

They rode in silence for the first few minutes then he asked, “So how do you fit in?”

She blinked at the out-of-the-blue question. “What do you mean?”

“With your company. You told me all about everyone who works there. What about you?”

Erica sorted through what to tell him, then decided to just lay it out there. “After Molly disappeared, I spent all my money trying to find her. At least all the money I could get my hands on. My husband...” She gave a heavy sigh. “My marriage fell apart. We tried counseling, but by that time...” She waved a hand. “Anyway, I just couldn’t give up on finding Molly. I had to be doing something, not just waiting for the phone to ring. So I picked the career that would allow me to do that. I became a skip tracer and I specialize in finding missing children.”

“While you keep searching for Molly.”

“Yes.” She pointed. “Turn here.”

Max turned into Peter’s subdivision and followed her directions until she motioned to the one-story house on the corner. “It’s nice.”

Her lips quirked into a wry smile at his surprise. Junkies didn’t usually have nice places to sleep. “I pay for someone to do the yard each week. I don’t want the neighbors complaining.” She frowned. “I don’t recognize the car at the curb.”

Max had noticed the black Mustang, too.

“He may have company.” She hesitated. “Inside is pretty bad most of the time. Every once in a while I’ll come over to check on him and clean up some. It’s been a week since I’ve been here so no guarantees about what it looks like in there.”

He nodded. “I’ve seen worse, I’m sure.”

She knocked on the door and waited. Then knocked again.

* * *

Max was ready to concede Peter wasn’t home when the lock clicked. The door swung open and Peter stood there blinking in the sunlight, unshaven and offensive to Max’s nose.

Erica acted as though she didn’t notice. “May we come in?”

“Why?”

Impatience tightened her features. “Because we need to talk to you before the cops get here.”

That seemed to wake him up a bit. “Cops? Why’d you call them? I thought all that was straightened out last night. I just needed some cash.”

“For a hit.” Erica glared at him. “Looks like you found some.”

Pain flashed in his eyes for a brief moment then a silly smile crossed his dry, cracked lips. “Yeah. I did. Polo hooked me up. He’s got this friend named Sandy—”

Erica pushed her way inside. Peter stopped his explanation and didn’t protest, so Max kept his mouth shut and followed.

And wished he’d volunteered to wait outside.

Body odor and spoiled food assaulted his nose. Erica gagged and walked into the kitchen to the right. She shook her head and came back into the tiny foyer. “I’m not going to lecture.”

“Good. ’Cuz I’m not going to listen.”

Polo stumbled from the rear of the house. “Who is it?”

Peter sighed and rubbed his bleary eyes. “My sister and her friend. Let me take care of this.”

Polo eyed Erica. Then his gaze slid to Max. “She belong to you?”

“Yeah,” Max said before Erica could answer. He stared Polo down until the man gave a short nod.

“Bummer.” He looked at Peter. “Get ’em outta here. We got business.”

“Cops are on the way. You better vanish. Business can wait.”

With a glare at Erica and Max, Polo slipped out of the house. Within seconds, they heard the roar of the motor and the squeal of tires as he pulled away from the curb. Erica looked at Peter. “Were you at the corner of Henry and East Main earlier today? Like about an hour and a half ago?”

Peter squinted. “No, man. I was asleep. I haven’t left the house since I got home from Sandy’s.”

Knowing junkies sometimes got their facts skewed, Max asked, “What time was that?”

A shrug. “I don’t remember. Probably around eight o’clock this morning.”

“And you didn’t leave again?”

“I said no.”

“When did your friend show up?”

“About ten minutes before you did. He woke me up.”

“Where’s your car?”

He gave her a puzzled look. “In the garage where I always keep it when I’m not using it. What’s with the third degree?”

Max said, “Your car sideswiped us this morning.”

“What?” He laughed. “Not possible.” Peter shook his head and walked through the kitchen. He opened a door that probably led to the garage.

And gaped.

He spun. “It’s not there.” He paced to the sink and back to the door again. “Where’s my car?”

“That’s what we want to know,” said Max’s cop buddy from the front door where he stood next to his partner. “Peter Hayes?”

Peter held his hands up. “I wasn’t driving. I swear.”

“Can anyone give you an alibi?”

He swallowed hard. “I was asleep. I didn’t even know my car was missing.”

Chris and Steve exchanged a glance, then looked at Max. “What are you doing here?”

“The same thing you are.”

“We got the hit-and-run you called in.”

Max gestured to Erica. “She recognized the car.”

“But he wasn’t driving it?”

Erica shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“I wasn’t!” Peter said. “I want to report a stolen car.” He ran a hand through his greasy hair. “I can’t believe someone stole my car.”

Max snorted as Peter muttered a few more dire threats on the head of the person responsible for the missing vehicle. He looked at Chris. “This the first time this has happened?”

“Yeah. I checked to see if he was a repeat, but he’s not.” Max was surprised. A missing car was a common call from drug addicts. They often loaned their vehicle to their addict friends and when the friend didn’t bring it back, they filed a stolen vehicle report.

Erica managed to calm her brother down enough to sit on the sagging couch.

Chris pulled out his notebook and said, “Tell me, in detail, where you were this morning and who would have taken your car?”

“I don’t know! That’s why you’re here, right? To find out?”

The man truly looked distressed. Max began to wonder if he wasn’t telling the truth.

Chris continued. “Who has the keys?”

“The keys were probably in it,” Peter mumbled.

“Uh-huh. And what crackhead did you loan it to?”

“I didn’t loan it to anyone.” Peter sighed and ran a dirty hand through his greasy hair. Max saw Erica wince and turn her face from the man’s odor.

“All right, give me the description of the vehicle, the tag number, make and model, color and all that.”

As Peter provided the information, Erica massaged her sore shoulder, and Max said, “Come on. We can’t do anything else here. Let’s get you some Ibuprofen then we can head to my house and I’ll show you Lydia’s room.”

They left Peter to fill out his stolen car report and to retell his story to the officers. Max wondered if they’d believe him, but as of right now, they didn’t have any proof to refute the story. Max knew Chris and Steve would continue to investigate the accident. He just hoped for Erica’s sake that her brother wasn’t lying.

Erica looked at the modest brick two-story from Max’s driveway. “Very nice.”

“I bought this house about four years ago.” Pride echoed in his words. “I’d never owned anything in my life. I lived mostly in apartments while trying to go to school and just keep my head above water financially, but when I decided to get custody of Lydia, I wanted someplace special to bring her.”

Together they walked toward his front door. Erica couldn’t help a glance over her shoulder, wondering at her feeling of being watched. She forced herself to brush it aside. Once inside the house, her uneasiness disappeared and she gasped in delight. “It’s beautiful. Did you decorate this yourself?”

A flush crept up into Max’s cheeks. “Well, I did the woodwork, the molding and the painting. A friend of mine helped me out with the decorating aspect.”

A friend? Erica couldn’t help wondering if that friend was more than just a “friend.” A little dart of jealousy shot through her and she stood still, shocked by the feeling. Not wanting to dwell on it, she turned back to admiring his home. Shiny hardwood floors made her pause. “Should I take off my shoes?”

He laughed. “No. You’re fine.”

A simple, classy chandelier hung overhead. Stainless steel appliances and granite graced the kitchen to the right. “It’s truly lovely.”

He motioned toward the steps. “Lydia’s room is upstairs.”

Erica followed him up the steps, her fingers trailing over the banister. At the top, he turned left and entered the first room on the right. Erica stepped inside and was once again impressed. “I can’t believe she didn’t want to stay here. It’s charming, but simple enough she could put her own stamp on it if she wanted to.”

Max gave her a warm yet sad smile. “Yeah, well, I’m still not her favorite person so—” He shrugged, and she could tell his heart was heavy.

She laid a hand on his arm. “Maybe she’ll come around soon.”

“Maybe.”

Even though she felt sorry for Max and the angst his sister was putting him through, she still couldn’t get past the fact that the evidence pointed to Lydia’s guilt. She removed her hand.

“What if she’s staying away because she’s guilty and she’s afraid you’ll turn her in to the cops?”

He sighed and dropped his head. “It’s more likely that she’s staying away because she believes that I think she’s guilty. That’s one of the reasons I have to find her. I have to convince her that I believe in her.”

“Do you have to convince her? Or yourself?”

Max stared at her. “You’ve already got her tried and convicted.”

“And you’ve bypassed the evidence and are letting your emotions get in the way.”

Max held up a hand. “We’ve agreed to disagree. Can we please not argue about it?”

Erica sighed and looked at the closet. “May I?”

“Sure.”

She opened the door and saw a few outfits and several shoe boxes lined up on the shelf. She went through them, hoping to find anything that might lead her to Lydia. Disappointment spiked when she only found shoes that would appeal to a young woman. “Did you buy this stuff for her?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve got good taste.”

He gave a short laugh and pulled open the top drawer of the dresser. “I’ve searched her room each time she’s stayed and never found anything.” He rummaged through the next drawer. “I think she figured I’d search and just didn’t bother bringing anything here.”

Erica planted her hands on her hips. “You could have told me that.”

His sad smile speared her. “You needed to see for yourself.”

He was right. She gave a slight nod of acknowledgment, and they finished the search together in silence.

They came up empty.

Erica ran a weary hand over her face. “Well, it was worth a try. Thanks for letting me look.” She thought for a moment then said, “Do you have time to go to Bea Harrison’s house?”

He glanced at his watch. “I can call her and see if she’s home.”

“That would be great.”

As Max called, Erica stepped outside in the chilly afternoon air.

From the corner of her eye, Erica noticed a green car rolling down the street. “Max, I think that’s my brother’s—”

A gunshot cracked and wood from the porch roof rained down on them.

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