Wainscott, Tina - Now You See Me

PRAISE FOR NOW YOU SEE ME

“Tina Wainscott always delivers an exciting novel with engaging characters and a great warmth. I love to curl up with anything she writes!”

—New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham

UNFORGIVABLE

“UNFORGIVABLE is a truly great read! Wainscott creates finely honed tension in a first-rate thriller where no one is who they seem and everyone is someone to fear. Don’t miss it!”

— Lisa Gardner, New York Times bestselling author of The Third Victim

“UNFORGIVABLE is unforgettable, a rich, dark tapestry of good and evil—and the threads that bind them together. Excellent suspense; it literally kept me up all night reading.”

— Kay Hooper, author of Touching Evil

“Tina Wainscott kicks off her foray into the suspense genre in a very big way. UNFORGIVABLE is gripping, gritty and quite terrifying.”

— Romantic Times (Top Pick)

“How Mary Higgins Clark used to write… I will be keeping a sharp eye on this author!”

—Detra Fitch, Huntress Reviews

“Tina Wainscott delivers hard-hitting suspense with a touch of romance. With each turn of the page, the plot moves in surprising directions. The characters are finely crafted and complexly layered—nothing is as it seems. Be warned, this is not a story for the faint of heart; Wainscott’s writing is often brutally direct and forthright. UNFORGIVABLE is unforgettable, romantic suspense of chilling intensity. Readers who appreciate well-written thrillers will enjoy this book.”

— Megan Kopp, Romance Reviews Today

“Ms. Wainscott shows another side of her true talent as a writer… [The] suspense… grabs the reader from the very beginning and keeps the reader hooked until the very last page… I look forward to Ms. Wainscott’s next mystery.”

—Interludes Reviews

More…

BACK IN BABY’S ARMS

“Ms. Wainscott sure knows how to add depth to her characters… The whiff of paranormal aspects, the passion, and the assorted conflicts within BACK IN BABY’S ARMS [are] what make Ms. Wainscott a favorite with both contemporary and paranormal fans.”

— Rendezvous

“BACK IN BABY’S ARMS is a story of rebirth and renewal___It is a tightly woven, very readable story… The suspense… makes this book a real page-turner.”

— HeartRate

A TRICK OF LIGHT

‘Tina Wainscott is back and in a big way. A TRICK OF LIGHT is suspenseful, poignant, and gripping. A great read.“

— Romantic Times

“Wainscott delivers an unusual and satisfying romance with a supernatural twist.” — Publishers Weekly

“A five-star reading experience to savor… unforgettable!”

— The Belles and Beaux of Romance

“Ms. Wainscott has done a great job and has written one for your keeper shelf.”

— Old Book Barn Gazette

“Fans of paranormal romances will feel they are on the way to heaven reading Tina Wainscott’s latest winner… Wainscott makes the unbelievable feel real and right in such an exciting manner that her audience will want her next novel to be published tomorrow.”

— Affaire de Coeur

“Quintessential romantic suspense. Wainscott, an award-winning author, knows how to keep her story moving and the sexual tension flowing… a book that will speak to both the primary fear of all parents and the hearts of all readers.”

— Once A Warrior Review

“Remarkable… one of the most touching love stories I’ve read in a while… this is truly a 5-star!”

—ADC’s Five Star Reads

IN A HEARTBEAT

“Contemporary romance with an intriguing twist. A pleasure for fans of romantic suspense.”

— Deb Smith, New York Times bestselling author

“Wainscott… makes the impossible possible.‘’

— Harriet Klausner

“Tina Wainscott has her finger firmly on the pulse of the romance genre, and with IN A HEARTBEAT she catapults to the top of her peers…run, don’t walk, to the nearest bookstore to buy this novel, which could possibly be the best contemporary of the year.”

— Under the Covers

SECOND TIME AROUND

“Ms. Wainscott has a talent for making unusual situations believable… bravo!”

— Rendezvous

“A fabulous romantic suspense drama that melts readers’ hearts… SECOND TIME AROUND is worth reading the first time around, the second time around, and the nth time around.”

— Affaire de Coeur

“A must-read… a well-written, romantic, feel-good story.”

— Gothic Journal

To Denise, Anastasia, and all of the Simonds family: Your courage and optimism are inspiring. Denise, you are one special lady.

This book is also dedicated to Jennifer Weis, who bought my very first book and continues to support my addiction to writing. To Joanna Jacobs, intrepid assistant editor. To Ellen Levine, for taking that extra step on my behalf that made all the difference. To Matthew Shear, for not only being a great guy but also being a great listener. To Jennifer Enderlin, for her enthusiasm (and hey, is there a St. Martin’s book that isn’t dedicated to her?). To Linda Price, for her input over the. years. And to everyone at St. Martin’s Press, who make writing a pleasure.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My eternal gratitude to Joe Agresti, who tirelessly answered E-mails about law enforcement. His patience was as appreciated as his knowledge, and both made writing this book much easier. However, if I’ve tiptoed across the line of literary license, Joe is entirely innocent.

Many thanks to Dr. A. Chaudhuri at the University of Glasgow for answering an unsolicited E-mail from across the pond. Chaudhuri’s information on conversion disorder was extremely helpful and insightful.

My sincere thanks to Pam Kraft, who went above and beyond, and to Ed Rimshaw for his particular kind of expertise.

CHAPTER 1

He watched her weaving in and around the stacks of Lego sets. She had long brown hair and brown eyes. He figured her to be about seven. Yes, she was just right. He’d been waiting for her since the store opened, waiting for the right girl to come through. Now he only had to wait for the right opportunity.

Her mother was engaged in a conversation with another woman, though she darted occasional glances toward her daughter. The toy store was in typical pre-Christmas madness. That always worked in his favor. Cheery music filled the air, kids were preoccupied with the toys, and their parents were preoccupied with their shopping lists.

“We’re not buying anything today. You’re supposed to be making a list for Santa.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Then stop talking to everyone and let’s make a list,” she said with exasperation.

“Don’t be rude, young lady.” The mother turned back to her friend. “So anyway…”

Clearly bored, the girl quickly became entranced by a metallic pink VW Bug that zipped by her. It stopped, turned around, and bumped into her white sneaker. She looked for the source of the car’s control but was distracted when it turned and careened down the aisle. She followed, crouching down for a better look. The car headed into an adjacent room filled with tall stacks of boxes and kids playing with remote control cars, tanks, and trucks.

Her mother glanced her way. “Phaedra, stay close.” She shifted back to her friend. “So Marilyn tells me that I was supposed to drive the kids to ballet that week when she volunteered to do it. And you know what she has the nerve to tell me?”

“Mom, can I go into the remote control room?” Phaedra asked, glancing where the car had disappeared.

Her mother didn’t even look at Phaedra. “No, stay here, honey. I’ll only be a couple more minutes.”

The woman went back to her conversation, peppered with dramatic gestures and sounds of annoyance. She should be more careful. There were all kinds of predators out there, sick men who got their thrills from molesting children. His gloved fingers tightened on the control box so hard, he heard the plastic start to crack. He eased up.

Phaedra sighed in boredom. Her mother kept talking with no sign of ending the conversation. Phaedra walked into the room to look for the Bug. It teased her, zipping past her and heading toward the employees only door. She tried to grab it, but it jumped out of her grasp.

The car bumped into his shiny black shoe just as she caught it. She looked up at him—and smiled.

“Would you like to meet Santa Claus?” he asked, putting his hand on the door.

The Bug lifted up on its rear wheels at his command. “Would you like this car?”

She gave him an angelic grin, and her eyes sparkled as she took in the car. “Yeah.”

He put his finger over his mouth and nodded toward the kids playing with the cars in the room. “Don’t tell anyone.” No one was paying attention to the guy in the gray maintenance uniform and cap pulled down low. “Santa’s getting ready to leave, but he’ll give you a car to take home.”

He pushed open the door and glanced in the storage room. It was crammed with boxes of merchandise. The Santa suit was hanging on the edge of a shelf, the sleeve making it look like Santa was standing just behind the last shelving unit. “Follow me.”

CHAPTER 2

Olivia Howe was having a hell of a time getting into the Christmas spirit even though she was surrounded by the music, crinkle of bags, and crowds doing their shopping. She refused to attribute her lack of Christmas mood to what had happened sixteen years ago. Sixteen years ago today.

She pushed away the thought and concentrated on her environment. The Waterfront area was crowded for midweek. No surprise since it was five days before Christmas and high season in the Florida coastal town. Palomera was trying to compete with nearby Sarasota to draw in both tourists and new residents. As Palomera grew, so did the crime rate, something Olivia wasn’t pleased to hear. Growth was a frequent topic of debate on the news. The increase of construction had brought an influx of transient workers. Olivia was glad she lived in the insular Waterfront area—except during the season when everyone flocked to the upscale shopping area. People especially loved the Waterfront’s mix of quaint shops, cafes, office buildings, and apartments all laid out along a slice of water that led to the Gulf of Mexico.

She felt arms brush against her, everyone in a hurry. She knew this route well enough to manage it on her own, though Anastasia steered her around obstacles such as people not paying attention to where they were going or cafe tables in the foot traffic path. People commented on Stasia’s gentle beauty, but her looks didn’t matter. What did matter was her silky fur, her velvety tongue that gave Olivia loving kisses, and Stasia’s devotion. Stasia wasn’t only an Australian shepherd, wasn’t only her guide dog; she was her best friend.

Olivia sensed the alley between her building and the next by the hollow echo of her footsteps. The rich scent of coffee then signaled she was at the end of that building. Another alley echoed to her left, and then the used CD store pumping the Beatles into the crisp afternoon signaled she was nearly at the Edgewater. The scent of popcorn drifted from the twenty-theater complex situated in the circular building with a courtyard in the middle. When she had moved back to Palomera last year from Columbus, Ohio, she had made a point to learn the layout of the stores near her apartment. Now she followed the map in her mind.

Stasia stopped at the intersection, though Olivia could tell by the sound of traffic that it wasn’t safe to cross. When the light changed, Stasia weaved through the oncoming people. Once they were on the other side of the divided highway, she waited for an indication of direction. Olivia turned left.

The buildings here were mostly high-end stores and novelty boutiques. In December, Toyland turned their front entrance into a Christmas wonderland, or so she’d heard. It sure sounded like something special from the squeals of the children, the mechanical drone of animated characters, and the classic holiday music that flowed from speakers. It had been a long time since she’d seen the singular beauty of an ornament sparkling from the lush green of a tree. It had been a long time since she’d seen much of anything, but she could still imagine imitation snowmen and sparkling lights. She tried to remember when Christmas meant innocent fun in a safe world, before…

People continued to brush by her, some murmuring an apology. The cool breeze that blew her long hair into her face held hints of fresh perfume, coats permeated with stale cigarette smoke, and baking bread from the grocery store beyond.

The jaunty “Here Comes Santa Claus” punctuated the distance she felt from the world. Children laughed; people continued on to wherever they were going; others talked about their enormous gift lists as they wearily headed toward the melee inside the store. Olivia felt as though she were floating through the world in a bubble.

Olivia knelt down and looked in the girl’s direction. “You can pet Stasia. She loves children. Only pet a guide dog if you get permission first, though.”

“She’s beautiful,” Kinsey said with awe in her voice. Her hand brushed Olivia’s hand as she stroked Stasia.

Seven years old. When the world was grand and benign. What would be the defining event that would shatter Kinsey’s belief? It had to happen. Olivia hoped not in the way it had happened to her.

“Does she take you where you want to go? Like if you wanted to go to McDonald’s, would you just tell her that and she’d take you there?”

“Kinsey, get away from the dog!” the mother said, and Olivia could hear the child being yanked away. Kinsey’s whines followed her down the sidewalk.

Warmth flooded Olivia’s face as she reassured Stasia with loving strokes. “It wasn’t you,” she whispered. “It was me.”

Did she look so different? Did her inability to make eye contact create that much of a wall around her? Was it her blindness that made people shy away, or did they sense her difference went much deeper? Could they see that her life had been touched by trauma? Did they sense the strangeness the trauma had left behind?

There were things about being blind she would never get used to. She didn’t mind the loss of some of her independence, or even the devices that made living independently easier. She hated working so hard to remember what the world looked like and the fear that if she didn’t, everything she’d ever known would disappear and leave her in a black void. She missed books and movies and sunsets. She hated the wall her blindness erected between her and the world. She hated that most of all.

Stasia licked Olivia’s chin, bringing her out of her thoughts. Olivia pushed to her feet and hoped the dull ache in her chest wouldn’t linger as long as it sometimes did after she’d been snubbed. Don’t go over, Kinsey. That’s a Seeing Eye dog. The lady ‘$ blind. There’s something wrong with her. If you stand too close, it might rub off on you. Some of that tragedy or strangeness might taint you. Get away from her now.

They continued on to the bookshop two stores past Toy-land. Books made great gifts, particularly for people she didn’t know well. Unfortunately, the few people in her life fell into that category. The one person she was close to didn’t always remember who she was. Alzheimer’s was eating away her father’s memory like acid, layer by layer.

As she headed toward the store’s entrance, she heard her name. She jumped when a hand touched her shoulder. Her heart didn’t stop racing when she recognized his Polo cologne.

OK, she could scream if she needed help. Someone would help her… right? “Terry, you’re not supposed to be here.”

.His hand tightened on her shoulder. He kept his voice low enough so that only she could hear it. “You can’t just push me away like this.”

“It’s not over, Olivia. I’m trying to give you space, but it’s hard.” She heard his rushed inhalation. “It’s damned near impossible. And now you’ve gone too far. A restraining order, for God’s sake?”

Her throat tightened. “I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t know what else to do. Please, Terry, leave me alone. Don’t hang around in the hallway outside my door. Don’t even come to my building. I’m… I’m not who you think I am.” She turned away from him so fast, she bumped right into someone. “I’m sorry,” she said, to both that someone and Terry. She had to take some of the blame. Probably she deserved every bit of agony he was now putting her through. That didn’t make it any easier to handle.

Olivia walked into the bookstore, relieved that he hadn’t seemed to have followed her. The aroma of cinnamon-dusted cappuccino floated from the cafe on the right. Children ah’ed and ooh’ed over Stasia, and their mothers ushered them along in voices strained with impatience. She didn’t even look in their direction.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” a young man asked. He’d recently had coffee and a cigarette.

“I’m looking for a book on Salvador Dali, something an admirer wouldn’t already have.” She’d heard Sebastian talk endlessly about melting clocks and warped women and thought he’d enjoy a book on the artist.

“Ah, I think we have exactly what you want. We just got a perspective on Dali’s sexuality and possible psychoses. Some of the girls were giggling about it when it came in. Follow me.” He faltered. “Do I… Should I… ?”

She reached for his arm. “Lead the way,” she said with a smile, hearing his quick breath of relief. An awkward moment averted.

He led her through the store, Stasia heeled close at Olivia’s side. Olivia lifted her head and inhaled the comforting smell of paper, binding, and wood shelving. She pictured bookcases finished in rich, dark varnish and all those colorful book covers inviting her to peek inside. She missed going to bookstores and libraries and searching for literary treasures.

“It must be wonderful to work in a bookstore,” she said. “I can imagine the neat obscure titles you come across while stocking and rearranging.”

Didn’t read? But he could read! She wanted to shake him. You can pick any book you want. You aren’t limited to the titles available on Braille or tape. She had escaped into books since she could read. Her father teased her about how much time she spent curled up in the window seat with a book. He forgot that there weren’t many children in their gated neighborhood. Newgate Manor was populated with people who had already sent their children off into the world. Most of her parents’ contemporaries had had grandchildren.

“Forensic science. Kinda morbid, huh?” he said at the same time that she said, “Not really. Someone’s got to do it, right?”

She’d had those kinds of guesses for as long as she could remember: guesses, hunches, feelings about things, blessing people before they’d sneezed and responding to questions before they’d been asked. Olivia’s grandmother Dorothea had been delighted that she’d inherited her “gift.” Olivia’s mother had felt much differently about it. So had many others in her life. There was a time when a slip like the one she’d just had would have mortified her. Nowadays she just downplayed it and let it go.

They came to a stop somewhere in the rear of the store, she guessed. “We have two books that might suit you, actually. You can look…” He gave a nervous laugh as he pressed the book into her hands. “Uh…”

“Tell me what’s in it.” She gave him a reassuring smile. He obviously hadn’t dealt with many blind people. She, on the other hand, had plenty of experience.

He described the number of pages and quality of color pictures inside and then gave her an overview of the second book.

“I’ll take the first book.” She suspected Sebastian would appreciate the sexual aspect.

She’d already bought something for her friend Judy, and she’d made a painting for her father. The rest of her family were so distant, both geographically and relationship-wise, they didn’t warrant shopping for. “That should do it.”

This time he easily placed her hand on his arm and guided the way to the sound of beeping registers.

“Here’s the line,” he said, coming to a stop and releasing her. “Shouldn’t be long.”

She expected him to leave, but he remained close by. “Line’s moved up,” he said a minute later, guiding her two steps forward.

Her mind searched for anything else she might need while she was in the bookstore. Not out of practicality, she realized, but a desire to continue this pleasant exchange with the young man. A connection, even though he was paid to be pleasant. There were people who would be surprised at her need to reach out. But this young man was safe to reach out to.

She pressed her watch. “Eleven-o-three,” the computer tone said. It would be getting even busier soon.

“How do you pay for stuff?” he asked, and then hastily added, “I’m sorry. I was just curious. Was that a rude question?”

“But with money… how do you know what’s a five-dollar bill versus a one-dollar bill? With change it’s easy to tell the difference, but I always wondered how blind people managed with cash.”

“I have a contact at the bank who folds my bills for me. Fives are folded in half, tens are in quarters, twenties in thirds, and ones aren’t folded at all. I never carry anything larger than a twenty. There are machines that read money and tell you what denomination it is, though this way is simpler.”

She grimaced at the word ma ‘am even though she knew he was only being polite. Twenty-four was too young to be called ma’am. “Thanks for your help,” she said as the cashier rang up the book.

Just as Olivia signed her credit card slip, a trill of alarm shot through her. She knew this feeling, yet it was stronger this time. So strong, it overwhelmed her. She gasped and drooped against the counter. The pen hit the floor with a clatter.

Alarm seized her again, this time accompanied by jarring images: a storage room, the flash of a man’s face, a sign over a door. She heard someone say, “He’s got her. Oh, God, he’s got her,” and only a few seconds later realized it was she who had said the words.

Fear, panic, and an awful smell rushed through her senses before everything went black. She struggled for breath as pain stabbed her temples. Stasia put her paws on Olivia’s legs. The pain slowly receded, allowing voices through the fog.

Her helper touched her shoulder and said, “Maybe you’d better sit down. Sometimes the holiday crowds get to peo-ple.”

A cold sweat covered her skin as it always did when she was hit by a vision. But this was different. Why was it coming at her without her being involved in the child’s story?

She reached out for his arm. “Tad, get me out of here. I have to get to the toy store!”

The sign over the door had read: “Toyland Emergency Exit. Alarm will sound if door is opened.” The images were always so rapid, all she got were erratic flashes.

Her legs were rubbery, but she’d have to manage. “Just point us to the door.”

The outside air chilled the perspiration on her skin. She rushed Stasia toward Toyland, where the upbeat “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” was at odds with the residual panic flowing through her. The electronic doors slid open, letting out a wave of warm air and people carrying crinkling bags. Olivia pushed her way inside.

“Somebody help me! Is there a security guard here?” her shrill voice called out.

She felt a strong hand on her arm as a man said, “I’m security. What’s the problem?”

“The missing girl, she’s in a back room, maybe a storage room. There’s an exit door. Please, find her before he gets her out of the store!”

The second of silence unnerved her as much as her own panic, and then he said, “What missing girl?”

No missing girl? She couldn’t be wrong, not when the feeling was this strong. Especially when it was so out of the blue. She clutched his arm. “Maybe the girl hasn’t been reported missing yet. Go to your storage room! Please, you have to believe me. He’s taking her right now!”

“I’m talking about a girl who’s being kidnapped right now! You’ve got to get to the back of the store!”

Instead, the two men led her out the front door. “Is there someone we can call for you? A caretaker? Doctor?”

“I’m not crazy! I… see things. I’m psychic. I saw somebody grabbing the girl, putting a rag over her mouth. Chloroform,” she realized with dread. She could still taste it, even after all these years. “Go around to the back of the building; check out your storage rooms. If she’s not there, you can call me crazy.”

“Look, lady, we don’t have time for this. We got two hundred people in that store, and half of ‘em want to take something that don’t belong to them. If you don’t leave the premises immediately, we’ll have to call the police.”

“Yes, call the police!” She didn’t need to be there when they came. She didn’t want to deal with cops. They’d ask questions and think she was even crazier. “Tell them to come right away!”

She broke down into tears as she backed away from the store. “Somebody, please… anybody, look behind the store. Don’t let him take her.”

People’s voices faded as they moved farther away from her. No one would believe her; no one would look.

Could she have the wrong store? “Forward, Stasia,” she said. Maybe it was a Toyland in another city. She had to get home and listen to the news, see if she could pick up anything else.

It’s already too late to save the girl from being taken. But not too late to help her get rescued.

Detective Max Callahan eyed the empty coffeepot. He was always the lucky stiff who got to make it. He maneuvered around in a break room so small, it had obviously once been a closet. While the coffee percolated, he grabbed a stale doughnut from the box and took a bite.

“Ah, you’re back,” he said as Detective Sam O’Reilly walked in. He dumped the remainder in the trash.

Sam pulled out the pot and poured himself a cup. The coffee kept brewing, jumping and sizzling on the burner. He seemed oblivious, topping off Max’s mug before returning the pot to the maker.

Sam dumped way too much sugar into his mug and drank it without stirring it. He came back from whatever faraway place he’d been in when he saw Max staring at him. “What?” Sam had been lost in his thoughts a lot lately.

Sam knew Max’s brown hair was genetically predisposed to the mussed look, so Max figured he didn’t want to talk about whatever had his attention. Max said, “Don’t forget poker game’s at my place tonight.”

Max, Sam, Mathers, and Graham tried to get together for a game once a week. Betting currency consisted of Bud-weiser, Miller Genuine Draft, and whatever exotic beer Nick Mathers had recently added to his collection. Max was the youngest of the group by over twenty-five years. Tom Graham was the most recent addition to the group, a bit of a hothead who hated to lose and accused someone of cheating at least once a night. The original three had a side pot going on when the guy would crack a smile. He didn’t even groan at Detective John Holland’s bad jokes.

Sam said, “Ran into the director of Big Brothers/Big Sisters yesterday. She said they really miss you playing Santa Claus, that you were the best Santa they’ve ever had. Mathers didn’t cut it last year. They got somebody else to do it this year.”

“I didn’t have time.” Max had told himself that his mind was made up, that he’d never wear the costume again. But after the director had called three weeks ago he’d found himself in the station’s storage room looking for the suit. The empty box made it easy for Max to walk away. “You should have done it. You’re the all-American guy here.”

Sam should have been a screen star, with his silvery-blond good looks, bright blue eyes, and just the right amount of unshaven shadow. Sam had been a confirmed bachelor in his forties until meeting and marrying Annie, a woman fifteen years his junior. A year later, Annie had gotten pregnant.

“That’d make it too easy for you, me doing it. All right, forget Santa. Petey’s party is this weekend. You’re going to come this year, aren’t you? You used to be like an uncle to him, you know.”

Sam followed him into the large room crammed with desks, people, and noise. Max had learned long ago to tune it all out. Someone’s radio was playing Christmas music. Red and silver tinsel decorated the walls in crooked waves, and the faded tree in the corner drooped under the weight of plastic ornaments. For a few years, while his daughter had been alive, he’d been able to enjoy Christmases again.

The box wrapped in silver paper blocked the walkway that separated his desk from the far wall. Max could hardly get his arms around the box as he handed it to Sam, who stood holding his cup and not twitching a finger to take it. After an awkward minute, Max set it on the floor again. “It’s one of those motorcycles for kids. You know, with a motor, battery, and all.”

Sam eyed the box with contempt. “This don’t mean squat if you’re skipping out on his party again. I made excuses for you the last two years, man. I’m not doing it again. You tell him why you can’t drag your sorry ass to his party this time.”

Max settled against the edge of his desk. He wanted to tell Sam to shove the box and his words into a really tight space. “Look, my days as Superman are over.”

“No one said you have to be a damned superhero. He’s too old for costumes anyway. Just come as yourself.”

“Myself,” he said in a low voice. He pushed the box closer to Sam with the toe of his shoe and muttered, “Whoever the hell that is.”

“You’re an ass, is what you are. You say you don’t want to do the superhero thing, yet you always buy him the biggest, most expensive present.”

Max imagined the party, the kids playing in the small yard, balloons tied to the chair at the end of a long table covered with bright paper. He could see Petey with his curly brown hair and blue eyes, a mirror image of his mother. Max’s daughter, Ashley, was there, too, teasing Petey like she always did. The flirting kind of cat-and-mouse games kids play when they’re too young to know what it really means. Hell, even in his early twenties Max had been too young to know what it meant.

He bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the burning pain in his chest at the memory of his daughter. “Maybe I’ll come by.”

Max started to say yes, but the thought of that party without Ashley tore at his gut. “No.”

Max shoved himself to his feet. Between gritted teeth, he said, “I didn’t love them enough.”

“You’re a coward, Callahan,” Sam muttered. “You might as well climb in the grave with them and get it over with.” When Sam spotted Huntington striding to his office, he gave Max a disappointed shake of his head and walked over.

With a shudder, he closed the box those memories were packed in and cursed the man who, even in death, wouldn’t let him go. He rubbed his hand down his face and then glanced around to see if anyone had been listening to their conversation. Everyone was busy with their own business, their own causes.

Every case had been a cause for him once. He’d been reprimanded many a time for what his superiors had called his pit bull tactics. But he’d had the highest case closure rate back then, and they sure hadn’t complained about that. Maybe he was no longer that brave cop who had once traded himself for a hostage and put himself in the hands of a cop killer. But he wasn’t a coward, either. That left him somewhere in between, just short of nowhere, the way he figured it.

He dropped down into his squeaky chair and pulled the file for one of his current cases. Mundane crap was all they gave him now. Prostitute, transient, and drug-related murders. Nothing too heavy. That was OK with him. After the Stevens kidnapping case, that was all he was up to anymore. He didn’t want another case that would suck him in, chew him up, and spit him out in pieces. The Stevens case had done more than that—it had destroyed his life.

Max settled in with the murder conspiracy case he’d been trying to crack. Two business partners, a buttload of money, and just enough temptation to push one of them over the edge to murder.

A few minutes later, Huntington’s voice boomed through the cacophony, “Callahan, in here!”

When the lieutenant called, there wasn’t an officer in the place who’d linger a second before responding. It wasn’t because Basil Huntington was tall or imposing. With his receding hairline and a nose so large, it dominated his face, he looked like he belonged behind the desk at a bank. He had a gap between his front teeth, and those rare times when he did smile, his cheeks nearly compressed his eyes shut. His iron command transmitted through his body language, his steely blue eyes, and his expectation that his men would jump. Though the man could be hard as hell, Max appreciated the slack he’d cut him since his life had crashed and burned.

Huntington had transferred to Palomera five years earlier when their lieutenant had retired. Mostly he kept to himself, rarely trading jibes or jokes with his men. That he had never spoken of family and had no pictures on his desk made some of the men wonder if tragedy had befallen him. No one felt comfortable enough to ask.

Sam was standing in front of the desk, and Max took his place next to him and faced the lieutenant. “Yes, sir.”

Huntington pulled a chewed-up pencil out of his mouth. “Seven-year-old girl went missing at Toyland. The store went into lockdown mode, but they haven’t found her yet. I want you and O’Reilly over there.”

For a moment, Max couldn’t speak at all, and then, “Shouldn’t Kilpatrick be working this case?” He had taken Max’s place as the station’s hotshot.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” He went back to his paperwork, dismissing Max and any further protest he might have by humming a lethargic version of the usually cheery “Jingle Bells.”

This wasn’t going to be like the other case. The girl was hiding somewhere, that was all. And if she wasn’t…

“Let’s find her,” Max said to Sam as they headed out into the sunny, cool morning.

Two hours later, Toyland was in a state of what Max considered organized chaos—the same way his stomach felt. Uniformed police officers had cleared the store of customers and were now questioning employees. Other uniforms were scouting the area for witnesses. There was no getting around it: the girl had been abducted. The media was camped out front waiting for any nugget they could broadcast. They’d been given enough details to run a story in hopes that someone would recognize Phaedra. They, of course, wanted more.

Earlier, Sam had been in an upstairs office with Flora Burns, mother of the missing girl, and her husband, Pat. Her wails had scraped at the edges of Max’s nerves. He knew that depth of agony too well. After getting a statement, Sam had walked them out and then returned to the upstairs office to help ready the security videotapes. Max worked with the crime scene investigators as they went over every square inch of the storage room until a uniform had called him out to talk to the security guards posted at the front door.

“Like I was telling that other officer, the only person out of the ordinary was a woman who came to the front doors acting kind of crazy,” one of the guards said. He looked more like a bouncer at a bar with his buzz cut and brawny looks. “She was all upset, saying the missing girl was in the back room. Said she saw someone putting a chloroform rag over the girl’s mouth.”

“No. She came from over there somewhere,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the right. “But here’s the weird part: when she told us this, the kid hadn’t been reported missing yet.”

“Wait a minute,” Max said. “Why didn’t you say anything about this before?”

“We did. We told the first guy who was questioning the employees, and he told us to hang tight until you could talk to us.”

Max tamped down his annoyance. “Did she say she’d seen the girl being taken? Like maybe she’d been by the back exit?”

The second guard was stringy; only his scarred face lent him any menace. “I don’t think she could see anything. She looked… blind. She had one of those guide dogs, and her eyes didn’t focus on anything.”

A cold chill snaked down Max’s spine despite the fact that a blind woman wasn’t a good lead. Unless she wasn’t blind or she was trying to create a diversion for someone else to get the girl out of the store. He wasn’t even going to delve into the psychic claim.

“Callahan!” Sam was waving him upstairs. “They have the security video ready.”

Max nodded to the two guards. “Come on up.” He headed up the stairs and met Sam at the top. Max gestured for the guards to stay put and walked into the manager’s office with Sam. “You got anything?”

The grooves running from Sam’s nose to his mouth deepened as he frowned. “Nothing yet. Mrs. Burns had been talking to a friend when Phaedra went into the remote control room.”

Max had interviewed the employees on the first floor while Sam had taken the customers who had been nearby. Max asked, “No one saw anything? None of the other kids in the remote control room even?”

Sam leaned against the desk. “One boy said he saw a man who looked like a maintenance worker in the room but didn’t pay much attention to what he looked like other than he was about my age and wearing a gray uniform. The boy was too entranced by the Super Hot Rod Buggy, which he was able to describe in excruciating detail. Another kid thinks he saw Phaedra Burns chasing one of the cars but didn’t see her leave the room. There were several kids, but they were all too busy playing to notice anything unusual.”

The only other exit out of that room led to a storage area where the suspect apparently lured the girl and then took her outside from there. Exactly where the blind woman said the girl would be.

Sam said, “There isn’t a camera at the back door. They figured with the door wired for the alarm, they didn’t need it. The suspect knew what he was doing. He knew the layout of the store and how to cut the wiring on the door without tripping the alarm.”

Max said, “Could be someone on the inside. An employee or former employee. The manager is pulling all employee records for us now. We’ll start by running background checks, see if anyone has any priors. We’re also pulling the records of all recently convicted child mo-lesters in Palomera. We’ve got Sarasota doing the same, and they’re putting out a bulletin on the girl over there, too. Flyers are being made now, and they’ll be distributed all over the region.”

“Hopefully we’ll see something on the security video,” Sam said as he led the way into a small conference room.

Max waved the guards in, and they gathered around the television with Toyland’s chief of security. Bob Thornton was a tall, thin man whose balding head reflected the overhead fluorescent glare. “We rewound the tape to when the store opened. This is the camera facing the entrance. We have another camera pointed toward people leaving the store.”

Max said, “Fast-forward it to right before lockdown.” He turned to Sam. “There’s something I want you to see.”

Everyone in the room leaned forward as the grainy black-and-white film sped ahead in fast motion.

Max nodded. “We’ve verified that he was upstairs doing his Santa gig when the girl was taken.” He glanced at Thornton. “Keep going.”

… until the woman ran into view. “Stop and rewind a little,” Max said. “This is it.”

The woman approached from the north and gestured cra-zily but unerringly toward the rear of the store. The guards spoke with her, one putting his hand on her arm.

Max said, “This woman came in warning the guards about the missing girl. Get this: before anyone knew she was gone.”

As the guards relayed the woman’s words, Max watched her movements. She had long dark hair that swung with her frantic gestures. He couldn’t see her face clearly, but she looked attractive and well dressed. The woman’s dog, tethered by a harness, had its tail between its legs. The men watched the guards escort the woman outside.

The beefy guard said, “She tried to get someone outside to help her. You have to understand, we just thought she was crazy. Holidays bring that out sometimes. We didn’t know a girl was missing yet. We watched, ready to subdue her if necessary. Then she left.”

The thinner guard said, “A minute later, the girl was reported missing, and the store went into lockdown mode.”

Max watched the woman walk away when no one would help her. “Where did she go?”

Max ran his hand over his face. He turned to the officer who was in the room with them. “OK, let’s get both tapes down to the station and have our people analyze it. Have them look at everyone who came in and match them up with everyone who came out. The one who never came out is our man—or woman. Odds are, the suspect’s a guy and went in alone. I want a print of the woman’s face, as close as we can get. We’ve got to find out who she is.”

An officer knocked on the open door. “Got someone you should talk to.” He brought in a lanky young man wearing a green smock with the bookstore’s logo on it. “Tell them what you just told me.”

“When the cop here asked if we’d seen anything unusual, well, this definitely fell into that category. It’d be kinda cool if she was involved and I had the missing piece that got her.”

“I was helping this blind woman buy a book, and she kind of freaked out at the counter.”

“A blind woman?” Max repeated, getting out of his chair at the same time Sam did. “What’d she look like?”

“Medium height, long dark brown hair. Nice-looking, too, probably in her twenties.”

Sam was already instructing Thornton to put in the tape again. “Is this her?” he asked a moment later.

The kid said, “When she was checking out, she got all weird and slumped against the counter.”

“We were talking about stuff, you know, just normal stuff. I was asking her how she knew what bills were what, that kind of thing. She seemed real nice about it. She had just checked her watch by pressing a button, and it said the time. It was right after eleven, I remember, because I was thinking, cool, it’s only an hour before my lunch break.”

Max and Sam traded looks. She was sounding exactly like a planned distraction, checking the time, getting ready for a rendezvous. Sam asked, “Then what happened?”

“That’s one of the weird things.” The kid made sure he had their attention. “She said, ‘He’s got her. Oh, God, he’s got her.’ Like she was in pain or something. Then she said she had to get to the toy store.” He smiled triumphantly when the officer lifted the bag he’d been holding. “That’s the book she bought. She left it.”

Sam’s mouth tugged into a smile. “Perfect. Smith, run a trace on it and take the security tapes back to the station with you.”

All right, maybe this case wasn’t going to be so hard after all. Then Max remembered something the kid had said. “You said ‘one of the weird things.’ What was the other one?”

“Well, she’s blind, right? Has the dog, had me lead her to the art book section and describe what was in the book. When she was freaking out, wanting me to tell her how to get out of the store… she called me by my name.” He touched the name tag pinned to his apron. “And I’m sure I never told her.”

CHAPTER 3

“Olivia Howe has no criminal past, no fingerprint match in the system, and no driver’s license,” Sam told Max once they’d pulled out of the station a short while later. “She just moved here about a year ago. But here’s something interesting: she recently filed a restraining order against Terry Carlton.”

“Yep.” Terry Carlton was a hometown boy who’d made it to the NFL. After a short career, he’d blown out a knee and come home the local hero. “I doubt it fits into the case, but it sure makes me wonder what the story is.”

Max didn’t care. All that mattered was the missing girl. His gaze shifted to her picture and information on the car seat between them. Her name is Phaedra. Phaedra Burns. She’s not just a victim! Phaedra’s father’s voice resounded in his head, shrill and to the point. He’d overheard Sam referring to “the victim” at the station. Bad move on his part. Families couldn’t understand that cops had to keep their emotions out of it so they could concentrate on the facts. Something Max had had trouble with until two years ago. But this case…

Every passing minute wrenched his gut. He already felt close to the edge just looking at the girl’s picture. Dammit, she looked like Ashley: long brown hair, brown eyes, with a touch of baby fat around her cheeks and chin.

Sam was clenching his fists. “We need this to be a lead. We got nothing else so far.”

“We’re going to play it cool, right? Finesse her a bit, see what she knows,” Max said as he drove into the Waterfront section.

Five years earlier, the area had consisted of a few warehouses. Then someone with foresight and big bucks bought up the land, scraped it clean, and built six buildings, stacked two deep in three rows, running along the waterway. They looked European, maybe Mediterranean—hell, he didn’t know. He guessed they were supposed to look like a Venetian village. Soon other developers moved in and eventually created a whole new upscale area of town.

Sam said, “What would be really nice is we find the girl at Howe’s place along with the guy who took her. One neat, tidy package, and everyone gets to enjoy the holidays.”

They were pretty sure the guy wearing the maintenance uniform was the suspect. He wasn’t on the tapes that they could tell and wasn’t an employee. Max found the building Olivia lived in: the center one closer to the road, third floor. He lucked into a spot and killed the engine. Time to face the girl’s picture.

He knew that. Ashley was gone, in one quick instant of heat and flames… gone. Then why were his hands shaking when he held up the picture? Her features were the same, but she didn’t have Ashley’s fragility. Probably didn’t have all of Ashley’s other problems, either.

The bag containing Olivia’s book crinkled as he grabbed it and got out of the car. He squinted up at the building; he’d forgotten his sunglasses again.

The small lobby was simple, just one bland painting above a table laden with a silk flower arrangement opposite the elevators. They took the stairs to the third floor and followed the brass plaques to the last apartment on the left. A low, sultry voice asked, “Who is it?” a few seconds after Sam knocked.

“Detectives Max Callahan and Sam O’Reilly with the Palomera Police Department.”

The door opened after she’d unlocked a dead bolt and chain. At the sight of her he felt a hitch in his chest and the jolt of seeing someone he knew but hadn’t seen in a long time. He was sure he’d never seen her before, other than on the surveillance video. She was nice-looking, with long brown hair, pale skin, and eyes an unusual shade of hazel. She wore a yellow shirt and vivid blue pants, no makeup.

“You’re not from the singing telegram company, are you, pretending to arrest me for stealing Terry Carlton’s heart again?” she asked.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “No, ma’am. You left your bag at the bookstore. We’re here to return it.”

See? Max’s eyes narrowed, and he held it toward her. Her soft fingers touched his arm first and followed it down to his hand. The movement was graceful and reminded him of the ballet dancers his daughter had loved watching. He tried to ignore the sensual shiver that rippled through him. As she ran her fingertips over the grooves of the badge and worn edges of black leather, it felt as though she were still touching him.

She dropped her hand and seemed to look right at Max. “You’re here about the missing girl, aren’t you? I heard the special report on the news. I’ve been waiting for an update.”

The apartment was simply decorated, though the furniture was first-class. Butter-soft leather covered the low, sleek couch and matching chair. The solid oak coffee and end tables were covered in a high sheen, as were the wood floors in the kitchen and dining area. No pictures or other decorations, just one lamp in the living room that wasn’t turned on. Only the sun coming in through the closed blinds shed dim light into the front room. Max smelled vanilla and had to stop himself from leaning close to see if it was her perfume. Her dog was standing at her side giving Max a curious look with its light blue eyes. It had an interesting mix of colors, mottled brown and gray on its head and a mixture of gray, white, and brown on the rest of its coat.

“I thought guide dogs were usually German shepherds or golden retrievers,” Sam said, not masking his suspicion.

“A woman in Deltona trained Aussies as seizure alert dogs and started training them for sight assistance, too. How can I help you?”

The cushion nearly swallowed him in luxurious velvety leather. Even Sam couldn’t help running his hand over the surface. She perched on the stuffed arm of the chair. Her gaze was aimed just past Max without focusing on anything specific. She was fidgeting, her fingers twisting around one another. Despite that, she sat up straight, regally.

Anastasia sat at Olivia’s side, looking from her to him and back again. Even the dog looked nervous. A computer tone voice said, “Three-o-one.” Olivia had pressed a button on her watch, though he wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or as a result of her fidgeting.

A wisp of smoke trailed from a candle on the end table. Ah, so the vanilla scent wasn’t her.

“You keep asking about a missing girl,” Max said. “What do you know about her?”

Sam got up, jammed his hands into his pockets, and casually walked across the living room. “And yet you’re blind. Isn’t that interesting?”

Max raised an eyebrow: Keep it cool. To Olivia, he said, “How long have you been blind?”

“And yet,” Sam said in a harsh voice, “you told those two security guards at the toy store that you see things.”

“I’m telepathic,” she said, facing Max. “Telepathy is direct mind-to-mind communication. You’ve probably heard at least one story where a mother gets a strong sense that her child is in danger. Some women have actually ‘seen’ their child even though they’re miles away. One mother, for instance, saw her daughter get hit by a car even though she was nowhere nearby. In that same way, I saw Phaedra get taken in my mind, only I saw it happen through her eyes. I was… hoping the guards would check it out and stop the guy.”

Sam leaned next to Olivia’s face, making her jump. “You say ‘the guy.’ You’re sure it’s a man.”

“That’s how it works,” she said through rigid lips. “I… I think I saw a cap. He was wearing a cap pulled low to hide his eyes.”

Max said, “When you said, ‘He’s got her. Oh, God, he’s got her,’ that was when the guy grabbed her?”

She nodded, lacing her fingers together so tight, her knuckles went white. “The connection comes suddenly.” She seemed to be staring at her hands, but then she lifted her face to his. “Do you have any idea who took her? Where she is?”

Sam said, “You’d have a better idea than we would, being psychic and all.”

She lowered her lashes as her face tightened in anger. Just as quickly, she regained her composure. “She’s been knocked out with chloroform. I can’t connect to her when she’s unconscious. Hopefully I can find out more when she wakes up.”

“Would you mind if we take a quick look around?” Max said, getting to his feet.

“You have to admit, it seems pretty odd, you warning the guards about a girl who hadn’t even been reported missing yet.” And knowing the guy was wearing a gray cap.

She let out an impatient breath and rose to her feet. “Go ahead, but please hurry. Don’t give him time to hurt her.”

This time her voice did betray an emotion, but it wasn’t guilt. It was the same urgency that pulsed through Max. His instincts were screaming that she was involved, but they also warned him to take her slowly. He wasn’t going to tell her that she was their only lead so far.

Nearly half of the large living room was set up as an artist’s studio. An easel held a partially finished abstract painting that looked vaguely like two fiery eyes. Eerie.

The floor was covered with thick sheets of opaque plastic splattered with paint. Two other paintings leaned against the wall, swirls of colors that looked like eyes of all shapes and colors. He recognized the smell of acrylic paint.

Sam was going through her kitchen, quietly opening and closing cabinets. She turned toward the kitchen when he opened the refrigerator.

“Who’s the painter?” Max asked, wondering if there was a boyfriend in the picture. A boyfriend who had a reason for taking a young girl.

“Really?” A blind artist? And oh, yeah, he’d gotten the hint: artist, not painter.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to be an airline pilot, but I didn’t like all the travel.” She’d delivered the line totally deadpan.

Sam waved to get Max’s attention and pointed to a custom bookcase filled with videotape collections of Shirley Temple movies and I Love Lucy shows. She had another bookcase filled with books in Braille. Magazines, too. Max walked over. She had an impressive collection of music CDs, all labeled in Braille. His fingers ran over the raised dots, and he wondered how anyone could decipher them. He was tempted to test her, but he didn’t want to put her on the defensive any more than Sam had already done.

Everything in the apartment was neat. The desk in the dining room was organized, with a stack of unopened mail in one corner, a computer in the center, and what looked like a copier beside it. A talking clock sat on the other corner. An open newspaper covered half of the dining table. To the left of the table was the kitchen, which was divided from the main room by a long counter. Late-afternoon sun slanted in through French doors, where beyond was a stone balcony that held two wrought-iron chairs and a small table. All the appliances sported worn blue Braille labels on the buttons. A Dymo labeler sat on the corner of the counter.

He glanced at Olivia, who was facing them with her arms crossed in front of her. Ah, so pressing that button wasn’t an accident. She was making a point. She wanted them out. Whether it was because she didn’t want them to find anything or because she wanted them out looking for Phaedra he didn’t know. What he did know was the minutes were ticking away, every one leading to a less hopeful conclusion.

A wall separated the living room from the bedrooms, creating a long hallway. The first door led to the master bedroom. It was as neat as the rest of the house, done in rich colors that invited a man to come in and get comfortable. She had a king-size bed that sat up high and was covered in pillows. The muted floral bedspread touched the floor on one side and showed the mattress on the other side. Another door off the hallway led to a second bedroom with a treadmill and exercise bike in the corner and a flowered futon tucked beneath the window. At the end of the hallway was another small bathroom. No sign of a child having been there, or anyone else for that matter.

He abruptly turned around to face her. “How’d you know the bookstore employee’s name?”

“You called the employee who helped you by name. He never told you. How did you know it?”

Sam’s sniff of disbelief sounded more like a snort. “I’ve got a dead grandmother; find out where she hid her millions, would you?”

She lifted her chin in his direction. “In years past, those gifted with psychic abilities were persecuted because others were afraid of them. Don’t be afraid or threatened by something you can’t understand.”

Sam said, “I’m not afraid or threatened. I’m suspicious. I’ve never met a psychic who wasn’t a crook. If psychics were real, there’d be people consistently winning the lottery or solving crimes. We could prevent political assassinations and clear out villages before the volcano erupted.”

“I don’t care if you believe me or not. As long as you’re willing to explore what I might be able to tell you.” She surprised Max by grabbing his arm, finding it unerringly. “If those guards had checked out the storage room, they could have stopped him from taking her. Promise me you’ll at least check out what I tell you.” Her pleading voice tightened his insides, making it impossible to reply.

Sam obliged by saying, “Oh, sure, because psychics have been so helpful in the past. I don’t think a psychic has solved one crime. And I’m not talking those vague clues that could be interpreted to be correct after the fact. I’m talking concrete evidence. There was an old woman who used to come into the station whenever we had a high-profile case. She dropped those mystical nuggets that helped not at all, and then bragged to the press how she solved the case.”

Olivia seemed to withdraw for a moment. Then, in a softer voice, she said, “I knew the girl was missing.”

“Proves you knew something about the crime. Doesn’t prove how you knew it.”

Max said, “Here’s my card. If you think of anything else, give me a call.” He pressed his card into her hand and folded her fingers around it. She took a surprised breath, and he forced himself to let go. Her hand clenched around the card, crunching it.

“Wait.” She walked over to the desk near the kitchen and pulled out what looked like a large remote control device without the numbers on it. “Give me your number, Detective Callahan.”

As he gave her the numbers, she pressed the pads. She heard a synthesized male voice repeat each piece of information she inputted: “Max. Callahan.” And his number.

Sam walked closer to her. He wore his skepticism like a mask. Very slowly, he moved his hand toward her face— and she flinched.

“Watching what you were doing,” he offered casually. “What is that thing?”

“This is Louis. Well, that’s what I call him. It’s a Braille computer and organizer. I named it after Louis Braille.”

Max eyed it, wondering what secrets it held. Wondering if he could get a warrant for a full search and then realizing he probably couldn’t. “Thank you, Miss Howe,” he said as they headed toward the door.

Just before he closed the door, she said, “Remember your promise.” She was looking at him. “At least listen to what I have to tell you. It…” Her face shadowed. “It might help.” She didn’t sound as sure that time.

The men said nothing until they exited the building into the cool afternoon sun. “What a friggin‘ phony,” Sam said. “We ought to haul her in for doing those creepy eyeball paintings alone.”

Max got into the car. “We don’t have enough evidence. Besides, if she’s working with someone, and she knows we’re on to her, she’ll be more careful. Which is why we were supposed to be cool, as you’ll recall.”

Sam got in on the passenger side before saying, “Sorry, but I couldn’t stand there and pretend to believe that crap. You’re obviously better at that kind of thing. All those psychics, tarot card and crystal ball readers, they’re a bunch of crooks. But in this case, she’s lying to cover someone’s ass along with her own. Pretending to be blind so as not to be a viable suspect, distracting security so her lover or whoever can get the girl out of the store, and then claiming to be psychic. We ought to put a tail on her.”

“It’s all circumstantial. Actions that could be interpreted in different ways—”

“We don’t know for sure that the suspect was wearing gray, or that he even exists.”

“She could have felt the air.” When Max saw Sam’s surprised expression, he added, “I’m playing devil’s advocate.”

Max had to admit, “No. But that’s not going to get us a warrant. After the last faulty warrant Judge Garrett granted, and all the bad press we got out of it, we’re going to need a smoking gun. For what it’s worth, I think she really is blind. Maybe she knew about the abduction and a guilty conscience propelled her to try to stop it.”

Sam sat back in his seat, a smug look on his face. “She’s guilty. And I, for one, am going to enjoy nailing her. Nothing worse than a deceptive woman.”

Max had a feeling it wasn’t going to be that simple. She knew something; that was for certain. And he was damn well going to find out what it was.

CHAPTER 4

Max and Sam met Detective Nick Mathers at the Burns house, a large Spanish-style structure on a canal. Mathers was helping on the case while he could. He was the oldest of their poker group, in his mid-fifties, Max guessed. Mathers had the start of a gut, probably due to his exotic-beer collection. He kept one for the collection and drank the rest of the pack. He was married to a homely, quiet woman who served up cold beer and chips on poker nights with all the cheer of an underpaid waitress.

Cop cars, both marked and unmarked, littered the driveway and street. Barricades kept the usual clusters of neighbors and press at bay. Still, reporters called out questions. The distance made it easy to ignore them.

Sam said, “Olivia Howe is a phony blind woman and a phony psychic, and I don’t have a doubt that she’s involved. If we can catch her on the blindness angle, we can crack her on the rest of it.”

“She claims she’s telepathic,” Max clarified. “That’s how she knew about the girl being taken.”

Sam snorted. “We need to find out who she’s working with. We know she didn’t take the girl; her role was to distract while the guy grabbed the girl.”

Max said, “Why distract the people in the front of the store when the suspect was way in the back? To be effective, she should have had her fit just outside the remote control room. And why direct security to where the suspect made his getaway?”

Mathers nodded a head of enviously neat silver hair toward the house. “The mother’s hysterical; the father’s distraught.” That didn’t mean much, not when family members who acted hysterical and distraught committed the majority of child abductions. “My gut feeling is that they’re not involved. Flora didn’t kidnap the kid herself, of course, and Pat was in his office. I’ve got a squirrelly feeling about Pat’s brother, Mike, though. He’s a mechanic at the Ford dealership. We’re trying to verify whether he was working this morning. He’s got a prior. An ex-girlfriend charged him with exposing himself to her daughter, but she backed out of her story. Could be she was trying to burn him, or could be he intimidated her. For what it’s worth, the Burns-es don’t believe he did either.”

Max asked, “What about the neighbors? Anyone see suspicious activities, strangers cruising the street? This is supposed to be a neighborhood watch community.”

“Oh, it is. According to the men who’ve been canvassing the area, everyone knows everything that goes on here. Unfortunately, nothing out of the ordinary has happened since Mr. Jones at the end of the street came home drunk one night last May and pissed on his front lawn. The family’s activities have been typical.”

Nick rubbed the toe of his shoe on a streak of pink chalk on the sidewalk. “Something else to throw into the pot: Phaedra was adopted. It was an open adoption back when Phaedra was an infant. The Burnses apparently waited to have children until later in life and ended up adopting. The birth mother hasn’t had any contact with the girl since the adoption was finalized.”

Max could believe that Olivia was helping a distraught mother try to kidnap her child before he could believe she was helping some sicko. Yet he wasn’t hopeful on that score. “It would seem odd that she waited all these years before having second thoughts, but it happens. It’s something to check out.”

Mathers’s phone chirped, and he answered it. “Yeah, thanks for checking on that. He wasn’t. How long?… OK, thanks. Detectives Callahan and O’Reilly will be by to pick up those time cards.” He disconnected. “Mike Burns went out this morning, supposedly because it was slow. The timing’s tight, him getting to the toy store, getting the girl, and then getting out. He clocked out fifteen minutes before it happened, and it’s probably about ten minutes from the toy store to the dealership. He never returned to work; he came right here when Pat Burns called his cell phone to tell him about Phaedra.”

Max felt that first hit of adrenaline. Just like last time, when the leads started jibing. The Brad Stevens kidnapping. He swallowed hard. His last big case. That time Saul Ber-ney, the kidnapper, had called with a ransom demand: $500,000. The parents were willing to pay it, but Max didn’t want the bastard to get a penny of it. The thought of anyone abducting a child made him crazy, and his own demons had driven him too far. He’d wanted to grind Ber-ney up, and wanted all the other Berneys out there to get the message. He’d nabbed the kid and taunted Berney into taking the money. Then they’d nabbed Berney.

Max had been a real hero for the second time in his life. That time, though, he’d gotten to revel in it. It hadn’t been tainted with shame and shoved under the carpet. The city of Palomera had honored Max with a ceremony and everything. He’d hoped it would ease his drive to be the big hero—and finally erase the reason for that drive. He’d enjoyed knowing he’d saved that boy, and yeah, he’d enjoyed the accolades. At least until Berney got his revenge on Max.

“We’ll time the drive,” Sam said, tearing Max from his grim thoughts. “Where is Mike Burns now?”

Sam said, “We’ll need a picture of him to show the toy store employees and to check against the security tapes. If we can place him there, that’ll make things easy. We’ll take him in for questioning, see if we can shake him up a bit.”

When they started walking toward the house, Mathers held Max back. “You all right being on this case?”

“What was Huntington thinking?” He shook his head in answer. “I asked him to put me on it. No, I didn’t say it was because I thought you couldn’t handle it. I wanted in because I’m interested in the psychology of a criminal mind. I’ve been doing profiles and studying what factors contribute to someone who abducts children. They think they’re in the right—entitled even. Sickness is fascinating.” He clapped his hand on Max’s shoulder. “Be careful, Max.”

Max nodded, a lump forming in his throat at his comrade’s concern. He headed toward the house where Sam was waiting for him. “Nice place.”

The house had enormous ceilings adorned with fancy architectural touches like arched doorways, rounded corner beading, and crown molding. Sculptures and oil paintings depicted aspects of Florida: seashells, sunsets, pelicans. In contrast, tinsel, snowmen, and Santas adorned every visible surface of the home. In reverence to the religious reason for the holiday season, an elaborate manger was set up on a table. The festivity mocked the fear, grief, and frustration that permeated the house. Several officers were there as well as friends of the family.

Flora Burns rushed into the living room, followed by her husband, Pat. “Is there any news?” Hope burned in their eyes. They thought he and Sam had come with new information. Max shook his head, unable to look away from their disappointment.

Pat’s expression stiffened. “Don’t tell me you’re here to question us, too.”

Mike Bums was sitting on the couch. He was in his late thirties, Max figured, with thick dark hair parted on the side. His eyes kept shifting to the left, as he listened to them while pretending to study a map of Palomera he’d unfolded on the coffee table.

In his low, calming voice, Max said, “We have to look at all the angles. Unfortunately, a family member or friend is often involved in these types of cases.” He glanced at Mike to get a reaction. Not even a flinch.

Sam straightened a crooked wreath on the wall. “What about Phaedra’s birth parents?”

Flora’s mouth tightened as she shook her head and looked at Pat, who said, “We already told that other officer, I’m not dragging the mother into this. She moved to Arizona after Phaedra’s birth, and we haven’t heard from her since. She never told anybody who the father was, but it was clear she had no intention of letting him know he even had a child.”

“We still need to look into it. It’s always possible she had second thoughts, even after all this time.”

After a hesitation, Pat nodded. “Fine, we’ll give you her information. For all we know, she doesn’t even live at the address we have anymore.” Pat went to a computer in his nearby home office. He returned and handed Sam the paper he’d printed out.

Flora said, “I don’t want her to know about… about what’s happened.” There was a different fear in her eyes now. “If she thinks we’re bad parents, that we let someone take her daughter…”

Phaedra from us now.“ He looked at Max and Sam, who said, ”We’ll do it quietly.“

“Stop wasting time investigating us,” Flora cried out, gripping her husband’s arm with white fingers. “And start looking for the maniac who has our daughter!”

The Stevenses had also been upset at the investigation into their life when their boy went missing.

“We’re doing everything we can to find her,” Max said. “We’re making flyers to be distributed within the tri-county area. Between those and the news reports, everyone in this whole area will have seen Phaedra’s face. A grid search is under way—”

“We break up the town into grid sections. Teams of officers take each section and question people, looking for witnesses or suspicious behavior. Any vacant spaces are investigated. We’re particularly focused on the area around the toy store, looking for anyone who might have seen a vehicle parked out back.” Officers were beginning to track down previously convicted child molesters, too, but he wasn’t going to mention that.

“And you’re looking into us,” Pat said, straining to keep his voice level.

Max said, “We’re looking everywhere: family, friends, enemies, employees.” He gestured to the formal living room. Once they were all seated, he continued: “I know you’ve already spoken with Detective Mathers, but we’d appreciate it if you’d answer some questions for us. Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you? Anyone who might want to harm your family?”

“How about a former employee who was fired under difficult circumstances? Maybe someone who made threats against you?”

Pat rubbed his forehead. “Not everyone leaves under the best conditions, but no one left under that kind of cloud. Many of our key employees have been with us a long time.”

Max had pulled out his notepad and was jotting things down as they went. “We’ll need access to your employee files to see if any of them has a previous conviction.”

Max asked, “What about social activities? Sports, after-school clubs? Church?”

Flora shook her head. “She was shy. She spent a lot of time in her room reading. We don’t go to church; we’re too busy with the restaurants.”

“How about friends?” Sometimes a child’s friend could help by remembering something.

“She’s got a couple of little girlfriends. I’ll get you their names and numbers,” Flora said.

“We can help, too.” Pat turned to his wife. “We’ll hire Joanna. She’s done a great job getting the word out about the restaurants. A publicist has all the right connections.”

“We’ll need to clear whatever you release to the public. There are some details we don’t want leaked.”

“But why?” Flora asked. “The more information that’s out there, the better the chance of someone remembering something.”

Max said, “Some details, like the gold shamrock necklace Phaedra was wearing and her pink socks, are important to keep under wraps. It’s our way of weeding out the crazies who call claiming they have the girl when they don’t.”

He awkwardly placed his hand over hers, as though that would somehow comfort her. “I wish I knew.”

She narrowed eyes smudged in black and tightened her grip on his arm. “You found that boy. You’re the one, aren’t you?”

He didn’t want to talk about the Stevens case, but he nodded. Maybe it would put them at ease. He’d been capable once.

“But this isn’t the same person who took that boy, is it?” Pat asked. “He’s still in jail.”

Two uniforms were escorting Mike Burns out of the house. He went willingly but grudgingly. Flora started crying. “Don’t worry,” Mike said as he passed her. “Nicholson will get this all straightened out, and I’ll be back to help find her.”

Max uttered a few words meant to reassure the Burnses and headed to the front door. Sam paused and watched Mike get into the car. “He’s one cool customer. Too cool.”

When Sam went to give one of the officers the information on Phaedra’s friends to check out, Max glanced back into the house one last time. He hated thinking of that little girl, cold, alone, and scared. Every hour that passed diminished the chance that she would survive. And while she was alive, she could be suffering unmentionable atrocities. Another girl flashed into his mind, scared and crying. His fists clenched. No child should be touched by violence.

As he turned back to the door, a painting in the formal dining room caught his eye. A blood-red sun dipped into a black ocean. No, not just any painting. The sun looked like an eyeball. He walked into the formal dining room, flipped on a light switch, and tried to read the scrawled signature.

Flora said, “A local artist. I don’t remember her name. I got it at the LaForge Gallery over at the Waterfront. I like to support local artists.”

“What does this have to do with our daughter?” Pat asked, pulling his wife closer.

Max glanced once more at the painting. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” He met Sam at the front door.

“I may have found it.” He nodded toward the painting. “Flora Burns said she supports local artists but acted like she didn’t know Olivia personally. It’s just a loose connection. Could mean nothing.”

Sam’s eyes glittered. “Or it could be the start of a beautiful conviction.”

“I don’t think your bonehead techniques are going to get us anywhere with her.” Before Sam could refute that, Max said, “Let’s get Mike’s photo from the DMV and show it to Toyland’s employees, see if anyone recognizes him. I’ll call the manager.”

Olivia was washing dishes when the phone rang. Without thinking about it, she grabbed up the receiver.

“It’s Terry. Don’t hang up on me. I’m calling about the girl, the one who was taken from the toy store today.”

She had told him about that, hadn’t she? When he’d swept her away, or maybe when he’d simply swept away her good sense. She’d been too honest about some things, not honest enough about others.

He said, “You’re connected to her, aren’t you? I can feel your anxiety. That’s how close we are. That’s how connected I am to you, the same way you’re connected to these kids. Olivia, I’m coming over. I don’t want you alone through this.”

She hung up and returned to the sink to finish rinsing the dishes, trying to ignore her shaking hands and the ringing of the phone. Would he ever give up? And now, using that poor girl as an excuse to call her…

She stopped her movements. Using that girl. “No. That’s crazy. He wouldn’t…”

She couldn’t even finish the sentence. For a month Terry had continued to pursue her. He’d used singing telegrams, false emergencies, lies about leaving town and wanting to see her one last time for closure, any excuse to contact her. She had gone from wondering when he’d give up to wondering how far he’d go to get her attention.

The panic struck her again. The bowl dropped into the sink and shattered against the porcelain. She clutched the counter, but her legs wouldn’t hold her up. She sank to the floor as Phaedra’s fear rocked her.

Stasia nuzzled her, and Olivia opened her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. When she caught her breath, she used the counter to push herself to her feet. Her head was pounding. She laid her cheek on the cool surface of the counter and tried to recall what she’d seen. She replayed the barrage of images, but her mind stopped on one in particular.

This was about Phaedra’s kidnapping, not hers. Two totally different events, sixteen whole years apart.

Because she’d been abducted on December 20th from a toy store in Palomera. That coincidence was why the connection was so strong this time, had to be.

She’d been eight years old. A fun day of shopping had been spoiled by her mother’s announcement: she’d entered Olivia in a New York City beauty pageant to be held in January. She’d promised—promised!—that Olivia wouldn’t have to endure another beauty pageant until the following spring. When her mother had run into another pageant regular, Olivia decided to punish her mother by hiding.

The man had lured Olivia out a side door, shoved a chloroform cloth over her mouth, and the world had gone dark. She’d come to in the trailer of a semi truck. At the sight of the cage, panic gave her courage to fight him. In their struggle, she’d gotten knocked out. When she woke, she was blind. Though he’d never sexually molested her, he’d done other, terrible things to her. Her hand automatically went to her collarbone. Four days later she’d been rescued, and her abductor had killed himself.

She didn’t know what the man had done to her eyes; no one could figure that out. Nor could they figure out exactly why he had kidnapped her. Something else had happened, triggered by the trauma of the kidnapping: she’d lost her eyesight but gained another type of sight. The psychic tendency she’d inherited from her grandmother had been intensified. Because heightened emotions had wrought the change, they also triggered the strange connection to abducted children. Olivia connected to the child not only emotionally but also psychically. Once she realized the gift—and the curse—that it was, she had used it to try to help find missing children.

She found her portable phone. She must call Detective Callahan, the one who wasn’t so suspicious. The one who had filled her senses with his low, patient voice, the smell of his woodsy cologne, and the feel of the muscles in his arm. Somehow she knew she could trust him. She had to tell him what she knew. The panic in her stomach migrated through her body as she called up his information on Louis and had the computer dial the number. This wouldn’t be like the last time she’d tried to help.

Her throat tightened with every ring. When he answered, she said, “Detective Callahan, it’s Olivia Howe. Phaedra woke up. He’s got her in a dark place. And… I think she’s in a cage.”

Max hung up with Olivia just as he walked to his desk at the station. A cage. The thought shivered through him. Why a cage? Anything but a cage.

If Olivia was involved, she was playing with them, leading them on. And if she wasn’t involved? an inner voice asked. Could she be for real?

On the way back to the station, he and Sam had timed the route from the car dealership to the toy store. They arrived at the interrogation room at the same time as Mike Burns’s lawyer. They’d known that Burns would be a fool to give anything away with his lawyer hotfooting it over. Mike Burns didn’t look like a fool. He, in fact, looked like a clean-cut guy, except for the dark grease in the creases of his trimmed nails. The scent of his cologne filled the air around him.

Paul Nicholson set his briefcase on the table and greeted Bums with a nod. Then Nicholson faced off with the detectives. The man would have towered threateningly if he’d had any meat on his six-two frame. “Are you charging my client with a crime?”

Sam said, “No, we’re just trying to get some information out of him. If he’d answer, he could save himself a lot of trouble.”

“Burns’s niece was abducted from a toy store this morning. At roughly the same time, Burns here took off from his job. He won’t account for his whereabouts. His prior exposure arrest slots him into the offender category.”

She was pissed because I owed her some money and couldn’t pay it back when she demanded it.“

The lawyer put his hand on Burns’s shoulder. “Those charges were dropped. It has no bearing on this case whatsoever.”

Burns said, “I told you, I was driving around. Last I knew, there wasn’t a law against that.”

“I’m sure someone saw me, but no one I could name. I mean, I was right out in the open, driving around.”

Burns bristled, but before he could respond, Nicholson whispered to him. Burns leaned back, crossing his arms in front of him. “It’s the principle…” He waved his hand. “Fine, take a look.”

Another whispered discussion. “And his vehicle. He’s got nothing to hide.”

“Yes,” Burns said, pushing up from the table. “I’ll take you. I don’t want my place trashed.”

It was small consolation. If Burns was willing to let them look, he either was innocent or knew the place was clean. There was always a chance he’d forgotten something, though. A small chance, but one worth taking.

“One more question,” Sam asked as though it were an afterthought. “Does the name Olivia Howe ring a bell?”

After checking out Burns’s house, Max and Sam returned to the car. They watched Mike and his lawyer exchange a few words at the front door. Bums shot them a smug look before getting into his truck and leaving. All they’d discovered was that Bums had a heavy affection for pom movies. Dog-eared catalogs were scattered everywhere, and Bums had obviously ordered many movies from those catalogs. Every movie in his collection sported a yellow Post-it scribbled with a critique. None of them included children and none were hard-core.

“But doable. It’s him. He’s got slimebag written all over him. And that woman at the store—Olivia Howe—she’s involved in this, too. All that panic was meant to distract so Bums could get away.”

Max’s gut rebelled at the thought of Olivia being involved, and he tried to figure out why. His phone rang, and he spoke with someone at the Flagstaff station, in the city where Phaedra’s birth mother lived. “OK, great. Thanks.” He disconnected and said, “Birth mother is still in town and has been since she left Florida. She’s a secretary at a hotel there and hasn’t missed work in the last five days. She’s been married for five years and has three kids. They’re going to keep an eye on the house just in case, but it doesn’t look like she had anything to do with the abduction.”

He looked at his watch. They were closing in on six hours. No ransom call meant that whoever took Phaedra probably had other plans for her. He didn’t want to think what those other plans would be.

He blinked, realizing he’d zoned out. “Just thinking.” He called the station and talked to one of the officers going over the surveillance tapes. “What do you have for us?”

The woman let out an exasperated sound. “Do you realize how many people went in and out of that store this morning? It’s a mess. Some people walked in with one group and walked out with a different crowd. We assume they weren’t with either group, but it’s still making it hard to single people out. So far, nobody stands out, but we’ll find our suspect.”

“Thanks.” He hung up and let out his own sound of exasperation. “Nothing from the tapes yet. The manager claims that no one is able to use the entrance the girl was taken out of, even the employees. It’s strictly for emergencies. That leaves the loading dock as a potential place for the suspect to have come in, but they’ve already looked over the security tape and eliminated that possibility.”

As soon as they returned, he started the ball in motion to obtain the DMV picture and assemble the employees. He looked at Phaedra’s picture on his desk. Every police station in the state had been given one. Everyone wanted to find this girl. Max could feel the hunger to be that person rising inside him, just like when finding the Stevens boy had taken over his life. The drive to be a hero came from a dark, deep place inside him.

As a boy, Max had not only looked up to Superman, Spiderman, and Batman; he’d also become them. He could see himself, with his brown mop of cowlick-ridden hair and fringe of eyelashes the girls teased him about, wearing a cape made from an old red sheet and scouting the neighborhood in search of someone to rescue and dragons to slay. He was the one who found lost dogs posted on street signs and saved the skinny kid from the bullies.

Max’s fierce need to slay dragons and drive villains into the ground started as a defense mechanism for a boy who was bullied and taunted by a villain he could never defeat. The greatest evil he would ever face—his father.

CHAPTER 5

A jolt of fear woke Olivia. She bolted upright in bed with a sharp intake of breath.

The alarm clock went off and Adam Sandler’s Hanukkah song broke the connection. She slapped her hand down on the snooze button to silence the radio, then dropped her head back on the pillow and massaged the spear of pain in her temples. Her heart was slamming inside her chest, and she took deep breaths to bring it back to normal. Her skin was drenched. She wasn’t sure which side effect was worse, the headache or the wash of sweat.

He was there with Phaedra now, bringing her breakfast. At least he showed her that kindness. If only Olivia could hold on to the connection and find a useful clue she could pass on to the detective. She’d never been able to call up the visions or return to them once the connection had been severed.

Stasia always slept at the foot of her bed; now she was pressed against Olivia’s thigh, her nose buried beneath her leg.

“It’s OK, sweetie. It’s been a while since you’ve had to go through this with me. You’re not used to it anymore.” As hard as it was, Olivia had had to bury her head in the sand for a while. Normally she had to get emotionally involved in a kidnapping story before the connection would start. That’s what was so strange about this one. It had sucked her right in.

At her touch and soothing words, Stasia lifted her head and positioned it in Olivia’s hands. “But we have to help her; you know that. I can’t turn away, even if…”

When the alarm went off again, the radio deejay was talking about the kidnapping. Olivia listened, hoping to hear good news but knowing there would be none yet. The police were working on some leads, but no suspects could be named, he said.

She used to listen to national radio all the time, waiting to hear about a missing child, hoping to connect and see something that might help. For a long time, she phoned in the clues anonymously so she wouldn’t have to face the kind of skepticism and rudeness Detective O’Reilly had displayed. Sometimes the child was found and the police would say that a hunch had played out to help solve the case. Other times… well, sometimes the child wasn’t found in time.

She fed Stasia, showered, and got dressed. Although what she really wanted was a candy bar, she chose a more sensible Pop-Tart and cup of coffee. “We’re visiting your grandpa today,” she said as she grabbed the harness.

Visiting her father was bittersweet. Besides her grandmother, her father was the one person who had accepted and understood her, psychic quirks and all. Back then, though, he’d worked all the time.

After Olivia let Stasia run in the park, they walked the remaining ten minutes to her father’s assisted living facility. Across the street she could hear the rush of water from the water treatment facility. She used to imagine it was a waterfall until she’d heard a recent news story about some kids breaking in. One of them drowned, and his family was demanding better security.

Her father had chosen the Livingston when he’d finally accepted his diagnosis of Alzheimer’s. It fit the Howe criteria: overpriced, ostentatious, and luxurious. When the fifth doctor confirmed the diagnosis, her father took the news with dignity. He liquidated all his assets and went on Medicare so his family wouldn’t be left with the financial burden. He set Olivia up with a trust and put himself on the Livingston’s waiting list. A year ago, when he’d been accepted as a resident, she had decided to move back to Pal-omera with him. She wished she could take care of him properly, but at least he lived within walking distance.

Her soft-soled shoes squeaked on the marble floor of the lobby. The place always reeked of disinfectant, making her wonder what odors they were trying to cover. This time of the year the cinnamon, holly, and fir smells overpowered even the strong pine scent.

“Good morning, Miss Howe,” one of the nurses said. “He’s in his room.”

The door to her father’s room was usually open during the day. She touched the frame of the doorway and paused. “Daddy?”

She wanted to run into his arms and lose herself, to smell him and remember the times he’d held her after a nightmare. She hated even admitting she still wanted someone to hold her for that or any reason. It seemed like, in any important relationship, it was all or nothing—she was either overprotected or alone. Being alone was preferable.

“Hello?” His once-authoritative voice was now soft and uncertain. “Who are you?”

She hoped she masked her disappointment. “It’s your daughter, Olivia.” She walked closer. “And this is Stasia.”

“They said I had a daughter.” A bad day. The doctor had started him on a new medication, but she’d warned it could take weeks to see any improvement.

She remembered him in his elegant three-piece suits. He was the tallest, strongest, most handsome man she’d ever seen. That’s how she pictured him now, with his chin held high and his thick graying hair slightly mussed from a long day wrangling the stock market.

“You’re very pretty,” he said, making her wonder if he meant her or the dog. Once a man had complimented her on her looks and she’d thanked him and, to her utter embarrassment, he’d meant Stasia. “You must take after your mother,” her father added with a soft laugh, clarifying the compliment.

“I take after you. Mom had blond hair and a round face. She was very petite. Do you remember her at all?”

“There are pictures on your dresser.” He’d told her about them. Now she heard him pick up one of the frames.

For years, he’d worked with Olivia on remembering what things looked like. Now she helped him to remember. “Mom was very refined. She knew all the right things to do, what not to do.” Even now, she sometimes heard her voice: “Knees together. Sit up straight. Lower your voice; young ladies don’t shout.”

Every time he asked about Elaine, she chose her words carefully. Their marriage hadn’t been bad, but only because they hardly saw each other. Olivia wondered if Elaine had gotten bored of being a corporate wife and that’s why she’d decided to have a baby so late in life. Olivia had felt like her special project.

“She passed away two years ago.” To change to a cheerier subject, she said, “You and her mom, Dorothea, got on grandly. She’d give you stock tips and tell you what colors would bring you luck. I think you even believed her. She was psychic.” She had died in her sleep ten years earlier. Olivia missed her more than her own mother.

“Here’s a picture of a little girl wearing a crown. She looks like a princess.”

Those awful beauty pageant days. “That’s me.” From before she could remember, Elaine had prettied her up and entered her in one pageant after another, just for the glory of it. After the tedious makeup process, she didn’t even recognize herself. That other girl had to sing and dance while everyone judged her. Her competitors whispered about her, trying to distract her and crumble her confidence. When she was that other Olivia, that’s when Elaine warmed to her the most. “Livvy, you’re so beautiful. You did so well today, you made your mother proud.” That’s when Olivia learned she had to be someone else to be loved by her mother. Later, she learned that men were the same way.

“Well, let’s see.” Every time he asked, she picked different aspects of her life to talk about. “I love all kinds of music, though I have a particular affinity for rock and roll. You and Mother wanted me to be cultured, and it helped me to appreciate all the art forms. I’m an artist now. I paint pictures for a living.” Sometimes she didn’t tell him she was blind. If he asked about Stasia’s special harness, she’d tell him. She always lied, though, about how she’d become blind. No point in dredging up those memories. If only she could forget.

“You were the best, Daddy.” She leaned forward and hugged him harder than she’d intended to. “It’s OK if you don’t remember me.” Emotion clogged her voice. “Because I remember you. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” After a moment, he asked, “What did you say your name was again?”

Olivia was still fighting tears as she made her way down the sidewalk. She steered her thoughts to her surroundings. She couldn’t afford to get lost in her thoughts. Even with Stasia guiding her, Olivia had to be in tune with everything going on around her.

The grocery store was straight ahead. Usually she called to arrange for someone to help her shop, but today she needed only a couple of items. She heard snippets of conversations all around her. Someone to her right brushed her arm, and she moved away from the contact. Traffic rushed past on her left.

A few moments later, she was sure, absolutely sure, that someone had touched her hair. Her muscles contracted. Terry? She didn’t dare call out his name. If he were there, he’d take that as an invitation to respond. She didn’t detect his Polo, though, only an overdose of a drugstore brand of cologne. With her lips pressed together, she forged onward. She suspected that Terry sprayed Polo outside her apartment door sometimes in a pitiful attempt to remind her of him. She’d think Terry himself pitiful if she didn’t know how strong and determined he was.

As she walked, the sound and wind from the cars driving past grew louder. When her shoe touched the rounded edge of the curb, she realized the crowd had slowly nudged her close to the street. Or maybe one person had.

The word was so faint, she couldn’t identify the voice. As she turned in response, she felt a shove at her ankle. Someone bumped into her other side, spinning her around. She wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly she was off balance… pitching forward. Everything was a mental blur. She heard the sound of a large track approaching as she tumbled to the ground. Where was she? In the road?

A horn blared to her left, and she realized with horror that it was coming right at her. Brakes howled; tires squealed; gears ground. She was all turned around and too paralyzed with fear to even scream. Stasia’s claws scrabbled against the asphalt next to her.

Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her backward. She smelled burning rubber and heard the truck come to a hard stop in front of her. Behind it, another car screeched to a halt, and beyond that, a horn blared.

“Are you all right?” the man who had hauled her backward asked. She thought he was the one wearing the heavy cologne but wasn’t sure. Her nostrils were full of the scent now.

“My dog, where’s my dog?” Stasia immediately put her paws on Olivia’s legs. Olivia knelt down to make sure she wasn’t injured. “Someone pushed me.” She came to her feet, her shaky hands tight on the harness lead. Her heart was pounding. “Did anyone see what happened?”

She could hear several people around her. “I didn’t see anyone push you, dear,” an older man said.

The man who had pulled her back said, “You tripped, that’s all. The sidewalk is buckled over there. You couldn’t see it.”

“No, I felt someone push me. He said my name and pushed me. I think it was a man.”

“Why would someone push you?” the man who had pulled her back asked. “You got turned around and tripped, that’s all.”

“I’m… fine.” She said a “Thank you” to those around her and directed Stasia to lead her home. Only when her heartbeat had resumed a somewhat normal pace did she feel the sting of the scrapes on her hands. Her body was still shaking, and her skin was clammy.

Had someone tried to kill her? It seemed paranoid. Outrageous. But she knew one thing: she hadn’t just lost her balance.

More than twenty-four hours after Phaedra’s abduction, Max wasn’t a bit closer to solving the case. Or even making any sense out of it. He sat back in his chair and massaged his forehead. There was no ransom demand, and not one person at the toy store could place Mike Burns in the store either prior to or at the time of the abduction. He wasn’t on the tape, either.

Other avenues turned out to be dead ends, too. Several previous sex offenders had checked out or moved away. Some couldn’t be found, but there was no reason to think they had recently been in the area. They’d talked to Phaedra’s schoolmates and friends, even checked out all teachers at her school who had access to her. Other family members had been ruled out. The phones were ringing with the usual false leads and crank calls. Each was investigated with no result.

Despite the lack of hard evidence, Sam was on Burns like a bloodhound. He’d followed Burns from the mansion-turned-headquarters to his house after midnight. If Burns was keeping the kid somewhere, he hadn’t checked on her lately.

They needed a break, and they needed it now. Max’s gaze kept going to the clock. Every second mocked his failure, and every passing minute tortured him with thoughts of what the child was enduring.

Detective Nick Mathers tried to look casual as he walked over. He set a hand on Max’s shoulder. “How you holding up, Max?”

“Not too good by the look of his pen,” Detective Tom Graham said from his desk next to Max’s. He gestured with one of his scarred hands to Max’s pen, which he’d chewed flat. “You’re picking up Huntington’s habit.”

Tom spent all of his free time working on motorcycles. He always had gashes and burns on his hands and arms as a result. His dyed hair looked blue in the overhead lights. “This case must be getting to you.”

“Of course it’s getting to me, you idiot!” Max wanted to yell, but that would ignite Tom’s tendency toward hot-headedness. He held his tongue and was rewarded when Tom continued to bait Max on.

Max could understand why Tom’s wife of fourteen years had decided to leave him a few years back. He couldn’t imagine living with someone who viewed life as a game, and one not worth playing unless he thought he would win.

Before Max could respond, one of the other detectives gestured for Max to join him in the break room. “Callahan, you might want to hear this.”

The television mounted on the wall was tuned to the noon news. Several men were crammed into the room watching an interview with Pat and Flora Burns.

The reporter asked, “So you don’t think the police are doing all they can to find your daughter?”

“No,” Mr. Burns said. “I understand procedure is to investigate the family, but they seem to be fixated on us instead of looking at the whole picture. No one in our family would harm our daughter.”

The reporter asked, “But isn’t Max Callahan working on your case? Surely the fact that he found Brad Stevens must put you at ease?”

Flora said, “Not until he finds our little girl.” With shaking hands she held up a picture of Phaedra. “Someone out there must have seen our girl being taken from that store yesterday. The police seem to have no leads, so we’re appealing to you out there.” Her voice was filled with tears. “Please, everyone, look at this picture carefully. Whoever… has her is someone you know. Maybe the guy next door. You can help bring her back to us.”

The reporter kept her voice neutral, though her expression was sympathetic. “And you’re offering a reward?”

Mr. Burns wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. “Fifty thousand dollars for the safe return of our daughter.”

Max ducked out of the room, but as he passed the lieutenant’s office, he heard, “Callahan, in here.”

Huntington pointed to a seat with a pencil so gnawed, it hardly looked like it could write anymore. His lips were dotted with flecks of yellow paint. His feet were propped on the edge of his desk, and Max noticed that one of his argyle socks was blue and one was dark red. “Give me an update.”

“There isn’t much to report right now, sir. O’Reilly and I have split up to cover more ground. The grid search of the area has turned up nothing. The only viable suspect we have so far is the uncle, though we don’t have anything concrete to pin on him.”

“What about Olivia Howe? Everyone’s saying she’s some kind of psychic nut.”

“She claims she’s psychically connected to the girl. She supposedly felt—and saw—when the girl was taken. She called me last night to tell me she saw the girl in a cage. We believe Howe may be an accomplice, a decoy to sidetrack us. We’re not even sure if she’s really blind. We’re working on a connection between her and Mike Burns. So far all I’ve got is a painting.” He explained about Olivia’s painting being at the Burns house. “It’s loose, but it’s a start.” What bothered him was his inclination to say that she probably wasn’t a perpetrator when he had no evidence to support his feeling.

Huntington nodded. “Keep working on it.” He went back to his paperwork, humming that lethargic version of “Jingle Bells.”

The lieutenant studied him, a perusal that always unnerved Max. “You heard what the family’s been saying?”

“They’ve been doing interviews throughout the day. The airtime and exposure is good for the case, but they’re casting doubt on our ability to do our job. Do they have reason to doubt, Callahan?”

Huntington leaned back in his chair. “You asked why I assigned this case to you. Because I want to either shake you or break you. It was a horrible thing, what happened to your wife and daughter. We all feel for you. But two years later you’re still floating around here like a ghost. Yes, you do your job, but your heart isn’t in it. Your biggest asset was your driving hunger to bring in the bad guy, even though you went over the edge at times. Now you have nothing.”

Max swallowed hard on those words. “I appreciate your leniency, sir.” Appreciated it? He would have dropped to his knees in gratitude for his not pushing Max—or sticking him in a desk job.

Huntington’s gaze softened. “I care about you, Callahan. I care about all my men. Part of my job is to keep an eye on your mental welfare. I’ve been a cop a long time. I know the crap you go through. You went through hell. It’s time to join the living, if that’s possible. I know you’ll do your best on this case. I wouldn’t have put you on it otherwise. And while you’re on it, you’re going either to pull your act together or fall apart. I’d rather have that than have you hovering around here like the undead.”

Max wanted to live up to his lieutenant’s expectations. “I want a warrant for phone and credit card records for Mike Burns and Olivia Howe. Our first step is to tie them together.”

“Do you have enough to back it up? I’ve already caught hell for getting warrants when we didn’t have enough evidence. Marco Gencarelli is trying to sue us for the search we did on his businesses.”

Max headed back to his cluttered desk. Huntington was watching him through the glass window and didn’t even look away when Max caught him. Max turned his attention back to Phaedra’s file. Phaedra, not Ashley.

Maybe he wasn’t doing all that he could. He’d worked hard not to be the coward his father had called him. When his wife and daughter were killed, he’d lost his drive to be a hero. He’d lost his drive for just about everything. Could it be time to find another way to make a living? He liked using his hands. At home he was always working on some kit. He’d started with cars and moved into resin model kits featuring characters from horror movies. Creating Frankenstein and Nosferatu kept his mind occupied. As soon as he finished one project, he shoved it onto an overloaded shelf and dived into another.

Right now, though, he had a girl to find. He took a copy of Phaedra’s picture and his notes and went to see Judge Garrett. He outlined the case thus far and held up the picture.

“I want to find this girl as badly as you do, but we can’t go off half-cocked. You guys have been doing that too much lately. Give me something more, and I’ll let you have the phone records.”

Olivia had washed up, treated the scrapes on her hands, and had just enough energy left to drop down on the couch. The doorbell jarred her from a deep, dreamless sleep some time later.

She sagged against the door. They had to be from Terry, probably the hundredth bouquet he’d sent her. “I don’t want them. Send them back.”

The young man’s voice grew whiny. “But, ma’am, I have to deliver them. It’s my job. Besides, they’re our most expensive ‘I’m Sorry’ arrangement. Can’t you at least take them? You can throw them away or burn them or do the hoochie-koo dance around them for all I care.”

She opened the door, and the fragrance of roses assailed her senses. “They’re an ‘I’m Sorry’ arrangement?”

Well, that was a big help. What was he sorry for? “Take them back. Tell Mr. Carlton I refused delivery. Hold on.” She returned with a five-dollar bill. “Thank you.”

She heard his footsteps down the hallway. Just as she was about to close her door, a cellular phone rang in the apartment across from hers. The ring was loud enough to make her suspect the door was open. It closed with a rapid snick. That was odd. The owner supposedly used the apartment as a stopover on business trips, but no one had been there in the year Olivia had lived here.

Now that she was awake, she decided to get some housework done. It was better than moping around worrying about the girl. She was in her closet hanging up clothing, feeling for the little Braille tags that identified what color the item was. Judy helped her pin the small metal tag onto any new item that she bought. She was feeling for the tag on the last item to be hung up when she felt the flash of panic and sank to the carpeted floor. She needed to hold on to the connection this time, to see where Phaedra was being held.

She heard his voice first, eerily like that of the man who had abducted her years ago.

The girl scooted to the back of the cage, the bars pressing into her back. He walked closer, his shoes clicking on the concrete floor. Just a scary shadow. A cap on his head shaded his face. A light was behind him.

“Why do you make me punish you all the time, Rose? Why can’t you be a good girl and make your mother happy?”

She cringed at the back of the cage, but it didn’t matter. He could reach her anyway.

His hand gripped her arm and pulled her closer. His other hand slid around her neck, holding her head against the bars. He grabbed a hank of hair and chopped it off. He showed her the gum lodged in the long brown strands, gum he had put there. He kept cutting. Long hair rained down on her scuffed-up knees. Tears fell on those knees, too. Fear clogged her throat. She heard the last swish of the scissors.

“Now, maybe you’ll learn. ” His voice grew bitter. “But you’ll never learn, will you? You never do, Rose.”

He watched the girl feel the chopped ends of her hair. Her whimpers crawled across his skin, leaving gooseflesh behind. She looked more like Rose now. That was phase one. In four days, the transformation would be complete, and this tormenting rage inside him would be assuaged.

With gloved hands, he stuffed the strands of long brown hair into a plastic grocery bag. The battery-powered lantern behind him left his face in shadow. Not that he was worried about her identifying him. No one would find her here. He doubted she could escape, but he wasn’t going to take the chance. He even wore a cap to further obscure his face. Certainly no one would hear her screams or, at the moment, her soft whimpers. It was ingenious, finding this place. The whole city was looking for her, and she was right under their noses. Sure, they’d checked the building during the grid search. They just hadn’t checked carefully enough.

Water dripped into the old porcelain tub in the nearby bathroom. Because this place had long ago been abandoned, the corroded pipes only allowed a small amount of water to trickle through. By the time he’d need it, the tub would be full enough for his purposes.

“I… want to go home,” she said, catching her breath between words. She was staring at her clenched hands. “I want my mommy.”

His voice thundered when he said, “Don’t you dare talk about your mother, not after what you’ve put her through. You’ve been a bad girl, Rose.”

As he walked toward the door, he could hear her desperate pleas: “I’m not Rose. I’m not Rose!”

CHAPTER 6

Despite the expensive waterfront location, the LaForge Gallery was approachable and the artwork wasn’t over-priced. Not Max’s type of art, but interesting nonetheless. One whole section of the gallery was devoted to local talent. He found Olivia’s pieces right away. They stood out with their rich hues and abstract eye shapes. For a blind woman, she sure did like vivid colors.

A plaque gave a little background information on her. Very little: “Olivia Howe is a native of Palomera.”

“She’s blind,” a man said, coming up behind Max. “She won’t let me put that on the plaque even though I think it’s a great selling point. Amazing, isn’t she?” His hair was bleached almost white and set off vivid blue eyes. He was a nice-looking guy, in his mid- to late forties. He held out his hand. “I’m Sebastian LaForge.”

“Detective Callahan, Palomera Police.” Max accepted the handshake, but he was looking at the four paintings. “They’re very…”

“Deep,” Sebastian finished when Max couldn’t find the right word. “You can almost feel the emotion.”

Max could swear he had a thing for her. “Is she like that? Deep and emotional?”

Max cleared his throat and looked at the paintings again. “Is she really blind? Or is it a gimmick?”

“She’s blind. Otherwise, she’d have gone for me years ago.” At Max’s raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “Two beautiful people should make beautiful love together, don’t you think? I’m shallow, what can I say? Besides, I find that a sensual relationship helps me to”—he slid his hand down a bronze sculpture of a naked man holding an obscenely long penis out like an offering—“relate better to the artwork. Which means I can sell it better.”

“Was seeing him is right. They were hot and heavy for about six months. He even moved in with her. Then she broke it off. Wouldn’t say why, but she’s pretty private about her personal life.”

“I’ve talked her into doing one. She hates being in the spotlight. Can’t imagine why. She won’t do interviews with the press. With her looks and that sexy voice of hers, she’d be a star.”

Max found his gaze on her paintings again. She managed smooth lines and color transitions for someone who couldn’t see her work. Which made him wonder, “Must be frustrating when you can’t see your end product.”

“She gets her joy out of creating it. I’ve watched her paint. She’s really into it.” He stroked the statue again.

“You know Mike Burns? He may have come in with someone who bought one of her paintings, the one that’s like watching the sun set, only the sun looks like an eye.”

“I love those! She’s supposed to be working on one for me right now.” He tapped his lower lip. “Mike Burns, Mike Burns… doesn’t ring a bell.”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. They’re the people whose girl was kidnapped, right?”

“We’re trying to find that girl, Sebastian.” He pulled out Mike Burns’s DMV picture. “I need to know if this man was ever in your gallery.”

Sebastian gave the picture a thorough look. “Not that I can remember. But I have a couple of people who help out.” He nodded toward some strange metal sculptures that Max suspected represented nude women. “So I can do a little art myself.” His gaze slid down Max’s body.

The guy was interested in Olivia. Right? “Maybe he came in during Olivia’s showing.”

“Could have. We had a bit of a distraction, so I lost track of who was coming and going.”

“Terry Carlton showed up. This was after they’d broken things off. People were all excited to meet him, have him sign autographs. Olivia was not happy about him being there, but what could I do? People loved it.”

It was hard to picture Carlton as the lovesick spurned suitor. He seemed like the kind of guy who’d be doing the spurning. “I assume you keep records of your customers.”

“Sure. We add them to our mailing list. I guess you want me to look up this guy, huh?”

He sat down at the computer and slipped on some colorful reading glasses. “B-u-r-n-s?”

“Right-Max watched him type in the wild-card symbol in front of ”Burns.“ Four came up, including Flora eight months ago. None were Mike or any other family member. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been in the gallery.

Max tapped his palm on the counter. “Thanks for your help. I’ll be stopping by later to show the picture to your employees.”

The midafternoon sun was bright but tempered by a moderate breeze. The Waterfront was crowded with people lucky enough to have their shopping list as their biggest worry. Christmas music wafted over the breeze from Poppy’s Cafe on the corner. A little girl was in danger, and life just went on.

Max glanced in the direction of Olivia’s building and felt a pull. Instinct, he guessed; he never ignored his instinct. He cut between the rows of buildings and passed a coffee shop. Unable to resist, he doubled back and bought a cappuccino, hoping no one he knew saw him. He liked what the other guys called wussy coffee. He dug the foam. Besides, he could use the jolt of caffeine. He removed the plastic lid and took a sip. His cell phone chirped as he opened the door to Olivia’s building a couple of minutes later. He stepped aside and answered.

“Nada. Zip. Zilch. Burns could have been there, and then again, maybe he wasn’t. I’m going to check back with the other employees later. What about you?” He could already tell Sam had found something by the tone of his voice.

“The good news is Mike Burns is seeing someone. I just talked to the folks at the Ford dealership. When the shop is slow, he takes off now and then. He usually makes a call before he leaves. One of the mechanics said when he returns, he looks like a guy who just got laid, though Burns denied being with a woman.”

Max leaned against the building and thought of Sebastian. “Maybe it was a man.”

Sam nearly choked at that possibility. “No, I mean Burns smelled, well, womanly. Perfume, fruit flavors—”

“Can it, Sam. I got the idea.” Max didn’t want those thoughts floating around in his mind when he went to see Olivia.

“We’re one step closer to tying those two together. The bad news is, I’ve gotta back off from him. His lawyer just talked to the lieutenant, crying harassment. I swear that guy couldn’t have made me, but he says he’s being followed. He’s paranoid, which is good. Maybe he’ll start getting nervous and make a mistake.”

Heat emanated from the building and soaked into Max’s tense muscles. He flattened his back against the salmon-colored stucco and closed his eyes for a moment. “I’ll ask Olivia if she knows Mike, see what her reaction is.”

Sam said, “In seasonal traffic, he would have had about five minutes to get from his truck into the toy store and take the girl. Maybe Olivia was tracking the girl for him and alerted him to the fact that Phaedra went in the store. Or he could have known they’d be at the store that morning. She would have gone willingly with him. Maybe she thought they were playing a trick on Flora Burns.”

Max reluctantly pushed away from the warm wall and headed inside. A tall man in his mid-fifties with brown greasy hair flecked with dust was patching a hole where the picture had been hanging. It had fallen down and pulled a chunk of dry wall with it. The man’s gut rubbed against the wall with his movements. He didn’t even glance up at Max.

“Ever see this guy with her?” Max showed his identification and then Mike Burns’s picture.

Max took the stairs and headed to the end of the hall. He knocked, waited a minute, and knocked again. Canned laughter drifted from inside. Another sound caught his ear and shot the hairs on the back of his neck straight up. A droning voice came from deep within the apartment. He pounded on the door. “Olivia! It’s Detective Max Callahan. Let me in!” After another few seconds, “Dammit, open up!”

That protective feeling reared inside him again, bringing to mind the image of that little boy in the cape rushing to save the damsel in distress. He raced downstairs to find the manager. His tools were there, but he was nowhere in sight. Max ran back upstairs and pounded on the door again. There were procedures for this kind of situation, but all he could think about was making sure she was all right. Reacting on instinct and adrenaline, he backed up and rushed the door. Pain radiated from his shoulder, but he’d felt the frame give. He tried twice more before the door frame splintered. Another try, this time on his other shoulder, and the door broke open.

One of her I Love Lucy tapes was playing. Over the laughter, he heard Olivia droning on in a voice that sent goose bumps across his skin. He followed the sound to the walk-in closet. She was huddled in the far corner beneath her clothes, rocking to and fro saying, “I’m not Rose; I’m not Rose; I’m not Rose.” Her face was pressed against her knees, which were drawn up and held tight by her arms. Her dog was sitting beside her, looking worried. The dog glanced up at him, at her mistress, then back to him. Help her.

Olivia didn’t seem aware that he even stood there. Maybe she was having a seizure.

He knelt beside her. “Olivia. It’s Detective Callahan. Olivia, can you hear me?”

She didn’t hear him. Her arms were tightly wound around her legs. Her muscles were tensed rock hard. He tucked her long hair back behind her ear so he could see her face. Her legs were wet with her tears, but he could see only a small portion of the side of her cheek.

“I’m not Rose; I’m not Rose.” Her words sent a chill like a trail of ants down his spine.

“Olivia!” Even his louder voice didn’t faze her. What was happening to her? He’d seen something like this in an autistic child once, but Olivia hadn’t struck him as autistic.

Acting on instinct again, he sat down and pulled her into his arms. His mouth was next to her ear, and he kept repeating her name in a soothing voice. Heat radiated off her, and she was soaked with sweat.

“Olivia, come back. Come on; you’re safe. You’re OK. Come back to me.” If she didn’t respond in another minute, he’d call an ambulance.

She clamped her mouth shut and lifted her head. He knew now was the time to back off, but he only said, “Are you all right?”

“It’s OK. It’s me: Detective Callahan.” Max rose to his feet slowly so he didn’t startle her.

It took her a moment to catch her breath. Stasia climbed all over her in obvious relief, and Olivia smoothed her hands over the dog. “Detective… Callahan?” She rubbed away the beads of sweat across her forehead. “What are you doing in here?”

“I didn’t mean to startle you. You were in some kind of trance. I could hear you from outside the door. You wouldn’t answer, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

She made her wobbly way to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. He stayed close by, his hands at the ready in case she lost her balance. Stasia jumped up beside her and rested her chin on Olivia’s leg.

Her hair was mussed and damp from tears; he stopped himself from reaching to smooth it down. She was obviously still shaken, probably by both the seizure and his presence.

“You should see a doctor.” Again he felt that odd pro-tectiveness and an urge to pull her back into his arms.

As though she sensed his feelings, she straightened and lifted her chin. “No, I… I’m fine.”

She shivered at that, and Stasia shifted closer. In a faint, hoarse voice, she said, “I know.” She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her temples. “This is all wrong. It’s all mixed up.”

She took another steadying breath. “I was connected to Phaedra, seeing through her eyes.”

She was fidgeting again, her face lowered toward her hands. “I saw the man who has her, but his face was in shadow. There was a light behind him, and he was still wearing the gray cap. I saw the cage again, but…”

“I think my connection to Phaedra is getting mixed up with another kidnapping.”

“I’m a cop. I have to explore every possibility.” And because he didn’t feel much like a cop kneeling in front of her, he rose to his feet.

“No, it hasn’t happened before. But this time, it’s different. Stronger. And there are other factors.” Before he could ask about that, she said, “I know how your partner feels about what I told you—-about my being connected to Phaedra. Do you believe in psychic powers?”

“I believe in hunches that pan out. I believe in strong feelings about things. I attribute them to instincts, and I believe that instincts, hunches, all of that could push beyond the five senses. But what you told us, that goes way beyond the boundaries of believability.”

She nodded. “Most cops feel the same. My… hunches, feelings, whatever you want to call them, I’ve had them since I was a child. I inherited them from my grandmother, who used to host seances and tarot-reading parties. If my mother had any abilities, she was too embarrassed by her mother to admit it. Then I came along, and, well, you can imagine how well that went over with my mother. She…” Olivia paused for a moment before saying, “Sorry, I’m babbling.” She paused again. “There’s something you should know. The reason I connect to kidnapped children—and only kidnapped children.” Her body tensed. “Maybe if I tell you, you’ll understand. Maybe you’ll believe.”

She was gripping one hand with the other, crushing her own fingers in a tight grip. “I was kidnapped when I was eight.”

He couldn’t help his quick intake of breath in surprise. “You were kidnapped?”

She nodded. “A stranger abduction. He held me captive for five days before I was able to escape. Because of the heightened state of my senses—fear, anxiety—my sixth sense was also heightened. It wasn’t until years later, when I got out into the world, that I realized what had changed. The first time I heard about a child being kidnapped, I was drawn into the story. Not just in the way that a once-victim would be drawn into a story of another victim. If you were a victim of a dog attack, say, and you heard a story about another dog attack victim, your emotions would be heightened to the story, right?”

Max caught himself nodding. “Yeah, I understand that.” Too well. He leaned against the wall across from her, putting some comfortable distance between them.

Olivia was stroking Stasia’s fur in a quick, rhythmic motion. “That’s how it is for me, only my senses take me a step further. Once I’m emotionally connected to the child, I see through their eyes. It comes in brief flashes, like images from a movie screen. I have no control over the images or when I connect. The child’s emotions trigger the connection. When they’re suddenly in a heightened state, I’m pulled to them. It overcomes me. That’s what happened at the bookstore, and that’s what was happening when you came in.”

“Well, yeah.” He wanted to ask more about her kidnapping, but she continued.

“Whenever I got something useful, I would call it in to the police anonymously.”

“First of all, I didn’t have to explain where the information came from. They may have thought I was involved in the crime, but at least they couldn’t question me as a suspect.” She raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I could understand why they would suspect me, but I didn’t want to go through all of that. Second, well, I was used to hiding my abilities. But the important part was, they investigated my leads. And sometimes… I think I helped. Two years ago, back in Columbus, Ohio, I came out of the closet, so to speak. I gave the police information that didn’t help find the child but turned out to be right. So the next time a child went missing, they called on me.”

Her face tensed, and she massaged her temples again. “Because that case didn’t go very well.”

He could hear the pain of her admission. He didn’t know what to make of her. Something inside him wanted to believe her. Maybe he was that desperate for a lead. And maybe, he had to admit, he simply wanted to believe her.

“I didn’t want to say anything with that other detective around.” Max could tell just what she thought of Sam by the hard tone in her voice. “But if I thought it would help find Phaedra, it was worth telling you.”

A captain had believed her. “The man who kidnapped you,” Max couldn’t help asking, “is he alive?”

“No. He can’t hurt me or anyone else. I wish I could help more. And now I’m not even sure how much of what I see to trust.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I’m fine now. You don’t have to hang around.”

He wanted to ask her more about her own abduction, but she obviously didn’t want to talk about it. Besides, it couldn’t have any bearing on this case if the man was dead. “There’s, ah, a small matter I need to rectify. I broke your door in when you wouldn’t answer.”

“I’ll take care of it. Lie down for a bit. You look frazzled. I know a guy who’ll come right out.”

She followed him to the living room, where Lucille Ball was trying to swing her leg up onto a ballet bar—and failing comically. “I don’t want to lie down. And I don’t want you hanging around. I’m perfectly capable of handling the situation.”

She made her way to the door using clear pathways delineated throughout the apartment. All of her furnishings had rounded edges. If she was faking it, she’d been perfecting the technique a long time. And yet she sometimes slipped and made contact with an object as though she could see it.

He took hold of her hand just as she was about to run it across the splintered wood. She turned toward him, and he was overcome with a rush of something he couldn’t explain. Whatever it was filled his chest and made his fingers tighten on hers. He abruptly let go, and she pulled her hand against her stomach as though he’d singed her.

He wrangled a promise that Rob would be right over. Then he walked through the half-opened door and grabbed his cup of cappuccino. She was bracing herself against the wall and trying hard not to look like she was.

She walked toward the couch. “I don’t want anything.” Her voice still sounded shaky, and he had to stop himself from helping her. Her legs gave way just as she dropped down onto the cushion. In a resigned voice, she said, “Some tea would be nice. It’s in the last upper cabinet on the right.”

He filled the kettle and set it on the stove. His gaze went back to her. She was murmuring words of comfort to Sta-sia, who followed her like a shadow. He didn’t like this protective feeling Olivia engendered. He couldn’t afford to be this drawn to someone… especially when she was a suspect.

CHAPTER 7

Olivia wanted to crawl into the crack between the cushions and die, but she damn well couldn’t do that with Detective Max Callahan rummaging around in her kitchen. Even more disconcerting was coming out of the trance and finding a man holding her, his hard, warm body pressed close to hers, coaxing her back with his sultry voice. It was comforting and disturbing at once.

What she hadn’t told Max was that the connection was stronger if the case was similar to her own—a stranger abduction. Phaedra had been taken from a toy store on the same date that she had; that had to be why it was so strong and why the connection was getting mixed up with her memories.

“Here you go.” He set the cup on the coffee table in front of her. “Do you need sugar or milk?”

He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sure you can. But right now, relax and let me get what you need.”

She tightened her mouth. In another situation, with someone who didn’t put her on edge, this would be nice. “Sugar, please.”

“I can handle this part, thank you.” She knew she didn’t sound very appreciative, but she wanted to be alone. She poured sugar through the cracks between her fingers, monitoring the amount. “So, break-the-door-down heroics one minute, serving tea the next. I suppose I should be amazed. And grateful.”

“And yet it doesn’t sound like you’re either.” She could hear the sardonic smile in his words. He sat down on the sofa beside her.

“That’s because I don’t need a hero or a waiter.” Or a sexy cop hanging around. Oh, yeah, she didn’t need to see the man to tell he had sex appeal. He had strong hands; she learned that the first time they’d met. His voice was soft in a masculine way. His scent of man and cologne evoked memories of family trips to the Michigan cottage on the lake: fresh breezes, earth, and pines. The way he’d felt with his arms wrapped around her and the way he’d cared about her, appealing in a man, but not what she needed just then.

She cleared her throat. “Look, you don’t need to stay around. Your friend will be here anytime now, and I can deal with him.”

“Don’t you trust him?” She could feel him lean back and get more comfortable.

“Why? Because I’m blind?” she said sharply. What she couldn’t get across with subtle eye contact she could manage pretty well with her voice.

“You sound like you’re feeling better,” he said, obviously catching the tone. “And I’m not trying to be a hero. Yours or anybody’s.”

She could also detect those same subtleties in others’ voices. The subject of being a hero was tender. “Good, because I don’t need one.” She’d already said that. Why was he unnerving her so? He wasn’t touching her, wasn’t sitting too close. But he was close enough for her to know he’d recently had cappuccino with a hint of cinnamon. Close enough to reach out and touch.

She even got as far as wondering what he looked like before she squelched that thought. Bad idea. She picked up the cup and blew across the surface. He’d chosen the mango tea, her favorite. Lucky guess.

The question wasn’t as casual as he wanted it to sound. “Isn’t that the missing girl’s last name?”

“The Burnses have one of your paintings at their house. I figured maybe you knew Mike, that maybe he was the reason his brother has your painting.”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell. I’m bad with putting faces with names.” After a moment of silence, she added, “That was a joke. If I did meet him, he made no impression on me at all.” Mike was obviously a suspect of some kind, or Max wouldn’t be asking about him. Now he was trying to connect her to Mike. “Wait a minute. You think Mike took his niece, and I had something to do with it. That I was, what, in cahoots with him?”

“Like I said, I can’t afford to discount any possibility. Or to discount the coincidence that you were the one warning the guards about the missing girl who happens to be his niece.”

She laughed, letting sarcasm shine through. Tea sloshed up over the edge of the cup, and she set it down again. She licked the drops of tea from her fingertips. “But you just said it. If I was involved with Mike and the girl’s abduction, why would I warn the guards about it?” Her mouth drooped into a frown as she remembered how desperate she’d been and how the guards had ignored her.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and she hoped it was his friend. She wanted her door fixed and both of them on their way. But it was her friend Judy’s voice saying, “Wow, Olivia, what happened to your door? Oh, hi.” Judy tended to overpronounce her words, substantiating everyone’s opinion that she was slow.

Olivia thought they shook hands and then Judy dropped down onto the chair to their left. Only then did Max resume his seated position.

Even though she was thirty-four years old, she acted more like a child. Olivia was pretty sure Judy was smarter than anyone gave her credit for, even Judy herself. Her IQ was just on the low side. Unfortunately, her father kept her from growing into an independent woman by keeping her under his supervision.

“I mix paints for her. And I scan in the newspaper for her so the computer reads it to her. She pays me.”

“That’s nice of you,” he said in a genuine voice. Most people tended to dismiss Judy or condescend to her. Olivia hated that. “What do you spend your money on?”

“Sometimes I buy a brownie at the Beanery. I save most of my money, because Olivia says I should. I keep it hidden in my bedroom. My dad doesn’t pay me anything to help him. Olivia says ‘thank you’ and she pays me. Like double bonus points!”

A few awkward minutes of silence followed, filled only by the I Love Lucy tape Olivia had put on earlier. She didn’t know what to say, and she wasn’t good at small talk. Besides, she really wanted some time alone to sort out what was going on in her mind. She’d hoped that once Max had gotten the information he’d come here for, his dutiful charade would be over.

“No thanks, hon. If you can come up tomorrow, though, that’d be great. The usual time. I need to finish that one on the easel for Sebastian. He’s been bugging me about it.”

“My nose itched,” Max said, but Olivia picked up on the lie that threaded through his voice. If people only knew how much their voices gave away. Since most people relied primarily on their vision, they didn’t pay as much attention to their other senses. “I think her paintings are dramatic. Vivid.” His low voice was aimed at her. “Alluring.”

Olivia picked up her tea again, needing something to do besides listen to his voice. “Thank you. I think.”

Olivia caught herself nearly asking what kind of smile. Several minutes passed. She pressed the button on her watch. “Two-o-one.”

Judy sighed and pushed out of her chair. “Okey-dokey, I’m going to go now.” Her footsteps were heavy across the floor, something Olivia had been working with her on along with her pronunciation. She wasn’t about to call her on it now, though.

“Judy, don’t tell your dad about the door, OK? No need to bother him with it. It’ll be fixed by tonight.”

“It’ll be our secret,” she whispered. “I’m good at keeping secrets. Bye, Cop Detective Max Callahan. Bye, Olivia.”

Judy’s footsteps pounded down the carpeted hallway and faded away, and another set of footsteps sounded soon after. Most people who ventured down this way were visiting Olivia. Except for whoever was staying across the way.

“Good job, Max,” a man’s voice said, followed by a whistle. “They ought to put you on the SWAT team.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for coming. This is Olivia Howe, the owner. Olivia, Rob Miller.”

They exchanged pleasantries, and Rob went to work on the door. She wondered if Max knew for certain that she did own this place, and how much, for that matter, he did know about her.

She listened to Max’s voice—not the words, per se, but the cadence and pitch. It was smooth, soft-spoken, yet strong at the same time. She was trying to figure out what exactly made it sound so contradictory when both men’s voices were drowned out by the sound of wood cracking. She drank her tea and checked the time again. She wanted Max to leave and find that girl, not stay and watch over her.

“Who is Rose?” Max asked, startling her because she hadn’t heard him approach.

He was wandering around again. What was he looking for? Between the bursts of noise Rob made, she heard Max pick up her phone, press a button, and hang up a moment later.

She was about to tell him that really, he didn’t have to stay with her, when a chirping sound filled the air.

She could faintly hear a man’s voice on the other end. “You’re not going to like it.”

Max didn’t say a word as he turned off the videotape and changed the channel. Was there news about Phaedra? She found herself getting to her feet and walking closer to the television.

A man who sounded like a reporter asked, “Mr. Burns, could you tell us why you lost faith in Detective Max Callahan? He did find that other missing boy, after all.”

“I have it on good authority that his family’s deaths have affected his job performance.”

A woman said, “We understand that he hasn’t been assigned to a case like this since then. There must be a reason why, and I know what it is. He might have been one of the best cops on the force once, but he isn’t anymore.”

Mr. Burns said, “We’ve asked for the case to be reassigned, but they’ve ignored us. They think it’s because we’re angry that they’re looking at us as suspects. It’s not.” His voice cracked. “We just want our little girl back.”

The reporter said, “We have a phone statement from Detective Callahan’s superior, Lieutenant Basil Huntington. Lieutenant, the family is accusing Detective Callahan of letting the past slow him down on this case. Is he up to handling another abduction?”

“Callahan’s one of my best detectives. I wouldn’t have put him on the case if I didn’t believe that. Remember, he brought that boy back to his family safe and sound.”

“Saul Berney killed Detective Callahan’s wife and daughter. How can that not impact his abilities?”

“We were never able to prove that,” Huntington clarified. “Callahan’s giving his all to this case. We have all the manpower we can spare doing what we can to bring this girl home. Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot to go on right now. Something’s going to turn up sooner or later, and when it does, we’ll break the case wide open.”

“We’re questioning a couple of people, and that’s all I can tell you at this time. We’ll keep you informed. Thank you for the opportunity to comment.”

Max turned the sound down. She could sense him looking at her and wished she could see the expression on his face. She knew she looked shocked.

When Max finally answered, she could tell he wasn’t looking in her direction. “He put a pipe bomb in my wife’s car.” He was working at keeping his voice neutral, but the emotion lurked just under the surface.

“It’s not a matter of getting over it. You just go on because you have to. Do you want some more tea?”

“I’m fine.” She knew she should let the subject drop. He didn’t want to talk about it, and it was none of her business. But it touched her in a way she couldn’t ignore. “How old was your daughter?”

Did he see her flinch? So young and innocent. “I’m sorry.” She couldn’t tell if he was wearing a wedding ring, and there was no telling whether it was his dead wife’s or a new wife’s ring if he was. Or why she was even pondering it. Detective Max Callahan was the last man she’d be interested in romantically. They both had way too much baggage between them.

And still, when she’d convinced herself of that, she asked, “Have you remarried?”

His “No” was fast and final. He turned I Love Lucy back on, discussion closed.

So he still loved his wife very much. Maybe he was one of those men who never got over their lost loves. Some people never got past the tragedies of their lives. Because she was one of those, she felt an odd affinity toward Max.

“Your lieutenant said he was questioning some people. Am I one of those people?” she asked, settling back against the desk that served as the command center to her life: phone, notepad, clock, computer, scanner.

“Because I’m a suspect.” She pushed away from the desk and crashed right into him. She hadn’t realized he was so close.

His hands automatically went to her shoulders to steady her. “I’m still trying to figure out how you fit into this investigation.”

She couldn’t help but think of her earlier suspicion. “I’m not sure if I should even mention this.”

His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly when he asked, “If you know something…”

He released her shoulders. “Like you being psychically connected to a kidnapped girl.”

“No, not that crazy. I was dating Terry Carlton up until a month ago. We broke up and he’s been having a hard time letting go of the relationship. For the most part, he’s been harmless. He’s never out-and-out threatened me or assaulted me.” At least that she knew of. “It’s his persistence that worries me. Phone calls, flowers—”

“How did you—oh, when you came by yesterday. Well, yes, he’s been crazy in that way. But now I’m not so sure it’s harmless. I think someone tried to push me into traffic this morning.”

When she lifted her scraped palms, he took her hands in his and traced his thumb around the raspberries. His touch was soothing and sensual at the same time, and she gently tugged her hands free.

“No, because no one saw anything suspicious. And maybe someone just accidentally bumped into me. I’d rather think that’s what it was. Then later, Terry sent an ‘I’m Sorry’ bouquet. It made me wonder what he was sorry about exactly, and how far he’d go to keep me from being with anyone else. Or get me back. Like scare me into thinking I need him. He knows about my connection with kidnapped children. In fact, he even called to see if I’d connected with Phaedra Bums.” She shook her head. “I doubt he had anything to do with it. I mean, kidnap a child to get a woman’s attention? That’s just crazy. Forget I mentioned it.”

Of course, Max wouldn’t forget it. He was a cop, trained to investigate anything that might lead to a solution to a case. “Has he given you any indication of being that desperate?”

“I always am.” She heard weariness in her voice and hoped he hadn’t. “But thanks for asking.” He cared, and that touched her. Maybe because there weren’t many people who did care about her.

“Good-bye, Olivia.” As the door closed behind him, she heard him thanking Rob for coming out so fast. Max’s voice was the last to fade. Maybe she was only hearing it in her mind.

She touched her shoulder, still feeling the imprint of his hand. Like the residual humidity left over from a midday shower, he clung to her senses. Even his voice echoed in her ears long after he’d left. She was drawn to him for some reason. She wanted to think it was his tragic loss, but she really couldn’t attribute it to that. She’d felt this before she knew about that.

She hoped they’d find Phaedra soon, and she wouldn’t have to deal with him again.

“You Terry Carlton?” Max asked the man who answered the door, though he recognized him.

“Yeah.” He took in Max’s badge. “Don’t tell me you’re going to arrest me for sending her flowers. Besides, it doesn’t count since she didn’t even accept them.”

Terry stepped back as he ran his hand through his curly shoulder-length hair. “Sure, man.” He gestured to a white sofa and dropped down into a matching recliner.

The sofa, it turned out, was covered in fake fur. Max held back his grimace and surveyed the rest of the house. It was large but sparsely furnished. A few contemporary pieces here and there and lots of room for more. Nothing suspicious about the house or Carlton’s behavior.

Carlton reached for a picture frame on the end table. “I think I startled her yesterday. I happened to see her out walking, so I went up and talked to her.” He ran his finger over a snapshot of Olivia. “No crime in that.”

“It is a crime when she’s placed a no-contact order against you. What about today?”

Max meandered toward the dining area. “Nice place.” He took the opportunity to scan the back rooms and listen for anything out of the ordinary. He wasn’t sure what to make of Olivia’s story about being pushed or her thought that Terry might have taken the girl to get her attention. For all he knew, they could be working together, but he doubted that. “Why Olivia?” he asked, walking back to the living room.

“I know what you’re thinking. Why does a guy who can have any woman he wants go after a woman who doesn’t want him around?” He shook his head, looking at the picture. “There’s something about her. She’s soft, delicate. I want to protect her from the world.”

“Are we talking about the same Olivia Howe?” But they were. The woman in the photograph was definitely Olivia.

Carlton’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I was her first lover. And I intend to be her last. Her only. She’ll come around.”

Max headed toward the front door. Nothing that would help him find Phaedra here. “Let her come around in her own time.”

Carlton’s smile turned smug. “I was taught that persistence pays off. That’s how I got to the NFL.” He rubbed his knee. “That’s how I’m going to get back. And that’s how I’m going to win that woman back. Without breaking the law, of course.”

“Be sure that you don’t. No contact means no contact. Thanks for your time.”

The sun glinted off Max’s windshield as he approached his car. His sunglasses were sitting on the seat. When he picked them up, they were hotter than a barbecue briquette. He flung them back on the seat with a curse and called Sam. “How did you know I wasn’t going to like the news broadcast?”

“Sorry, buddy. That’s the last thing you need, all that dredged up again. When the Burnses’ publicist arranged for a last-minute spot, the television station called Huntington so they could run his comment afterward.”

“Her name is Olivia, and no, I got nothing.” Nothing he’d tell Sam, anyway. He’d never give credence to her vision, and she hadn’t given them anything concrete anyway. “She says she worked with a Captain Jack Richards on the Columbus, Ohio, police force, helped him with some cases. I’m going to put in a call and see if her story pans out.”

“Well, so far she hasn’t been a great deal of help. Half the guys at the station think she’s nuts. The other half think she’s involved. I vote for both. Did you ask her about Burns?”

“She says she doesn’t know him.” He relayed her suspicion about Carlton and his subsequent conversation. “The guy might be an obsessed jerk, but he doesn’t strike me as deranged.” Max tried to pick up the sunglasses again and discovered the metal frame was bent.

He tried to unbend the frame and broke off the arm. “If she’s faking it, she’s damn good.”

“Women are the best actresses in the world,” Sam said in an uncharacteristically bitter voice. He cleared his throat. “All I’m saying is, don’t buy into her act.”

Max tossed the broken glasses in the backseat. “I’m not buying into anything. What do you have?”

“No, seriously. Remember we saw Santa walking into the store on the videotape? Well, guess what? That wasn’t the guy the store hired to play the great giver of gifts. Our people matched up everyone on the tape. They didn’t catch it the first time, because Claude Fernley walked in with a group of people and kind of blended in. If you’ll remember, he’s a little spit of a guy. Probably needs plenty of padding for his costume.”

“Yeah, but he’s not our guy. See, our folks saw Santa walking in and then we had cleared Claude and had him on the list of those who left the store. At first, they didn’t come up with any extra people. They went through the tapes again and that’s when they saw Claude going in. It turns out that the guy walking in wearing the suit never left. Not out the front door, anyway.”

CHAPTER 8

He knocked on Olivia’s apartment door. There was only a slight wariness to her voice when she asked, “Who is it?”

“Officer Bill Williams, Palomera Police Department. I’d like to have a word with you about the Burns case.” His southern accent wrapped around his words as snug as a rubber glove.

“Miss Howe?” he asked, though he knew it was Olivia. When she nodded, he said, “I work with Detectives Cal-lahan and O’Reilly. I heard about your, uh, special skills and wanted to talk to you.”

Her eyebrows furrowed at the words special skills. “Can I feel your badge?”

Her shoulders sagged a little at that. “I suppose everyone at the police station knows about me.”

He tempered his words with soft laughter. “Well, when you have a woman trying to warn security about a missing girl who isn’t missing yet, it does get our attention.”

He stepped around the dog, who was still looking at him, and sat on the couch. “There’s something you should know about me. I have special skills, too.”

“I know exactly why you don’t want everyone knowing about your involvement, because I’ve been there. I try to hide it when I know things I shouldn’t, try to explain away slips of the tongue.” Empathy softened her expression, so he forged on. “It’s even harder when you’re a cop. You can only explain so many things as hunches. How can you explain knowing what a killer is thinking?”

He made his words come out thick, as though each was painful. “It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with.” He let a suitable pause go by. “I understand you’re connected to the kidnapped girl.”

“Yes. I always connect to the victims. Probably because I was a victim once. I relate to them on more than one level.”

He touched her hand, establishing physical contact. “I know you didn’t. Sorry, I can be a little touchy. I shouldn’t feel that way with you, of all people. We’re on the same side.” He gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. He’d put himself on the defensive and, he hoped, had drawn her in a little closer. “We understand each other.”

She settled more comfortably into the chair but still leaned toward him. “Are you saying that you’ve connected to the man who took Phaedra Burns?”

“I… I think so. Since her kidnapping, I’ve been getting these images. A large room with concrete floors and green walls. I see the girl, too. She’s… well, I hate to even say it. But I think she’s in a cage.”

He watched Olivia’s face light up. “Yes, that’s what I’ve seen, too. So maybe that part is real.”

She waved that away. “I saw the cage. And…” She ran her fingers down the length of her hair. “Well, it’s mostly been flashes. Quick glimpses, rushes of her panic and fear. That’s what triggers the connection, when her emotions spike.”

“Interesting. What I get seems to be random. Maybe there’s a trigger I haven’t figured out yet. Can you see the guy?”

She shook her head. “A light behind him casts him in shadow. And he wears a cap.”

She had that much right. Then again, she had a lot right. “I feel rage coming from him. It’s aimed at the girl.”

The dog was sitting at her feet and still looked at him suspiciously. Its ears were even tilted back.

“A sacrifice,” he said in a low voice. “She’s going to be sacrificed.”

“Maybe he’s a religious fanatic. I haven’t gotten enough from him to figure him out. I was hoping we could work together, pool our skills and find her. I want you to be our mouthpiece, Olivia. May I call you Olivia? I feel like we’ve got a bond, you and I.” He touched her hand briefly to punctuate those words. To his relief, she squeezed back.

“If I come in knowing things… well, I could hurt my career. I’ve already been passed over for several promotions because the guys in the department think I’m strange. They wouldn’t want one of their own to be known as one of those weirdo psychics. You know how cops can be.”

“O’Reilly doesn’t believe in anything out of the ordinary. He’s a real hard-ass. What about Callahan?”

“Unfortunately, O’Reilly’s attitude is the prevailing one at the station. Psychic clues are disregarded, and if they were to come from a cop, well, I’d lose the respect of the guys and my superiors.” He leaned forward, close to her. “You can’t imagine how glad I was to hear about you. I knew you’d understand. That you’d help me.”

“I thought you would. And if you’re thinking that I want to be the one to crack the case and get the glory, you’re wrong. In fact, if anyone finds out I’m talking to you, it could be my job. Some of the officers and detectives are still working on the Burns case, but I’m not. Maybe if I’m careful about revealing my special skills, I’ll move up someday. I need your word that you won’t say anything about my talking to you.”

“I’m sure. Maybe if we can find the girl using your-slash-our skills, they won’t be so closed-minded about psychic power.” He pushed to his feet, paused, and let out a sigh. “There’s another reason they might not believe me. I have to be honest with you.” He sank back down again. “The one time I laid myself out there and admitted I had a ‘feeling’… I was wrong.” Again he’d let his voice become thick with emotion. “Have you ever been wrong, Olivia?” He had read profiles on a couple of well-known psychics; the cases where they’d gotten it wrong had haunted them.

And so, it seemed, did one case haunt Olivia, to judge by the shadow that crossed her face. “Yes,” was all she offered.

“I was so sure the missing woman was in the suspect’s workshop. I went there instead of checking out another lead. Turns out the lead would have probably led us to the woman in time. If I’d only gone there first…” He put a hitch in his breath. “How do you know when you’ve got it right?”

She was twisting her hands in the hem of her shirt. “You have to go by instinct. There is no way to tell for sure.”

She stood, too. “I’m glad you came. Is there a number where I can get hold of you?”

“I’ll be in touch with you; don’t worry about that.” One more squeeze to her hand, just to seal the bond. “We can find her, Olivia, and prove we’re for real.”

She had proven to him that she was real. He hoped he’d proven the same to her. That was essential to the plan.

A child-abducting Santa Claus. It was a start. Max and Sam met at the LaForge Gallery and showed Mike Burns’s picture to Kris tine Banks, the employee working that afternoon. Several people wandered around the gallery pretending to look at the art but surreptitiously listened to them.

Kristine’s country-fresh looks with the sprinkling of freckles across her cheeks contrasted with the slick atmosphere of the gallery. She pursed her mouth as she studied the picture. “He may have been here during her showing.”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure. We have a lot of people at our showings, coming and going.” Her smile turned positively glowing. “And Terry Carlton came in, and he is just so hot.”

“He looks kind of familiar, but…” She shrugged again, handing the picture back.

“Ongoing investigation. Look, here’s my card. Call me if you remember anything more definitively.”

As soon as they stepped outside, Max pulled out his cell phone. “Judge Garrett asked for a little more when I tried to get a warrant for phone records this morning. He’s gun-shy because of the Monterra and Gencarelli cases. Maybe that Santa suit will give us an early Christmas present.”

They stepped to the wrought-iron railing away from the overhead speaker spilling festive music. Max waited until Garrett came on the line and outlined what he had.

“You said ‘something more,’ Your Honor. I admit it’s only a little. But look at that picture I left with you. Are you looking at it?” Max didn’t have to picture Phaedra’s face. She was smiling from several flyers tacked to posts and taped inside store windows.

“I want that girl home by Christmas. Help me.” That only gave him four more days.

“All right, I’ll give you phone records for both of them and credit card records for Burns. Give me an hour.”

Sam had been following the conversation as best he could, and he made a triumphant gesture when Max thanked the judge. “That’s the most spunk I’ve seen out of you in a couple of years.”

Max ignored that. “We’ve got phones for both and credit cards for Burns in an hour.”

The aroma of steak made Max’s stomach growl. Poppy’s Cafe was in the corner of the adjacent building. Tables spilled out from beneath the awning so diners could enjoy a view of the water and the people strolling by. Poppy’s was pumping out their own Christmas music; their hip-hop version clashed with the traditional tunes coming from the overhead speakers.

Sam eyed the place. “This is one of those overpriced joints, probably charges eight bucks for a burger and fifty cents for cheese besides.”

They were seated at one of the outside tables. Bright rays spilled out from behind the cloudbank that covered the lowering sun, reminding Max of a religious painting. He stretched out his legs and leaned back in the small ornamental chair. More ornamental than comfortable, to be sure.

Sam was staring across the way, lost in his thoughts. Not good thoughts, if the lines etched across his forehead were any indicator. He had been Max’s mentor and friend over the last several years. Max had always had older men as friends. He was sure it had something to do with the father figure thing, but he’d never given it much more thought than that. After all, he was too old to need a father. Sam was his closest friend. Their families had done things together, boating, picnics, birthday parties. All that seemed so long ago.

The surprising remark about women being great actresses echoed in his mind. “How’s Annie?”

The waitress brought two sodas and took their order: two eight-dollar cheeseburgers.

“See, the cheese is included,” Max remarked as he handed his menu to the waitress.

To the untrained eye, the setting sun was a fitting end to a peaceful day. Max knew that somewhere in town a little girl was waiting to be rescued.

He saw that movie in his mind again, the boy in the cape, candlelight flickering against the walls, and the moment that haunted him still. Coward! But he hadn’t been a coward, not that time.

“Maybe this Santa thing will be our big break,” Sam said, busting into Max’s thoughts.

“I sure hope so. We could use one. It’s a hell of a case so far.” He felt guilty sitting there eating while Phaedra endured God-knew-what. He reminded himself that people all over were looking for her, either physically or by way of digging up records and backgrounds. Prayer vigils were going on all over town. He glanced at his watch.

Sam drummed his fingers on the glass tabletop. “We haven’t had a stranger abduction in a couple of years. Does that make it more or less likely that that’s what this is? We know it isn’t Berney anyway, since he’s in jail.” Realizing that was a sore subject, he said, “Nick Mathers has sure been supportive of you during this case.”

“Well, he also likes working these kinds of cases. Says he’s interested in the psychology behind a sick mind.”

Sam cocked his eyebrows at that. “He ought to be writing crime novels like Holland. I don’t care how these sick son-of-a-bitches get the way they are, I just want them put away.” He took a drink of his soda. “Nick said the lieutenant called you into his office this morning. Said you looked a little shook when you walked out.”

“He says I’ve been walking around like the undead.” He weighed how much to tell Sam, and then decided to dump it all and get a second opinion. “I know he’s cut me slack these past two years, not putting me on cases that involve children or anything tough. Maybe it’s softened me. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a cop anymore.”

“That’s bull. You told me you wanted to be a cop since you were a kid. And you’re one of the best cops in our station.”

Max hadn’t told him why he’d wanted to become a cop. He hadn’t told anyone about his past. His wife, Diana, used to tease him about being hatched, though beneath that teasing tone was hurt that he wouldn’t share his past with her. Just one more thing that wedged between them. All he would say was that both his parents were dead. To say more would mean telling her everything. That was something he couldn’t do.

“Was one of the best. I’m honest enough to admit I’m not anymore. I don’t even know if I can be that guy again.” There, he’d said it. He felt a weight in his chest lift.

“I think you’re ready to come back. Oh, you’ve been fighting it, but you’re ready.”

“That’s just it. I’m not ready. I don’t have the drive anymore. Not for the job, not for anything. Maybe a change would do me good. Change of job, even a change of scenery.”

“What you need,” Sam continued after a moment of silence, “is to sell that house. Too many memories. There’s your change of scenery. You haven’t changed a thing about that house since… since then. You just sit there doing those creepy monster kits. Morbid, if you ask me.”

Hell, he wished he hadn’t opened this conversation. But Sam was right. Their memories were there. Diana’s memories lurked in the closet, the bottom drawer in the dresser, and all the other places she stashed her bottles of vodka. Sometimes he still checked out of long-engrained habit.

The drawers were empty now, but his anger was still there. He held on to it the same way she’d held on to her addiction.

When he’d helped her off the booze the first time, she’d promised to come to him if she felt herself slipping. As far as he knew, she’d been clean for two years before she got pregnant. There was no reason to suspect she’d taken it up again. Then again, he wasn’t home much. He’d been too busy chasing the bad guys.

All she’d wanted was his forgiveness. Sometimes he wished he’d given her that before she’d died, even if he’d only pretended to forgive her. But his anger never went away, not when he was constantly reminded of what she’d done.

Ashley had finally started growing out of the physical effects of fetal alcohol syndrome: the flat bridge of her nose, the lack of a ridge on her upper lip. When the doctor had informed them that the deformities were a result of Diana’s drinking during her pregnancy, she had been in denial. It had taken her a year to admit she’d been drinking heavily for a good part of her pregnancy, and that the problems Ashley faced were her fault. Then she’d gone through a phase of blaming everyone else for her drinking, including Max.

There wasn’t time for a lot of blame, though. Ashley had had several problems through her early years that required attention, including two surgeries to repair her damaged heart. She was smaller than average, too, which had made Max feel even more protective of her. She’d been so damned brave through all those doctors’ visits and the surgeries, he’d wanted to cry.

Then the behavioral problems had started: hyperactivity, poor judgment, trouble learning from consequences. By then, Diana had taken responsibility for her daughter’s health and started dedicating herself to doing whatever she could to make Ashley “normal.” Diana had also rededicated herself to their marriage. Max had stuck it out because they owed Ashley a family. He’d do anything for her, including staying with a woman he no longer loved. But he couldn’t make himself love Diana again. That hadn’t made him any less shattered over her death. In some ways, it had made it worse.

The waitress brought their food, and Max pulled himself out of his grim thoughts. He realized that Sam had also been deep in thought, staring blankly at a blonde walking by. They ate, and Max paid the bill so they could collect their warrants. They would compile a list of area costume shops while they waited for the phone records to come through, and then start hitting them in the morning. If they could tie Bums to a Santa suit, they’d be on their way.

As they both pushed to their feet, Max’s pulse jumped. He saw Stasia first, and then Olivia walking behind her. She wore a dark blue shirt and a long orange skirt.

Max only nodded, unable to stop looking at her. Her long hair swung gracefully as she walked, and her shoulders were high and straight.

That they’d follow her was assumed. If she met up with Burns… that’s why Max’s heart was racing. Maybe this would be their break in connecting the two of them. He couldn’t pinpoint why the thought turned his stomach.

Surely the woman wasn’t derailing Max, though he couldn’t forget the image of her licking drops of tea off her ringers, the mango scent wafting from the cup. Or the way she measured out sugar.

The walkway was wide and covered with light and dark red bricks in alternating patterns. The railing was ornate black wrought iron accented by an old-fashioned street lamp every few yards. It was a perfect backdrop for a beautiful woman walking with her dog.

Sam was watching him. “You like causes, Max. Underprivileged kids, fetal alcohol syndrome…” He paused. “Blind women with that fragile look.”

Max forced a laugh. “That woman is nowhere near frag-ile. She’s not even in the same country as fragile.” He tried not to think about her huddled in the closet or the way she felt in his arms.

They stayed several yards behind her. She passed the round Edgewater building and the crowds of people waiting for their movie to start. When she led Stasia to the dog section of the park, Max and Sam casually leaned against one of the large oak trees. Even if she couldn’t see them, Mike Burns could. Max scanned the area, but his gaze kept returning to Olivia.

“Max, why don’t you head on back to the station and pick up those warrants? I’ll hang around here and keep an eye on her. It looks like she’s going to be here awhile, and there’s no use both of us standing around.”

Max reluctantly pushed away from the tree. “All right. I’ll meet you back at the station.”

For some reason, he wanted to tell Sam that he should be the one watching her. He kept the words inside and headed to his car.

Olivia had had the strongest feeling that she was being watched at the park. She had never considered herself paranoid, but as she made her way back to her apartment, she was beginning to wonder. She remembered a girl she’d gone to school with. Lisa Morris had been rendered blind in a car accident two years earlier. Her biggest fear was not being able to see if someone intended to do her harm. “You can’t tell if someone is coming at you or following you,” she’d told Olivia. “They could be right there, and you wouldn’t see them. By the time you’d know you were in danger, it’d be too late.”

Lisa’s words echoed as Olivia opened the door to her building. She knew there were certain vulnerabilities to being blind, but she didn’t want to dwell on them. Now, though, they were hard to ignore. She breathed out in relief as she reached her door a few minutes later. Just as she inserted the key into her door lock, someone grabbed her arm. She spun around, her heart going into overdrive.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to frighten you,” a woman’s voice said. “My name is Flora, Flora Burns. I’m Phaedra’s mother.”

Olivia was even more startled by the woman’s identity than by the sudden touch. Before she could gather rational thought, Flora said, “I understand that you’re involved in my daughter’s case. That you’re a psychic. Please, I need to speak with you.”

Olivia took a deep calming breath. “Come inside. I’ll fix some coffee.” She flicked on the light switch for Flora and hung up her coat. After releasing Stasia, she went about the task of brewing coffee. “How did you hear that I was involved in the case?”

“My husband says someone called and told him but didn’t identify himself.”

“I think so. He doesn’t tell me much, to be honest. I only overheard him telling Joanna, our publicist, about you. He was concerned that if word got out about your involvement, all manner of unstable people would come forward and clutter the case. Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I know.” That’s just how people were and why cops like Bill had to keep their talents hidden.

“I’m a Christian woman. I just hope God doesn’t punish me for coming here to see you. You being psychic and all,” she added.

Olivia tried to hold back her annoyance at people who thought the devil must bestow such powers. “I believe God gives people the ability to go beyond their five senses. How they use it is another matter altogether. How do you like your coffee?”

“I’m glad to hear that. Oh, here, let me.” She spooned in sugar and stirred noisily. “I understand you’re… well, they said you were blind.”

“Let’s sit down in the living room.” She led the way, settling into her favorite chair while offering Flora Burns the couch. “You want to know about your daughter?”

Olivia smiled. “It doesn’t take a psychic to understand why you’re here, Mrs. Burns.”

“Please call me Flora. You’ve seen my daughter. That’s what they said, that you can see her. That she’s alive.”

The raw hope in her voice made Olivia wish she could offer more. “She is alive. The man who took her hasn’t hurt her, and hasn’t touched her in any sexual way.” She wouldn’t tell her about the cage or about Bill’s feelings that the girl was to be sacrificed. “That’s all I know, I’m afraid.” Olivia wondered just who had told Pat Burns all this.

“It doesn’t work that way. I can’t summon her up or speak to her. I see through her eyes when she’s in a heightened state of emotion. I see flashes and get emotional impressions. I’ve been trying to see where she is. All I know is that it’s a room, and it’s fairly dark.”

Flora smothered the sound of a sob with her hand. “She’s so afraid of the dark.”

Such small consolation. “Mrs. Burns—Flora, I’m not working with the police. I’m a suspect, actually. You should know that”

Another sob erupted, though Flora regained control again. “I told her to stay close, but I kept talking. I didn’t make sure she stayed nearby.”

Olivia reached out and touched her arm. “Please don’t blame yourself. It only takes a few seconds. They wait for the slightest opportunity.”

Flora wrapped her fingers around Olivia’s hand. “We’re suspects, too, Pat and I. The police said it’s usually a family member who’s involved. And… well, Pat took out an insurance policy on Phaedra. Five hundred thousand dollars. The police think that’s a large amount to take out on a child. I don’t know why he even did it. It’s like he was investing… betting on her death.” She stifled another sob. “Our restaurants are on shaky ground financially. The police will eventually find out, and they’ll think he arranged this horrible act for the money. But I know he couldn’t hurt our daughter. I know that.”

Olivia thought she might be trying to convince herself. Unfortunately, she couldn’t say anything to quell Flora’s doubts.

Flora loosened her grip on Olivia’s arm. “You’ll keep trying to see where she is, won’t you?”

Olivia’s voice was thick with conviction: “I’ll never give up. Don’t you give up either. Detective Callahan is doing the best that he can. He’ll do anything within his power to bring your little girl home.” Somehow she knew that was true.

Flora stood. “May I come to see you again? I feel closer to Phaedra when I’m with you.”

A few minutes after Olivia locked the door behind Flora Burns, Stasia growled. The hairs on Olivia’s neck sprang to attention, and she tuned in with all of the senses she had.

Breathing. She could hear someone breathing. Her chest felt tight, making it hard to draw a breath. She could smell cologne—the same cheap stuff she’d smelled before someone pushed her into traffic!

She’d changed her locks after he’d moved out, but she supposed he could find a way to break in. Taking deep breaths to calm her heart, she unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway. “Flora? Hello? Is anyone out here?” Only one of the apartments was occupied full-time, and Olivia rarely ran into her neighbors.

Stasia growled again as she pressed close to Olivia. Soft footsteps came closer. A scream froze in her throat. Someone was standing in front of her. She had never felt so vulnerable since… since her own abduction.

Then he walked past her and down the hallway. She sagged against the wall. The door to the stairwell opened and closed. He made no attempt to rush or to mask the sound of his departure. That arrogance sent a shiver through her.

She pushed away from the wall and was about to slam the door shut when she heard faint music coming from the apartment across from hers. She knocked on the door. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

She wiped a shaky hand across her damp forehead and knocked again. No answer. She wobbled back to her apartment and locked the door behind her. With the adrenaline draining from her body, she dropped into the chair in the living room. Stasia jumped up into her lap. She held her dog close and fought the nausea rumbling through her stomach. Someone had been in here waiting for her. Listening to her conversation with Flora Burns.

Should she call the police? And tell them what, that she thought someone was in her apartment but couldn’t prove it? And that that someone could be Terry Carl ton? They’d probably still think his persistence was a romantic gesture and wonder why he was wasting it on a cold fish like her.

The phone rang, jarring her. She made her way on shaky legs to the nearest phone.

“Olivia, it’s Terry. I’m just checking on you, making sure you’re all right.” He was on a cell phone.

CHAPTER 9

Ah, there was his Rose, huddled in the comer of the cage. He came by in the predawn hour before most of the world got started. In the dim light, he saw her wide eyes watching him as he approached the cage. She was trembling, and her small hands were wrapped around the bars. There were no windows down here, no natural light at all. The air was thick, only what came in through sophisticated ventilation systems.

“I’m a good father, leaving that light on for you, aren’t I? I know you’re afraid of the dark.”

“That’s all I ever wanted, you know, to be a good father. To make you into a good person and keep you in line. You can’t blame me for that, can you? Can you, Rose?”

She wouldn’t answer. That’s how she’d always been. Wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t answer. They had been adversaries since the beginning.

He walked around to the other side of the cage. “You don’t care what I do for you. It’s never enough. You think you’re entitled, don’t you, Rose?”

He set a large cola next to the cage and collected the wrappers from the sandwich he’d left the night before. Not a thank-you or a please to be found. “Drink the soda. All of it, right now.” He also set a gallon jug of spring water within her reach.

She picked up the cup and finished the soda through the straw. “I’m hungry,” her raspy voice said a few minutes later. She sounded breathless when she looked up at him and said, “I’m hungry, please.”

That was better. He held up the bag of food. “What have you done to deserve food? Did you scream after I left?”

She vigorously shook her head. No one would hear her anyway, not through four feet of concrete. He should have brought a tape recorder to see if she had. She was always lying to him. Just last month she’d looked him right in the eye and told him she hadn’t left her bike out by the road. Two months before that she’d lied about leaving the carton of Rocky Road ice cream on the counter to melt.

He shook the cage, and the little bit of bravado she’d mustered shrank away. She huddled into a ball again. He couldn’t move the cage much. It was made of heavy steel. He’d fashioned it from a storage bin, working with a blowtorch. The bars went around three of the sides; it was solid in the back.

“You’re always lying to me, Rose, from the moment you could talk. You learned ‘Mama,’ ‘milk,’ ‘hi,’ and ‘bye’ before you learned to say ‘Father.’ That hurt me, Rose. You never loved me, did you?”

“I’m not Rose.” Her voice was stronger this time, even though she was saying it into the crack between her knees.

He let out a long sigh. “And still you deny me. I want you to call me Father again.”

“You’ve made her very upset. You know that, don’t you, Rose? She cries in frustration. Do you know what that does to me to see her crying?” He slammed his fist to his chest and his voice cracked when he said, “It kills me. You won’t be a bad girl ever again. After Christmas Night, you won’t ever make your mother cry again.”

Max and Sam spent the morning checking out local costume stores, all the while dogging the phone companies and credit card company for their records.

“That was a waste of time,” Max said as they headed to their car after the last shop.

“Or ordered it from out of state. If he did, hopefully he charged it.” Sam settled into the driver’s seat and expelled a long breath. “Maybe Pat ran into financial trouble and hired Mike to get rid of the kid for the money. Olivia could be involved with Pat or Mike, though no one seems to think Pat is having an affair. Kinda strange when a father puts a big life insurance policy on his own kid. Unless…”

“He’s planning to cash in,” Max finished for him. “We’ve seen it before. But Pat took out the policy three years ago.”

“That’s what insurance policies are for, in case you need them in the future.”

Mike was their prime suspect, with Pat Burns as a secondary, but Max’s gut feeling told him neither was involved. Sam, on the other hand, would not let go of the only suspects they had: Olivia and the Burns men.

“We’re going to nail them,” Sam said, determination burning in his voice. “One way or another. Don’t get too interested in Olivia Howe, Max. She’s going to go down with them. I wonder who’ll squeal on who first.”

“I’m not interested in her.” But his stomach rebelled every time he thought of her as a suspect.

“She’s nice-looking, and that’s the end of it. If I wanted sex, I could probably scare up someone to oblige.”

It was more than sexual appeal that drew him to Olivia, though she certainly had appeal. It didn’t take much to conjure an image of running his fingers through her hair—he loved long hair—or opening that cynical mouth of hers with his tongue… no effort at all. He couldn’t afford to explore what the draw might be exactly.

“What about that blonde who was after you?” Max asked, steering both their thoughts away from Olivia. “The neighbor who was always needing a man to help her fix or move something. Didn’t she have a boyfriend who was stalking her?”

“Helene?” Sam shrugged. “Not a thing. The boyfriend’s out of the picture now. I told her to stop bothering me.”

Max’s phone chirped, and he took the call. “Great, thanks.” He disconnected and turned to Sam. “Credit card records are on their way. Let’s grab some lunch and take it back to the station.”

“Whoa, take a look at this,” Sam said as Burns’s car pulled into the Waterfront apartment parking lot a few minutes later. He jumped out of his car and barreled toward the buildings.

Max said, “He’s checking out the numbers like he doesn’t know where he’s going exactly.”

“Maybe Olivia usually met him somewhere else. Now that we’re moving in on them, they’re getting panicked.”

They followed Pat Burns at a distance as he walked into Olivia’s building. Raised voices filled the third-floor hallway by the time they arrived.

“I had a feeling you were coming here. Dammit, Flora, she’s a fraud! How much money did you give her?”

“Nothing!” Flora said. “I just wanted to talk to her. She didn’t ask for a dime.”

Pat stalked over when he spotted them. “I hear that you’re employing psychics to find my daughter. Is that the best you can do? People aren’t going to take this case seriously when they hear about this.”

“She’s not working the case, Mr. Burns. She came to us with some crazy story, that’s all. The woman’s a suspect.” Sam looked at Flora. “I’ll bet she didn’t tell you that.”

“How’d you know she was involved in the case?” Max asked Pat, thinking that was the obvious question here.

“I don’t want her anywhere near my daughter’s case.” Pat turned on his wife. “And you, stay away from her! She might not be asking for money now, but she will be. That’s how they all work. She doesn’t know anything. If she did, we’d have our girl home by now.”

“Flora, go home. I’ll meet you there.” Pat started to leave but paused and looked at Max. “If you botch this, I’ll have your badge, your home, and your car.”

Pat left, followed quickly by his wife after she’d whispered an apology to Olivia.

“I want to know where the hell he’s getting his information from,” Max said to Sam before walking toward Olivia. “You all right?”

She gave a noncommittal shrug. “A little yelling and deriding never hurt anyone.”

Sam put his cynicism into full gear. “Oh, that’s right, all those cases you’ve solved over the years.”

She faced Sam. “I did help once. I described the man who had taken the boy. If they’d used the sketch publicly, they would have caught him much sooner. Over the years, I’ve given the police a bit here and there.”

She shored up her shoulders. “Not every time.” And she hated herself for it. Max knew that feeling too well. “And sometimes the connection… stops before I can get any clues.”

“Your so-called psychic power peters out? Runs out of juice? Needs another quarter?”

Her fists clenched tighter with each word. She didn’t want to say it. Max could see the reluctance and pain on her face. He was about to say, “Lay off,” but she answered before he could.

“They die, dammit! I can’t see through their eyes when they’re dead!” She sank against the closed door, her voice and anger draining. “They die, and I couldn’t help them.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Sam said, heading toward the stairs. Once they were outside, he said, “If Pat and Olivia are working together—maybe even involved—the last thing he wants to hear is that his wife is visiting his cohort. So he calls her a fraud and orders his wife to stay away from her. Convenient. I want Pat’s phone records, too. I’m getting closer—we’re getting closer. I hope you’re with me on this.”

A couple of hours later, Max and Sam had gone through the credit card listings and were finishing up with the phone records. So far, they had zip to connect Mike and Olivia. Sam surveyed the mess on the conference table. “It doesn’t prove anything. Maybe they use pay phones. Maybe Pat Burns made all the calls.” He wasn’t able to persuade the judge to give him warrants for Pat’s phones.

“It was a waste of time.” And warrants, Max didn’t say. “Maybe the answer isn’t here.”

He slumped in his chair, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration: relief that it wasn’t looking like Olivia and Mike were working together, frustration because he should be hoping for a connection.

Sam studied Max from across the table. “You’re glad we can’t pin it on Olivia, aren’t you? I know she’s a pretty blind girl and kinda tugs at your heartstrings. Add the dog, and it’s sap city.”

“A woman can have a way of appearing all soft and sweet and innocent and be the devil inside. Don’t lose sight of that.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Are things are all right between you and Annie? That’s the third time you’ve said something like that.”

Sam’s expression shuttered. “Annie and I are fine.” He pushed to his feet and grabbed Max’s mug. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

“Callahan… Oh, yes, thanks for calling. Can I call you right back? My partner will want to hear you, too.” He hung up and redialed on the speakerphone. “Captain Jack Richards, from Columbus, Ohio,” he told Sam as it rang. “I appreciate your calling me, Captain. I’m here with Detective Sam O’Reilly. We’re working on a child abduction case, and Olivia Howe has become… well, involved. She says she’s psychically connected to the girl we’re looking for and claims that she’s worked with you in the past.”

“Yes, she has,” said the voice on the other end of the phone. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t believe in that psychic stuff.”

“Let me put it this way: I don’t scoff at anything any-more. She was pretty right on with some things. We had gotten a couple of anonymous tips in years past, giving us information that, along with our own leads, led us to our man. Then, two years ago, she walked in claiming to know what the guy who had just abducted a young girl looked like. She wanted to work with a sketch artist. We had no leads at the time, so we indulged her. Unfortunately, we didn’t circulate the sketch. I didn’t want it to get out that we’d used a psychic.”

“Eventually. The thing was, he looked almost exactly like the sketch. It was enough to convince me to at least explore the possibility that she was real. A few months later a boy was abducted by his abusive noncustodial father, so I called her in. It was a tough case. She did connect to the kid, told us she saw a barn. We tracked down the barn, but they were already gone. They had been there, though; hair samples proved that. Then she saw an isolated house, which was harder to track down. The problem was, by the time we could make use of what she was telling us, they were gone. It was rough on her, though she held up as best as she could. But afterward… when we found the boy beaten to death… she took it hard. Real hard. I know she blamed herself for not finding him in time. Soon after that, she told us she was moving down to Florida. Said her father had finally gotten into a health care facility down there. That’s the last I heard from her.”

Max had seen a haunted look on her face. She had lost the connection with the boy, and it tore her up. “Did she want recognition? Money?” he asked, anticipating the questions from Sam.

“Just the opposite. From the beginning, she absolutely didn’t want her name released or associated with the case. I wouldn’t discount what she says, that’s for sure.”

“Doesn’t prove anything,” Sam said when Max disconnected. “Maybe she knew where the boy was because she was in on that, too. Maybe this is what she does, if not for fame or money, then for sick kicks. It takes all types; you know that.”

“I didn’t figure you would.” Sam grabbed his mug again, looked at the dregs in the bottom, and set it down. “I’m going out for some real coffee.”

Max watched him leave. Sam’s body was tense, his movements stiff. What was going on with him? Sure, they usually zeroed in on a suspect early on and dug until they found something concrete one way or the other. But Sam’s case against Olivia seemed personal. If he didn’t know Sam better, he’d think it was because she was a woman first, and because she claimed to be psychic second.

Lieutenant Hunrington stepped into the conference room and scanned the table. “Anything? Don’t make me look bad in front of Garrett. I’m already on shaky ground with him.”

Max shook his head. “If there’s a link between Olivia Howe and Mike Burns, we haven’t unearthed it yet. We’re also working on a link between her and Pat Burns. With the insurance policy he took out, we can’t discount him as a suspect.”

“That’s what the office manager said. He could have slipped out a window or had Mike or someone else do the deed.”

“Either she’s psychically connected to this kid or she’s involved. I just talked to Captain Jack Richards up in Columbus, Ohio, where she lived for fifteen years prior to moving here over a year ago. He seems to think she’s the real thing.”

“I’m open to just about anything if it means a lead. Beyond what she said at the store, there’s nothing to indicate she’s involved in Phaedra’s abduction.” Max picked up her phone records. “I’ll track down who she and Mike have been calling frequently and see if that leads us to anything interesting.”

“We got nothing.” He was staring at all the papers on the table, stacked and categorized. “It’s like the girl disappeared into thin air.” He ran his hand over his face to rub away the fatigue. He thought Huntington had gone, but he was watching Max from the doorway.

The words struck Max like a fist. He remembered the man’s faith in him during the press conference. “Am I not doing a good job, sir?”

“Tom Graham has wrapped up his case and wants to work this one. He’s just getting started on another homicide case. I’m giving you the chance to swap cases and step away with your dignity intact if it’s getting too much. If you’re sinking.”

“Coward!” he heard his father say. Max slowly blinked, clearing away the harsh voice from the past. His father was dead. And Max wasn’t a coward. No way was he handing Tom this case. Tom didn’t have what it took, didn’t have the patience. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’ve got it under control.”

All Olivia wanted to do was forget about that scene outside her door. She locked the door and intended to absorb herself in music to soothe her frayed nerves. When she turned on the stereo, the volume was so loud, it knocked her back a step. “All right, I know I like my music loud, but not that loud.”

Wait a minute. The same thing had happened with the television that morning. She rubbed a fresh onslaught of goose bumps from her arms. Who would break into an apartment just to turn up the volume knobs? Unless that’s not all he did.

Another crop of goose bumps blistered her skin. Maybe she should report the intruder to the police after all.

“Yeah, I can’t identify him, prove he was here, or tell whether he took anything, but oh, I know he turned up the volume on my stereo. They’d jump right on that.”

Her sarcastic laughter rang hollow in her ears. Someone had come into her apartment. Who? Why? “Don’t think about it. There’s nothing you can do. Nothing.” Frustration swamped her. She was pacing, hoping her movements would keep the fear at bay. “Not afraid,” she whispered on a shaky breath. “I am not afraid,” she said in a stronger voice.

She recognized his honeyed southern voice and unlocked the door. Good. She’d ask him to take a look around. “Come in.”

“Hi there, pup,” he said to Stasia. He remained near the door after he’d closed it. “I had another vision. I think I know where she is.”

Olivia’s hand went to her throat where her heart had lodged. “She’s all right? I haven’t gotten much from her today. Just some unease, not enough to allow me to connect to her.”

“She’s on a boat. There were some numbers on the bow, but I couldn’t see them clearly. There were letters, too, the name of the boat probably. I saw a T and an R. It was so quick, I couldn’t see enough of it.” His frustration at that was clear. “It’s a serious fishing boat, probably more than fifty feet long. I think it has rigging on the sides and the chair in the back. It’s painted dark gray, kind of old-looking. It’s docked in the harbor. Remember when I said you’d be my mouthpiece? This is the time. If you even hint that you got this from a cop, they’ll know it was me, and my career will be sunk.”

“But there are so many officers on the force. How would they know it was you?”

He touched her arm. “I’m the only cop they know who has special skills. Sam O’Reilly will be on me like a swarm of bees.”

Before she could say anything more, he gave her arm a slight squeeze. “We can find her, Olivia. You can find her. You can be the one to prove that what we see, what we feel, is real. Then maybe I’ll be able to use my skills openly someday.”

She felt an odd apprehension at that. It was probably because of the difficulty in passing off someone else’s vision as her own. “Can you get to the harbor and take a look around? Maybe you’ll see the boat. Then I can send Max Callahan right to it.”

“I can’t. I’m on my way to relieve some officers on a stakeout. My partner’s in the car right now, and it was hard enough to get him to stop here for a few minutes. You can do this, Olivia. Do it for Phaedra. Do it for every kid who didn’t get found in time.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Let me get the details straight.” She recited what he’d told her, rewarded each time by an enthusiastic affirmation. He surprised her by touching her cheek. “This is an important thing you’re doing. I’ll be listening to the radio for good news.”

With that he was gone. She found herself rubbing her cheek and wasn’t sure why. She walked to her desk and picked up Louis, her personal organizer. Her finger traced over the buttons as she searched for Max’s number. She held Louis up to the telephone and it dialed for her.

She was bothered by the catch in her breath at the sound of his soft, low voice when he answered. “Detective Callahan, it’s Olivia. I think I know where Phaedra is.”

“Max, I can’t believe you’re here because of that strange broad,” Sam said as they traversed the boardwalk. “Hell, I can’t believe I’m here.”

“Because if she’s right, I’ll need your help. And because we don’t have any better leads to follow. And because time is running out, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, and I also noticed you didn’t exactly tell a lot of people we were coming out here.”

Max scanned the boats at the harbor. Most of them were luxury or sporting boats. He focused on boats spiked with fishing poles and radar antennae. Serious fishing boats.

“Keeping her on a boat makes sense,” Max added. “Especially if they’re moored far from the other boats.”

The late-afternoon air was filled with sound, possibly enough to cover any noises the girl might make. His gaze went to one boat in particular that was moored farther from the rest. He could see no activity onboard, though a dinghy was tied to its side. It sported a dozen fishing poles and several antennae that speared the air. A high platform allowed the captain to scout for schools of fish. Sun and salt water had dulled the gray paint. In scrappy letters on the bow was the word trawlblazer. His heart rate doubled.

“Yeah, and over there is the True Blue. And over there, the Rutting Bull.”

Fifteen minutes later, they’d hired a guy with a small boat to come up beside the Trawlblazer. Max glanced at Sam. “What is it you’re supposed to say?”

Sam raised his badge and called, “Permission to come aboard! Palomera Police.”

“We’d like to take a look around your vessel. There’s been a report that a young girl is on this boat, and we need to check it out.”

Two other men appeared from inside. “I wish we had a girl on board,” one of them said with a lascivious snort. “But we don’t.”

Max and Sam climbed aboard. Sam remained on deck with his gun prominently in view. Max took the search detail. His body was tensed, ready for anything. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat, pulsing in a combination of anticipation and fear. He kept his gun at his side as he went into the upper-level cabin. This had been a luxury yacht at one time, but age now tarnished the finishes. A couch wrapped around two sides of the cabin in the living room. The kitchen sported a full-size refrigerator and even a dishwasher. He went below.

The cabins were cluttered, the beds unmade. He checked beneath the beds and hi all the various closets and cubbyholes but found nothing more than the living habits of three unkempt men. It wasn’t until then that his heart rate returned to almost normal. He kept his gun at the ready as he checked for any doorway or hatch he’d missed.

“How do you maintain the engine?” he asked the men when he stepped onto the back deck.

“Down here.” The man lifted a small lid and gestured down some steps. Max climbed down them and looked around. He climbed back up and then checked out the captain’s platform. He hated giving Sam a subtle shake of his head when he returned. “Thanks for your time,” he said to the men, and climbed down to the boat.

“I’m not even going to say, ‘I told you so,’ ” Sam said as he followed.

“Good, because we’re going to check out that boat over there, too. And if that one doesn’t pan out, you can not say it again.”

Max met his skeptical gaze. “Right now I’d believe in the tooth fairy if I thought it would help us find that girl.”

Olivia hadn’t felt Phaedra all day other than a ripple of unease. As evening approached, she grew more worried. What was happening? Was she… ?

She finished off her Snickers bar and realized all those calories were wasted. She’d been too busy worrying to enjoy them. It was just that Phaedra’s fear had leveled off. She had been a captive for three days now, and the man’s appearance alone wouldn’t trigger her fear. In a sad way, she’d become used to the fear. Olivia remembered reaching that plateau. She couldn’t handle being afraid all the time. As day passed into day, she had also started giving up hope of getting home again.

Max had kept his voice neutral when he’d called to tell her he had found nothing. He didn’t have to tell her that she’d brought him disappointment and embarrassment… and given his partner more fuel for his skeptical fire.

Bill had seemed so sure. Sometimes it happened that way. Like her seeing Phaedra’s captor cut her hair, for instance, her mind inserting parts of her own trauma into the girl’s experience. She knew other psychics got things wrong, too. Once she’d realized that she was connecting to these children, she’d done some research on psychic phenomena. Even the most renowned psychics made mistakes. It still didn’t offer much comfort.

When the phone rang, she grabbed for it. Bill’s southern voice filled the line: “I heard the bad news. I’m sorry, Olivia. I must have misinterpreted what I saw. Or maybe it’s in another harbor.”

“Well, I don’t think Detective Callahan is going to check out any more harbors on my word.”

“Probably not. I’ll take a look in my off time. What about you? Anything?”

“Me, too. We’ll find her. Don’t give up on me, Olivia. I’ll be in touch.”

Since the Snickers bar had made no impact, she decided to open a bag of chocolate chip cookies. When she couldn’t rip the bag’s seam, she opened the cutlery drawer and grabbed a knife. She jerked back with a scream. Her first thought, as the blade bit into her finger, was that a snake was coiled in the drawer. “What the… ?” She stuck her bleeding finger in her mouth and felt around the edge of the wooden tray with her other hand. The steak knives were always in the left slot with the handles pointed up.

Only the blades were pointed down now. Every knife had been turned the wrong way. On purpose.

Terry’s voice echoed in her head: “Olivia, dammit, you need me! How can I prove that to you?”

She slammed the drawer shut. “OK, this isn’t funny. The volume was one thing. This was meant to hurt me.” It was time to report this to the police, whether they believed her or not. She wanted someone to take a look around and make sure there weren’t any other booby traps. Dammit, if she could see—“Don’t even go there.”

She was trying to decide whether to call the main number at the police station or Max Callahan when intense discomfort flashed through her. She slid to the floor and let the connection take her to that dark room again.

Phaedra’s voice: “Please, I have to pee. You made me drink all that water.”

He lifted an empty gallon jug of water and then checked the floor to make sure she hadn’t spilled it. “You’ll have to hold it in. I only have time to bring you food, not long enough to take you to the bathroom.”

“Don’t talk back to me, Rose. And don’t wet yourself. You’re a big girl; you can hold it. I’ll be back later.”

He couldn’t leave her. He’d made her drink all that water. He couldn’t make her hold it any longer.

But he was. He closed the door behind him. For a moment, silence. And then the sound again. Dripping water.

the door. Please come back. Please. It was painful now. Her jaw was sore from grimacing.

A gold shamrock rested on her knees, dangling from a chain. She grabbed hold of it and ran her fingers over the edges. “Mommy, please come get me. Daddy… that man, he’s not my father.” Her voice was raspy from non-use. “I’m Phaedra, not Rose, not Rose.”

Olivia jerked out of the flashback, catching her breath. Stasia’s cold nose was pressing against her arm, and the dog was pawing at Olivia’s hand.

“You can’t bring me back, sweetie,” she said, stroking Stasia’s head. “I know you’re frightened for me, but I have to do this. I have to stay with her long enough to see where she is. I wish you could understand me.”

Olivia went over what she’d seen, confused again by the similarity with her own experience. The cap and the shadows obscured the man’s face. She did see a splash of light against the wall—the wall was green, just as Bill had said. But the part about him insisting she call him Father, the haircut, him calling her Rose, and now the water… why was she getting the two abductions confused? Why—

She slapped her hand over her mouth. What she’d seen. Why hadn’t she realized it before? She had never seen the jug of water or the bars from inside the cage. As soon as she’d seen the cage as he’d been about to put her in it, she’d fought him. They’d struggled, he’d knocked her out, and when she woke, she was blind. She’d never seen any of that.

She rubbed her temples. “No, it can’t be. He’s dead.” The authorities had been sure; there had even been a witness, according to her parents.

She thought she’d gotten the real images and her memories confused… but she had no visual memories to confuse. “It’s him. He’s alive.”

There couldn’t possibly be two insane men with the same agenda. That would mean the man who had kid-napped her hadn’t died. That he was still taking girls for a reason that had never become clear. What had been plainly clear to her was that he’d intended to harm her. He’d talked about punishing her on Christmas Night, but he’d never said what he was punishing her for or how he was going to do it.

She walked on weak legs to Louis and had her personal organizer dial Max Callahan’s phone number.

CHAPTER 10

The clock on the conference room wall read 9:30. They’d each taken half of Olivia’s and Mike’s phone records to start tracking down whom they had talked to prior to the kidnapping. Sam watched Max stare at the lines he’d drawn through several numbers. His brown hair was messier than usual, the random cowlicks sticking straight up in places.

Max absently tapped the tip of his pen on the stack of papers in front of him. “Something’s not right about Olivia’s boat vision.”

“No kidding,” Sam said. “I think she’s trying to distract us from the real clues the same way she distracted the guards at the store.”

“What real clues? We’ve got nothing.” He continued the tapping motion. “No, it’s something else. Something—” His cell phone rang. He dropped the pen on the table and picked up the phone. “Detective Callahan.” His face transformed from interested to puzzled. “OK.” He hung up and pushed all of his papers into a file. “I’m going to head home and get a couple of hours of shut-eye before I fall over dead. I’ll have these figured out by morning. See you at seven.”

Sam watched Max head out. They’d been working for hours. He could use some shut-eye himself; tomorrow they’d be back at it. He shoved his papers into a file and walked out.

Max got into his car and drove out of the parking lot. Sam followed at a safe distance. Just as he suspected, Max led him right to Olivia’s apartment. Sam wanted to follow him right up those stairs and call him on it. He glanced at the clock in his car. He had his own trouble to see to.

“Max, be careful,” he said, pulling out of the parking lot. “Trouble can sneak up on a man just like that.”

Olivia had sounded shaken when she’d called. Not that it mattered. Max would have rushed over anyway. That she wanted to talk to him meant she had something new. They needed a lead so bad, he’d take anything, even from a psychic who’d been wrong. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told Sam about the call. Probably because he would have come along and blown it.

The moment he knocked and identified himself, she opened the door. Again, that upheaval he experienced whenever he first saw her assailed him.

“That depends on you.” She backed up and let him in. Her hair was tied in a loose pony tail; shorter strands trailed around her neck. She wore baggy blue jeans and a white blouse. Her bare feet thumped softly across the floor as she walked to the kitchen. She said over her shoulder, “Coffee?”

“Definitely. Thanks.” The aroma of coffee mixed with the vanilla, and something feminine tantalized his senses.

The lights on her stereo danced in rhythm to Peter Gabriel’s “Games Without Frontiers.” Max followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the end of the counter. “Need any help?”

And she did, taking down two mugs and setting them on the countertop. She put her finger in the mug and measured out milk to the first knuckle. Then she sifted sugar through her fingers. Even as he doubted her, he found her blind idiosyncrasies intriguing.

“I love music. An ex-boyfriend took my collection and burned mixes for me so I could sort them by type of music or mood.”

She pulled the carafe out of the coffeemaker and felt the mug’s placement before pouring the coffee. She didn’t look down at what she was doing. Her chin remained lifted, and she seemed to stare at the bank of cabinets in front of her. Both cups were underpoured, no doubt a safety precaution to keep from getting burned. He noticed her hands were trembling.

She shrugged and gave him her Mona Lisa smile. “Sorry I don’t have a cappuccino machine. Working with hot steam would probably be dicey.”

“It’s one of my major senses. I rely on it the way you rely on your sight. It tells me things that I can’t see, and sometimes it tells me things that you can’t see, either.” She took a quick breath. “Please, have a seat.”

She tucked herself into the large chair in the living room; Stasia sat at her feet. Olivia rubbed the dog’s back with her bare foot. He sat at the end of the sofa closest to her and took a sip of the richest coffee he’d ever had.

She cradled her mug in her hands. “I’ve been sitting here thinking of how to say this. No matter how I put it, it sounds crazy, so I’m just going to lay it out there.” She took another quick breath. “I know who took Phaedra.”

“You waited this long to tell me? Wait a minute. You’re not going to tell me it’s Santa Claus, are you?”

Her fingers tightened on her mug, making her knuckles stand out. “I told you I was kidnapped when I was eight years old. I was taken from a toy store that used to be in downtown Palomera, December twentieth, sixteen years ago.”

“The same day Phaedra was taken, I know. I thought it was just an eerie coincidence. He also lured me into a back room. When I woke up from the chloroform, I saw the cage he intended to put me in. I panicked and tried to escape. In our struggle, I got knocked out. When I woke, I couldn’t see.”

As she spoke, her foot movements became more rapid. “The man who took me tried to make me into someone named Rose. That’s what he called me, drilling the name into my head. He also insisted I call him Father. He held me prisoner for five days, and almost every day he set me up so he could punish me afterward. I was lucky—no, blessed would be a better word—I was able to escape thanks to a guardian angel. I pushed most of the details out of my mind. I don’t even remember my captor’s name; maybe my parents never told me what it was. But it didn’t matter, because he killed himself before the police could apprehend him. We moved out of town soon afterward and started a new life in Ohio.”

Max said, “Wait a minute. You were kidnapped down here? I thought… well, I got the impression it had happened in Ohio.”

“The kidnapping was why we moved to Ohio. Otherwise we would never have moved away. My father loved this area; that’s why he wanted to come back.”

Max’s throat had gone dry and prickly. He was paralyzed, waiting for her next words.

Her fingers were so damp, they slid over the handle of her mug. She set it down on the coffee table and faced him. “But the kidnapper didn’t die. He’s the man who took Phaedra. He’s doing the same things to her, making her call him Father, calling her Rose… and the punishments. Some of the things I saw when I connected to Phaedra made me think that, because of the similarities of our kidnappings, I was getting my memories mixed up with what was happening to her. I didn’t tell you everything I’d seen for that reason.”

She nervously smoothed her hair back from her face. “I connected with her a little while ago. That’s when I realized I wasn’t seeing my memories.” She shook her head. “When I saw her this time she was rubbing a gold shamrock on a chain, and he…” She took another breath. “I realized that I couldn’t be inserting my own memories, because I couldn’t see anything past the first day. What I’m seeing has to be through Phaedra’s eyes. He’s alive. Detective Cal-lahan, are you listening to me? I know I gave you wrong information before, about the boat, but I swear to you that this is real. You’ve got to believe me.”

“I’m listening.” She knew about the shamrock necklace. It still didn’t prove she was psychic. In fact, it was yet another reason to think she was involved. The rest of what she’d said, that’s what had made him feel as though his insides were being pressed between two blocks of ice. His voice nearly cracked when he said, “I’ll look up your case and see what I can find.”

He pushed himself to his feet, and she mirrored his action. He was surprised when she reached out and grabbed his arm with her uncanny precision. “Find her, Detective Callahan, before he can punish her again.”

“He played the same sick game with me that he’s playing with her.” Her face tensed with worry, and her fingers tightened on his arm. “He made her drink water all day today, but when he brought her dinner, he wouldn’t let her go to the bathroom. He told her not to wet herself. But she’s not going to be able to hold it.” Her voice was breaking. “And when he comes back, he’s going to wash her clothing and blankets and make her spend the night naked.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. He didn’t like this, her showing emotion. It was easier to think of her as cool or just plain crazy.

“She’s going to be all alone in there, cold and alone.” She released him and wrapped her arms around herself. “Yesterday he put gum in her hair and accused her of doing it herself. He chopped it all off, all those long brown locks. Tomorrow he’s going to starve her all day, then leave a plate of fried chicken within her reach—and order her not to eat it. She will, of course. Just like I did.” Her voice dropped to a scared whisper. “And when she eats it, he’ll make her eat hot sauce, enough to get her sick.”

She blinked, and two teardrops rolled down her cheek. In those few seconds of silence, he heard Peter Gabriel’s haunting song “In Your Eyes.” It was all he could do not to pull her hard against him. The lieutenant was right. This case was sucking him in, but in a way he could never have imagined. So was Olivia Howe. He just hoped he could grab enough breath to last until he surfaced again.

“I have to go.” He wondered if the desperation in his voice was as clear to her as it was to him. It seemed to take all of his effort to open the door and push himself through. One foot in front of the other, just like always.

He hoped she was crazy—or at least wrong. He couldn’t afford to believe anything else.

Olivia pressed herself against the door after Max left. The coolness of the steel soaked through her skin to mingle with the chill in her heart. She looked up. “God, you led that boy to save me. Lead us—or someone—to save her. Please.”

She had believed it was an angel that had taken her hand and led her to safety. His soft, cherub-like voice had said, “Come with me,” as though he often saved lost girls. She would have gone anywhere with him. His small hand was tight on hers, pulling her away from the hell she’d endured for five days. Once they’d started running, all she could hear was the hammering of her heartbeat and the buzz of fear. And his erratic breathing. He’d been as afraid as she’d been, but even when she’d fallen, he’d been in control, pulling her to her feet and urging her on.

She turned off the light and wondered if she was tired enough to sleep for a while. Tired, yes, but way too wound up to even think about it. She felt the rush of panic at the same time that the sound of an opening door took over her consciousness. Her legs went to jelly as she slid to the floor.

A cry escaped her mouth. The pee was strong enough for him to smell. No way to hide it. The wetness soaked both her underwear and pants and felt clammy against her bottom. “I... couldn’t hold it anymore. I’m sorry.” She tried to bite back the sob. She wanted to tell him it was his fault. He couldn’t punish her for wetting her pants. But she was afraid to make him madder. For good measure, she even pushed out the word, “Father.”

She saw his mouth grimace. “All I asked is that you hold it in a little longer. Was that too much to ask?”

He thrust his hand through the bars. She flinched at both that and his harsh voice as he said, “Give me your clothes. Now!”

As she pushed out of her pants, he said, “What kind of father would I be to leave you in soiled clothes? I’ll wash them.”

Trying to keep her lip from quivering, she handed him her pants with the cotton panties wadded up inside them.

He held his hand out, and she pulled the blanket from the corner and gave it to him.

“I can’t believe my daughter still wets herself. It’s shameful, that’s what it is. Your mother thinks you’re doing it on purpose, maybe to punish me for being so strict.”

He walked into the bathroom at the end of the hallway, rinsed out her clothes, and hung them over a shower rod to the right. He shut out the light and walked past her. Without another word, he left, locking the door behind him.

She curled up on the floor of the metal cage, cold and damp and naked. Only then did she let herself cry.

And in the background, the dripping noise. Coming from the bathroom. Water dripping from the clothing into the tub. No, can’t be the clothing, because I heard it before. Water dripping into a partially filled tub.

With a searing flash of pain in her head, Olivia came out of the vision. Stasia whined and set her chin on Olivia’s leg. She scratched the dog’s head, pulling her thoughts back to the connection. She’d been able to stay longer this time. Perhaps Stasia hadn’t realized her mistress was having one of her strange visions until just then.

He wasn’t keeping Phaedra in a truck trailer. This was a building of some kind with a regular bathroom. And a tub that was filling with water. What was he planning to do with it?

She wished she could help, wished she could somehow comfort the girl. She kneaded her aching temples, huddled the same way Phaedra had been in her cage.

It took a few minutes to gather the strength to get to her feet. She used furniture to help her get to a phone.

Olivia had to do something to help Phaedra. She had just enough time to change into her painting clothes before Judy knocked on the door.

Olivia conjured the colors in her memory. “Gray-white, black, and a medium green with a gray tint added.”

Olivia could have used primary colors that didn’t require Judy’s help in mixing, but she wanted to get the shades just right.

“That Detective Max Callahan was really cute.” Judy liked using people’s full names, a habit Olivia had dissuaded her of where her own name was concerned. Judy was good at remembering names, though, a skill she could take to the workplace someday. If her father ever let her get a real job.

“Yepper. Brown hair, kinda messy, like he’d been riding a motorcycle. Dark green eyes, like emerald green.” She was obviously thinking of colors she had mixed in the past. “No, more like moss green. Do you remember what moss green looks like?”

“I think so.” She tried to conjure up a memory of moss growing on a tree trunk.

“Black comes before green, and w for white is last. Yeah, thick and curled up. Do you want to go out with him? ‘Cause you were smiling when I described him. I think you should be with Terry Carlton.”

Olivia tried to hide her annoyance at Terry enlisting Judy’s help. “I don’t want to go out with either of them.”

Oops.“ One of the jars hit the floor, and Judy swiped it up. She recited the formula for the color she was mixing. ”But I remember you said to be careful around men.“

“That’s right, hon. You’re a special woman, and a man could take advantage of that.”

“You’re not retarded. You’re just a bit slower than some people. Don’t let anyone call you that. And remember what I said about the ‘uh-huh.’ ”

“You’re so nice to me,” Judy said, sounding choked up. “I love you, Olivia.”

“I love you, too, hon.” Olivia’s throat felt tight as she hugged Judy back.

Judy pulled away. “I gotta go before Dad comes back. He doesn’t like when I leave the apartment at night.”

As Judy turned the doorknob, Olivia asked, “Judy, who owns the apartment across the way from me?”

She locked the door and inserted the magazine of women rocker CDs into the stereo. The Bangles filled the room with their sassy music. She related to the simple messages of rock and roll, good old-fashioned sex, and plain attitude. It was the music she wasn’t allowed to listen to growing up, and the attitude she wasn’t allowed to have. Her parents were right; the music wasn’t appropriate for a sophisticated young lady. Which made it all the more appealing when her friends at the Barfield School for the Blind had played it.

She set the painting in progress to the side and put a fresh canvas on the easel. Could she capture where Phaedra was? She pulled the chair in front of the easel and oriented herself. She dipped her finger into the gray paint and swirled it across the canvas. It was easy to imagine that much of it but hard to imagine a more final product. If only she could see amber again, or ochre… or moss green.

She’d long ago given up trying to imagine what people looked like. She’d never get it right anyway. So why did she want to “see” Max?

She pushed Max from her thoughts and concentrated on the painting. Working with concrete ideas was harder than creating abstract art. She had no idea if she was keeping the lines straight or connecting them. The more she worked, the more she was convinced she was doing nothing more than messing up a canvas. She’d been working for an hour when she rubbed the paint off her fingers and stretched. “Time for a break. Let’s go for a walk, Stasia.”

Stasia whined happily at the prospect, though Olivia was less overjoyed at leaving the apartment. On the way out, she paused by the door of the apartment across from hers and listened. It was silent tonight. Maybe it was nothing, and maybe Judy didn’t know anything about who owned the place. But Olivia couldn’t ignore the feeling she had about that apartment.

CHAPTER 11

Two hours later, the notes on Olivia’s case were coming across the fax, pulled up by a clerk in Archives. Max tried to ignore the crushing sensation in his chest while he waited. Once all the pages came through, he headed to one of the conference rooms and shut himself in. His shaking hands made the papers unreadable. He set them on the table and tried not to let his gaze skip ahead. He read every word, just to make sure; but he didn’t need to make sure. Something deep inside him had known from that first meeting. That’s why he’d felt drawn to her.

Olivia had been kidnapped sixteen years ago, December 20. Taken from Boyd’s Toys. Without a trace. By Bobby Callahan—Max’s father.

Max had tried hard to push that part of his life into the farthest corner of his soul. Now it reared up in his face. Only brief notations alluded to Max’s childhood: “mother deceased, moved around with father a lot.” Cold facts that said nothing of Max’s life and what he’d gone through.

For as long as he could remember, it had been only him and his father. They moved to wherever Bobby could get work, usually living way out in the boonies where he could riddle with truck engines.

Max’s father was a disciplinarian. Whatever he said, whether it made sense or not, was the law. If Max disobeyed, he paid for it. Not that Bobby hit him. His punishments didn’t leave marks. Max shivered, feeling colder by the minute. The punishments were like what Olivia had described: psychological in nature. Being locked in his closet all night for talking back, going without food for a day if he didn’t finish every crumb on his plate. And then there were the tests.

Sometimes Bobby wanted to use Max to get revenge. He forced Max to release the neighbors’ goats because they had asked Bobby to keep the noise down as he tinkered with his truck. When one of the neighbor girls had snubbed Bobby, he tried to get Max to cut off her long braid. Other times, Max didn’t know the reasoning—if there was any. Eating live worms from the backyard, for instance. Letting a roach crawl on him.

Sometimes he passed the test, and sometimes he failed, refusing altogether. Either way, he felt like a coward. Even pretending he was Superman didn’t help. His father was his kryptonite.

Bobby had gotten a job as a truck driver when Max was eight. For two years that job was a godsend, both financially and emotionally. It meant his father was away for two to three days at a time. Though Max always had a list of chores to accomplish before his father’s return, he treasured those days of peace. If Bobby was going to be gone over a weekend, he either took Max with him or left him with his sister, Odette. Though Max liked riding in the rig, he preferred the timid Aunt Odette, who let him do what he wanted.

Leading up to the day that changed his life, Bobby had started acting more agitated than usual. Moodier. Darker. Max hid his flu symptoms, not wanting to do anything to incite his father. They usually spent Christmas Eve and Day with Odette at her farm. Max was doubly glad to hear his father announce a five-day run that would take him until

Christmas Night. The plan was to leave Max with Odette. She was visiting with a friend the three days before Christmas, and her friend had four children. Odette couldn’t take Max with her when she realized he had the flu, so Max had gone with his father.

Bobby hadn’t been happy about that, but he’d simply thrown Max’s suitcase back into the cab and headed out. He’d given Max only one order, and he’d repeated it every day: do not go into the trailer of the truck. If Max had listened, he wondered what would have happened to Olivia.

But he hadn’t listened. They’d pulled into the back section of a rest stop for the night. They were the only truck in the lot. As usual, Bobby ordered Max to stay put and went into the trailer. He went back there several times during the day and spent hours there every night. Max was feeling dehydrated from the stomach flu he’d had for five days. Bobby had been giving him prescription cough syrup to help him sleep, but it had upset his stomach that night. He didn’t want to face the wrath of his father if he got sick in the cab. As it was, Bobby was also starting to come down with the flu, complaining of queasiness and fatigue. Max knew he would catch heir for giving it to him.

Max climbed down and inhaled the fresh, cool air. A car pulled into the rest stop. A small strip of trees separated the truck lot and the building. Even through the trees, he could see a family stumble out of the car, stretch, and head toward the building.

He felt a stab of longing. Two young boys, a mother and father. Laughter crossing the distance. A family, heading somewhere for Christmas. Max had his comic books, his superheroes. That’s all he needed.

Except for a 7UP. He didn’t want to get sick again. Odette sometimes gave him a can to settle his stomach, but he didn’t have any change. He searched the ashtray and other crevices and came up with twenty-four cents.

That’s when he’d heard the sound. It was faint, like a mouse being captured by a hawk, only it sounded like it was coming from inside the trailer. Was his father OK?

Max walked around to the back of the trailer. Bobby’s warning rang in his head. He heard the sound again, but it was abruptly cut off.

Maybe he’d just peek through the small door in the back and make sure his father was all right. He opened the door and found a box partially blocking his view. He pushed his head into the opening so he could see around it. Two flickering candles provided the only light inside. A tub sat near the back corner with several jugs of water around it. An empty cage sat in the other corner. Had Bobby captured an animal?

Max’s father was wearing a military uniform, an old one. He was kneeling over something, talking in low, ominous tones.

A shiver trilled down Max’s spine when he heard the sound again. Whimpering. Human whimpering. Bobby was looking down at something—no, someone… and he was holding a knife. Max closed the door and sank to the pavement.

The family was returning to their car. The boys were both eating Popsicles from the vending machine. Should he get them to help? He didn’t even know what was going on.

A scraping sound sent him to his feet. The door swung open. He rounded the corner of the trailer a second before his father rushed into the woods and started throwing up. Max didn’t have to think about what he should do. He’d played Superman and Batman long enough to know. He climbed into the back of the trailer—and froze.

A girl was lying on the floor, her hands tied to the bars of the cage. She was dirty and smelled like urine. Her hair was cut in ragged lengths. She was only wearing a pair of pants, and a fine cut stretched diagonally across her small, bare chest. She was awkwardly curled up on her side, choking back sobs.

“Don’t cry, Livvy,” she told herself over and over, as though giving herself orders.

He didn’t give himself time to feel the horror that churned his gut and threatened to overwhelm him. He grabbed the knife Bobby had left on the floor.

She gasped when he’d placed his hand over her mouth and whispered, “Shh, be quiet, Livvy,” as he cut the ropes. “Come with me.”

He helped her to her feet and led her toward the door. Would his father come back before they could make it out? His heart was thudding in his chest, and he wondered if Superman’s heart did the same when he rescued Lois Lane. Their feet pounded across the floor. She wasn’t moving very fast, but she clung to his hand.

He pushed the door open and breathed in relief when he didn’t see his father. In fact, he heard him vomiting in the bushes. She stumbled on the bumper of the truck, and he caught her around the waist. She was probably a couple years younger than he was. Her light brown eyes were wide with terror, and her cheeks were shiny from tears. The cut was oozing a thin line of blood. He grabbed hold of her hand again and yanked her across the parking lot. He’d just reached the small strip of trees when he heard his father’s voice.

He ran even harder through the woods and out to the pavement again, but she stumbled and skidded. Bloody dots covered her knees.

Kryptonite, he thought. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The girl was breathing hard, nearly gasping. He looked at the car. The two boys were throwing away their wrappers; their parents were already in the car. She tightened her grip on his hand as Bobby neared them. Coward! Not his father’s voice but his own. Max made a decision. He jerked the girl to her feet and headed across the immense lot.

The older boy got into the car and slammed the door shut. The younger boy reached for the handle.

He didn’t dare look behind him. He imagined, not his father, but one of the many all-powerful villains in his comic books. Tentacles reached out to pull them back. Death rays shot past them.

He paused, catching sight of them tearing across the lot toward him. His eyes widened in alarm, then focused somewhere behind them. Apparently he said something, because everyone else got out of the car. The father rushed toward them, followed by the mother.

Chills of relief crossed Max’s skin as they neared each other. But he had to go back to his father. He stopped and in heaving breaths said, “You’ll be OK now. Stay right here.”

Bobby had retreated to the shadows of the woods. Max’s fear was overridden by his shock and disgust at what his father had been doing to that girl. Oh, he knew he’d be punished. Badly.

He barely had the energy to push himself faster, but that voice spurred him on. He only spared one backward glance. The family was surrounding the girl now. She was safe. That’s all that mattered.

Bobby grabbed Max’s arm and pulled him through the woods. He didn’t say another word as he grabbed the knife, slammed the doors shut on the trailer, and hauled him into the cab. Max didn’t put up a fight. He’d disobeyed and he’d be punished. That was how it worked. He’d take it like a man.

They were on the highway within minutes. His father’s breathing was heavy, too, and his arms were tensed as he gripped the wheel. The knife sat on his thigh. Max knew he should wait until his father spoke, but he couldn’t.

“What were you doing to that girl, Father?” Bobby insisted that Max call him Father. “Why were you hurting her?”

“You think you were being a big hero, don’t you?” He said “hero” as though it were a dirty word.

“No.” Max had hesitated at the sound of his father’s voice. That sure wasn’t being a hero.

Bobby pulled the rig onto the side of the highway and shoved the knife at Max. “Kill me!” He pointed to his chest. “Right here, just shove it in hard.”

Max had taken the knife; otherwise it would have fallen. He looked at the place where his father had jabbed and shook his head.

“You might as well finish me off. Oh, sure, now you’re the little coward again.” He grabbed the knife from Max’s flaccid grip, tossed it aside, and started forward again.

A half hour later, they pulled into their small town outside Tampa. Max kept his gaze glued out the window, even envying the ragged hitchhiker thumbing for a ride. The road became two lanes and then turned to gravel. The houses were spread out here, surrounded by scrubland and oak trees. Bobby came to a stop on the road that led to their neighborhood.

Max didn’t question that command. He opened the door and jumped down. Was his punishment going to be walking the rest of the way? That wasn’t much. He walked this distance and more to get to the bus stop every day.

The truck continued on. The passenger door was still open, and it flapped back and forth. Max watched the truck disappear before starting to walk home. Twenty minutes later, he’d made it to the long gravel road their house was on when he heard the familiar engine. His heart started thudding hard as he turned around.

The truck rounded the corner with its tires squealing and took out the stop sign. Still Bobby didn’t slow down. A cloud of dust rose up behind the truck as it, in fact, gained speed. Max was fairly certain his father wouldn’t run him down, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He ducked into Lynn Wells’s yard and hid behind a tree. The door was closed now as the truck barreled past him and veered to the right—aimed toward their house.

It was like a movie, not real at all. The impact sent him to his knees, and the ensuing fireball took his breath away. Flames tore up into the night air like fiery fingers from hell. When the gas tank exploded, windows everywhere rattled. People were already running out of their homes. It was Bill Wells who found Max on the ground with his watery gaze pinned to the flames and billows of smoke.

The remains they’d found in the cab of the truck had been identified as Bobby’s, and Max had been sent to live with Odette. Though he’d been grateful that she’d taken him in, she wouldn’t answer his questions about his father and why he’d done such a terrible thing. All she would tell him was that the girl was all right. Max wasn’t allowed to talk about it to anyone.

According to the police report, Olivia claimed Bobby had done something to her eyes, though there wasn’t any physical evidence to support that. Max made note of the doctor who had examined her.

Had she been blind then? That explained her stumbling. He’d figured it was due to her fear; his own legs had barely held him up. Had his father done something to her eyes? The thought made his stomach lurch. Thank God his father hadn’t molested her. Max wasn’t sure he could have handled that.

He rubbed his forehead, hoping to get rid of the tension that was building into a headache. Obviously, and understandably, Olivia’s experience had marred her life. She was delusional, reliving her kidnapping because of Phaedra’s. That had to be the explanation, because his father was dead, had been for sixteen years. He couldn’t begin to contemplate his father being alive. The thought paralyzed him, just as his father’s voice had paralyzed him all those years ago.

He couldn’t tell Sam or the lieutenant about his connection with Olivia. He’d be yanked off the case. As much as he hadn’t wanted this case, no way could he let that happen now. He’d limit what he told Sam until he had a better handle on Olivia.

His gaze went to the word angel on the report. She had thought an angel had rescued her.

He glanced at his watch. It was after midnight. He wasn’t going to get to sleep anytime soon. He doubted Olivia would, either. He grabbed up the notes and headed out.

CHAPTER 12

Fatigue wore Max down as he approached Olivia’s building. The past tangled with the present, tearing him in two. He was that boy again, wearing the cape and believing that good always triumphed over evil. He was that cynical adult, too, who didn’t believe in much anymore. He thought he’d buried the boy long ago, but like a ghost, he kept haunting the adult Max.

He spotted Olivia and Stasia walking toward the building. Livvy. Now he knew why he’d been struck by that odd sense of deja vu every time he saw her.

For an instant her body tensed, but she smiled with relief. “Hello, Detective.”

He knelt down to pet Stasia, who licked his hands in greeting, her whole rear end wagging.

“Sounds like she likes you,” Olivia said. “She doesn’t greet many people like that.”

“Guess I’m special.” He was looking at Olivia as he straightened. “Can we talk?”

They walked in silence to her apartment. He had to keep the words from jumping out of his mouth as she unlocked the door and walked inside. Joan Jett and the Blackhearts greeted them with a song about their bad reputation. The apartment was dark but for the dancing lights on the stereo equalizer. The colored lights played off her face and gave her an otherworldly look.

“Is it OK if I turn on the light?” Standing there in the dark was doing strange things to his senses.

Her white shirt was covered in splotches of paint, and he picked up the scent of fresh paint as he passed the corner of her living room where she had her easel set up. Her painting outfit, then. Her white cotton pants had a drawstring waist that rode low on her hips. They were covered in several years’ worth of spills and missed brush strokes. He guessed years because the fabric was so worn, he could see the peach hue of her behind as she walked into the kitchen. He wondered if she had any idea how tantalizing she looked, and then doubted it.

His body automatically responded to the alarm in her voice, and he made his way to her. “Yeah.”

“Very.” She turned around to face him. “Yesterday when I returned to my apartment, someone was in here. I could hear him, smell him… and feel his presence.”

“My best guess is that it was Terry. Do you want me to tell you how seriously I was taken when I went to the police to file a restraining order against the great Terry Carlton?”

Max could only grunt in understanding. “No one likes to believe their hero is a creep. You could have made a report at least.” He jiggled her front door knob. “Lock hasn’t been messed with. Nothing looks disturbed or out of place.”

Her expression was troubled. “I didn’t think so, either, at least as far as I could tell. Terry seems to think that I need him. I think he’s trying to prove it.”

“Turning my knives upside down, knowing I’d grab for the handle and cut myself. He also turned the volume knobs up on my television and stereo. I’m worried about what else he’s done.”

“Stay right there. Let me take a look around.” He touched her shoulders as he passed by. Anger bubbled through him that someone would take advantage of Livvy’s blindness, that someone would try to hurt her.

He checked the patio first, closing the doors, and then the back rooms. “I didn’t see any sign of tampering.”

She had her arms wrapped around herself, and he wondered if it was the cool night air or fear. “I’m going to make some coffee. Would you like some?”

He leaned against the long counter dividing the kitchen from the rest of the living area and watched her prepare the coffee. “I could talk to Terry again—”

A sigh filtered through her words when she said, “Yeah, I know. And honestly, I can’t see him doing something that would hurt me. But who else could it be?”

She let out a long breath. “I just don’t know.” She poured his coffee and handed him the blue mug. Her fingernails were engrained with paint. In fact, each finger was a different color. She painted with her fingers. For some reason, that intrigued him.

“What’s the story with Terry Carlton?” Max asked as he blew on his coffee.

She poured her own coffee after measuring out cream and sugar with her fingers and leaned against the counter facing him. “We dated for six months, right after he retired from the NFL. He swept me off my feet. At first, it was great. What girl wouldn’t like a man wanting to spend all of his time with her, buying her flowers, taking her out for fancy dinners? He even took me to Paris for the weekend. He was charming and fun and passionate, everything I thought I wanted in a man. After a while, though, it became overwhelming.

“He started talking about marriage on the third date. A month later, he asked me to move in with him. I should have come out and told him I wasn’t ready for that kind of commitment. But I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I made up an excuse that I was used to my apartment and the proximity to everything. The next night, he showed up with his belongings and moved in. It never occurred to me that he’d give up his big house to move in with me. Again, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so I let him move in.”

She rubbed her temples. “I know, but I thought I was in love with the guy. Then he started taking over my life. I mean, he did everything for me. That’s when it got to be too much. It wasn’t fun or charming anymore. I asked him to move out, told him I needed my own space. He even suggested we buy two apartments that had come available in another building. Because they’re at the end of the building, they share a wall. He thought we could put a connecting door between them. That’s when I realized he wouldn’t be happy with anything less than my total submission. So I broke it off. Since then, he’s been calling, sending flowers, telegrams, you name it. He even came to my showing. Everyone thinks that he’s cute, pursuing me like he does.”

“Not in so many words. He asked me how far he had to go to prove I need him. I’m not even sure it qualifies as a threat.”

“Because I really don’t know how far he’d go. He’s passionate, impulsive. He’s used to getting what he wants and being in control.”

“I’m sure, being a football star and all. You’re probably the first thing he’s ever wanted that he couldn’t have.”

“Don’t I feel special?” she asked with a lift of the corner of her mouth. Her expression shadowed as she took a drink of her coffee. “I can’t help thinking I’m somewhat responsible. If I hadn’t lied—”

A knock on the door interrupted her. “Olivia, it’s Terry. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

“Oh, God,” she said. “Not now.” She walked to the door. “Terry, you’re not supposed to be here.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly not amenable to that option. “Terry, go away. There’s a detective here.”

She opened the door. When Terry saw Max, he blinked in surprise. “You’re not here because of me, are you?”

Terry took in Olivia and Max with a palpable posses-siveness in his expression. He even stood between them. “I came by earlier. I know, I’m not supposed to be here, but I just wanted to leave this”—he pressed a Santana CD at her—“wedged above your doorknob. To remind you of us.”

“Like she could forget,” Max said, wondering why he sounded so terse. He pushed the CD back at Terry. “Go on.”

“I saw some guy walking away from your apartment. I asked him what he wanted, but he didn’t answer. Made me worried, so I knocked on your door. Apparently you weren’t home. I walked around and tried to find you, then came back to make sure you were all right.”

“I don’t have a key to her place anymore. She changed the lock. Something happened, didn’t it? Olivia, are you all right?”

“He was about your height, maybe a little bigger, but he was wearing a bulky overcoat and a hat, so it was hard to see much. He kept his head down. I’d say he was older, maybe forties or fifties.”

“If that’s all?” Terry said. “I’m not leaving Olivia alone. She needs protection.”

Maybe from you. Max wasn’t sure what was going on here. Was Olivia imagining things? Forgetting she’d left the doors open? Or was Terry playing games with her?

Olivia said, “Terry, you have to go now. Max isn’t here because something happened in my apartment. He’s here because of the kidnapped girl. If you don’t leave, he’s going to have to take you in.”

For a few seconds Terry looked as though he was going to plant himself right there, all 280 pounds of him. Max wasn’t looking forward to tangling with him. Luckily, Terry relented and moved toward the door. “Olivia, I care about you. If you need help, or you’re afraid, call me. No strings attached.”

After he left, she said, “Did he look like he was lying? About seeing the man, I mean. I couldn’t tell from his voice.”

“He seems earnest, but I’ve seen a lot of earnest liars. Like you, I don’t know what to make of him.”

“And you think that maybe I’m just imagining all this stuff. Being forgetful.”

“You do have a lot on your mind.” Except for the knives, none of the incidents were harmful. “Is there some reason why, after filing a no contact order against him, you’re reluctant to have him arrested when he violates it? You said something about lying.”

She blinked and waved it away. “Forget about Terry, and forget about me. It’s Phaedra I’m worried about. Did you read about my case?”

“Can you track down the monster who kidnapped me?” She closed her eyes and leaned her head back. “I can’t believe I’m even talking about it. Nobody knows, not Terry or even Captain Richards. I never told him why my emotions only heightened enough to connect with kidnapped children. It happened so long ago, and most of the people I know now didn’t live here then. It’s like my dirty little secret.” She looked in his direction again, waiting for his answer.

He took a fortifying sip of coffee and wished like hell it was beer. “Like you said, the man who took you died when he rammed his truck into his house.”

Her expression hardened. “How do you know? All you did was read some old case file. Maybe he jumped out of the truck before it went up in flames.”

He watched her face as she tried to understand—and obviously gave up. “What?”

“The man who took you was my father. I was the boy who rescued you, the one you thought was an angel.”

The disbelief was instantaneous, as was that smart-assed tone in her voice. “You’re playing with me, aren’t you? I don’t need this from anyone, especially you.”

“I was Livvy when I was young and needed someone to protect me. I’m not Livvy anymore.”

“All I knew was that you were OK and that your first name was Livvy. I didn’t even know you were blind.” When her skeptical expression remained, he took hold of her hand. “Come with me.”

“Come with me,” he said again, trying to say it the same desperate way he had then.

He was glad she couldn’t see his cheeks flaming hot with anger and shame. “Yes.”

Her fingers were pressed so hard against the edge of the counter, they were almost white. “You saw him drive into your house?”

“Yes. He made me get out of the truck; then he drove off. He returned about twenty minutes later and drove right past me and into the house. I saw his silhouette in the driver’s seat as the truck hit the house.”

She gently pulled her hand from his and pressed it to her mouth. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not. Please don’t play games with me, not about this.”

He walked around the counter. His eyes drifted shut as he sank back to that time. “I put my hand over your mouth and whispered, ‘Shh. Be quiet, Livvy.’ I cut the ropes around your wrists and pulled you to your feet. My father had gone outside; he was puking his guts out, thanks to the stomach flu I gave him. I didn’t know what he was doing to you or why. I never found out. But I knew I had to get you out of there and that there was a family at the rest stop.”

He hated reliving the details again, but he’d do it to convince her. “They had two boys; one was about fifteen, the other twelve. We ran across the parking lot. You fell.” And for a second he’d frozen. “I yelled for them to help us. My father was ordering me to come back. I told you to stay there and went back to him.”

She swayed slightly. He put his hands on her shoulders, and he might have given into the urge to pull her against him if she hadn’t turned around. “Oh, God. Is it really you?”

“Come with me.” They came out thicker than he’d intended, and he wondered if it was that leak of emotion that made her shiver.

“Do you realize how many times I heard those words over the years? How often you said them in my nightmares just before you led me out of them?” She opened her eyes and in a barely audible voice said, “Thank you.” Her laugh was throaty. “That hardly seems adequate for saving my life.”

“I don’t know what he was going to do to you. I’ve hoped, all these years, that his intentions weren’t murderous. That he was just crazy.”

“I think they were, and he was. He kept talking about my final punishment being on Christmas Night. That he could never forgive me for what I’d done, whatever that was. What happened to you? I didn’t want you to go back to him. I was scared for you.” She paused for a moment, her expression troubled. “Did he punish you?”

“Only by ramming the truck into our house.” He could hear the shame in his voice and cleared his throat. “He died in that wreck. The police found his remains.”

“I’ll put a call into the station that handled the investigation just to make sure, but we have to believe he’s dead.”

“What are the odds that two men are saying and doing the same things to the girls they kidnapped? But you don’t think my connection with Phaedra is real, do you?”

“I don’t know what to think. Nobody knows that she’s wearing a shamrock charm but the family, the police… and you.”

She leaned against the counter. “Which either proves what I’m saying or makes me look guilty.”

“Exactly. My job is to keep an open mind while I explore every angle. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“As long as you look into your father’s death. And accept the possibility, no matter how crazy, that he’s still alive.”

His knees went weak at the prospect. “Do you know the ramifications of that?”

“Oh, yes, I’ve been going over them since I realized it was the same man. You think I want to believe that monster is alive? It means he’s been out there all this time, doing God knows what.”

That thought left Max cold. He hadn’t seen his father in sixteen years. Would he recognize him? Max looked nothing like his father; he had taken after his mother. Add the years, take away some hair and the beard… Bobby could be nearly anyone around the age of fifty.

“I need to know something. The truth. When you told me about seeing the boat, the T and the R … it’s been bugging me, and I just realized why. From what you said, you connect to the child. You only see through their eyes in real time.” He watched her tense as she nodded. “How could you see the boat then? You’re a telepath. You connect to Phaedra’s mind, so seeing that ship is outside of your abilities.”

“You remembered.” She walked over to her painting and sat on the stool, facing the canvas. She dipped a finger into one of the wells of paint and traced a line across the bottom of the canvas. “The boat wasn’t my vision.”

The canvas was a mess, streaks of black against an ugly green background. No eyes, though. He took hold of her wrist as she was about to add another streak. “That’s not good enough.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I promised I wouldn’t tell. He’s psychic, too. He saw the boat and the letters. He also saw the green walls and the cage, just as I saw. He asked me to relay the information to you as my own.”

She pulled her arm free of his grip. “Because he’s one of you. He said his job was at risk, that his career had already been stalled because of his so-called hunches. He wanted to work with me to find Phaedra.”

He held in a curse and ran his hand through his hair. “I’ve never heard of a cop in our station with unusual hunches or high case solves. Give up his name, Olivia.”

She jabbed her finger into the paint well again and slid it across the canvas. “I gave him my word.”

Her loyalty bothered him, though he wasn’t sure why. “I understand where you’re coming from. The guy believes you when we don’t, and he’s supposedly psychic like you. Why don’t you let me check him out? He gave you false information.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to interpret what we see,” she still defended. “That’s what he thought he saw. And he did have some things right, like the walls and the cage.”

“Maybe because he’s been there. You can’t afford to trust him.” He knelt down beside her. “Let me quietly check into the guy, make sure he’s on the up-and-up. I won’t give him away.”

She wiped her finger on a cloth and turned toward him. “After you left, I connected with Phaedra again. Just like with me, the man came back and punished her for wetting herself. She watched him walk to a bathroom at the end of a hallway and wash out her clothes. I saw more of the room. It’s a bigger place than I thought. The bathroom looked regular, not one you’d see on a boat, I would think. Or in a truck. I tried to capture it.” She nodded toward her canvas. “Does it make any sense?”

She slid her fingers over the painting, smearing it even further. “I’m not good with details. Only abstract ideas.”

She dipped her finger into the black paint and drew a large eye in the middle of the canvas. “That’s what I see in my mind when I slip into a creative trance.”

She gave him one of her Mona Lisa smiles. “I guess I do incorporate eyes into my work a lot, now that I think about it.” Her fingers smeared the eye, and she replaced the canvas with a blank one. “I’m going to try again. Maybe if I keep working on it, I’ll get it right.” She started the new canvas by smearing the green into something vaguely resembling a square. Her lower lip was tucked beneath her front teeth in concentration as she worked.

He watched her paint, feeling a sense of peace steal over him at her graceful movements. She was completely immersed in her painting, so he turned the large chair in the living room group around and settled into its cushy confines. Stasia curled up between him and Olivia with a rope chew toy. The CD changed to Pat Benatar, who sang about love being a battlefield.

He watched Olivia’s finger swirl across the canvas. She reached down to a rack of jars and ran her finger across the Braille labels. She grabbed the fourth jar and poured some of the paint into one of the empty wells. The murkier green color complemented the background green. She had a different color on each of her three fingers; sometimes she used another finger to blend the colors together.

“Frustrating. I can imagine what it looks like, but I’m sure it’s nothing like that in reality.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Just like I could try to imagine what you look like, but I’d be off by a mile.” The thought of her trying to imagine what he looked like seemed intimate somehow.

“I do, but only because I work at it. Otherwise my visual memory would fade away. It’s like a muscle I have to ex-ercise or lose forever.” Her words had grown soft on the last part. She continued to paint with her back straight and her chin up.

“Something I started doing a couple of years ago, to keep my mind busy. I did model cars for a while. Now I do resin kits. You paint them and glue the pieces together.”

“They’re figurines. I’ve done a lot of horror film classics, like the Phantom of the Opera and Frankenstein.”

“Movie monsters,” she said, giving that some thought. “Who was your favorite?”

“The Man Who Laughs,” came out of his mouth. That surprised him; he hadn’t thought about that piece in a long time. It was crammed on the shelf with the others.

“He wasn’t a monster, just a hapless victim in a silent film from the twenties.”

“His name is Gwynplaine, the son of a Scottish nobleman James the Second executes. The king carves the boy’s face into a permanent grin and gives him to a band of gypsies who abandon him during a blizzard. As the boy trudges through the snow, he discovers a baby. He rescues it and is then rescued by a troupe of actors who take him in. He becomes a famous clown… and falls in love with a beautiful blind woman.” He rubbed his face and shook off the profundity of it. “Anyway, go on and paint. Forget I’m here.” He settled into the chair.

After a moment, she turned back to her canvas. It took her another few minutes to get back into her groove. Her brown wavy hair hung to just beneath her shoulder blades. It was bound loosely with a blue ribbon. He had an urge to lean forward and untie the ribbon. If he could move, that was. He had melted into the chair, and for the first time in years, peace flowed through him. Watching her did that. Her whole body moved with each stroke of her fingers. She feathered streaks of yellow over the dark red, and with a flourish, she added a light line of pale yellow. Her pinkie remained aloft the entire time.

He sank into a hypnotic state. No thinking, no suspicions, no doubts. Just watching her and floating along with the words to “Promises in the Dark.” He lost himself in her fluid movements; she was moving in rhythm to the music.

She turned around. “You were breathing… differently. Louder. Faster. Why?”

He ran his hand down his face, feeling heat on his skin. He thought about telling her he’d fallen asleep, but he wasn’t in the mood for a lie.

Olivia’s mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. She had not expected him to say that.

His voice was low and soft. “There’s something about the way you paint. It’s sensual, almost spiritual.”

Had she made one of those embarrassing faux pas again? She slowly dipped a finger into the paint.

“I’ll leave if you want me to,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You asked, and I told you the truth.”

She was turning him on. The knowledge of that flowed through her like a glass of wine, warm and tantalizing. “You don’t have to leave.” Had she just invited him to stay longer? Sounded like it to her.

What she needed was some time alone to sort this out. Max the suspicious, sexy detective, her savior? Her first reaction to that bit of news was disbelief. As he’d recounted the events of that terrible night, her disbelief melted away.

He’d once been her rescuer. Now his blunt honesty was making her see him as something else: a man.

That was such a bad idea. She resumed her painting after realizing she’d come to a standstill. Max Callahan was a likely candidate for a rescuer personality, the kind of man who would want to keep her safe and protected. Add in that he’d once done just that, and it became a recipe for romantic disaster. There’d be the question of whether their feelings were a result of that long-ago connection, the connection many rescuers/rescuees had. She’d already built him up to be a hero. Surely she’d carry that into a relationship with him, should she choose to pursue one.

Reason enough to keep that particular door closed. She didn’t need to spend herself in an emotional relationship with a knock-the-door-down rescue type. Especially one who had lost his wife and daughter and still couldn’t come to terms with it.

She squeezed her eyes shut and listened to his breathing. Not the deep, heavy rhythm, but a slow, even one. He’d called her Livvy, and the way he’d said it…

No change in his breathing. He was asleep. She had heard the exhaustion in his voice. Once he’d closed his eyes, his body gave into it.

The Man Who Laughs. Laughing on the outside, crying on the inside. And the beautiful blind woman he’d fallen in love with, did she love him back? Did they have a happy ending?

“Once there was a man,” Pat sang in her song “One Love.” Olivia tried to assemble the description Judy had given her into a face, but it was impossible. She whispered his name again as she walked closer. Her fingers traced along the back edge of the chair until she felt his hair. She stopped, taking a soft breath and telling herself this was crazy.

His hair brushed against the back of her fingers. His breathing was doing strange things to her, compounding the intimacy of the moment… making her want to curl up in his lap and feel safe.

To feel loved, cherished. The need for that washed through her. Where had it come from so suddenly, so powerfully? What she really wanted was to be accepted and understood—psychic oddities and all.

She leaned over him. Her hands skimmed over his hair. It was short and soft and followed no particular style. She followed his thick, arched eyebrows with the pads of her fingers. Both fingers ran down the very straight ridge of his nose and fanned out over wide cheekbones. He had an intriguing dip at the bottom of his chin. His mouth was lush, soft. She traced the ridge of his upper lip and felt the cool air of his exhalation. Fine stubble scraped lightly across her pads. She could make out a face in her mind: Max’s face.

Without warning, he grabbed her hands. “What are you doing?” His voice was throaty with sleep.

“I… I wanted to see what you looked like. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Can I have my hands back now?” She tugged, and he let them go. “Maybe you’d better go. It’s late.” She pressed her watch. “One thirty-two.”

“There’s masking tape on the floor to indicate where it goes. Everything has to be in a certain place, or I’ll walk into it.”

She heard him shuffling the chair into place. He grabbed his keys off the small table and walked to the door. “Lock your door.”

Then he was gone. She sank against the arm of the chair for a moment before forcing herself to the door to lock it. It had been easier when they’d been in opposing corners. She was great at fighting, at keeping people at a distance.

CHAPTER 13

Max arrived at the station early. He glanced at the clock and calculated how many hours Phaedra had been missing. Too many. He couldn’t imagine how her family would face Christmas if their little girl was still missing.

He ran his father’s name through the system and found a surprise: Bobby Callahan had been a cop once. He’d joined the Orlando police force and quit two years later, Max had been a toddler then; he didn’t even remember living in Castaway, the small town near Orlando. There was nothing about Bobby in the system after 1984, no surprise there.

Max called the sheriff’s department in Castaway and asked the clerk to dig into the archives for details of Bobby’s death. She didn’t sound eager to jump on the task but promised to get someone on it as soon as possible.

His father couldn’t be alive. Olivia had to be inserting her own experience, just as she’d suspected in the beginning. That made more sense. That possibility didn’t make his stomach twist and turn.

If Sam discovered she knew about the shamrock, he’d haul her right in. Maybe that’s what Max should do, too.

He didn’t know if he believed her, and he didn’t know if he disbelieved her. Next he put in a call to Human Resources and asked the clerk to check on Bill Williams. She promised to call him back right away.

He pulled out the notes he’d made on Olivia’s abduction and called the doctor who had examined her eyes after the kidnapping. He left his request with Dr. Gambel’s answering service and hung up just as Sam walked in. He didn’t look happy, but then Max realized why: Petey’s birthday party was that afternoon.

“She’s used to my schedule, but Petey isn’t. I told him I’d swing by at least.” He dropped into his chair at a desk cattycorner to Max’s. His eyes looked bloodshot, and for the first time he looked every one of his forty-nine years. “Where are we going on this case, Max? Nowhere, that’s where. We’ve got nothing new, nothing concrete. The girl’s parents were out front when I came in. Huntington’s with them now, so be ready to catch some hell when he gets in here.”

Max didn’t want to mention that none of the area’s convicted past offenders had turned up anything. “You all right, man?”

“Yeah,” he answered carefully. “But we agreed to spread out and cover more ground, remember?”

Max ran his fingers through hair still damp from his shower. “I’m working on a few things I’m not ready to let loose yet. They’re probably dead ends, but I’ve got to check them out first. Give me some line, and I’ll fill you in on everything soon enough.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “This has something to do with Olivia Howe, doesn’t it? She’s trouble, Max.”

“Callahan! O’Reilly! In my office!” Huntington’s voice bellowed as he walked into the detectives’ area.

Max pushed himself to his feet. “There are only five guys in here, and still he has to yell.”

Huntington’s face was red as he tapped his ragged pencil on his desk. “I’m taking heat from the parents, the media, and the commissioner. Their publicist is running us into the ground. Why haven’t you found that girl yet? Did I make a mistake putting you on this case?”

Max was startled to find that icy stare pinning him with that question. “We’re doing the best we can with what we’ve got.”

Sam said, “He’s still a possibility, but he’s slippery. I’m working on finding out who he’s been seeing, but he’s apparently cut off the affair since the abduction. Through his credit card bills, I nailed down a restaurant that he frequents. I’m going to talk to the waiter tonight and see if we can ID a girlfriend.”

So Sam was holding back information, too. This was the first Max had heard about that.

Sam said, “I’ve been doing some quiet inquiries at his chain of restaurants. There are whispers of financial trouble, but rumors aren’t going to get us a search warrant. If he did his kid for the money, he’ll have to make sure she’s found soon.”

Sam turned to Max. “Callahan’s been working that angle. He’ll have to give you that update.”

“How come you didn’t tell me about checking out the harbor? Heard that from one of the guys. Did this happen to be one of Howe’s leads?”

Max said, “Yes, sir. We didn’t have any other leads. I figured it was worth checking into.”

Impatience tightened Huntington’s features. “If she’s a suspect, treat her like one. But we’re not working with her, understand? I don’t want to give Pat Burns’s publicist a reason to think we are. And how the hell is Burns hearing about her, anyway?”

Max said, “I’d like to find that out myself. Someone’s been leaking information to him.”

The lieutenant took them both in with his steely eyes, but they remained on Max longer. “You still on the surface, Callahan?”

“Yes, sir.” He wasn’t going to admit how close to going under he was. That girl, every passing hour, and Olivia, they were all pulling him under.

“Don’t screw up this case.” He looked over at Sam. “Lucky for us, even the Burnses’ PI hasn’t found anything yet. That means that either we’re all incompetent, or the guy who took her has his bases covered. Either way, it doesn’t look good. Any leads on the Santa suit?”

Max said, “We had officers check every Dumpster in the area, but nothing turned up. We’re widening our search for out-of-town costume stores as the source.”

The lieutenant said, “I don’t want to have to tell these parents that we couldn’t find their girl. She’s their only kid. We haven’t had a stranger abduction here in two years. Since your last big case,” he said to Max. “You came through for us that time. Come through again.”

Max could only nod as he backed out the door. Sam paused. Was he going to mention his suspicions that Max was getting involved with Olivia? He didn’t need a facedown with the lieutenant just then, and he wasn’t ready to divulge what he knew.

Sam said something brief to the lieutenant and walked out of the office. He headed to the break room instead of returning to his desk. Max’s phone rang; it was Dr. Gambel.

“Sorry to bother you on a Saturday, Doctor, but I’m working on a case and I need information as soon as you can get it for me. It concerns a girl who was kidnapped in

“I vaguely remember that. I’d have to have someone pull the records from storage.”

“I’d appreciate that. Again, I apologize for the inconvenience, but we’ve got some facts that need clearing up. Can you call me back as soon as possible?”

“I’ll have my office manager pull the file for me. She can meet me at the bridge club, and I’ll call you from there.”

Sam returned with a mug of coffee. Normally they would both go, or one would ask the other if he needed a refill. Sam was probably the only real friend Max had, but this case was tearing them apart. They’d never worked at odds like this. Sure, they’d had different opinions, but they always kept an open mind. Because of Sam’s dogged pursuit of Olivia as a suspect, and because of what she’d told Max, that door had to be closed.

Graham said, “Hey, Callahan, any new psychic leads to chase down today?” He burst out in his loud, raucous laugh, and some of the other guys tittered along with him like little girls.

“Lay off,” Mathers said. “Don’t you have better things to do than act like a bunch of kids?”

Max didn’t need anyone to protect him. “I’d go to every psychic in town if I thought I’d find something that would lead me to that girl. It would be a lot more productive than sitting around talking out of my ass.”

Some of the guys laughed at that, too. Graham slammed his drawer shut and stalked out of the room. He didn’t like being the brunt of a joke, but he sure enjoyed grinding up a guy now and then. Just like he teased Max about his resin kits and Holland about the gory police novels he was trying to get published, but bristled at any comment about the motorcycle graveyard around his double-wide.

Just to prove Max could be objective about Olivia’s innocence, he ran a check on Sebastian LaForge, the only person she called with any frequency. Because of the painting, LaForge was a solid connection between Olivia and the Burnses. His real name was Bob. He had a number of speeding tickets but nothing else on file. Sebastian/Bob had shown Max a metal art sculpture he’d done. Where did he work on his art? Had to be a warehouse, somewhere he could use a blowtorch, a blowtorch that could create a cage. Someplace a kid could be stashed, a place without windows, with a bathroom.

Max blew out a long breath. He was basing his suspicions on what Olivia had “seen” in her vision, but Sebastian wasn’t old enough to be Bobby. Everything was getting all twisted inside him. He got up and stretched, then grabbed his coffee cup and went to the break room. He splashed cold water on his face and caught his reflection on the metal towel dispenser. He looked as bad as Sam did.

When he returned to his desk, Sam had Max’s cell phone. “Dr. Gambel called,” he said with a smirk in his voice to match the one on his face. “Olivia Howe’s not technically blind. There was nothing wrong with her eyes, not a scratch, no chemical damage, nothing. Her pupils even dilated. He thinks she convinced herself she was blind to fool her abductor.” He tossed the phone to Max. “Her abductor?”

Nick Mathers looked their way, obviously picking up the confrontational tone in Sam’s voice.

They headed out the back way where the throng of reporters wouldn’t pelt them with questions about the investigation. Max was glad dealing with them was Huntington’s job.

Twenty minutes later, Max had told Sam what he could. He left out the part about Olivia “seeing” the shamrock and that she thought his father had taken Phaedra.

“Are you looking at her as a suspect, Max? I don’t understand all the secrecy.”

“That’s all I can tell you right now. After what she went through, I don’t see her being involved with another abduction.”

“Give me some time on this, Sam. For the sake of our friendship.” When he hesitated to commit, Max said, “You keep dogging Burns. Find out who he was having dinner with. If it’s Olivia, I’ll turn over everything I have.”

Sam whipped out a Polaroid photo of Olivia walking Stasia. “I got it this morning. I’m going to show it to the waiter. If she’s the one he was seeing, I’m bringing her in.” He tilted his head. “Do you believe her? That’s she’s somehow connected to the missing girl?”

“I don’t know what I believe anymore. I can’t say that I disbelieve her the way you do.” He ran his hand over his face, pressing his burning eyes shut for a moment.

“You can’t think she’s telling the truth. She’s lying about being blind, no doubt about that. She ‘sees’ way too much. Even you doubted it, obviously.”

Max called Dr. Gambel back to verify what he’d told Sam. He also got the name of the neurologist Gambel had referred Olivia to: Dr. Bhatti. Why did these things have to come together on Saturdays‘? he wondered, heading inside to get the number. He had to put the question of Olivia’s blindness to rest

“Good morning, Olivia. It’s Officer Williams. I just wanted to check in with you.” He leaned into the phone booth near her building. “Have you connected to Phaedra Bums lately? I haven’t gotten anything, and it’s driving me mad. If something happens to her…” His voice broke perfectly.

“She’s all right, at least so far. I saw the green walls you mentioned. You had that right. And… well, I think I know who her kidnapper is.”

“Detective Callahan is checking into it. It’s too long to get into now. I can let you know when he verifies it. Give me a number where I can reach you.”

If Max was checking into it, he must believe her. “Meet me for lunch. Tell me what you know. Maybe I can help on my end.” He didn’t want to risk going to her apartment again in case someone identified him. He needed to lure her out this time.

Was she getting suspicious? “You didn’t tell Max about me, did you? You didn’t mention my name?”

He couldn’t be sure. He’d had her, right up until when he wouldn’t give her his number. So he would. “OK, ready? My number is four-six-four—”

CHAPTER 14

Olivia waited for Bill to call her back, but he never did. That was strange. Maybe his partner had walked up to him. Or maybe… She thought of Max’s suspicions and shivered. She couldn’t believe she’d been duped, especially if Williams turned out to be Phaedra’s kidnapper—and hers.

“Guess we’ll go for our morning walk,” she said, sending Stasia into a frantic happy dance.

Olivia could hardly enjoy the crisp air and sunshine washing over her as they made their way back from the park thirty minutes later. All she could think about was Phaedra. She had once again felt only a ripple of unease. “Father” hadn’t scared Phaedra when he’d come early that morning. He’d probably given her back her clothes and then left without feeding her. She was probably confused and hungry and there wasn’t a damn thing Olivia could do to help her.

She wasn’t sure what made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She continued walking, but all of her senses were focused on her surroundings. Around her, people chatted and laughed, and Christmas music filled in the background. All normal, cheerful happenings. Maybe it was just her worry over Phaedra that was skewing everything.

Someone brushed up behind her. She came to an abrupt halt, causing a couple of people to skirt around her. She turned and inhaled. No particular scent stood out in the cool breeze.

No answer, just bits of conversation as people passed by. He always answered if he was around. She quickly headed home, her unease sucking away the warmth of the sun. Terry had claimed to see someone lurking around her apartment. Was Terry sneaking in and then making up the guy to scare her? Who else could it be?

The faint scent of Polo lingered in the upstairs hallway when she exited the elevator. Footsteps sounded on the carpet, and then a door opened and closed. She knocked on the door across from hers, sure that was the one she’d just heard close. “Hello? It’s Olivia Howe from across the hall.”

She could hear nothing from inside. She sure hadn’t imagined hearing a cell phone ring in that apartment. Ronald Ford, the building manager, had told her that a corporation had recently bought the apartment when she’d asked him about it. He’d been vague about the corporation’s name. Judy had brushed her off when Olivia had asked her about the apartment’s owner. Maybe Olivia’s paranoia was just stretching to encompass something as innocent as a CEO’s love nest.

She stepped into her apartment a few minutes later and stood perfectly still. Nothing felt out of the ordinary. No smells, no sounds, no feeling of someone being there. Sta-sia didn’t growl. She locked the door, released Stasia, and started a pot of coffee. What she needed was a few minutes to think through recent events. She fixed a cup of coffee and carried it out to the balcony.

Her foot caught on something, and she pitched forward. Hot coffee spilled across her arm and the mug shattered on the stone floor. She tried to grab something on the way down and ended up taking one of the heavy iron chairs with her. Her shoulder took the brunt of the fall. For a crazy second she thought someone was there, ready to take advantage of her fallen state to finish the job. She reached around for something to help push her up and found that her small glass-and-iron table was only inches from where she’d landed… inches from her head. With a pounding heart, she scrambled to her feet and felt for the masking tape. The table had been moved more than a foot from its original location. She traced her steps and found what had tripped her—a broom handle. The woman who cleaned for her wouldn’t have left it outside. It was propped up on the doorstop, perfectly positioned to trip her. Max had checked out here the night before, but he probably wouldn’t have noticed it. And he wouldn’t have realized the furniture was moved, but Olivia knew exactly where everything belonged. A knot tightened in her chest.

He hesitated, and his voice held a patronizing note when he said, “Sure thing. Amazing how your hand goes right to the badge, isn’t it?”

She returned his sarcastic tone with her own. “Yes, it is. What’s this about, anyway? Don’t tell me you’ve become a believer.”

“After making asses of ourselves at the harbor looking for the gray boat with green walls? Not likely.”

“All right, but would you please do me a favor? Take a look at my balcony and tell me if anything looks awry. I think someone came into my apartment last night and re-arranged my furniture in order to trip me.” She rubbed her aching shoulder. “This way.”

“Stereo and television are still here. So are the appliances and your computer.”

She opened the French doors and stepped aside. “When I returned home last night, these doors were open. Detective Callahan was with me. He saw it.”

“I’ll bet he did. Was the front door unlocked? Had it been jimmied?” he asked as he stepped onto the balcony.

“Here’s what tripped you. The broom fell over.” She heard him set it in the corner. “Otherwise, everything looks normal.” He stepped back inside and shut the door. “You think someone broke in, rearranged your furniture, and planted a broom to trip you?” His disbelief was obvious. “You couldn’t have fallen over the balcony railing from tripping. So someone did all this because?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he said, “Surely you have a theory. Or maybe a psychic feeling?”

She wanted to smack that sarcasm right out of his voice, but that was probably a felony. “Someone’s trying either to hurt me or scare me. Possibly Terry Carlton, my ex-boyfriend.”

He laughed—laughed! “Yeah, right. Because the guy has so much money and can’t get any woman besides one who can’t even see all those rippling muscles of his, he’s stalking you. Look, I don’t see anything suspicious here other than a woman whose imagination has run amok. I’ve got more important things to do than check out the arrangement of your patio furniture.”

She clenched her hands at her side. Felony, felony, she chanted to tamp down her anger. “Like take me in for questioning?”

“I always keep my dog with me.” She donned her coat again and got Stasia ready. With one last sigh, she turned off the coffeepot and headed to the door.

O’Reilly didn’t say much as he drove to the station. She wanted to ask why Max wasn’t there, but that smacked of a need for him that didn’t exist. She wondered how much this guy knew about what she’d told Max.

After O’Reilly led her into the noisy station and down several hallways, they ended up in a quiet room. He settled her into a smooth plastic chair and asked, “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

“No.” She hoped this wasn’t going to take long. Then, out of long-engrained habit, she said, “Thank you.”

He was doing something near her face. She felt air move across her skin and involuntarily backed away. Someone else walked into the room.

The man only grunted in greeting and took a seat some distance from her. She smelled cheap cologne and tried to recall if it was the same type she’d smelled before.

O’Reilly’s voice lost the polite, reserved tone when he said, “There are a few things I need answers to, and it’s only going to be easier on you if you give us the truth now.”

“No. I haven’t done anything wrong.” And sending for a lawyer would make her look guilty; that’s what he implied. “Go ahead and ask whatever it is you have to ask so I can get home.”

“Oh, we have a few issues to deal with. Let’s start with you knowing about the shamrock.”

On the way to Dr. Bhatti’s office, Max detoured to Sam and Annie’s place. The side street gave him a skewed view of their backyard, where balloons caught the sunlight in blinding flashes. About twenty kids were in attendance, some playing on the swing set Max had bought Petey last year.

Max spotted Petey racing around the yard wearing a gaudy gold crown. The kid started to glance Max’s way, maybe hoping to catch a glimpse of his father’s car. Sam wasn’t there, either. Annie followed her son’s gaze, but Max had already hit the gas pedal.

He arrived at the doctor’s office early and waited outside the carved mahogany doors until Dr. Bhatti pulled into the spot next to Max’s.

“You’re welcome.” Dr. Bhatti returned the handshake, then opened the door and flicked on the lights. “But as I said on the phone, I’m not sure how much I can tell you. Olivia Howe’s case was a long time ago.” He led Max into an office lined with cherrywood bookshelves and picked up the file sitting on his desk. “I had my secretary pull the file for me. Please, sit down.” His high-backed leather chair squeaked when he sat down in it. “And there’s doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“I understand. Here’s the bottom line: this girl is missing.” He set the bottom edge of Phaedra’s picture on the desk.

“Yes, I saw that on the news. Very sad. But how is Olivia involved with this?” The surprise was evident in his voice.

To help loosen the doctor’s tongue, Max decided to be honest. “My partner thinks she’s a suspect, but I don’t. I’m trying to clear her.”

“Give me a minute to look over her file and reorient myself. I’ll tell you what I am comfortable divulging.”

They exchanged a knowing look, and the doctor scanned the file. Max left Phaedra’s picture on the desk in case the doctor had second thoughts about helping.

After a few minutes, Dr. Bhatti closed the file. “You know about her kidnapping, I presume? She was referred to me when they couldn’t find anything wrong with her eyes, yet she claimed she couldn’t see.”

Claimed. The word stuck in Max’s throat. “Right. I need to know if she’s really blind.”

Dr. Bhatti did not look happy. He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “First of all, my job was to confirm that there wasn’t any physical reason for her blindness. I can tell you that much, that she had no physical indications. There was evidence of a head injury, a mild one, but no evidence of permanent injury to the brain. Whoever kidnapped her hadn’t done anything to her eyes.”

“So she is faking her blindness.” He hated that conclusion, and he hated that he hated it. He shouldn’t care either way, other than it being a lead in the case.

“It’s called malingering when a patient pretends to be blind. I can tell you that she wasn’t malingering, either.”

And he shouldn’t feel relief at that, but he did. Relief and confusion. “So if she’s not malingering and she’s not blind…”

Dr. Bhatti steepled his fingers and rested his chin on the tips of them. “Have you ever heard of conversion disorder?”

“How about hysterical neurosis or hysterical blindness? Those are other terms for it, though we don’t use them anymore. Unfortunately, back then, I did call it hysterical blindness, and that may have been the problem. I’m speaking in general terms now, you understand.” He gave Max a pointed look. “I have seen several cases, so I can speak of what I have seen.

“Conversion disorder is not a new problem. In the nine-teenth century, doctors used sexual instruments on women to treat it. You see, many more women suffer from this than do men. Sometimes the instruments worked, though I believe they did so by removing the cortical suppression that is so often the cause of hysterical symptoms. But I see I’m losing you.”

“Just a little.” Max was leaning forward in his chair, his elbows on his thighs, trying to absorb what the doctor was saying. He was still lost, and obviously showing it.

“Conversion disorder is the conversion of internal conflict and/or stress into a physical symptom. That symptom is a loss of a bodily function—for example, blindness, paralysis, or loss of speech.”

Max snapped his fingers. “I worked with a boy who wouldn’t speak for a year after watching his father murder his mother.”

“Wouldn’t? Or couldn’t? That is the key to conversion disorder. Because the sufferer of this condition does not realize he or she is suppressing the function. It’s all on a subconscious level. It is triggered by a traumatic event, such as that boy witnessing his mother’s murder. However, there is always another ongoing stress factor that keeps the person from regaining their function. That stress is relieved by the loss of the function.”

“Do you mean that Olivia—I mean, that a person could subconsciously suppress their vision? That’s incredible.”

Dr. Bhatti gestured to a model of the brain that was sitting on a shelf. “The mind is a powerful organ. We don’t know what it can do, but I have seen some amazing things. Even Freud had a theory about hysterical blindness. He thought it was due to the sexual pleasure in looking at forbidden sights, that the repressed sexual instinct shut down the eyes that were allowing those sights into the mind. Not that I subscribe to that theory myself.”

Max ran his hand through his hair, taking it all in. He glanced at her file. “How sure are you when you make this kind of diagnosis?”

“Very. We run every test available. Then I urge the pa-tient to seek psychotherapy. The underlying stressor must be identified, and the sufferer must be taught to deal with that stressor in a more effective manner. If this is done soon after the onset of conversion disorder, the symptoms literally disappear.” He gave the file a chagrined glance. “I assume, given the facts and high chance for recovery, that the person will be taken for the necessary therapy.”

“Sometimes it’s hard for the patient—and their family— to accept a diagnosis such as hysterical blindness. They argue that the person is not hysterical at all. That is one of the symptoms, however. It is called la belle indifference, which means that the sufferer seems to take the loss of function in stride. And if a family member is perhaps the cause of the stress factor in the sufferer’s life, that could be another reason to avoid therapy. If, say, the mother was oppressive and overbearing. If she chose to see things only as she wanted to see them.”

“Her mother is dead. If she was the cause of the stress, wouldn’t Olivia’s sight return then?”

“After that many years, the eyes and the brain aren’t used to communicating.”

“Wait a minute, though. She flinched when my partner moved his hand in her direction. She seems to know where things are. She’ll reach for a bag, for instance, and go right to it.”

Dr. Bhatti gestured with his hands. “It’s a feeling or impression of something not seen. To put it in layman’s terms, what we see with our eyes goes through two pathways to our brain. One is a ‘where’ pathway that determines that something is there, where it is, and how it relates to us spatially. It’s a primitive pathway. The second is the

‘what’ pathway, which then tells us what the object is and how we should react to it. It’s that first, primitive pathway that sometimes still works in blind people. She may sense that something is there, even if she can’t see it. Do you understand?“

“Yeah, I think I do.” He sat up in the chair. “What can I do to help her see?” There he went again, wanting to save her.

“Confronting the patient is the worst thing you can do. They believe their condition is physical, and as such, it must be treated that way, along with psychotherapy.”

Dr. Bhatti shook his head. “After this much time has passed, the prospect of recovery is very low, I’m afraid. I once operated on a patient with a long-standing squint. The part of his vision that was blocked by his eyelid was still blocked. The brain was so used to not seeing that area of vision that it still couldn’t. I believe that our minds can influence neuronal plasticity and thus alter the neuronal processing of information indefinitely.”

Max didn’t even bother to ask him to clarify that jumble of words. “There has to be something…”

“Charcot introduced hypnosis to treat conversion disorder. I have heard of case studies where this has supposedly healed a patient, though it is controversial. There’s a doctor in Miami who has had success using this method. I can give you his name.” After flipping through his Rolodex, Dr. Bhatti scribbled down the information on the back of his business card and handed it to Max. “Does this help clear Olivia?”

“I hope so. Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your time.” He started to head out but paused. “One more question. If someone had… psychic tendencies, could a head injury enhance it?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t give Max the crazy look he’d expected. “I have heard of head injuries giving people enhanced extrasensory skills, but I’ve never seen it myself.”

He grabbed a sandwich on the way back to the station. First he’d tell Sam to back off from Olivia and explain about her blindness. When he’d broach it with her was another matter.

He hadn’t even made it to his desk when Detective Holland set down the gory book he’d been reading while he ate and said, “O’Reilly’s got your suspect in the interrogation room. Graham just came out for coffee and told us what she’s been saying.”

That’s when Max spotted Stasia peering around the corner of John’s desk. “Yeah, the one who’s…” He made a crazy gesture with his hand. “The blind one.”

CHAPTER 15

Max dropped his sandwich on the nearest desk and shot out of there. What the hell was Sara doing? Had he connected Olivia to Mike Burns? Something inside Max rebelled at that thought. Not when he’d finally proven, at least to his satisfaction, that she wasn’t malingering.

He jerked open the door in time to hear Sam say, “I’m going to ask you again: why are you lying about being blind?”

“O’Reilly, can I see you for a moment?” Max asked in a strained voice. Amazing, since he was ready to yank him out of there by his collar.

Olivia lifted her head at the sound of Max’s voice but didn’t say anything. A mixture of anger and confusion lit her face. Tom Graham settled into his chair, his dark eyes glittering as he readied himself to enjoy a fight.

Max pulled Sam out into the hallway, and Tom slid by them and made slow progress back to his desk. Max waited until he was out of earshot.

Sam’s laugh was bitter. “Yeah, you’re handling her, all right. And falling for her, too.”

The door made a clicking sound and popped open an inch. Tom hadn’t latched it. Max shoved it closed and walked into the adjacent room.

“I’m not falling for her. I’m trying to get her to trust me so if she does know something, she’ll open up.”

“You lied to me when you left last night. You went to her place. I saw you.” The disappointment in his voice made Max feel like a kid caught in a lie.

“Like that she knew about the shamrock charm? That’s a biggie. I don’t know if I can trust you anymore, and dammit, I hate that.”

Max swung one of the orange chairs around and sat down backward. “What did she tell you?”

“Stood by her supposed connection with Phaedra Burns. She thinks it’s the same guy who abducted her sixteen years ago.”

“It isn’t. He killed himself right after she got away. I don’t know what to make of her story. It’s one of the things I’m checking out.” So she hadn’t mentioned that the man who’d taken her was Max’s father. He wasn’t ready for Sam to find that out yet.

Sam perched on the table. “You can’t believe this crazy connection story. It’s… it’s… well, it’s crazy, that’s what it is.”

“She said she got the boat information from a psychic cop. Someone here. That was the Bill Williams I asked you about.” So she was still trying to protect the guy. That both annoyed and worried him. “So far, I haven’t been able to verify that a Bill Williams works for us.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute. How’d you know about the shamrock?”

Sam at least bothered to look embarrassed. “I looked at your file when I came back after our talk outside. You left it right out on your desk. I’m not the only one who’s wondering what’s going on inside your head. Mathers was looking at it, too. I didn’t read all of it, but I got a glimpse of your notes about the shamrock. Look, I know what’s going on. She’s getting to you. It happens. She’s probably using her suspicions that someone is breaking into her apartment as a ruse, just like Helene, my neighbor, did. It put her in that victim role, and it’s all too easy for guys like us to respond to that.”

“You think her being a kidnap victim makes it unlikely that she’s helping someone else do the same thing, right? Ever hear of Stockholm Syndrome?”

Max rested his chin on the back of the chair. “That’s when a victim becomes emotionally involved with their kidnapper while they’re still being held captive.”

“It’s not always during the abduction. I’ve been doing some checking. Sometimes it’s after the victim is no longer with the kidnapper. A twelve-year-old boy was abducted in Idaho in 1982. He was tortured for two weeks before he escaped. Five years later, guess what? He takes a young boy and does the same thing to him. Olivia didn’t take the girl herself, but maybe she met up with some sick bastard who pulled her into his game. If she confided her own experience, he could have used it against her. We’ve seen some twisted stuff.”

Sam ran his fingers through his short blond hair, making the ends stand up. “Look, Max, she knows about the shamrock because she’s been with the girl. She’s probably seen the girl. I was this close to getting her to crack.”

“She’s blind, Sam. I talked to the neurologist her eye doctor referred her to. Ever heard of conversion disorder?”

Even after Max explained what he’d just learned, Sam was clearly skeptical. “But she reacted to my hand when I waved it in front of her face. You saw it. She grabbed the bag right out of your hand. She’s done a lot of things like that.”

“That’s what bothered me, too. It’s called blindsight.” Max explained the concept of blindsight as best as he could remember. “If she’s involved in the kidnapping, I want her as badly as you do. But my gut says she’s not.”

“There’s more, isn’t there? Max, I want it all. And if you’re involved with her—”

“There is more, and it’s complicated. But you’ve just got to trust me.” His butt would be yanked off the case if anyone knew how close this was to him. Thank goodness he hadn’t included his father in his notes. “I’m not sure how it relates, if it relates. I’m asking you to keep her connection and the shamrock under your hat for a little longer. I’m not endangering the case. If anything, I’m getting closer to finding Phaedra Burns.” Max crossed his arms on the back of the chair and pressed his forehead against them.

“If Huntington finds out you’re still talking to Olivia… Remember when he locked Dave Samson in the bathroom stall for an hour because he was always reading magazines in there? Or what about—what was his name?—Detective Johnson. He’d had some real problems about shooting a guy in self-defense, but he wouldn’t see a shrink. Remember Huntington making him sit in his office and write five pages of how he felt about the shooting? He wouldn’t let the guy leave before he was done filling the very last line. I can only imagine what he’ll do to you. I’m giving you another day; that’s it. I can’t keep working at cross-purposes like this. One of us is going to have to walk away from this case.”

“Let’s agree on this: there are two ways she could know about the shamrock—either she’s involved with the kidnapper or she’s psychic. Give me a chance to find out which it is. If you haven’t blown it for me.”

Sam hesitated, an unhappy expression on his face. “Just be careful that you’re not thinking with the wrong part of your anatomy. A little girl’s life is on the line.”

Max didn’t even dignify that with a response other than pushing out of the chair. He knocked on the interrogation room door before opening it.

She was the only bright spot in the otherwise generic room. Her blue-green shirt set off her yellow pants. Both clashed with the red and orange paint staining her fingernails. He glanced at the slim window in the door and saw Sam watching, probably looking for some sign of their involvement. The problem was, there was involvement, more than Max wanted to admit.

“Why did that other detective accuse you of falling for me?” she asked as soon as he sat down across from her.

Damn, why hadn’t he made sure the door was closed? “He’s misinterpreting my actions and intentions.”

He lowered his voice. “I admit to feeling a certain… protectiveness about you.”

She stiffly crossed her arms in front of her. “I don’t want your protection, Detective Callahan. Or anything else you have to offer. I’m tired of men pigeonholing me into the innocent, fragile category. I’m neither, and I haven’t been for a long time.”

She’d opened up an intriguing avenue of questioning. One he didn’t need to explore, because it had nothing to do with the case.

He wasn’t sure how much to tell her because of Dr. Bhatti’s warning about confronting her. But she’d already been confronted and now she needed to hear all of it. “Be-cause your eye doctor said there was nothing wrong with your eyes after the kidnapping.”

He saw her blanch at that. “You’ve been checking into my medical history?”

He wondered if he imagined the slight emphasis on the word you. “We needed to verify that you are, in fact, blind. It’s been a point of doubt from the beginning, and I wanted to clear it up. If you were lying about that—”

“Then I was lying about everything,” she finished in a flat voice. “So even you thought I was pretending to be blind?” This time there was no doubt about the emphasis.

“As a cop, I can’t discount any possibility. Especially with a girl’s life hanging in the balance. I just spoke with Dr. Bhatti.”

“He gave me some general information—that just happened to apply to you. He was doing it to clear up the matter of your blindness—to help me clear you as a suspect.”

This time he blanched. Why had he used that word? He didn’t have a chance to comment, because she said, “I trust you got your answer, which brings me back to my question: Why was he accusing me of faking it?”

A moment passed as she absorbed his words. “You have got to be kidding.” She waved her hand in front of her eyes in a jerky motion. “I can’t see. Doesn’t that qualify me as blind?”

He touched her hand, but she jerked away from him. “I don’t need you to hold my hand to soften the news, to protect me.”

hysterical. “It was a way for your mind to protect you from the terror of the abduction.”

“This is ridiculous. Is this another way of handling me, Detective Callahan?”

“Talk to Dr. Bhatti. He thought your mother was going to take you for therapy. Did she?”

“I saw a psychologist for a while, but that was for the nightmares and residual fear. My mother enrolled me in a special school for blind children and collected pity the way other people collect donations.”

He found himself wanting to explore that further, but now wasn’t the time to ask. “If there is a possibility that you could see again, would you want to?”

“No.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “I lost one sight and gained another. If I lose my connection with those children, who will help them?”

“I asked Dr. Bhatti about that, too, about the way your psychic ability changed. He’s heard of cases where someone has gained extrasensory abilities after a head injury.”

“Do I believe you have a connection with Phaedra Burns? Maybe. Do I believe your theory of who has her? No.” The cost of believing her was too high.

“But you’re checking into it, right? Because you have to explore every possibility.”

She had to let him slide his arm beneath hers to guide her back through the station. She wasn’t happy about it, to judge by the stiff way she walked beside him and the way she avoided any but necessary contact.

As soon as Stasia saw Olivia, she barked, probably let-ting her know where she was. Detective Holland had volunteered to watch the dog. He kept pictures of his two rottweiler beasts on his desk like other cops kept pictures of their children. As far as they knew, that was all the family he had. He untied the leash, but Stasia didn’t wait to be led to Olivia. She ran and put her paws against Olivia’s legs. Olivia knelt down and pressed her cheek against Stasia’s cheek. Max watched them for a moment, then looked up to catch Sam watching him.

Max only nodded. Protesting would be a bad thing, even though he wanted to do just that. He wanted some time alone with her, to explain the “handling” comment and to make sure she was all right. Of course she’d interpret that as a protective gesture, and he was fairly certain that’s not what it was at all.

John Holland introduced himself and led Olivia from the area. Max turned back to Sam. “I just found out where Sebastian LaForge works on his sculptures. It’s a storage area about thirty minutes from here. Let’s see what we can find out.”

“No, but LaForge is a link to the Burnses, and he has a facility”—he caught himself saying “like the one Olivia’s been seeing”—“that could house an abducted child. I think it’s something to check out, and it’s better than sitting here pulling our hair out.” He looked at the clock. Where was the time going? He grabbed up his keys and a new pair of sunglasses. “I’ve got the records being pulled on every missing child case in both Palomera and Sarasota.”

“The more I think about how good he was at getting that girl out of the store without anyone seeing him, the more I think he’s too good. That he’s done this kind of thing before. Since we’re hitting dead ends with the family and Olivia, we need to start broadening the search.”

Lieutenant Huntington was watching him through the open blinds in his office window. Had Sam told him about the withheld information yet? A few of the detectives were watching him, too. Everyone seemed to know about the case. Was he just imagining that they were all waiting for him to go under?

Detective Holland’s low, soft voice had an almost eerie quality to it, though he’d said little beyond what was necessary. Otherwise, he murmured to himself as he drove through traffic. When he stopped at her building, he leaned past her and opened the door. “Be careful, Ms. Howe.”

“Thanks for the warning,” she said as she guided Stasia out and quickly followed. “And the ride.” It was only after she was inside her building that she realized he hadn’t asked her where she lived.

Once again she took stock of her apartment, Holland’s warning still echoing in her head. She released Stasia from her harness and went directly to the phone. What Max had told her… it was impossible, of course. She didn’t want to believe it. Information gave her Dr. Bhatti’s number, and his answering service took her message.

He called ten minutes later. “I thought I might be hearing from you, but not quite so soon. I hope I wasn’t overstepping my bounds by talking to the detective. He said he wanted to clear you of suspicion.”

Max was a cop first and foremost. His priority was finding Phaedra, and so was hers. That he had betrayed her by doubting her sight shouldn’t bother her so much. But it did.

Dr. Bhatti confirmed what Max had said. He chose his words carefully, like Max had done. “He wasn’t supposed to just tell you.”

“The other detective accused me of faking my blindness. Max—Detective Callahan walked in and told me about conversion disorder. If this is true… am I crazy?”

“No, you’re not crazy. It is a survival instinct. We all do it to some extent. For instance, say there is a dinner party you absolutely don’t want to attend but feel obligated to. To avoid the party, you get a stomachache, and darn, you cannot go. The difference between that and conversion disorder is that the former person is aware that the impending situation is the cause of the sickness.”

“Detective Callahan said the kidnapping triggered the blindness, but another factor caused it to stay.”

“This is the question I ask my patients: By being blind, what did you get out of that you hated doing or having done to you? Labor? Physical or emotional abuse?”

“My mother made me enter beauty pageants. I hated them.” If she had stopped doing them on her own, she was as sure as a child can be that her mother wouldn’t love her anymore.

Dr. Bhatti said, “She did not want to accept what I told her. Her question was the same as yours: was her child crazy! I assured her this was not the case, but that psychotherapy was essential. She did not like that, but she promised to think about it. And now that I am looking at the case notes, I see that I followed up with her a week later. She told me she was taking you for therapy.”

“She did. I was already seeing a psychiatrist to help me deal with the trauma of the kidnapping. But we didn’t talk about the blindness or anything else relating to it, other than coping with it. I don’t remember having trouble with that, though.”

“No, you would have easily accepted it. That’s what conversion disorder sufferers do.”

“Yes. I ran a full battery of tests on your eyes; there was nothing physically wrong with them. All the factors indicated conversion disorder.”

“It’s”—she wanted to say “crazy” again—“incredible. I can’t get my mind around it.”

“You’ll likely need to talk to a mental health care specialist familiar with this diagnosis. I can give you a couple of names.” As she typed the information into Louis with shaky fingers, she remembered Max’s final question: Did she want to see again? The darkness had been a comfortable place for so long, she wasn’t sure she did.

A pause. “I’m not sure that you could. To put in into plain terms, if you didn’t use your arm for sixteen years, and one day you decided to use your arm, I doubt that you could. Your muscles aren’t conditioned to move, and your mind is no longer conditioned to receive signals. Is it possible? Yes, anything is possible in the realm of medicine. Is it probable? I’m afraid not.”

“Yes, of course. Please see someone to help you, as you said, get your mind around it. This is a traumatic revelation, especially when presented the way it was. If you want to meet with me, make an appointment with my office. I’ll make sure you get in right away.”

She took a deep breath after she’d hung up the phone. Elaine had blamed her for the kidnapping. After all, she’d been hiding, giving that madman the opportunity to take her. Olivia had accepted that blame, and neither had ever really talked about it. Even when Elaine was dying, she wouldn’t discuss it. She only wanted to talk about the good things, like the beauty pageants, the glory days. Olivia had gone along with her because—well, because she was dying.

When the phone rang a few minutes later, Olivia knew it was Max. Her fingers went around the handset, but she didn’t press the button. Her answering machine kicked in, and she heard his voice: “Olivia, it’s Max. I know I dumped a lot on you. I wanted to make sure you were all right. I’m sorry it worked out the way it did.”

“Snap out of it.” She turned to where she sensed Stasia was. “What should we have for dinner, girl? A package of Nutter Butters is sounding pretty good about now.” She scooped canned dog food into Stasia’s bowl and placed a cookie on top. Then she poured a glass of milk and sat down to a totally unhealthy dinner she had convinced herself she deserved.

As it turned out, Sebastian was happy to show Max and Sam around his “genesis of art” workshop. It was a clean, immense warehouse. He and a few of his friends were working that evening when Max and Sam just “happened” by. Olivia wasn’t among those friends, though her one try at sculpture was: a warped clay person. Max didn’t like the image of her and Sebastian working on that together, but he didn’t delve into exactly why.

Afterward, he and Sam walked around the rest of the warehouses and found nothing out of the ordinary. They’d returned to the station to pick up the case files that had been dug up so far and went their separate ways. Max was on his way to the Chinese restaurant for some to-go food when he passed the library. He found himself pulling into the parking lot and walking inside. He took the newspaper film from December 1984 and inserted it into the reading machine.

Olivia’s face flashed by, and he backed up. He printed out the pages that covered her disappearance and recovery. After returning the film to the drawer, he paid for the copies and headed out. At the restaurant, he decided on the spicy version of General Tsao’s chicken. It was going to be a long night.

After dinner, Olivia harnessed Stasia and they walked out into the hallway. As soon as Olivia locked her door, she got a strong whiff of Polo. Had Terry dumped more cologne on the carpet?

Someone pushed her against the door. Before she could even react or scream, a mouth covered hers. She shoved him back and kicked him in the shin. “Terry, stop it! God, you scared me!”

“Ouch, dammit. Olivia, I’m going crazy here. Let me move back in. I know something’s going on. I can’t sleep; I can’t eat; all I do is think about you. Why was there a cop here yesterday?” He moved closer and cradled her face in his big hands. “Let me take care of you, baby. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Tears pricked the back of her eyes. After facing her connection alone for so long, after being shunned by the few men she’d dated because of it, the thought of having someone to face it with would be a treasure. But not Terry. He didn’t want to understand it; he just wanted to use it as a way to get closer to her.

A door down the hall opened, and voices filled the air. “Do you have everything?” a man asked.

“I think so,” a woman said, though she didn’t sound sure at all. “Are you positive your mother will have a curling iron?”

“She’s got every hair implement known to man. Or woman, I should say.” Luggage wheels squeaked as they rolled across the carpet. “You have the tickets, right?”

“Of course,” she said as they rounded the corner to the elevator. A minute later, the car dinged as it arrived, and then it was quiet again.

“If you didn’t love me,” Terry said, “you’d have screamed your head off. You’d have me arrested. But you don’t. You’ve probably never even reported that I’ve come over or called you.”

He was right. “I was hoping the no-contact order would make a point. I thought you’d get the hint and leave me alone. I never actually wanted you to be arrested.”

“I don’t love you. I don’t even like you anymore. And you wouldn’t like me if you knew the kind of woman I really am.”

“And what kind is that? Look, if you were a man before, I’m OK with that. I mean, all your parts work now.”

She slapped her hand over her face in disbelief. “It’s over, Terry. You have to accept that. No more coming around here, no more calling me.”

“By this time next year, I’m going to be playing football again, and you’re going to be my wife and at least a couple months pregnant. Well, unless you were a guy. I don’t think medical science can do that yet.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled in her throat, but her anger pushed it down. “What about what I want?”

“I don’t want to be your wife; I know that. I don’t want to see you again. I do know what you want: whatever it is you can’t have. But that’s not going to change the outcome. Save yourself a lot of hassle and let me go. Use the energy for football.”

His voice was low when he said, “You’d save me a lot of hassle by coming back to me now. But if this is how you want to play it, then I’ll play your game.” He was walking backward as he spoke. “And I’m good at playing games, Olivia. Remember that.”

She waited until the stairwell door closed behind him. The echo of his footsteps and the door opening on the first floor finally allowed her to release her breath. She didn’t need this, not now.

When she walked out the front door of her building a couple of minutes later, she wondered if he was waiting for her, intending to follow her. She thought of the person who had touched her earlier, of the things that had been changed in her apartment. She didn’t need someone to protect her, dammit. Not Terry and not Max.

Max. Her mouth tightened, and anger flushed her cheeks. She hoped he never came around again. She had started to see him as an ally of sorts.

He probably did think she was crazy. He’d never believe anything else she said, and Phaedra would…

Once at the park, she let Stasia loose and sank onto the bench. O’Reilly had accused Max of falling for her. She didn’t like the way that accusation tickled through her body, not when getting involved with him was the last thing she wanted. Certainly the last thing she needed. Their relationship was already too complicated, and they weren’t even technically in a relationship!

An ominous feeling coursed through her. It wasn’t fear that pulled Olivia to Phaedra this time. It was hunger and the agony of decision.

He’d starved her all day, giving her only a glass of juice in the morning. Then he’d returned bearing a plate of yummy fried chicken. He’d set that plate in front of her and told her not to eat it. Why had he been so cruel?

So hungry. Dizzy from it. He’d left her there to wrestle over feeding her hunger and disobeying him. She kept looking at the door, waiting for him to return. Her stomach ached with hunger, making her curl in on herself.

She reached through the bars and grabbed a drumstick. Just one little drumstick. She’d hide the evidence. Oh, it was good, cold or not. But it was gone so fast, and she was still so hungry. Two more pieces sat there on the plate, and she couldn’t resist them any longer. He’d know anyway. It was already too late. He knew how many pieces he’d left. She’d take the punishment. At least she’d have food in her tummy.

Too late. Now the price for disobeying seemed larger than her hunger had been.

“Hello, Rose.” The light was behind him, as usual, though she could see the shadows of his face. “You disobeyed me.” A disappointed voice. An angry voice. “You disobeyed me, Rose.”

“That doesn’t matter. I told you not to eat. What matters is that you disobeyed me.” His voice grew louder with every word, echoing like thunder. “And now you’re going to pay for it.”

He unlocked the cage and grabbed her arm. As much as she hated being in that cage, being torn out of it was even worse. At least she knew what was in the cage, and she was safe from him.

Helplessness overcame her fight, and she let him drag her the rest of the way out of the cage. “Do you know what happens to bad girls who don’t listen? Who eat things they’re not supposed to eat?” He pulled out a small, thin bottle. Tabasco sauce, like her daddy put on his eggs. “Open your mouth, Rose.”

When she still didn’t open up, he stuck his fingers in and forced her mouth open. “I’ll pour it down your nose if you don’t leave your mouth open.”

Be brave, she told herself Like when the boys in the neighborhood try to scare you.

The pungent odor of the sauce burned her nostrils. Then the sauce squirted inside her mouth. She closed her eyes and swallowed when she had to. It burned down her throat and made her eyes and nose water. He tossed the bottle aside but still had a hold on her arm.

“Don’t ever disobey me again, Rose. It’s a war between us, isn’t it? You against me, ever since you were a baby. I’m tired of being the bad guy. I’m a good father. But how can I be good when you’re so bad?”

“You haven’t called me Father yet today. I want to hear you say it, Rose.”

She shook her head, knowing she would have to give in. He squeezed her arm even harder.

He let her run to the bathroom and throw up into the toilet. She barely made it in time. She was crying and vomiting at the same time. His chest heaved with anger. Why did she disobey him? His word was the law. He’d made his wishes very clear.

Her crying got louder, though she didn’t stop retching. She was kneeling in front of the toilet in the small bathroom. After several more minutes, she got to her feet. She turned on the water, splashing her face and rinsing out her mouth. When she turned around, her face was wet and her mouth red.

She hesitated but forced herself to step toward him. He opened his arms. “Give your father a hug.”

Her lower lip pouted, but she stepped into his arms. She smelled like the hot sauce, which had spilled on her shirt, and vomit. He hugged her close. “Don’t make me mad, Rose. I can’t be responsible for my actions if you keep making me mad. If only you were good…” But she wouldn’t be. He knew how it must play out. “Get into the cage.”

He wasn’t like his father. He’d never touch Rose in inappropriate places. He’d never do those terrible things his father had done to his sister. Things he couldn’t stop. The bastard had never been punished for what he’d done. He’d died a hero.

But he was a good father who only wanted to keep his daughter in line. That’s all he’d ever wanted, and she’d made him go too far. He flushed the toilet and walked to the steps. “I’ll bring you food tomorrow. You won’t scream when I leave, will you?”

The only time someone might hear her was the moment he opened the door, but even that was a remote possibility. Still, he couldn’t take any chances.

He liked that Max was on the case, felt closer to him because of it. Max had been a bad boy a long, long time ago. He’d been punished when that car bomb went off and killed his wife and daughter, but it had backfired. Ashley wasn’t supposed to have been with Diana that day. Maybe that’s why his anger with Max never completely went away, because it had gone terribly wrong.

CHAPTER 16

Max spent the evening poring over the case files in the living room—and finding nothing. It occurred to him that this was another dead end, but it didn’t occur to him to stop looking. He had every missing child case in the last ten years in the area. Sam had the previous ten years’ worth. Luckily, there weren’t all that many, and most had been solved. On the closed cases, Max jotted down the names of the men convicted, with the intent of seeing if they were still in prison. The outstanding cases looked nothing like either Olivia’s or Phaedra’s case. Those two were connected by the date of abduction, almost down to the hour. It was a hard coincidence to ignore.

He stretched his legs and propped his feet on the coffee table. His latest project, the Wolf Man, sat untouched among a jumble of paint tubes and mixing dishes. He glanced up to the shelf where his small masterpieces were all crammed together. Back in the shadows, Gwynplaine’s macabre grimace managed to catch the light. He shifted his gaze away. The television was on low, some news program. Just enough to lend background noise, to make it sound like maybe there was someone else in the house. Like maybe it was a home.

It hadn’t been a real home since he found the near-empty bottles of vodka in Diana’s drawer, hidden under her maternity bras. She’d even hidden a bottle in a box of baby things that Annie had given them.

The living room and kitchen were lit up, but the rest of the rooms were dark. He glanced up at Ashley’s pictures on the mantel. It hurt to see her smiling face, but it would hurt more to put away those pictures.

The phone rang, and the human resources clerk gave him some disturbing news. No Bill Williams worked for any division of the Palomera Police Department. Was it his gut feeling that made him worry about Olivia? Or maybe the gut feeling is something more than cop instinct. Maybe you just don’t like that she trusts this guy. That she shares enough affinity with him to protect him.

Bill Williams could have given her a false name to protect his job. Maybe it was nothing more than that. Still, he called Olivia and left a message on her machine about Williams.

“I thought he was with you,” Annie said, suspicion threading through her voice.

“We both took our case files home. Or at least I thought he was taking his home. Maybe he went back to the station to check something. I’ll try him on his cell phone.”

“It’s this case, Annie, that’s all. It’s making us crazy. Sam’s been pretty intense about it, and… well, he and I aren’t agreeing on suspects, which is making things harder. But you probably already know about that.”

“He hasn’t been talking to me lately. Says he has his head in this case, which I can understand. But I think it’s more than that. Even Petey’s noticed it. Sam managed to stop by the party, but his heart wasn’t in it.”

“I wish I could help you, but I don’t think anything’s going on other than this case. I’ll try to talk to him, though.” If Sam would talk to him.

“Tell Petey I’m sorry I couldn’t make it. Look, I gotta go. Don’t worry, Annie. I’m sure it’s this case, and God willing, we’ll have it solved before long.”

“Are you close to finding her? I’ve been watching it on the news, and there doesn’t seem to be much to go on.”

“That’s what’s so hard about it. We’ll find her, and things will be back to normal.”

That call bothered him. Sam was the most dedicated family man he’d ever known, and Annie was a good woman. Sam would never screw that up. Unfortunately, Max was hardly in the position to talk with him friend to friend. They were barely that right now.

He dumped out the rest of the coffee in the pot and rinsed it out. He was glad to plunge the kitchen into darkness with the flick of a switch. It was a mess. He didn’t have the energy or time to keep the place up. The cleaning lady was due tomorrow. She made it feel like someone lived there, too, when he came home to find the place clean and a frosty mug in the freezer.

He sat down on the couch again, the place he too often fell asleep. He stacked the folders in a pile and found the copies of the newspaper article about Olivia’s kidnapping. She was arresting for an eight-year-old. He understood why when he read the article. She was a little beauty queen, winner of numerous pageants both regional and national. In fact, she looked a lot like she did now, with long hair and those incredible eyes. But she could see then, and she was innocent. Fragile. Neither of which she was now, as she’d told him.

Her mother was a striking woman, too, though in a different way. She was class all the way, with white-blond hair and a face that had seen a lift or two. Olivia’s parents were quite a bit older than he’d expected. He could see the effect of that in her reserved manner.

Over time, the story got smaller and farther back in the newspaper section, as it usually did. He got to the headline story where Olivia had been found. Max had never read anything about her rescue. Now he read his name as he was hailed a brave young man. The writer had used dramatic phrases, like “took his life in his hands” and “rescued the girl from certain death.” They’d found a tub in the burned-out trailer of the truck but couldn’t say for sure what Bobby had intended to do with it. As far as the police could ascertain, this was the first time he’d ever done something like this. No one knew why. There was a mention of Max going to live with his aunt now that he was orphaned. Olivia had suffered from one long cut across her chest, some bruising, and a slight concussion. That his father had not molested her made the motive that much murkier.

Livvy with her Mona Lisa smile looked up at him from his lap where the rest of the papers lay. He picked up the phone to call her again but set it down. She still hadn’t returned his earlier calls. What he needed was to keep his distance. He was getting in way too deep with her, and though he didn’t want to explore in what ways, he knew the attraction was definitely there. If Huntington got wind of it, he’d probably lock Max in a closet.

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until the phone jarred him awake. The clock read 11:30.

“Hey, it’s Sam. I just followed Mikey Burns to a mansion on Southside Drive.”

“I don’t know, but—wait; another car pulled up next to his. Whoa, one hot number just got out and she’s heading into the house. She looks like a kid, maybe sixteen.”

“I was checking to see if you found anything in the files. She thought you were with me.”

“I figured we would be together, but it seemed senseless for both of us to waste the evening watching his place.”

Thirty minutes later, Max and Sam walked up to the immense entrance of the house. For a few minutes Max let himself think that they were working together like old times. But he didn’t believe that Burns had the kid, not here or anywhere.

Through the wood door, Prince belted out “Get Off.” They could hear voices inside. Mike called, “Shift to your left; there’s a shadow on your nipple. Yep, that’s it. Perfect.”

Max knocked on the door. The girl said, “Who is that? I told you I don’t perform for audiences.”

Mike sidled up and took in the two detectives with more than annoyance on his face. “What are you doing here?”

Max peered inside. The living room was set up to look like a bedroom, with a red velvet heart-shaped bed right in the middle. Two tripods were set up, the lightbulbs surrounded by foil to direct the light to the bed where a voluptuous naked blonde was sprawled. She also looked annoyed but did nothing more than reach for a cigarette and light it. A skinny young man stood off to the right, an eight-millimeter camera strapped to a rig on his shoulder. He was shifting from left to right while studying a small television connected to the camera.

Sam said, “You looked awfully squirrelly when you left your place tonight. We thought we’d see what you were up to, Mikey.”

Mike slapped at the wall and let loose with an expletive. “I’m making movies, that’s what I’m doing. What I didn’t want anyone knowing, especially my family. Especially now. I’m already behind schedule, and we’ve got one final scene to wrap. I wouldn’t even be here except that the movie is already in the next catalog.” He slung his arm toward the woman on the bed. “This is Daisy Dick, the hottest up-and-comer in amateur adult movies.”

She let out a mirthless laugh. “Up-and-comer… good one, Michael. Can we get going? I gotta get back before my baby-sitter goes to school at six.”

The man who had answered the door said, “It’s my place. I let Michael use it for his film, and in return I get to watch.”

Mike gestured to the house. “If you want to take a look around, have at it. Just be quick.”

“Right, your production schedule,” Max said with a nod, trying not to let a sardonic smile show.

They checked out the house but, as Max had suspected, found nothing incriminating other than the moviemaking.

Daisy jumped out of the bed, yanked on a pink fur-fringed robe, and slammed the bathroom door behind her.

Mike said, “Aw, come on; it’s not hard-core. I’m not doing anything wrong here. Daisy’s twenty.”

“I hate that guy,” Sam said when they headed out twenty minutes later, once the Sarasota police had arrived.

“Forget about Mikey. We’ve wasted enough time on him, but now we can be reasonably sure he had nothing to do with Phaedra’s abduction. Have you looked at the files yet?”

The frantic words pulled Olivia from the connection. In a rush of panic, she realized there were hands on her, people around her. She jerked upright and tried to figure out where she was while pain pounded in her head.

She was on the ground. Oh, jeez, she’d dropped right there in the park. She patted around her. “Where’s my dog? Stasia!” Her fingers connected with soft fur.

“She stayed right there with you the whole time,” a woman said. “Did you have a seizure? My friend Denise has a seizure alert dog.”

“I didn’t have a seizure.” When she tried to get to her feet, several hands helped her. As weak as her legs were, she didn’t object. She saved her energy for grabbing at the nearest lie. “I just let my blood sugar drop too low. I’ll be fine.”

“Here’s a protein bar.” A woman shoved one in her hand. “Hope you like coconut/pineapple/soy. If you’re having a low blood sugar attack, anything’ll do. I’ve got the same problem, always keep one handy.”

“Great, thanks.” Olivia bit into the dense, thick bar and chewed slowly. Yuck.

She forced the rest of the bar down between thanking everyone. “I’m fine, really. I just need to get home and lie down.”

She and Stasia walked into the apartment ten minutes later, the bar sitting heavy in Olivia’s stomach. The breeze chilled the perspiration that clung to her skin.

Phaedra. The memories of her vision rushed back to her. She’d seen enough to know their kidnapper was right on schedule. Tomorrow… she shuddered. Tomorrow would be even worse. And the next day… she didn’t know what would happen. That was scarier than anything.

When the phone rang, Olivia grabbed it up. She was surprised to hear her father’s tentative voice.

“I’m…” She heard someone whispering in the background. “I’m here with a friend of… a friend of yours.” He was repeating whatever the person was saying. He didn’t know her at all.

The connection had a cell phone sound to it. A man was with her father. “Who is it?” she asked in a tremulous voice. “What does he look like?”

She speed-dialed the Livingston. “This is Olivia Howe,” she said when a woman answered. “You need to find my father immediately.” She heard hysteria creep into her voice and toned it down. “He just called me.”

The woman’s voice remained as calm as a recorded message. “That’s impossible, Ms. Howe. He has no phone access.”

“I know; that’s why you’ve got to find him right now. He’s with someone who has a cell phone, someone who intends to harm him.”

“No! I’m staying on the line. Go get him right now and find out who’s with him.”

Olivia dropped into a kitchen chair and hugged her legs to her chest as she waited. Someone was playing games with her; she was sure of that now. That he’d brought her father into it—she rubbed her eyes hard, tamping down anger and fear. Would Terry stoop that low? How far would this person, whoever it was, go? “He’s a helpless man!” she screamed before clamping her hand over her mouth. Her father hadn’t been able to help her when she’d been kidnapped, and now she knew how he’d felt: enraged and impotent.

“Ms. Howe,” the woman said, snapping Olivia back to the present. “Your father is fine.”

The surge of relief she felt quickly died. “Where was he? Who was with him?”

“No, of course not. He was nowhere near a phone. Perhaps the man who called you had the wrong number and it merely sounded like your father.”

“It was my father. He was repeating what the man who was with him told him to. Put him on the phone, please.”

A few minutes later, Olivia heard the woman saying, “It’s your daughter, Mr. Howe.” Then his voice came on the line. “Livvy?”

“I’m fine.” When he did remember her, he often pictured her as a young girl. Other times he thought she was his sister, Jane, or one of the nurses. “You were just talking to me on the phone. Do you remember that?”

Her fingers tightened in frustration. “Daddy, this is important. You were just talking with someone. Do you remember who it was?”

She felt a chill at those words. “Yes, I know that, but who was it? What did he look like?”

She took the first few moments as thoughtful silence. A minute later, the woman with the prim voice said, “Your father set the phone down and walked over to the Christmas tree. I’m sorry.”

Olivia let out a long breath, only now realizing she’d been holding it. “I’ll be right over.”

CHAPTER 17

“We’ve got to let Mikey Bums go as a suspect,” Sam told Huntington the next morning.

The lieutenant set his chunky coffee mug down on his paper-covered desk with a thunk. “You were sure he was up to something. What happened?”

“It just happened to be amateur adult movies, not child abduction,” Max added.

“That’s where he goes during the day. Where he was the morning Phaedra was taken. His star, Daisy, confirmed it. The dealership’s phone records indicate that he called Miss Dicks before he left—”

“That was just one Dick,” Max corrected, trying to keep the corner of his mouth from quirking. “Daisy Dick.”

“Which means you have nothing on the case now.” Huntington was looking at Max.

Huntington grimaced. “A blind woman who was seen leaving the store without the girl. Great, just great. I sup-pose you got nothing out of her yesterday, O’Reilly.” Sam shook his head.

Max felt like a boy who’d been called into the principal’s office. “We’re still working on some leads, like Pat Burns, but there’s nothing substantial at this time. This guy was good.”

Huntington said, “Then you’ve got to be better.” He looked tired and disappointed as he took them in. “Don’t make me have to tell the family that we have nothing, after four days, nothing. I want that girl home for Christmas. Get out there and find her.” With a wave of his gnarled pencil, he dismissed them.

Sam gave his chair a shove when they returned to their desks. “Bastard. We can’t squeeze milk out of a bull’s tit.”

“We’re doing the best we can.” But were they? Had they wasted time on bad leads and overlooked good ones?

They spent the remainder of the morning finishing the old-case folders—with no results.

Sam threw the last folder on the stack. “There’s nothing here with a similar MO.”

“Here, either. I keep thinking we’re missing something. I just don’t know what.”

“O’Reilly… Yes, I am.” He grabbed a notepad. “OK, go ahead… And you’re sure it was the Burns girl?… OK, thanks. We’ll check into it right away.” He hung up the phone and held up the pad. “Woman says she saw the girl at the Spring Road Wal-Mart ten minutes ago. Sounds like another dead end.”

They’d had several sightings and tips. It was becoming less likely that the girl would show up at a store. Max grabbed his jacket. “You take it. I’m going to talk to Olivia.”

That’s how he had to approach this, as a business-only, forget the past and the whole hero/rescue thing, and get to the bottom of her involvement. Forget that he found her attractive as hell, that he was sure her tough-cookie exterior hid a soft, vulnerable side.

“You’ve done enough damage. She might still talk to me. She sure as hell isn’t going to talk to you.”

She wasn’t going to be very happy with him, either, but he still had the. best chance.

When Max stepped into the lobby of Olivia’s building, Judy was vacuuming. She turned off the cleaner and pushed her brown hair from her face. “You looking for Olivia?”

“Yepper. She called me this morning to tell me not to come by to mix paints for her. She got worried about him last night and went to be with him.”

He walked over, hoping to catch her on the way back. As soon as he passed the bridge, his gaze went right to her, walking with her father on the vast lawn. Stasia followed along, but Olivia’s father was guiding her now. Whatever had happened last night, he looked fine now. Her arm was linked with his, and she was leaning close to him. Not out of need for guidance but just to be close. He was a tall, good-looking man with Olivia’s bone structure. He’d aged quite a bit since that newspaper article.

Max slowed his pace and casually crossed the large lawn dotted with shady oak and pine trees. Olivia looked happy. She and her father were talking, and she was laughing. The throaty sound made Max pause and take a breath. How often did she laugh like that? Probably not much.

Keeping the casual pace, he walked past them. Stasia recognized him, perking her ears. Luckily, she didn’t bark. He knew he was using Olivia’s blindness to his advantage, but he couldn’t bring himself to break the spell. He didn’t want to take away a moment of happiness with her father, either.

They sat on one of the benches that overlooked the waterway. Max sat on the adjacent bench. He told himself he was doing his job; perhaps he would overhear something that would help.

Yeah, right. He couldn’t quite convince himself he was working under pure, unselfish motives. He should leave, give her privacy. He settled more comfortably on the bench. He should sit at the farthest bench and wait for her to finish her visit. He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. Give it up, Callahan. No way are you walking away from that laugh, that smile.

She held up her hand. “Don’t tell me. Long needles, dark green. Rough bark.”

“Small leaves, grayish green. Rough gray bark. Maybe even some Spanish moss dripping from the branches.”

He looked around, and his gaze settled on a blue jay hopping across the lawn squawking. “Blue jay.”

Again, that heart-stopping smile. “Blue and white, and he’s sure mad about something.”

Her father glanced up at Max, and they exchanged a civilized nod. Mr. Howe said, “Woodpecker,” when he saw one fly past.

“Red head, gray bodies that float gracefully up the tree trunks and across branches.”

“Very good. You know, I play this game with my little girl to help her remember what things look like. She’s blind.”

Max felt his throat tighten. They were playing a memory game. But why was he referring to his daughter in the third person?

Jane? Her expression looked pained, and her voice sounded thick when she said, “Me, too.”

Something opened up inside Max, something that had been closed for a long time. It was a good thing she didn’t let her walls down like this with him. He’d have to do something gallant like kiss her until she didn’t look sad anymore. Tell her bad jokes until she cracked a grin. Make love with her until she forgot everything that had ever stolen her smile.

They started walking toward the elegant building that stood in the shadows of huge oak trees. Her father said in a near-whisper, “There’s a young man back there who seems quite taken with you.”

Her whole body tensed as she turned her head. “Really?” She’d forced a casual tone to her voice. “What does he look like?”

Uh-oh. Busted. He meandered toward the waterway and waited in the cool shadows of the trees nearest the sidewalk. Fifteen minutes later, she walked out, led by Stasia. He could leave, then come to her apartment and pretend it hadn’t been him. He was already on her hit list. But he couldn’t deceive her. He felt low enough listening to her private conversation.

She stopped and faced him, and he saw that she’d been crying. The residue of tears glistened on her lashes. “That was you my father was talking about?”

She started walking again and, without looking back, said, “Go to hell, Detective Callahan.”

His Rose was waiting for him, just as she always was. Her eyes were glued to his every move. Sometimes her expression was full of hatred; other times it reeked of fear. The fear usually gave way to anger after the fourth day, then to hopelessness. He set the Burger King bag near the cage, but not close enough for her to reach it. Not that she’d dare take it before he gave her permission. He walked into the bathroom and watched her in the mirror as he washed off the cola that had spilled on his gloves. There had to be rules, and the penalty for breaking those rules had to be harsh. Where would this society be if rules weren’t enforced?

His father had been right about that, at least. But the man had violated his own code of ethics, the hypocritical bastard. He had watched Father go into his sister’s room after Mother had passed out. He knew what Father was doing behind that closed door. It was left to him to hold his sister afterward while she cried and he wallowed in helpless rage. He’d wanted to punish his father in the most heinous way, but he was only a child.

His father was revered, emulated. No one knew the ruthless domination he wielded over his family, nor would they believe it. No one could help his sister. If his father had been punished, this rage wouldn’t exist.

Even now, the rage ate away at him like acid. As he’d grown stronger, older, he’d planned revenge a thousand different ways. That chance was never given to him. Some faceless man who had no grudge against his father was the one to cut him down in a police shoot-out. His father was buried with all the honors, graced with tears and anger.

His fists clenched so hard they ached. He took a deep breath and relaxed them. His face, shadowed by the cap, stared back from his reflection. It was a different face from that of the young man he’d been. Not just older, but reconstructed to fit the face of the man whose identity he’d taken all those years ago. Maybe someday he’d get used to it.

The tub was half-full now, the incessant drip doing its job. By tomorrow night, it would be sufficient. He dipped his bare hand into the cool water and swirled it around. The ripples eventually died to a smooth surface again. Like the rage that would no longer ripple across his soul. For a while, the surface would be peaceful.

He put his damp glove back on and walked to the cage. He positioned himself in front of the light. “Hello, Rose.”

No response, only that hopeless look and a quick, darting glance toward the bag of food.

Ah, she was getting it. They usually did by now. While most of their hope had drained away, they still thought there was a chance he’d let them go home if they were good. As though being good would spare anyone. His sister had always done what she was told, but that hadn’t spared her.

But Rose, she had taken away something more precious than his sense of good and evil. Of righteousness. And justice. She had taken away so much more. Tomorrow night at midnight she would die for it and release him.

She was gorging on the burger, but her gaze was on the door of the cage. He’d left it ajar. Hmm, how about that?

She shook her head, those big brown eyes glued to him. But she would. Rose always disobeyed.

He’d disabled the main door’s locks from the inside so she couldn’t lock him out when she did gather the guts to leave that cage. No way could she get out of this place.

Those simple words, spoken in true gratitude, stuck him in the gut like an ice pick. He couldn’t answer her; he only nodded. He closed the heavy door and locked it. The torment grew inside him. He had to follow through, just as he always did. If he didn’t, he’d explode from the anguish and rage inside him.

CHAPTER 18

“All right, I deserve that,” Max said, walking beside Olivia back through the park toward her apartment. “I think your biggest problem is my seeing a tender side of you.”

She stopped, jerking poor Stasia to a halt with her. “Did it turn you on?”

He slapped his hand over his heart. “Ouch. OK, I deserve that, too. Can we call it even now?”

She narrowed her eyes at him but kept walking. There was a flush on her cheeks. “I hate you.”

His eyes widened at the vehemence of her statement. “You don’t know me well enough to hate me.”

She stopped again, talking to a spot about two inches to his right. “Yes, I do. That night at my apartment, you made me think…” She threw her hands up in frustration and started walking again.

“When I said I was handling you, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I was dealing with you.”

“You let that creep of a partner interrogate me. You didn’t even have the guts to question me yourself.”

“I didn’t know Sam was bringing you in. I found out when I returned from the station after talking to Dr. Bhatti.”

“I need your help, Olivia.” The desperation in his voice stopped her struggle. “Not as a suspect, but as a witness.”

“I’m willing to explore the possibility—the probability that your connection to Phaedra is real.” But she had to be wrong about it being the man who had taken her.

They both seemed to realize he was still holding her arm at the same time. Her pale skin contrasted with his tan work-worn hand. He released her.

“Of course I’ll help,” she said at last. “But don’t ever eavesdrop on me again.”

He took in her face, once again taking advantage of her blindness. He could look all he wanted and she’d never know it. “I couldn’t help myself.”

His mouth twisted into a smile. Damn, she was hard. “It was wrong, and I apologize.”

She nodded. “Thank you for that. Did you think I was going to confess something to my father?”

He couldn’t easily explain why he’d been compelled to watch her. He didn’t want to see that side of her, didn’t want to be touched by her, but he’d stayed anyway.

She started walking again, but slowly this time. Not to get away from him. They walked in a comfortable silence. The cheery holiday music coming from the overhead speakers was at odds with the turmoil inside him. They passed the Ed-gewater where people were catching a matinee or eating at one of the cafes, not a care in the world. He envied them, envied their ability to enjoy a perfect, warm Christmas Eve.

“Why come to me when you’re not sure I’m not just crazy?” she asked at last.

This time he had to be honest. “Time is running out, and you’re all I have.”

“I know you don’t believe your father is still alive, but did you at least confirm whether the remains had been verified as his?”

“I put another call into the sheriff’s department this morning. They promised to get back to me today.”

After a minute of silence, she said, “Do you think I want him to be alive?” She shook her head. “I’ve never wanted someone to be more dead. I don’t want to think that he’s been out there all this time. But we have to keep our minds open. Phaedra’s life depends on it.”

She slowed again, and her hands tightened on the lead. “I connected with her last night. I’ve been trying to stay with her longer, but something always pulls me out. This time it was the people in the park.”

“I was sitting on a bench when the connection hit. I guess they thought I was having a seizure.”

She continued. “He did exactly what he did to me. Starved her all day, then brought her fried chicken and told her not to eat it. Left her alone with it so she’d be tempted and give in.”

She nodded. “He made her eat the hot sauce, and she threw everything up.” Her face tensed.

“No. Today will be a new game of punishment: escape. He’ll leave the door of the cage open, and when she tries to escape… he’ll cut her.” Her fingers brushed across her upper chest.

He was glad she couldn’t see his shudder. “That’s what my father was doing when I found you.”

She could only nod as she faced the water. If he believed her, he had to accept that Bobby Callahan was alive. He couldn’t accept that, though. He remembered her chopped hair and dirty face, the tear tracks down her face. Games of punishment. The thought of that little girl being punished and how his father had been big on punishment and discipline…

“Just a sense of unease when he’s there but not threatening her. She’s gotten used to a certain level of fear. It takes a higher level to bring me to her. With the other kids, all I got were flashes of what they. saw. But with Phaedra, I’m able to stay longer. The connection is stronger because the same man took us. But when Stasia nuzzles up to me, because she’s afraid, she brings me out of the connection. I need to be alone when Phaedra tries to escape. I need to stay with her when he cuts her. I’m not sure that she can feel my presence, but it’ll make me feel better to be with her. And maybe I can see where she’s being held.”

A yacht motored past them, and the three children on the foredeck waved. Max lifted a hand halfheartedly. Right now he had to assume that Olivia was indeed connected to Phaedra Burns. He felt that tug inside him, pulling him down. If he was close to sinking, Olivia was going to be the one to tip the balance and send him under. If he got too close to her. And if he was going to work with her— to believe her—he was going to have to get close to her.

He was leaning on the railing next to her, and he realized he’d involuntarily moved close enough that their arms touched. He had to remind himself that this wasn’t the Olivia he’d seen with her father. This was the Olivia who wouldn’t let him hold her hand when he’d given her the news about her conversion disorder. The Olivia who supposedly hated him.

“You’re not going to be alone the next time you connect with Phaedra. Not if I can help it. What if you fall and hit your head?”

“I have to be alone. I can’t afford to lose the connection again. Time is running out.”

When he thought she would object, she surprised him by nodding. “All right. Anything to help. I should probably head back now, just in case…” They took three steps before she stopped and reached for his arm. “Did I tell you about the tub?”

“My father had a tub in the truck trailer with you. What did he intend to do with it?”

He had just slipped the lock pick into Olivia’s door when he heard the door across from her apartment open. He took a calming breath and turned around.

“Hey, who are you?” the man asked, walking right up to him like he owned the place. Or maybe like he owned Olivia.

He recognized Terry Carlton, the hotshot football pro. He was decked out in a flowery silk shirt and tight jeans. “You know Olivia Howe?” he asked, nodding toward the door.

“Know her? She’s my girl.” Carlton glanced down at the hand the man still had wrapped around Olivia’s doorknob, obscuring the pick.

“Then you’re just the person I need to talk to. Come on inside. We have a problem.” He walked in the apartment and waited for Carlton to follow. Like a concerned, curious boyfriend should, he did. “Close the door,” the man told him, and walked into the kitchen. He opened the cutlery drawer and removed one of the knives he’d earlier turned upside down.

The man walked back into the living room, the knife held at his side. “Has she told you about the strange occurrences that have been going on in here? Someone turning her volume knobs up, moving her furniture around, rotating her steak knives so she’d cut herself when she took one out?”

Carlton’s face paled. “No. Someone’s been breaking in here and tampering with her stuff?” The muscles in his jaw flexed as anger flared in his eyes. “Who? Why?”

“We’re not sure yet. That’s why I’m here. I’m a private security analyst. She hired me to see how easy it was to get in here—well, you saw. Too easy. I’m supposed to take a look around and see what needs to be done to catch the bastard.”

“All she needs is me living here. I’ll take the son of a bitch out the second he steps inside.” Carlton had started pacing.

“Maybe she didn’t want you overreacting.” He shrugged. “Well, while you’re here, you can help me. I

need to figure out how many security cameras the place needs. Stand right there while I measure the angles.“

Carlton stood in the middle of the room by the chair. He scrubbed his fingers through gelled curls. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. She hires you, but doesn’t tell me. What is she thinking? I’ll bet it’s the building manager. I’ve seen him watching Olivia. He looks like the kind of guy who’d get his jollies messing with a helpless woman.”

While Carlton continued to grumble, the man pretended to sight the angle from the front door. “One to cover the foyer,” he said to himself. “So, is that how you met Olivia, living across from her? Wish I had a nice-looking single woman living near me.”

“Actually, we lived together for a while, but she said she needed space. So I bought the place across the way. That wall is common between the two apartments. I figured I’d put in a door, you know, so we’d be living together, but in separate places.”

He pretended to calculate some numbers in his head. “The independent type, huh?”

“No, that’s the thing. She’s not. But she’ll come to her senses, hopefully by New Year’s Eve. I’ve got a special trip planned, flight to Vegas, honeymoon suite at Caesar’s, hopefully even the marriage to go with the suite.”

“I’m sure you’ll talk her into it.” He glanced at the French doors by the kitchen. “Let’s see what we need over there.”

As he passed Carlton, he swung his arm up and jammed the knife into his neck. Blood spurted out and ran down his chest, soaking his flowered shirt. Shock passed over his expression for a second, and then anger. But before he could act on it, he twitched, his eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the floor. The flow of blood dwindled to a trickle as his heart stopped pumping.

The man went into the kitchen and grabbed a bunch of garbage bags from beneath the sink. After wrapping Carlton in them, he checked the hallway to make sure nobody was out there. He dragged the body to the door, listened for any sound, and then dragged him to the apartment across the hall. He dumped the body on the floor in the back bedroom and returned to Olivia’s.

One large bloodstain marred the beige carpet, and some had splattered on the side of the leather chair. As he started pulling the chair over the stain, a deliciously evil thought came to mind. He knelt down and dipped his finger in the warm blood.

When they walked into her apartment, Olivia bumped into the chair Max had sat in while watching her paint. She set the cappuccino he’d bought for her on the end table. “He’s been here again. He moved the chair.”

Max drew his gun. “Stay right there. I’ll look around.” Olivia waited to release Stasia until he returned to the living room and said, “Nothing.” He glanced at the painting she’d been working on and stopped cold. “Uh… Olivia?”

The word was rendered in red paint that dripped all the way to the bottom edge of the canvas.

“Dammit, Terry’s gone too far,” she said, grabbing the chair. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“I could have the place dusted for prints, but his prints could legitimately be here. I’ll ask around the building, see if anyone saw him.”

“I doubt anyone did. Not many people live full-time in this building. The couple down the hall just left on vacation.”

“I’ll volunteer.” He raised his hand and then dropped it. All he was thinking about was catching the bastard, but it hadn’t come out right.

She lifted an eyebrow. “You really are a voyeur, aren’t you? I’ve never been into that sort of thing… That was a joke,” she added after a moment. “You know, using humor to deflect my lack of sight.”

She had knelt down to feel for the tape so she could line up the chair again. Before he could reach her, she let out a garbled scream and fell backward.

He nearly choked at the sight of blood covering her fingers. “What happened?” He dropped down next to her and took her hand in his.

“I’m not hurt,” she said in a strangled voice. “It’s blood, isn’t it? I can smell it.”

He still checked her hand over, running his fingers over hers to make sure she hadn’t been cut. Nothing more than the scrapes she’d sustained from her fall. Only then did he shift his attention to the large stain on the carpet. “What the hell?”

“There’s a bloodstain on the carpet. The chair was moved to cover it. There’s even blood on the chair.” He helped her up and to the kitchen. Without even thinking about it, he held her hands beneath the water and rubbed off the blood. Soap bubbled on their skin and washed down the drain with red-tinged water. He realized he’d taken over, but she didn’t protest. She didn’t look as though she had the energy. He dried her hands and led her to a chair at the table. “I’m calling for backup.”

As he called, his gaze went to the painting again. Not red paint at all, it was blood.

After the crime scene investigators had finished, Max joined Olivia in the living room. She was sitting squarely in the middle of the couch, her legs crossed beneath her and hands resting on her ankles. She’d been very quiet during the processing of the scene, sitting in the kitchen with her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. Half a dozen times, he’d wanted to go over and just touch her. He wanted to touch her now.

She nodded, but her mouth was pressed in a tight line. “Do you think Terry did this?”

She shrugged. “I just can’t believe he’d deface my painting. He knows what my artwork means to me. And why the blood?”

“You’d be amazed at what the lovelorn will do to get their victims’ attention.”

She shivered, and he wished he’d left that part out. “Have they found him yet?” she asked.

“The officers sent to pick him up for questioning said he wasn’t home. He wasn’t at the two sports bars you said he frequented, either. We’ll get him. He’s bound to turn up somewhere.” When she shivered again, he added, “We’ll post someone at your door until we find him.”

“Yes. What we need to find out is whose blood it is. If Carlton cut himself, he lost a lot of it. When we pick him up, we’ll test the blood against his DNA.” It would also be tested against Phaedra’s DNA, but he wasn’t going to introduce that possibility to Olivia. He wasn’t sure this had any connection to the kidnapping, but it was worth checking into.

She jumped up and went for the phone. After pressing three buttons, she said, “This is Olivia Howe. Can you please check on my father right now?… Thank you.” After a minute, she said, “Thank God. Please keep a close eye on him. I think someone might hurt him. Don’t let anyone you don’t know talk to him… No, I’m not overreacting. Just do it.”

She leaned against the back of the dining room chair. “Last night my father called me. He doesn’t have access to a phone and he often doesn’t even know who I am, so it was very odd. Then I could tell he was on a cell phone and someone was telling him what to say. When I asked who it was, Dad repeated that it was an old friend. That’s why I went to see my father. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember who was with him. The staff at the Livingston saw no one, so they think I’m just paranoid.” Stress and worry tugged on her expression. She looked in Max’s direction. “Maybe you do, too.”

“I don’t know what to think about all this. But I think playing on the side of caution is the best course of action.” The volume knobs and knives were one thing. When she’d told him about her patio furniture being rearranged and showed him the bruise on her shoulder, he’d wanted to pound the guy. He’d felt sick when he looked at the heavy iron furniture. She could have been hurt much worse. “Maybe you should stay somewhere else for a while. I’ve got an extra room if you need it.”

“Don’t think that I need a bust-down-the-door cop with a hero complex trying to save the poor little blind woman, OK?”

He leaned into her face. “I don’t have a hero complex. Being a hero is the last thing I ever want to be again.”

“If you’re not comfortable staying here, I’ve got a room; that’s all I’m saying. An officer will be posted outside the building to keep an eye on things. We should be able to track down Terry soon.”

She walked to the kitchen and took a candy bar out of the freezer. “Snickers bar?” She grabbed another one and felt the length of it. “Or a Baby Ruth?”

She ripped open the Snickers bar and took a bite. He watched the second hand slide around the clock. Where was the time going? Maybe waiting with Olivia was a dead end, but she was all he had. He finished off his coffee and tried to remember where her bathroom was.

“End of the hallway,” she said, and then clamped her mouth shut. “You didn’t ask where the bathroom was, did you?”

“Sorry. I sometimes just know something. I’m not reading your mind or anything. According to Jung’s Collective Consciousness theory, everyone’s minds are connected. My mind merely takes it one more step. I’m not aware of your thoughts or desires. I just respond. The words come out on their own.” She waved it away. “I’ve done it for as long as I can remember. Used to freak people out, which made me hide it for a long time. Now I don’t care.”

Combining this with the other times she’d known something, Max was beginning to believe her psychic knowledge. He excused himself and went to the bathroom. As he washed his hands, he heard a thump in the living room. She was sprawled on the floor next to the couch. Stasia was making her way to her mistress’s side. He knelt down between the dog and Olivia, holding Stasia away.

Stasia sat with a whine, her eyes on Olivia. He moved the coffee table back but didn’t want to touch her. Her body tensed, and she shook her head. Her mouth was bent into a frown, and she was murmuring, “No, don’t do it. Don’t do it!”

He couldn’t stop himself from taking her hand. It was cold and kept contracting in his grasp. Tears trickled down her temples as she rolled her head from side to side. Her pulse raced beneath his finger, and her whole body trembled. Her face was covered in a glittering sheen of sweat.

He couldn’t deny it any longer. He believed her. No way could she be faking this connection to Phaedra. A cold chill snaked along his spine and made his eyes water. With the same abduction date, both girls being taken from a toy store, their similarities in age and looks, and what the abductor was doing to Phaedra, it could only mean one thing: his father was alive.

CHAPTER 19

Phaedra stared at the door of the cage. She inched closer. The big steel door was closed. Not a sound. She scanned the area, looking for avenues of escape. The dim light made it hard to see details. The walls were made of large concrete blocks. The ceiling was metal and was sprinkled with lights. In the corner were stacks of plastic bins. A large steel sink was mounted on the wall, like the kind in Daddy’s restaurants. There were closed doors to the left and right of the bathroom. She could see another room behind her but couldn’t see what was in it.

Maybe there was another way out in one of those rooms. She pushed out of the cage and made for the hallway at the same time that the metal door opened. She turned toward the spooky silhouette of Father, who stepped down into the room and slammed the door shut.

“I knew you’d disobey me. Come here, Rose. Don’t make me chase you around. I’m bigger than you. Smarter than you. I’ll catch you and you’ll be punished even worse.”

She faltered. When he lifted the knife, she shot forward. But it was already too late. He had a hold on her foot. She

scrabbled against the slick painted floor but couldn’t make any headway. He jerked her toward him, holding the knife between his teeth. It gleamed dully in the murky light. She screamed. He pinned her down with the weight of his body.

Her scream died as he loomed over her. He pulled off her shirt and tossed it aside. He pinned both her small hands with his one big hand and took the knife from his mouth.

She whimpered as the cold tip of the knife touched her left collarbone. She didn’t dare move or even cry. It was only a fine line that he made, but it stung so bad.

He tossed the knife aside and pulled her up. He looked directly into her eyes, the shadows making him look evil. He smiled. And in a southern accent, he said, “OK, so I lied about the boat. I couldn’t make it too easy on you, Olivia. You have until tomorrow. Christmas at midnight. And then… time’s up.”

Olivia jerked up and right against Max. She was disoriented for a moment, wanting to bury herself against his hard body and never let go. Luckily she regained her senses before doing anything foolish. When she backed away, she realized he’d been holding her hand. Their fingers were still entwined. She extricated her hand and wiped the sweat off her face with the sleeve of her shirt. And then she remembered.

“He spoke to me! To me, Max! He said my name. He said he lied about the boat, that he couldn’t make it too easy on me.” She clutched at his arm, crunching the material of his shirt. “We have until tomorrow at midnight! That’s what he said! Oh, God, the cop. It was him, Max. He set me up. Set us both up. He’s playing with us, the same way he’s playing with Phaedra.”

He sounded stunned. “Bill Williams is my father? I mean, my father pretended to be Bill Williams?”

“Yes.” She crouched on her knees and took hold of his other arm. “You have to believe me. This is real.”

Relief flooded her. She forced herself to let go of his arms because she was only one step away from holding on to him.

He was quiet for a minute, absorbing the information. “Did you get a look at where he’s keeping her?” he asked at last.

“It’s a bigger place than I thought. There are other rooms off this one. That’s where she tried to go, but she didn’t have a chance. Light green concrete blocks, metal ceilings, and the floor is painted an off-white color. It looks very industrial, with stacks of plastic buckets in one corner, a large steel sink along the wall. Like a restaurant.”

“No, she would have recognized it. Besides, this place is closed. And clean. I couldn’t see any containers of food or signs that it had been used recently.”

“I’ll have someone at the station run down all the vacant restaurants in the area. But first, I’ve got to hound the sheriff’s office again.” His voice sounded shaky, but a thread of raw determination ran through it now.

She heard his cell phone beep as he pressed the numbers. “Detective Callahan from the Palomera Police Department looking for Stella Stewart.” A pause, and then he introduced himself again. “I need that information on Robert Callahan’s remains.” A pause. “Yeah, sure.

“She’s got the report but hasn’t had a chance to call me back,” he said in a low voice to Olivia.

“OK, what I’m looking for is what tests were done to prove the remains found in the truck were Callahan’s… Yes, it’s the same name as mine. What tests were done?” Another pause as the woman apparently looked through the file. “I need that report faxed to me.” He gave her the number. “I’ll also need his fingerprints… What do you mean, there are none?… I see. All right, thanks for your help.” Once he’d disconnected, he said, “They assumed it was him. No one was reported missing, and according to my testimony, he wasn’t gone long enough to set up someone to take his place. But he did.”

“Just great.” He sank to the floor beside her as though his legs wouldn’t hold him, either. He took several deep breaths. “You all right?”

“I’ve had more time to get used to the idea of him being alive than you have.”

“They’re gone, lost, whatever. Maybe Bobby did something to them.” She thought he might be rubbing his face in frustration. “What has he been doing all this time? Where has he been? Here, at least for a while. Oh, jeez. If he took you sixteen years ago, and Phaedra now…”

Max remained perfectly still for a few moments. “How many?” he asked at last. “How many has he taken? We would have picked up a pattern if local girls were disappearing regularly. I’ve already pulled the files for all missing children cases in Palomera and Sarasota over the last twenty years. I’m going to broaden the search. Bobby used to drag us all around this area. If he’s still a trucker, he could be anywhere. And if he’s not… there’s something else I found out about him. He was a cop once.”

“It’s just a thought, one I don’t even want to put into words.” He paused. “He’s obviously created a new identity, and he’s probably been living with it for years. Most criminals who take another identity eventually go back to what they did before. It makes sense, since they have the knowledge.”

“You think that not only is he posing as a cop—as Bill Williams—but he is a cop.”

“He’d have a hell of a time getting through the screening process with a made-up identity, though. Unless he killed a cop and took his identity. He’d have to join another division. Even if he managed to take on the guy’s physical features, he couldn’t fool the man’s friends and colleagues. If he transferred, he’d have his prints taken by the new station. Whether anyone would actually run them is up to speculation. But there’s no way I’d get them to run the fingerprints of every cop in his fifties in our area to see if they matched the ones on record.” He took her hand and pressed it against his mouth. “And he was right here in your apartment. That scares the hell out of me. He could have—”

He got to his feet, and she let him pull her to hers. “Could he have moved your furniture around while he was here posing as Bill Williams?”

“No, I would have heard him. His intent wasn’t to harm me here. It was only to discredit me with his so-called vision. Unless…”

“He called yesterday and wanted me to meet him for lunch. I asked him for his number to call him back. We got disconnected as he started to give it to me.”

“If he’d wanted to grab me, he would have done it already. He could have…”

“Pushed you into traffic,” he finished when she trailed off. “I’m moving in until we find him.”

“Fine, if it makes you feel better.” She knew she didn’t sound very indignant.

Her protector. Even as she rebelled against the idea, she also felt a little safer knowing he would be around. OK, a lot safer. She didn’t want to think about her kidnapper be-ing right there in her apartment, couldn’t let that reality sink in.

“I’ll ask the officer who’s assigned to keep an eye on you to watch the Livingston instead. And I’ll make sure he’s a young guy; no one who could be Bobby.”

He took a deep breath. “This changes everything. With you and my father involved, they’ll yank me off the case faster than I can say conflict of interest. I need to decide how much I should tell my partner and boss.”

“It’s vague, shadowy. He always has the light behind him and he wears a baseball cap pulled low over his face. If I could just capture something…” She bunched the hand he was still holding into a fist. “But I can’t see what I’m painting.”

He forced her to uncurl her fingers. “Does he look different from the man who took you?”

“No.” He absently rubbed her fingers while he talked. “What can you remember about your abduction? Maybe there’s a detail, something he said or did, that will shed light on it.”

“I remember the punishments, but I blocked the details. According to my psychologist, children who suffer traumatic experiences block out what’s happening to protect themselves.”

She thought the silence meant he was mulling that over. She hadn’t been much help.

“What about hypnosis?” he asked at last. “Those details are inside your mind somewhere. Maybe we can unlock them.”

The thought of someone probing her mind unnerved her enough to squeeze Max’s hand. But she only said, “Whatever we have to do.”

“Dr. Bhatti recommended a doctor in Miami who specializes in hypnotherapy. He’s worked with conversion disorder patients. He’s actually helped people to see again.”

“For now we’ll focus on your abduction. I’ll fly him in tomorrow and see what he can do for us. In the meantime, there’s someone I need to see: my father’s sister, Odette. They were close. I’ll bet she’s known about him being alive all this time. Getting her to admit it will be the hard part, but I have to try. And you’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I can stay in the car. I’ll lock the doors.” When he started to protest, she said, “I’ll be fine. Let’s eat and we can get on our way.”

Max and Olivia threw together some grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. One thing he learned about her was that she liked her junk food. She had three kinds of potato chips, all gourmet, and her stash of candy bars in the freezer.

“The nice thing about being blind is never having to see an extra pound or a pimple,” she’d said in her wry way when he pointed it out.

When they walked outside, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. That feeling of being watched crept along his spine. He reached into his pocket for his new shades, which he’d forgotten again. He pretended to look for them as he scanned the immediate area. After seeing nothing suspicious, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed Sam. He didn’t hear the phone ring anywhere nearby.

“I need you to pull more missing child cases. This time broaden the search. Pull Tampa, St. Petersburg, Orlando, Bradenton, and Lakeland. Go back fourteen years, but focus on December abductions. While the records departments are working on that, start checking every closed restaurant in the area that wasn’t checked in the grid search. And, Sam, make it fast.”

“I’ll fill you in when we reconnect later. You find the girl, and I’ll find the guy who took her.” He wanted to say that the guy had been a cop once. That maybe he was again. The words wouldn’t leave his mouth. “Trust me, Sam. We’re moving in on this.”

“Max, it isn’t right, you holding things back like this. Makes me nervous as hell, working in the dark.”

How could he explain that he knew who was behind this abduction, but he didn’t know who he was now? He’d sound like crazy, as Olivia liked to say. And if he couldn’t push out the words that the man had been a cop once, no way could he say it was his father. The thought caved in his stomach.

They had been walking to his car as he’d talked to Sam. He helped Olivia and Stasia into the passenger side, then got in and headed north, groping for his wayward sunglasses. Once they were perched on his nose, he realized why he kept losing them—he hated wearing them.

“Odette wouldn’t talk about her past, even through the years I lived with her. She wouldn’t talk about Bobby, either, and she refused to believe he was going to harm you. She made excuses for him: he went through bouts of depression; he’d never gotten over my mother’s death; he was under a lot of pressure.”

He was headed to the rural town of Backwater, an hour’s drive away. During the drive, he left a message with Dr. Marano, the hypnotherapist in Miami. Marano returned his call shortly after, and Max went over the case and Olivia’s history.

“I can probably help her to remember what happened during her captivity if she’s hypnotizable. But helping her to see again…”

“That’s not what we’re trying to accomplish right now.” Max glanced over at Olivia. She was stroking Stasia’s fur, and the graceful movement kept catching his eye.

“It is intriguing, though. What if she could see after sixteen years? What if we could remove the wall after all that time? It would probably be a first. I’m very interested in working with her on that at a later time. It will depend on her visual memory, how well she’s preserved it.”

His chest tightened at the memory of Olivia and her father going over trees and birds. “She has.”

“I need you to come to Palomera tomorrow. I know it’s last-minute, but we’re running out of time. We only have until tomorrow night to find the girl. I can arrange to fly you in if you can clear your schedule for us. We can have you back home by early tomorrow evening.”

“When a little girl’s in danger, I don’t care what day it is. I’ll double your fee. Buy you a present. Send your kid to college. Anything.”

He chuckled. “Ah, I get your drift. Well, as it turns out, my kid is in Africa doing a study on the hypnosis of a remote tribe. They think he’s a god. I have a dinner invitation, but this is more important.”

“I’ll arrange for the flight and call your service back. Thanks, Dr. Marano.”

“We’re almost there,” Max said forty minutes later as he pulled off the highway onto the road that wound leisurely to Backwater.

“I hated the place as much as Odette loved it. It’s not much more than a dot on the map, a nothing town of small farms, two schools, and a few stores. It hasn’t changed much since I left to join the police academy.” It hadn’t been such a bad place to grow up, really. It just held the shame that had clung to him through his years here and the secret he’d had to hold so close.

Odette never changed, either. She held secrets close to her, too, and one of those secrets was probably where his father was. The thought of facing his father struck him with fear. “Kill me! Little coward!” His fingers tightened on the wheel. Superman’s kryptonite.

The farm brought good memories, too. It had been a refuge when his father left him here while he went away on longer trips and when they came for Christmas. It had seemed so much bigger then, but he could hardly call it a farm. More like a farm wannabe. It had the usual patches of vegetables laid out in a semblance of order. Toward the back was a fenced-in area where she kept a couple of cows, a ramshackle chicken shack, and a small barn.

He saw a boy with a sheet tied around his neck so that it flowed out behind him as he ran to save imaginary Lois Lanes. Sometimes he saved Olivia again, trying to make some sense of it, impossible as that was.

He pushed away that image and pulled into the long dirt drive. Odette was over by the barn where the cows came home, looking as fragile and haunted as always. Her head lifted at the sound of his car’s approach. She didn’t recognize it at first; his cars changed over time, and they were purposely generic. Her apprehension gave way to a smile and a return wave when he stepped out of the car.

She was wearing something that looked like a nightgown and, beneath that, brown work boots. The kids in town used to call her crazy, and Max defended her with all of his might. She wasn’t crazy, just different.

“I’ll be fine. She won’t feel comfortable talking with me there, and I want her to tell you everything she knows. You go. We’ll be fine, won’t we, girl?” She rubbed Stasia’s head. “I’ll lock the doors; don’t worry.”

She was right, but he still didn’t like leaving her alone in the car. He made his way over to Odette, where she watched his approach. Her fine white curls floated in the breeze. Her eyes were shadowed by hollows that made her look like an owl. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were as light as her hair, almost invisible.

“Maxie!” She met him a few yards from the barn and hugged him. “I should make some tea.”

He held her close, though she kept her hands aloft. “It’s good to see you.” And it was, even under the circumstances. She had been the closest he’d had to a mother. He’d be forever grateful to her. “How are you?”

“I’m good, Maxie, real good.” She took him in with a certain sadness. “Sometimes I still picture you as a boy. Now you’re a man, not a boy at all.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he only nodded in agreement. She was tiny, almost bony. She swore she could eat a horse a day and not gain an ounce, though he had never seen her eat much at a sitting. “We need to talk.”

Odette did not do “talks” well. Anytime something serious came up, her eyes started darting around and her hands twitched. They did that now. “I should make some tea then.”

She used the process to escape unpleasantness, hoping that by the time she was through, she could avert the conversation to something she liked better. Usually she won.

The house smelled the same as it always did, a bit musty, but overlaid with whatever Odette had baked that morning. The floorboards creaked more than they used to, but overall the house was in good repair.

She turned away from him and ran the water to wash her hands. “I use the money you send me, of course. Tim from town helps out. Sometimes Joe. You remember Joe, don’t you? Nice young man. He and his wife clean the house for me, and I give them eggs and pies.”

She was a few years older than his father. Her skin had the texture of a child’s, smooth and pale. She’d never married. The farm had belonged to her parents, who had died before Max could remember.

She didn’t falter for a second as she set the teakettle on the stove over the flame. In fact, she smiled at him with the face of an angel. “It’s so good to see you, Maxie. Look at you, all professional-looking.” She took in his dress pants and shirt with a proud smile this time.

Her pride touched him, but he couldn’t let her sidetrack him. “Odette, it’s important. I know you don’t like talking about him—”

“I loved my brother. He’s a good man, but they all think he’s a terrible person.” She gave Max an accusing look. “You think he’s terrible, too.”

He didn’t miss her mix of past and present tense. “He’s alive, isn’t he?”

She only blinked in response, then turned back to the teacups she’d set on a tray. They were dainty things and didn’t match each other or the teapot. “In me, he is. I’m the only one who loved him. I’m the only one who understood him.”

Her voice was on the edge of breaking. Damn, this was why he shouldn’t be on this case, why he shouldn’t be the one questioning her. And why no one else could.

She looked hopeful at that, but her lips pressed together. “Just leave it alone, Maxie. Why bring it up now?”

“Because I’m investigating a case that’s very similar to the one he was involved in. You do remember that, don’t you? The girl he abducted.” He walked over to the window. “That’s her out there.”

She pressed her hand against his chest. “That was all a mistake. You know he wouldn’t hurt that girl.”

“He did hurt her. He starved her, and cut her, and played cruel games with her. Another girl is missing.” He pulled out the picture of Phaedra. “This girl. I need to find her before something bad happens to her. Please talk to me. Tell me about my father.”

The teakettle blew shrilly, and she went to work putting teabags in the teapot and poured in the water. She assembled the dish of sugar and a mason jar of milk on the tray. She shuffled her feet across the old wood floor as she carried the tray to the sofa. Dust motes floated in the lone shaft of sunlight coming in through a gap in the broken blind. Otherwise, all the curtains and blinds were closed. A small plastic tree was the only indication of the holidays, lights the only decoration on it.

He stifled his impatience and followed her into the living room, where the sound of a clock filled the silence. Before he joined her, he walked to the front window and checked on Olivia again. He could see her sitting there, safe and sound.

Instead of sitting on the couch with Odette, he knelt down in front of her. Gently he set his hands on her knees and looked up at her. “Odette, I need to know why he took that girl.”

She cupped his cheek with her cool, dry hand. “Maxie, let the past be. It’s better that way.”

“Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes people die because of it. Children die because of it. He’s taken two girls that we know of. He’s probably taken more between the first and this one.”

The frisson of alarm that crackled across her expression was quickly replaced by calm as she leaned around him and poured tea into the cups. “Maxie, drink your tea. It’s orange pekoe. I think it’s Indian, doesn’t it sound Indian to you?”

It sounded like a dodge to him. To sate her, he took a sip, burning his tongue in the process. Though he knew he should go slowly with Odette, his instincts told him to try another tact. “He wasn’t a good man and you know it. He was violent. Mean. He was the worst kind of father a kid could have.” He didn’t have to pretend the pain of that statement.

She set down her teacup with a loud clink’t “He wasn’t bad. He wasn’t. He did the best he could, considering…”

“He just did.” She gestured to his cup. “Drink your tea, Maxie. It’s orange pekoe. I said that already, didn’t I?”

He’d always been a good kid, not wanting to cause her any trouble. He wasn’t that kid anymore. He stood. “He was cruel. There’s no excuse for being cruel to a helpless child. There is no excuse for psychological torment. For locking a boy in a closet. Testing him.” His voice rose as each sentence wrought a painful memory. “For stealing little girls.”

She stood, tipping the sugar dish over with the abrupt movement. “Stop it! He tried not to be like our father; he did! But it was so hard; he’d lived with fear and guilt and anger for so long.” Tears stained her cheeks pink. “You had to pay for your sins; that’s what Father taught us. But he never paid, and it drove Bobby mad with rage.”

She sank down again, crying. This was the most he’d ever heard about his grandfather. He sat down beside her, close but not touching her. Father. That word sent a chill through him. “What did… your father do?”

She shook her head, and her hands twisted into her flimsy nightgown. He could see right through it, enough to see her big white underwear.

“He did bad things to me. He touched me. Bobby tried to keep him away, but he was younger, smaller. Father was a big man, big and strong and mean.”

His throat closed so tight, he could hardly push out the words, “What did your mother do?”

“Nothing. She was too afraid of him. We all were. But not Bobby. He tried, tried to protect me. Bobby wanted to hurt Father; I could see the rage in his eyes. I was too afraid to do anything but lay there.” Her mouth twisted at the memory, and he felt bad for putting her through this. This explained why she was so timid… and maybe why she was disappointed that he’d grown into a man.

“The police.” Her eyes were far away, but she managed a laugh. “Father was the police. He died a hero’s death, in the line of duty. They buried him with the flag draped over his coffin and the whole town crying into their hankies. People made speeches about how great he was. And I smiled.” She looked at him. “They thought I was crazy, I know they did. But I smiled all through the service. Bobby cried, but not for Father. He cried because he’d wanted to kill him. Because no one would ever believe Father was the worst kind of man.”

Max put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “I understand now. I do.” He’d bullied; now he had to gentle her. “What I don’t understand is why Bobby took the girl. Was he going to do the things your father did to you?”

She jerked out of his grasp. “No! He would never do that, not after what I’d gone through. He protected me, took care of me. That’s all he was doing to that girl, too, protecting her.”

“He cut her, humiliated her. He took her from her family. Is that what you call protecting?”

“He’s… no, I didn’t.” She searched his eyes and knew she’d given it away. “He’d never hurt anyone. He’s a good man. You have to believe that.”

“Where is he? Let me talk to him. Maybe then I’ll understand him.” Like hell.

“I can’t.” Her delicate face was stretched into a frown. “He tried to be a good father to you.”

Icy chills skittered down his spine, and his stomach lurched. “Watching me?”

“He’s proud of you, you know.” She took a sip of her tea, her pinkie extended, as though they were having a casual conversation about his loving father.

His father was out there, watching him. Fear twisted inside him. He was that boy again, cowering under his father’s glare, failing his tests or selling his soul to pass them. His fingers itched to grab Odette and shake the truth out of her.

He pushed up and started searching the drawers of the entertainment center. He remembered going through the old photo albums looking at pictures of his mother. There was nothing new there. He watched Odette’s expression; she wasn’t worried.

That changed when he walked back to the kitchen. She was a blur beside him, grabbing for a piece of paper on the fridge. She stuffed it in her mouth before he could reach her. He tried to pry her mouth open, but she’d already swallowed it. Like a child, she opened her mouth to show him.

“Don’t you care about that little girl? She’s going to die if you don’t help me. Can you get that through your head?”

“He didn’t take her,” she said with such certainty, Max knew she believed it. And he knew she wouldn’t betray her brother, not for anyone or any reason.

He kneaded the bridge of his nose and forced back the frustration that threatened to engulf him. “OK,” he said a moment later. “At least tell me about Rose.”

“He wants to punish Rose for making her mother cry. For disobeying him. That’s why he takes the girls, to keep punishing Rose. She was a bad girl, apparently.”

She shook her head. “Rose wasn’t all bad.” Her eyes widened. “You tricked me.”

“I didn’t trick you. I’m just trying to understand Bobby. That’s what you want, right? See, you know all the facts. How can I understand him if I don’t know the truth?”

While she was trying to sort that out in her mind, he checked on Olivia again. He turned back to Odette. Her loyalty prevented her from believing Bobby could harm anyone. Maybe it would also make her want to sway Max’s opinion of him.

He pushed some more. “If Rose wasn’t a bad girl, then Bobby can’t be taking girls to punish her, right?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s right.” She looked confused, though, trying to work through his words.

“Then I need to know what happened. If you explain it to me, I’ll understand. Who is Rose?”

She looked relieved at Max’s logic. She was hopelessly lost in her devotion to her brother. “Rose was your sister.”

Luckily she walked back into the living room and didn’t see the shock on his face. “My sister,” he repeated as he followed her.

He tried to act calm and rational, stirring sugar into his tea even though he didn’t like sugar or tea. “What was she like?”

Odette shook her head, a sad look on her face. “Bobby wanted Marie all to himself.”

“He was like that with everyone in his life, possessive. He’ll do anything for you if he cares about you. Everything within his power,” she added, a shadow crossing her face. “Marie wanted a baby, so he gave her one. But Rose was… well, I’d call her spirited. Headstrong.” She smiled, shaking her head. “So different from me at that age. Bobby couldn’t see her charm, though. All he could see was that she wouldn’t listen to him. A hell child, he called her. As a baby, she wouldn’t be happy and quiet. Always crying, always sickly. Bobby tried to be a good father to her; he did. He tried to be patient, but he always had trouble with that particular virtue. As you know,” she said, giving him a sympathetic look. “Rose tried his patience so. When they came to visit, I could see her push him to the edge. It was like she was trying to prove something.”

“Oh, yes, even at six. And she wouldn’t bathe. She hated taking baths, and she was always a dirty child.”

“And Bobby cut her once, like this.” He demonstrated, drawing his finger across his chest.

She looked away. “She’d escaped the house again. He had to teach her a lesson. He couldn’t have her running all over the neighborhood. There had to be rules.”

“There was an accident. She drowned in the bathtub.” She covered her mouth. “No, not the bathtub. It was in the children’s pool in the backyard. That’s right, the pool.

She’d gone out without telling anyone and drowned. It was an accident, just an accident.“

She shook her head. “Marie never recovered from her daughter’s death. Oh, she loved you, Max; she did. You were a good child compared to Rose. But she couldn’t muster the energy to live anymore. They’d moved in here after Rose’s death. They needed to get away from the bad memories, but I could see Marie wilting more and more every day.”

“So she killed herself.” He’d never known why or how. No one would talk about it. “How did she do it?”

“She walked to the bridge and just leaped right off.” She scratched her head. “Maxie, you were too young to remember some of that stuff you mentioned: the gum and the cut. How did you know?”

He picked up Phaedra’s picture again. “Because that’s what the man who took this girl is doing. It’s what he did to Olivia. He took them both five days before Christmas. He put gum in their hair and cut it out. He wouldn’t let them go to the bathroom and punished them when they wet themselves. He gave them an opportunity to escape the cage he put them in and then cut them when they tried.” He made the cut with his finger, watching her face. “He calls them Rose because he makes them into Rose.”

The pieces were coming together. Every word pounded into his chest. Rose was a dirty child, didn’t like to take baths. She drowned. He drowned her in a bathtub in a fit of temper. The bathtub found in the wreckage of the truck. The dripping sound Olivia kept hearing when she connected to Phaedra. The implications gave him the chills.

Odette was stirring her tea furiously. He stilled her hand. “That’s what they told the police, right, that she drowned in the pool? They didn’t want anyone thinking he’d drowned her.” And with Bobby being a cop, the police wouldn’t want to believe the worst. He’d still been a cop then, but he’d quit soon after Rose’s death.

“No, it was an accident,” she said quickly, and took another sip of her tea. Her hands were shaking.

“And he drowns them on Christmas. That’s the game he’s going to play tomorrow. Tell her to clean up, not give her the chance to do so, then give her a bath.”

She poured more tea but sloshed the liquid on the saucer and tabletop. “No.”

“Yes.” He lifted Phaedra’s picture. “He’s chopped her hair off, made her drink water and wouldn’t let her go to the bathroom, then punished her when she wet herself. Today he cut her… and tomorrow night he’s going to drown her.”

“He loved Marie,” she said, not looking at the picture. “He loved her so awfully much. She was his redemption. His life. He couldn’t save me, but he saved her. He took her out of that terrible home she’d been living in and married her. Took care of her.”

This time he shoved the picture into her face. “This little girl is going to die if you don’t tell me where Bobby is. You’ll be liable for her death. Do you understand me? Legally and morally, you’ll be responsible. I’ll find a way to prove my father did this, and you’ll be charged with accessory to murder. Are you really willing to let this girl die because of some misguided sense of loyalty? What about the next girl? And the next? How many girls are you willing to let die in the name of loyalty?”

She curled up on the couch and stared beyond him. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy, Maxie. Maybe I made it all up. Maybe I just think Bobby is still alive.” And in a softer voice, “Maybe I am crazy.”

He didn’t know what to do. He could bring her in for questioning, but he’d have to explain why. Who knows what Odette would say under those circumstances? With everyone watching Max on this case, they’d more likely think he was the crazy one.

CHAPTER 20

Odette waited until she heard Maxie pull out of the long drive. She looked out the window just to be sure. The office door was open. He’d been in there. She hoped he hadn’t found the cellular phone bills. No, that’s right; she burned them as soon as she received and paid them.

Her hands were still shaking when she dialed the cell phone he’d bought her. He had another one, and they were both in her name. She sagged against the counter when he answered.

Just his voice, strong and worried and protective, shot strength into her. “Maxie was here. He just left, but he walked around the farm. He was looking for you, Bobby.”

“He already knew about Rose. I told him she was his sister, that she drowned accidentally in the pool.” She hesitated. “That girl Maxie rescued was with him. She stayed out in the car. She and a dog were with him when he was looking. He said you took another girl, and that you’re calling her Rose. You don’t have a girl, do you? That was an awful mistake before. And now he just thinks it’s you because of last time, right?”

“I’d never give you up. Then you’d go away like last time. But you’d never come back,” she said in a whisper.

“It’ll be all right. I’ll never leave you again, Odette. As long as you don’t tell him who I am, I’ll always be here.”

“I won’t tell him, not ever. When will you be coming to visit? Please come on Christmas.”

“You won’t hurt him, will you? He didn’t disobey you by coming here and asking about you, because you never told him not to.”

He had enjoyed toying with Olivia thus far. When he’d first seen her, anger had overcome his need for a plan. He’d simply wanted her dead or even seriously hurt so he’d pushed her into traffic. Olivia was a lucky lady, but eventually her luck would run out. Until then, he would toy with her a little more. He would pay another visit to her father today.

Max had become fond of Olivia. No doubt, their past created a bond between them. And Max had always been drawn to women who needed protectors. He would be doubly drawn to Olivia. Too bad killing her would hurt Max, too.

Max felt drained as they drove back to Palomera. One minute passed into the next, another minute that Phaedra sat in some cage waiting for rescue.

Olivia said, “So we know why he’s taking the girls.” He hadn’t told her about the drowning part. He wasn’t letting himself think about that. “We know he’s re-creating Rose, but we don’t know why. I’m going to check in with Sam and see if he’s found out anything.”

“Nothing yet,” Sam said a minute later, sounding as weary as Max. “The files are being pulled. Can you tell me why I’m looking in dirty restaurant kitchens?”

“Sure. You think they’re going to clean it spick-and-span on their way out of business?”

“No way could someone stash a kid in a restaurant that’s about to open. Too much activity.”

Max had already figured that out as soon as the words left his mouth. “She’s in a kitchen, Sam. A large, clean kitchen. What about an Elks Club? Any civic club that has a kitchen? Country club?”

“We’re in season. Those places stay busy. How do you know she’s in a kitchen? This has something to do with Olivia, doesn’t it? This is another one of her wacky leads.”

“Let’s meet at Ambrosia for breakfast at five-thirty tomorrow. I’ll bring some maps. And I’ll tell you everything. Meanwhile, start thinking about kitchens. It’s here, and it has to be in town, or at least close to it. He’s got to have easy access to it.”

He needed something a little more concrete than the similarity of abduction dates to convince Sam that his father was the man they were looking for. “I’m still working on it. But I will find him. I have to. I’ll see you at Ambrosia.”

Bobby was going to kill her on Christmas, but that wasn’t what Sam meant. He meant Christmas cheer, joy, watching your kid open presents, watching her face light up because “Santa” managed to find the pink Furby she wanted.

Christmas had ceased to mean much since Ashley’s death. He had to admit he missed the celebration, the presents… everything.

“Nothing. Something he said made sense, though. If a restaurant was going out of business, they wouldn’t bother leaving the place clean. It’s got to be something else then.”

They sat in silence, each lost in dark thoughts. Stasia was curled up on the seat between them, her head on Olivia’s lap.

“Odette said my father was watching over me,” he said at last. “Which goes along with our theory that he’s a cop. Or maybe he works in some other department at the police station. Did he have a badge when he posed as Bill Williams?”

“Which doesn’t prove anything either way. He could have gotten a badge from somewhere, or maybe it wasn’t even a police badge.”

Olivia said, “He could also be a neighbor. I mean, he wouldn’t dare put himself in a position where you might recognize him, would he?”

Bobby was just arrogant enough to do that, but it would be risky. It depended on how different he looked and how cleverly he’d disguised his voice and mannerisms. He’d had long enough to perfect it.

Max mentally ran through the men he worked with on a regular basis who were in the right range. He could think of several, in his and in other departments: janitors, clerks, dispatchers, and men relegated to desk jobs. Most of the superior officers were in their fifties or older, including his lieutenant and captain.

He forced himself to look at the men closer to him. Some he knew by name but had little to do with on a day-to-day basis. Tom Graham was the newest detective, having transferred in a couple of years earlier. He was even more antisocial than Max had been in recent years. As far as anyone knew, the poker group was the only socializing he did, if you could call it that. Didn’t Graham want in on this case?

Nick Mathers had also offered to take Max’s place on the investigation, but that had been out of concern. Fatherly concern? And John Holland’s mind was devious enough to write those gory police novels.

“I’d recognize his voice—his Bill Williams voice, that is. I’m pretty sure the southern accent was phony, since I know Bobby doesn’t have an accent. It was good enough to fool me, I can tell you that. As for the voice I hear through Phaedra, it isn’t clear enough for me to place it.” Her frustration was clear.

“I’m going to try to paint the room she’s in again. Maybe I can capture something I can’t describe. I need to paint. I need to do something.”

He really shouldn’t watch her paint, not when he was feeling tired and achy in his soul.

Why did he feel as though this case was about to shatter him into a thousand pieces? He was tired and frustrated, that’s all. And headed to a place he shouldn’t be going. At the moment, he just didn’t care.

Max and Olivia stopped by his place so he could collect some clothes and other necessary items. It seemed strange having her in his dreary home. Even stranger when she wanted to “see” his statues, when she’d run her fingers over the Man Who Laughs and said, “It’s beautiful.” She traced his frozen grin, her Mona Lisa smile in place. What was she thinking?

When they stepped onto his front porch, he paused, remembering Olivia’s suggestion that Bobby might live nearby. Max didn’t even know who his neighbors were. When they’d moved in, he’d been too busy working to make friends with the neighbors. Diana had gotten to know a few of the mothers, but those women had drifted away after the initial rush of casseroles and condolences. Max had been more than happy to let them go.

Now he scanned the nearby homes on his street, trying to picture who lived there. “I can’t think of any suspicious-looking men who live alone around here.”

“He may not live alone. He could be married and still carry out his plans if he had a lot of freedom.”

“Good thinking.” Freedom. Cops had lots of freedom. He took Olivia’s hand. “Let’s get back to your place.”

When they returned to her building, she paused by the door of the apartment across the way from hers.

“I’ve been trying to meet whoever bought this place. According to Ronald Ford, some corporation owns it. Someone’s been staying there, but they’ve been very shy.” She shook her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Come on; I’ll show you how the futon works.”

After she set him up with sheets and pillows, he left her to her painting while he took a hot shower.

He checked it and returned the call. When he hung up, he said, “Still no sign of Terry Carlton yet. It’s like he vanished.”

“God, what could he be thinking, doing what he did and then taking off like that?”

She shook her head, as though trying to shake the thought of it loose. “What do you think?” she asked, gesturing to the wet canvas. “Is it any help? The colors aren’t exact; I’m using primary colors.”

She’d been painting maniacally since they’d returned. She was wearing an oversize denim shirt that had seen many painting sessions, and white leggings. She’d failed to tie back her hair, and strands of it were green. She had a similar streak on her cheek where she’d pushed her hair back from her face.

He realized he was looking at her instead of the painting and shifted his gaze. It was vaguely a room, and because he knew the square object in the corner was supposed to be a sink, it sort of looked like a sink.

Her shoulders drooped. “I’ve never been good at details. Maybe I should have chosen something more sensible than painting to get into. Like fencing.” She tilted her head and gave him a smile. “I’m joking.”

Was he so drawn to her because of that rescue? Was that the only reason he was struggling to keep from touching her now? He stuffed his hands in his pockets to stifle the temptation. “I know.”

She reached for her mug. “I hope I can help tomorrow. With the hypnotist, I mean.”

He did touch her then, resting the tips of his fingers against her forehead, grazing his thumb across her cheek. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up. We may not discover anything new. Don’t blame yourself if we don’t.”

He dropped his hand. “Yeah, I guess I am.” Was he as bad as Terry, wanting to protect her from the world?

“Don’t worry about me. You already did your saving, as far as I’m concerned. And I’m grateful for that, more than I could ever express. Seems to me you have yourself to worry about most. Dealing with the deaths of your daughter and your wife,” she added when he didn’t respond.

“By pushing them to the back of your mind? You don’t just ‘get over’ something like that. I believe that’s how you put it. I know, after months of counseling after my kidnapping.”

“I don’t need counseling.” He stared at her painting. “I’ve moved on.”

She turned around to face him. “Oh, God, you blame yourself for their deaths, don’t you? Because you found that missing boy and the guy retaliated. That would be so like you.”

“I know enough. I’ll bet you haven’t gotten involved with anyone new because of it.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t get involved because I don’t want anyone to hurt someone I care about as a way of hurting me. A safety precaution, simple as that.”

Even though she couldn’t see him, he still looked away when he answered. “We hadn’t loved each other in years. We made a deal to stay together for Ashley.” Then he realized he’d have to tell her everything. “Diana was an alcoholic. I knew that when I met her, but she was trying to go straight. I helped her; we fell in love, and got married. I thought everything was OK until I found out she was drinking during her pregnancy. I was working hard, trying to prove myself. Wasn’t home enough. When I discovered the hidden bottles… it was too late. The damage was done. Ashley was born with fetal alcohol syndrome.”

“Oh, Max,” she said in a whisper, and her fingers tightened. “I’m sorry I asked. How terrible for you.”

“It was worse for Ashley. But that’s over now. There’s no use talking about it.”

“It’s not over. I can hear it in your voice. I told you, you give yourself away. You’re the kind of man who takes on all the burdens of the world, aren’t you? You probably blame yourself for not seeing that your wife was drinking during her pregnancy. Just like you take the blame for the car bomb. How much can you take on before you buckle under the weight?”

He felt that weight now, pushing him down. “Why aren’t you innocent?” he asked.

“At the station, you said you weren’t fragile. Or innocent. What did you mean by that?”

She removed her hand from his arm. “You’re trying to change the subject, aren’t you?”

After a few moments, she blew out a breath. “All my life, people have put me into roles, and if I didn’t live up to those roles…” She shrugged, playing it down. “For years I lived the role of the little doll.”

“I read the newspaper articles about your abduction, trying to get a better understanding about this case.” And her, an inner voice challenged. “I wouldn’t exactly call being a multi-pageant winner sordid.”

Her laugh rang with cynicism. “You would if you’d lived it. And didn’t want to.” She cleared her throat. “After the kidnapping, Mother put me into the victim role, which is where I spent the rest of our relationship. Men are the same way, wanting to see me as an innocent, fragile blind woman. ‘Aw, let’s take care of her.’ They assume this care-taking position, like they want to save me from the world.

Or my blindness. When they discover I’m not the poor little blind girl who’s never had sex in her life, they don’t like it. They expect me to be virginal.“ She grew silent for a moment, turning away from him. In a stronger voice, she said, ”I’m not virginal, haven’t been since I was sixteen. Does that surprise you?“

“A little,” he admitted. Then he remembered Terry bragging that he’d been her first. “A lot. It’s your looks that cause some of that problem. You’re beautiful, for one thing.”

She wrinkled her nose at that. “Being beautiful stopped mattering a long time ago. Even before I went blind, I used to wish I were ugly. Being blind teaches you a lot about ‘seeing’ other virtues in people. I can tell a lot about a man by his voice, the way he smells, and how much and in what way he touches me.”

He wanted to know what she thought of him based on those attributes, but it was better if he didn’t. “And you look… fragile. Innocent.”

She rolled her eyes and stood. “You bought it, too, didn’t you? I even fooled a cop with my act. Brother, another gullible one.” She anchored her hands at her waist. “I’ve been with a hundred and fifty men; I’ve had sex in elevators, bathrooms, parking lots, and the backs of buses. I’ve tied them up, and sometimes there’s leather involved. It’s always hot, sweaty, and it goes on for hours, all day sometimes, and—”

She couldn’t talk anymore, not when he’d pulled her hard against him and stilled those words with his mouth. He’d given her no warning and had knocked her off balance for a second. She wasn’t going anywhere with his arms around her, but she wasn’t trying to move away. He devoured her, and she opened to him and devoured him back. His fingers threaded into her soft hair, and he tilted her head and deepened the kiss. Her body was pressed against his.

“You haven’t had a hundred and fifty men, have you?” he said between kisses.

“Uh-uh,” she managed, and then nearly sent him to his knees when she sucked his tongue into her mouth and stroked it.

He didn’t want to think about her with anyone else, making him as guilty as any of the men she’d just talked about. She wasn’t an innocent, not by the way she kissed. Oh, man, could she kiss.

“You haven’t tied anyone up.” He tilted her head back and kissed her neck. His hands slid down to her ribs, his thumbs grazing the curve of her breasts through the denim. No bra.

“No,” she whispered as his tongue dipped into the space between her breasts.

He unbuttoned her shirt from the bottom, kneeling in front of her, stopping just beneath her breasts. Her stomach was warm and pale, and he alternated kissing and sucking at her skin. He skimmed her waist beneath her shirt and then went higher. His thumbs brushed her nipples, which were already hard and tight. Her breath hitched, and her body tensed. One of them made a growling sound, but he wasn’t sure who.

She slid down to the floor in front of him and captured his mouth again. She held his face and tilted her head for a better angle. She was in control, this wanton witch who was not an innocent, fragile, poor anything. She pushed him back until he was on the floor and then straddled him. Her tongue traced the bottom edge of his teeth, but she pulled back when he tried to capture it. She flicked her tongue across his mouth before sucking on his lower lip. Her breathing was coming hard and fast, making him aware that his breathing mirrored hers.

“Livvy…” So many things crowded into his mind, tangling and making no sense at all. He wanted her, wanted to take care of her, wanted to hide inside of her and never come out.

“Don’t call me that,” she said in a breathless voice. “I’m not Livvy.”

But she was Livvy, who needed him, who craved him, who was wrapped around his body as though she would never let go. She made him feel all those things he’d felt as a kid—the protector, the hero. She made him feel new things, too, things that had nothing to do with being a kid. His body was straining to be free of clothing constraints, to feel her skin against his, to release all the tension that had been building for days.

“Max, I don’t need a hero.” She was still kissing him, but the frantic pace of her kisses was slowing. “What are we doing here? We’re crazy; this is crazy.” She pushed herself up, though she was still straddling him. “We can’t do this. It’s all wrong.”

“It doesn’t feel wrong,” was all he could think to say with his head racing and his blood hot.

“Not to our bodies.” She climbed off him and smoothed her hair back with rapid, nervous strokes. “Max, we’re the last two people who should be doing… this. We’re getting all mixed up with our past, our roles as hero and victim. And finding Phaedra, that’s part of it, too.”

He couldn’t move, other than to cover his eyes with his hands. She was right, as much as his body didn’t want to admit it. He’d be relegated to one of her past lovers who couldn’t see her as anything but a fragile, not-so-innocent woman whom he had to protect from the world. From creepy ex-boyfriends, the past, and her blindness.

He pushed himself to his feet. “Terry thinks he was your first lover. That you’re fragile. Wait a minute. Is that how you lied to him?”

She walked to her canvas and ran her fingers along the edge. “When we first started dating, he did assume all of that. And… for some reason, I let him. Well, I know the reason. Not only was he the most charming man I’d ever met, he was this big football star. I was so flattered that he’d chosen me to bestow all of this attention on, I let him think I was what he wanted me to be.” She turned away, her cheeks slightly pink. “I never lied, per se; I just went along with him. When I realized he wanted to own my life, I tried to tell him the truth. I thought he’d be so mad, he’d break up with me. Instead, he refused to hear it. That’s when I knew I had to get out of the relationship, for both our good. I swear I’ll never sell myself out again.”

“No, I don’t suppose you will.” He ran his hand through his mussed hair. “I’d better get some sleep. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Don’t think we can’t control this”—she waved, indicating the space between them—“this whatever it is between us. We’re caught up in a tense, emotional situation, that’s all. And then there’s our past. It’s natural, but not overwhelming, uncontrollable… overpowering.”

She stood there facing him, a slice of skin showing where he’d unbuttoned her shirt. Her nipples pressed against the material. She was waiting for confirmation, her cheeks still flushed from the heat she and Max had created. He couldn’t agree with her, not with the way she was leaning ever so slightly toward him and the way he was doing the same.

He wanted to protect her and he wanted to sleep with her at the same time. She made him feel everything he had never wanted to feel again. She made him feel.

“I’ve got to meet Sam first thing in the morning. If I’m not here when you wake up, wait for me.”

Olivia kept working on her painting, all the while running her and Max’s conversation—among other things— through her mind. When the phone rang, she grabbed for it so it wouldn’t wake him.

The background was filled with a steady static. “Olivia,” her father said again.

She came to her feet, knocking her easel to the floor with a clatter. “Daddy, where are you?”

“I’m supposed to tell you… I have to ask you… did you like the painting I did for you?”

After another moment of that strange static, the line went dead. The painting he’d done for her? “Oh, my God! Max!”

“Bobby Callahan. My father called again, and asked how I liked the painting he’d done for me.” She wanted to cling to Max and scream for him to find her father, but she held on to her control and dialed the Livingston. “It’s Olivia Howe. Check on my father, James Howe, right away!”

Max was on his cell phone behind her. “Patch me through to the officer assigned to cover the Livingston.” After a few seconds: “Hey, it’s Detective Callahan. Any activity over there?… Go in and see if they’ve found Mr. Howe. I’ll check back with you.”

Someone came on the line. “Ms. Howe, this is Mrs. Johnson. It appears that your father is not in his room. I don’t want you to be alarmed. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. We’ll find him and give you a call back.”

“I’ll stay on the line.” Olivia turned to Max. “He’s not in his room. Oh, God, he has him.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Could you hear anything that might indicate where they were?”

“No, just static. I assumed he was on a cell phone. Wait; it wasn’t static. That was what was strange about it. It was steady, more like something in the background, something

I heard recently. It was a rushing sound. Like water. Or a waterfall.“ She reached for his arm. ”I think I know where they are! The water treatment facility, where that boy drowned not long ago. Every time I walk to the Livingston, I hear the sound of rushing water.“

The short drive to the water treatment facility was the longest ride she could remember. She murmured the Lord’s Prayer and tried not to picture her father stumbling into the water. Or, worse, being pushed, held under…

“I need you to stay in the car while I look for your father. If Bobby’s still with James, it could get dangerous. You’ll be safe in the locked car.”

She nodded, knowing she’d only be a liability to both Max and her father if she went with him.

“The chain around the front gate has been cut.” He pulled to a stop and touched her arm. “I’ll find him.”

She pressed down her lock and flinched when his door slammed shut. Never had she felt so helpless, not even when she’d been pushed into traffic. Her fingers curled around the door handle, and she started reciting the prayer again.

When Max rapped on the window next to her several minutes later, she nearly shattered with anxiety. She fumbled with the lock and pushed the door open.

Olivia went into his arms. “Daddy, it’s me, your daughter. Livvy. It’s all right.”

It was probably too dark to see that she wasn’t the little girl Livvy. “Max, you found him,” she said, closing her eyes and relishing that her father was still alive.

“He was just wandering around in there. Bobby must have heard my car tear into the parking lot and taken off.

I’m sure he wasn’t expecting us to find him this fast. And I’m sure he’s long gone by now; the side entrance gate was open, too. Come on; let’s get your father back to the Livingston.“ Once he’d helped James and Olivia into the backseat, he said, ”We need to stick to the Terry Carlton theory. No one’s going to take me seriously if I tell them my dead father tried to lure your father out. What they would take seriously is that I need to be taken off this case and put into a therapy session.“

No, he couldn’t be taken off the case! “I’ll tell them whatever you need me to.” She hated to admit it, but she needed Max. Needed his help, she clarified. If she’d learned anything tonight, it was how damned helpless she was during a crisis like this.

Max pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the Livingston. And then he totally negated her worry by saying, “Olivia, you probably saved your father’s life tonight. I’ll have a cop stationed outside your father’s room until we find Bobby.”

“Thank you.” Olivia held on tighter to her father. He would be safe. But would they find Phaedra in time?

CHAPTER 21

Max woke at five in the morning, wishing he could take back all those lost hours and do something useful with them. Like what? he asked himself. What else could he do that he wasn’t doing now? He pounded the pillow and pushed out of bed.

Once he was dressed, he headed toward the kitchen. Olivia’s bedroom door was open enough for Stasia to come and go. He couldn’t help glancing into the darkened room. All he could see was Olivia’s form beneath the blankets. Stasia, lying next to her on the bed, lifted her head. He moved past the door and started the coffee. Stasia wandered into the kitchen a moment later.

“Don’t tell her I was peeking in her bedroom, OK?” he whispered as he scratched her head.

“You were peeking in my bedroom?” a prim voice asked from the other side of the counter.

He knew his irritation at being caught showed in his voice when he said, “What are you doing up so early?”

“Well, ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas to you, too,” she said drolly, strolling into the kitchen and taking a can of dog food from the cabinet. She was wearing a fluffy white robe, and her hair was mussed.

The electric can opener buzzed and her irritation showed through. “It’s not merry. We have less than one day to find Phaedra and not a clue where she is. What I didn’t need was to be thinking about you all night. And now I understand you were peeking in my bedroom.” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“OK, OK, I peeked. I was just making sure you were in there. It’s part of being a cop, making sure everyone in the house is safe.” No need to mention his jealousy of Stasia’s position in the bed.

“It’s not part of being a cop; it’s why you are a cop.” She scooped the can’s contents into a porcelain bowl and set it on the kitchen floor. “I suppose the peeking’s acceptable when you put it that way.”

“And the door was open, after all. Made it easy.” Had she left it open for him? An invitation, should he wake in the middle of the night? Maybe it was better not to know.

She sailed back toward her bedroom. “I’m going to get a shower, walk Stasia, and then do some painting, see if I can capture that place any better.”

In twenty minutes, she was dressed in a bright red fuzzy sweater and white jeans. She harnessed Stasia with practiced movements. Stasia remained perfectly still until the harness was in place; then she pranced and headed toward the door.

“You wear bright colors for a person who can’t see them,” Max said, opening the door for Olivia.

“I have personal shoppers at a couple of the boutiques in the area. They look for clothes with real color. I know it’s strange, but bright colors make me feel better somehow.”

She reached into the back of her collar and pulled out a small metal tag embossed in Braille. “This tells me what color and style it is.”

“I want to know more about what it’s like to be blind. Later, when we’ve found Phaedra. I want to know what your life is like, how you meet people, how you balance your checkbook.”

He ran his finger down the bridge of her nose. “For the same reason you wanted to see what I looked like.”

She turned away and opened the door. They stepped out of the building and into the early morning. It was still dark, and the streetlights cast their glow on the bricks. The water caught the shimmer of the lights. He inhaled the cool air and momentary sense of peace.

He turned around to see Sam standing several yards behind them. He looked like hell, his hair unwashed, wearing the same clothes he’d had on yesterday. And he looked pissed.

“I figured you’d be with her. God, Max, she’s got you screwed up. You’re thinking with your cock, man. She’s part of this, and she’s twisting you around her finger just like all women do. Deceiving you. Manipulating you. They say blind women are better in bed, because they use their other senses. Is it true, Max? Come on; let’s hear the dirty details.”

“Olivia, keep walking. I’ll catch up with you.” He’d keep her in his sight. “Sam, what the hell is going on with you?” He didn’t smell any booze on Sam, but he sure sounded wasted. He’d obviously been awake all night.

“I tried you on your cell phone. It wasn’t working. I tried you at home, but you weren’t there. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you were.”

Max checked his cell phone and found the charge had fizzled out. He’d brought his charger but forgot to plug it in.

He put his hands on Sam’s shoulders and leaned into his face. “What is going on? Did they find the girl?” It scared him to see the man he’d always looked up to acting like this.

Sam shoved him away. “My life’s falling apart. Annie threw me out last night. And I…” His eyes glazed; he wasn’t looking at Max but at Olivia. “I tried to find you, but you were over here screwing our prime suspect. She’s going to ruin you, ruin your career and everything you believe in.” He dropped down to one of the ornate benches, all the energy seeming to drain from him at once. “I don’t know what to do,” he said in an agonized whisper.

Max crouched down in front of him, surreptitiously glancing toward Olivia. “Talk to me, man. Why did Annie kick you out?”

Sam blinked, becoming aware of his surroundings and what he’d said. “It’s the case. That’s all; it’s just this case. It’s getting to me. You’re getting to me. I don’t know what’s going on with you. I’ve never seen you fall for a suspect. Don’t deny that you have. I’ve seen you watching her. And you’re being secretive. It’s not like you, Max, and you know it.” Sam had effectively turned the conversation to him and Olivia.

“First of all, she’s not a suspect. You busted your ass trying to prove she’s part of the scheme, and you failed. That’s because she’s not. Second, I believe her. I believe she’s psychically connected to the girl.” And third, she was just about too far away. “Come on; let’s walk.”

“Now you know why I couldn’t tell you all of this. I shouldn’t even be on this case. But I can’t let it go now. We’ve got until midnight tonight. Will you work with me? It’s all we have to go on.”

Sam was watching Olivia as she released Stasia in the dog run. He had a hard, cold look in his eyes. Max wasn’t even sure he’d heard.

“Why do you have it in for Olivia?” Max asked, jarring Sam out of his stare.

“I’ve got to pick up a hypnotherapist at the airport in an hour. We’re going to hypnotize Olivia and see if we can get anything out of her abduction memories. I’ll meet you at the station in a while and we’ll start on those missing-child case files.” .

“Then get on their cases.” He removed his key from his ring. “Go to my place and wash up; see if you can find something to wear.” He wished they could discuss what had happened between Sam and Annie, but there wasn’t time. They were strong; they’d patch things up. Nothing could be so wrong as to destroy that.

Phaedra watched the bad man leave. He’d brought her breakfast, at least. She used to love McDonald’s and Burger King, but not anymore. She ate the food and carefully folded the wrappers.

He’d told her she was dirty, that she needed a bath. But he hadn’t let her take one, and she didn’t want to anyway, not with him standing there watching her like he did when she went to the bathroom.

It was another one of his tricks. She was scared of what he’d do to her that night. The cut on her chest still stung, even though he’d treated it with salve that morning. He’d acted all nice, but she knew he wasn’t. He was a bad, bad man.

The tub was dripping, dripping, dripping. The sound was making her crazy. He was going to give her a bath tonight; that’s what he’d do. Her gaze darted around the room, trying to find some way to get out of the cage. She pushed on the bars again, though it had never helped before.

Crying in frustration, she curled up in the back corner, mindful of the piece of metal that scratched her sometimes. She was never going to see her mom and dad again. Just the thought of them was enough to make her cry.

The piece of metal still jabbed her. She’d bent it back so it didn’t stick inside the cage anymore. She turned around and ran her fingers along the edge of it. After she bent it back and forth for a few minutes, it finally snapped off. She looked at it. Maybe she could stab him in the eye. Then she’d grab his keys and…

She looked at the lock. Her friend’s brother had picked a lock on a neighbor’s shed once. She slid the piece of metal into the lock that held the door in place. It was awkward, but if she twisted just so, she could turn the metal inside the lock. It was an old lock, big and rusty. Maybe she could get it to unlock. She bit her lower lip and worked on it.

“Just relax, Olivia. Don’t put any pressure on yourself to remember, all right?”

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. She was lying on her couch, and Dr. Marano was sitting on a chair beside her. They’d moved the coffee and end tables. Max was perched on the arm of the couch near her head. He’d brought a tape recorder to capture what she said.

“I’m not afraid to do this. Memories can’t hurt me.” She said it with such conviction, he could almost believe her— until she reached for his hand. Her fingers closed around his, and she settled more comfortably. “I’m ready.”

It was all twisted inside him, how he’d felt about her when he rescued her, how he’d wondered about her. Now that he’d found her, she tugged on all his desires to keep her safe and •- • in and protected… and just keep her. She was the wrong woman to feel that way about. He was the wrong man to feel that way, period.

It took ten minutes of Marano’s soothing voice to lull her into a hypnotized state. Max started getting pulled in, too, and had to blink to wake himself. He needed one night of good sleep. He looked at Olivia with her eyes closed. He should have gone to her bedroom last night. Not to continue what they’d started in the living room. Just to hold her.

Marano took her back through the past to the day of her abduction. “What do you see, Olivia?”

Her voice took on a little girl’s sound. “I’m in the toy store. I’m mad at my mother. She promised we wouldn’t do another pageant until the spring. She promised! And she just told me we’re going to New York in January for another one. I hate being up there in front of everyone, being judged. I hate smiling and singing for them. And if I don’t win, I hate going over and over each thing with Mother trying to figure out why. Was I poised enough? Pretty enough? Should she have used that glossy stuff on my hair that makes it all stiff? I hate it!”

“She’s talking to the mother of a girl who also does the pageants. Jasmine does commercials, too. I’m going to hide from Mother. Maybe if she gets worried about me, she won’t make me go to that pageant. A man is telling me that if I follow him, I’ll meet Santa Claus, but I don’t believe in him anymore. I’m going to hide in the back room. She’ll never find me in there.”

Santa Claus. Could it be the same rase Bobby had pulled with Phaedra? It was ingenious, really. Who would suspect Santa? It was a great way to disguise himself without standing out. He probably wore the costume into the store and changed out of it in the back room so kids wouldn’t swamp him.

Her eyes twitched beneath her closed lids. She tensed, squeezing his hand tight.

She rocked her head back and forth. “The man followed me. He’s pushing a cloth against my face, it smells terrible, and…” She stilled.

“Olivia, it’s an hour later. Maybe two. You’re waking up. What do you see?”

Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “Where am I? It’s a long room. There’s a dim light, but I can’t see much.” Her breath was coming in quick puffs now. “I want to go home. Why is this happening? I want my daddy. Where’s Daddy?” Tears shimmered beneath her lashes. “I’m so scared. Somebody help me! Mother, where are you? There’s a cage… He’s going to put me in a cage!” She made struggling noises, and he knew she was reliving her fight with Bobby.

He wanted to pull her out of that hell, just as he had when she’d connected to Phaedra. It took everything inside him to wait it out. Like she’d said, memories couldn’t hurt her. But what about the fear? She put on a brave front, maybe even for herself. He’d do anything to eradicate her fear, but how could he if she wouldn’t admit it?

She suddenly stilled. He remembered that Bobby had knocked her out. Dr. Marano said, “Let’s move ahead to when you wake again.”

She moved her free hand as though she were trying to feel her way. “I can’t see. I can’t see!”

“He’s telling me not to make a sound, that if I’m quiet, he’ll take off the gag. I promise I won’t make a noise. He says I’m Rose. But I’m not Rose, I’m Livvy. He says he’s my father, but he’s not. He’s not!”

Max never thought it could be so painful to listen as she recounted her days of terror. So far there hadn’t been any revelations. Not until she said, “He says he has to punish me on Christmas Night. At midnight. He says I made my mother kill herself, but I know it’s not true! She didn’t kill herself!”

Bobby blamed Rose for making her mother kill herself? But why on Christmas? Christmas, that was the key. Max wrote a note to the doctor.

She nodded. “He said something about leap year. Something about it being Christmas leap year.”

Max gently extricated his hand from hers and motioned to the doctor that he’d be right back. He left his cell phone on the charger and grabbed Olivia’s portable phone. He went out onto the balcony and made a call.

“Oh, you, too, Maxie. It’s so sweet of you to call me every year.” She acted as though he hadn’t talked with her yesterday.

“I care about you. I’m sorry if I upset you. Maybe I’m jumping to crazy conclusions. This case has me on the edge.”

“That’s OK, Maxie,” she said, relief in her voice. “Let’s not talk about it anymore.”

“I just have one question. It’s about my mother. Since it’s Christmas, I’ve been thinking about her.”

“Ask whatever you’d like about Marie.” She was glad he didn’t want to ask about Bobby, he could tell.

“Nineteen seventy-six. Christmas Night, too, a terrible night to choose, don’t you think?”

“He did seem angry at Rose for dying. Marie never recovered. If only Rose hadn’t sneaked out of the house.”

He hung up and started counting backward. This was a leap year. Olivia had been taken on a leap year. And… just as he thought, Marie killed herself on a leap year. He returned to Olivia and took her hand again.

“I’m so scared,” she was saying in the little-girl voice. “He cut me. I’m never going to see Mother and Daddy again. I…” Her mouth fell open.

“The man just ran out. I don’t know what’s going on. And now… someone’s taking my hand, telling me to come with him. It’s an angel come to save me. His voice is so sweet, so gentle. He’s helping me to escape. We’re running. I fell down, but he helped me up. He’s calling for help. And then he tells me it’s OK, to stay right there. A nice family is there, and the angel isn’t anymore. The man is yelling at him. He’s yelling for Max. I don’t want him to go back. I don’t want the man to hurt him.”

Max squeezed her hand as the tears in her voice ripped at his heart. He stopped the recorder. “That’s enough.”

Max wanted to hold her, to make all those terrible memories go away. He swallowed hard. “Great. Leap year is the key. My mother killed herself on Christmas at midnight on a leap year. He blames Rose for her death. That’s why he keeps taking the girls and making them into Rose—to punish Rose over and over. I’ve got to make some calls, get the other stations to narrow down their searches and get us those files.”

Dr. Marano said, “I’d like to talk with Olivia alone for a few minutes. Perhaps we can do that while you’re making your calls.”

CHAPTER 22

“I’m interested in exploring the cause behind your longstanding conversion disorder,” Dr. Marano told Olivia when they were alone. “I don’t think there’s a documented case where someone has sustained it for as long as you have. What do you think was the underlying cause of stress in your life?”

She felt Stasia nudging her leg and invited her up on the couch. “My mother. She entered me in beauty pageants despite the fact that I hated them. If I didn’t win, she’d be mad at me for days. Well, I perceived it that way. She was probably just disappointed. Even if I did win, I was never good enough. I felt that I had to be what she wanted in order for her to love me.”

She pulled Stasia closer and stroked her fur. “If my mother had taken me to see you sixteen years ago, would my vision have instantly returned?”

“It’s very possible if it was strictly conversion disorder and not organic. If we catch these things right away, it’s quite miraculous. I’d like to work with you to see if we can restore your vision.”

“Because you’re comfortable being blind. Because it’s part of your identity.”

“That’s part of it.” And because she was afraid that if she regained her sight, she’d lose her connection with Phaedra.

“Think about it. I’d like to speak with you again. Perhaps we can delve into your other issues, too.”

“Well… yes. I am trained to pick up on subtle clues. I’ve been studying you since you picked me up at the airport, you and Max. I’ve been listening to the two of you talk and watching you interact. Now that you’ve told me a little about your background, I see why.”

“You have a wall around you. You built it long before the kidnapping, because you felt that if you didn’t live up to your mother’s expectations, she wouldn’t love you. If you didn’t need her love, then you couldn’t be hurt by the lack of it. Do you see what I’m saying?”

“The blindness stemmed partially from that. Conversion disorder always comes from something in the person’s life that is now disabled by the function that is no longer working.”

“I thought that was the pageants. The blindness certainly did get me out of them.”

“That was only part of it. The underlying problem was the perceived lack of love if you didn’t participate. If you didn’t win. By eliminating those pageants, you eliminated that expectation in hopes of earning her love for being yourself.”

“Then she paraded me around as an example of what can happen if you don’t watch your children carefully.”

“You were still in that situation. So you convinced yourself you didn’t need love.”

She started to say, “No,” an automatic response. “I don’t think anyone needs love, per se. It’s nice to have it, of course.” She paused. “I’d like to have it.”

She shifted to a cross-legged sitting position. “I love my father. We’ve grown very close in the last couple of years.”

An ache permeated her stomach. “When I was young, yes. But he wasn’t around a lot. So you’re right, I learned to live without that need. Now… I would like his love very much. And I have it when he’s lucid.”

“Ah, so it’s safe if he doesn’t give you that love, because he can’t always remember who you are.”

Her fingers tightened against Stasia’s back as she stroked down the length of her. “It’s not like that.”

“If you say so. But what about romantic love? How many men have you loved? I mean a true, I-must-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-this-person-or-ril-shrivel-up-and-die kind of love.”

She started to name a couple of men but faltered. She’d loved being with them, loved making love with them. But had she loved them like that? For a reason she didn’t want to explore, Max slipped into her mind.

“It doesn’t mean anything. Lots of women my age haven’t met their soul mate.”

“But most women your age have felt that kind of love. I call it inner passion, which is far different from sexual passion. Feeling that doesn’t guarantee that the person is your soul mate. It does prove that you can feel the need for love. That you’ve opened yourself up, laid yourself bare, just to take the chance.”

She laid her head against the back of the couch. “I’ve never laid myself bare for anyone.” She thought of when she’d touched Max’s face while he slept. When they’d nearly made love and wisely backed off. Because she’d been very close to laying herself bare, she realized.

“I’m afraid that if I let go—lay myself bare—with him, I’ll become what he sees me as: that little girl who needs his protection.” She’d done that with Terry for far less compelling reasons.

“The way he watched over you while you were under… yes, I can see that.” He seemed to think it over. “Your past connection and the investigation make your relationship complicated, I admit that. But love is never simple. And it’s not even about whether you and Max could make a real go of it. It’s about you laying yourself bare and reaching for it.”

It was also about Max being able to look at her as more than someone to protect. That he’d married an alcoholic said a lot about him. Too much.

She set her feet on the floor and scooted to the edge of the couch. “I’ll think about what you said.”

He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll tell Max he can come in. He’s been glancing inside, making sure you’re OK.”

“And you don’t like it.” He let out a soft sigh as he got to his feet. “I do hope you’ll contact me.” He opened the door to the balcony. “We’re finished.”

Max thanked him and escorted him to the door. Max’s low, soft voice washed over her raw nerve endings. “We can call you a cab. And you’re welcome to stay here until your flight leaves.”

“I think I’ll wander around the area, take in the sights. Good-bye, Max. Olivia.”

Max said, “I’ve got to go to the station and pick up some files. We’ll only be a few minutes. Do you need to bring Stasia?”

Olivia heard Judy’s voice at the open doorway. “Olivia, you sure have a lot of men in your apartment lately. Hey, Detective Max Callahan.”

“Merry Christmas. I’ve got to finish making your present. I’ll bring it up tonight.”

Olivia said to Max, “Why don’t I stay here with Judy? I want to try the painting again. I just keep thinking that I can find some way to help.”

Olivia was surprised when Max kissed her forehead. It was tender and proprietary at the same time. “I’ll be back soon.”

Olivia listened to his footsteps retreating down the hallway. Yes, he had. “Let’s mix the same colors we did last time.”

Judy went to work on the paints while Olivia changed into a painting outfit. When she returned to the living room, she asked, “Judy, do you remember when I asked who owned the apartment across the way?”

“Terry. He bought it before he moved out of your place. He said he wanted to take care of you, but you wouldn’t let him. So he kept an eye on you without you knowing. For your own good. He said you’d be mad if you found out. Are you mad? I don’t like when people get mad at me.”

All of the words after Terry floated aimlessly past Olivia. Terry had been in that apartment all this time. Watching her. She shivered. “Judy, you should have told me.”

“But it was for your own good; that’s what he said.” Olivia heard the edge in her voice when she said, “Spying on someone is never good. Keeping secrets from friends isn’t good, either.”

Olivia released a breath filled with tension. “It’s all right. Terry just took advantage of your naivete, that’s all.” But Judy had run out crying.

Max and Sam sat at the conference table sorting through the faxes they’d received from other Florida counties.

“I’m fine. Forget what I said this morning. I’ve been up all night. Annie and I had a spat, that’s all.”

“I want to get through these case files. The leap year/ Christmas theory really narrowed it down. Here’s another one.” Sam read from the fax. “Nineteen eighty-eight, seven-year-old girl was taken from a department store five days before Christmas. No ransom, no suspects. This one’s from St. Petersburg. She has brown hair, brown eyes, just like the rest. That’s three so far, plus Phaedra and Olivia. Son of a bitch.”

Max flipped through four more cases before finding another brown-haired, brown-eyed girl of eight who had disappeared five days before Christmas. “Nineteen ninety-two, Orlando.”

A chill was seeping through his body. The girls had been found eventually, in a river or other body of water. All of them drowned, all with a cut across their chests. The coroners’ reports confirmed the water in their lungs wasn’t consistent with whatever body of water they’d been found in. It had been ordinary tap water or drinking water. He was drowning Rose, over and over again.

Max pushed out of his chair, feeling sick to his stomach. His mind made the connection he hadn’t been ready to deal with on the trip back from Odette’s. Olivia had been one day away from dying. The image of his father drowning her came to mind as much as Max didn’t want to see it. Olivia’s young, dirty face being shoved under the water—

“I’ve got to get back to Olivia. Contact the case officers and see if they can shed any more light on these cases. See if they have any idea where the girls were held.”

Max went to his desk, feeling as though he were removed from everything going on, all the activity and phone calls and other ongoing cases. When he grabbed up his folder, he spotted an envelope on his desk. There wasn’t any writing on it, and it was sealed. He tore it open and pulled out a piece of paper that read: “All bad girls must be punished.” He scanned the area as heat flooded his face. Everyone seemed absorbed in his or her own world, as usual.

“Who left this here? Did anyone see who left this?” He held the envelope by the corner.

People looked at him as though he might explode before their eyes. They shook their heads carefully.

He walked around the room to make sure everyone heard. “Did you see who left this here? How about you? Someone had to see who left this on my desk. We’re a bunch of detectives, for Pete’s sake! Someone walked in here and left this, walked right into this room. No one saw him?”

John Holland said, “No, but it sounds like the plot twist in my current book.” In a dramatic voice, he said, “The enemy, right in your own camp.”

Max slid the note and envelope into an evidence bag and walked to the conference room. How long had the note been on his desk? Since early that morning, maybe even last night. “Sam, run this through Evidence and see if any prints come up. Call me as soon as it’s processed.” Sam read the note. “What is this?”

“It means that Bobby Callahan’s playing with me.” Sam’s skepticism was clear. “Bobby. Your father.”

“Yes, my father, who’s probably a cop since no one noticed any strangers hanging around.” He’d been here, working with Max for months, maybe years. No one would believe Max. An enemy in his own camp. He had to get back to Olivia.

CHAPTER 23

“Where’s Judy?” Max asked as soon as he returned to Olivia’s apartment. He locked the door behind him.

Olivia was sitting at her easel listening to the sexy girl band Heart. “Tell me what you found out first.”

“The leap year revelation was a big help. We narrowed down the cases to those girls taken just before Christmas on a leap year.”

“Oh, God. What happened to them?” When he hesitated, she said, “Max, I can handle whatever it is.”

“That’s right, you’re strong, ‘I am woman, hear me roar,’ and all that.”

“And leave it to you to want to protect me. You’re a hero, Max. You always will be, no matter how you try to fight it. It’s in your nature. I think you’ll be happier once you accept that. You won’t always save the day.” She looked in his direction, wishing she weren’t so drawn to him. “And you won’t always get the girl.”

He was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I’ll admit that when you admit that you’re afraid sometimes. You have to admit it before you can overcome it.”

“Tell me,” she said, coming to her feet to face him. “What does he do to them?”

He put his finger over her mouth as the Wilson sisters sang “Crazy for You.”

She heard his emotion when he said, “He was going to kill you.” His hands went to her shoulders and squeezed them. “He was going to… drown you.”

His mouth took hers in a rush. She didn’t want to think about drowning, but she was drowning in Max right then. He took a halting breath and slid his hands around her waist. He tried to capture her mouth again, but she was too quick for him. She nuzzled his ear and his neck, across his throat, and to the other side. He took hold of her face and kissed her. Not just a kiss, a connection of mouths that spoke of hunger and a desperate need to release the tension inside them.

She unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it apart. His hands skimmed her breasts, down her sides, her hips. She slid her hands beneath his shirt and over the hard planes of his chest and stomach. He was hard beneath her, pushing against her.

She felt that hunger again, but something more—the need to lay herself bare. Not physically, but emotionally. She needed this, needed him. Admitting that freed something inside her.

A minute later, he laid her on the bed and ran his hands over her body. He peeled away her clothes and kissed across her skin, running his hands over her at the same time. She captured one of his hands and stuck his finger in her mouth. When she sucked it in and laved it with her tongue, he groaned.

His fingers moved across the slick surfaces of her femininity. She shuddered, biting down on his finger, letting pleasure roll across her for a few minutes. She sat up, tore off his shirt, and then unbuttoned his pants and pushed them down. She touched him, holding him firmly and stroking up and down. He kissed her hard, and she felt his body tense. In one swift movement, he wrapped her in his arms and rolled her on top of him. She eased onto him, taking him in. He had his hands on her hips, his fingers possessively tight against her skin.

She closed her eyes and rocked her head back. A soft, throaty sound spiraled up her throat and escaped her slack mouth. He skimmed one hand over her breasts and stomach and farther down. The gentle pressure he applied sent a sensual warmth through her body. They moved together through another song, and then he pulled her down and rolled her so that she was beneath him.

She held on tight and tried to tell herself this was only about the need to connect with another human being. But it was more than that. It was about connecting with Max Callahan. He was strong and tender and everything she’d ever wanted in a man. He was all mixed up inside her, and she let herself get lost in their lovemaking. Her fingers slid down his back and over the curve of his buttocks. The way his muscles moved beneath his skin, the way he smelled, everything about him captivated her. She felt pulled toward that blissful state, and she contracted her inner muscles to take him with her. He entwined one of her hands with his, squeezed it hard, and kissed her. She felt herself spiral up, up, up, breathless, lost in feeling him inside her.

His whole body tensed, and he shuddered to a halt. They remained there, nose to nose, catching their breath. After a few minutes, he gently bit her lower lip and rolled her to her side. He took one of her fingers and sucked it into his mouth. She’d never realized just how good it felt. No one had returned the favor. He kissed the tip of her damp finger, and when she thought he would set her hand down, he surprised her again. He took both her hands and put them on his face.

Her throat tightened, and she smiled. How did he know how much she wanted to do this? She traced the lines and grooves of his face to her heart’s content, even brushing the tips of his feathery eyelashes.

She continued her journey, mapping his face in her mind. Then she started using her mouth to explore him, brushing her lips across his eyebrows his eyelids, down the bridge of his nose.

In that word, she’d revealed too much of the emotion flowing through her, of the need. What was she doing? Anxiety curled through her, made her move away and push her hand through her damp hair. “We shouldn’t have done this. Making love while time slips away…”

“There’s nothing else we could be doing, Olivia.” He touched her face. “Is that what this was? Making love?”

She rushed on. “All right, it was more. It was… it’s natural that we’d be drawn together like this. You’re the hero, and I will be forever engrained in your mind as the victim. You saved my life.”

“Natural,” he repeated. “If that’s what you want to believe, Livvy.” He extricated himself and walked to the bathroom.

Livvy. God, why did he call her that? It made her want to grab his arm and drag him back. To hold him tight against her and feel his heat.

She searched for her clothes and got dressed. She heard water running in the bathroom, and then he walked out. His phone went off in the direction of the dresser.

Yes, sir, I’ll be right in.“ He disconnected. ”Damn, just what I need. Lieutenant Huntington wants to see me—now. I want you to come with me this time.“

“I’ll be all right here for a short while. I’ll wedge a chair beneath the door knob.”

“He’s not going to come back; even you said that. He wants to get me when I’m out. Believe me, I’m not going out by myself. Stasia and I will be fine until you return. I want to get back to my painting. I need to help find her, Max. I need to help. I keep thinking something has to click.”

He relented with a sigh. “Don’t open the door to anyone.” He moved closer, and she thought—OK, hoped— he’d kiss her forehead again. He took a step past her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Let’s leave what happened as just that—a tension reliever. Makes it easier.” Then why didn’t his voice agree with his words?

She followed him to the living room, fighting the urge to take back her words. He was wrong; it wasn’t easier to leave it the way it was.

“Lock your door,” he said. “Don’t forget the chair.” And then he was gone.

She locked the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes. “I’m an idiot.”

She’d forgotten to tell him that Terry owned the apartment across the way. Since he hadn’t answered her knock, she hoped that meant he wasn’t there. Terry was the least of her problems. She wedged one of the kitchen chairs beneath the door knob and settled in front of a blank canvas. Finding Phaedra was all that mattered now.

Max tried to push the images of their lovemaking out of his mind as he drove through Palomera. Just when he thought he’d managed it, he could see his hand sliding down her stomach or smell the heat of her skin. He’d seen the scar when he’d taken off her shirt, but he hadn’t wanted to spoil the mood by getting drawn into what that fine line represented.

His father. His own father had put that mark on her while Max sat in the cab of the truck obeying a madman. Olivia’s words echoed in his mind: “Oh, God, you blame yourself for their deaths, don’t you?”

He did take responsibility for Diana’s and Ashley’s deaths, for Olivia’s suffering, and yes, even for not making sure it was his father’s body in that truck.

She said he’d always want to be a hero. That hunger inside him that vowed to find Phaedra in time was the same drive that had led him to push Saul Berney too far. He thought he’d killed it, but he hadn’t. She was right. He would always be driven to be a hero and protector. That’s why he’d become a cop.

The thought of facing his nemesis made his stomach churn. Bobby Callahan was his kryptonite. Every time he thought of Bobby, he became that powerless kid, the one who’d stopped at this father’s command. “Coward!” Maybe that’s why his father still haunted him. Just like some deep part of Max had known who Olivia was, maybe it knew that Bobby was close by, too.

But who was he? Max thought again of the guys in Bobby’s age range: Holland, Graham, Mathers… Sam. Sam, who’d been acting strange lately. No, not Sam. But Max couldn’t afford to discount anyone. He picked up the cell phone and called Annie O’Reilly.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, not achieving much cheer, either. “How’re you doing, Annie?”

She let out a humorless laugh. “I guess you know I kicked him out. Petey doesn’t know yet,” she said in a lower voice. “He thinks his dad is just working the case. I know the timing sucks, but his timing sucked, too.”

“Max, tell me the truth. Do you know about it? Is it the woman down the street? I swear she had the hots for Sam, always calling. But it’s been a while since her last call.”

He hoped Sam was seeing someone. Any other explanation made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Why did you kick him out?” He hated even thinking it. Sam?

“First it was the woman’s intuition thing. Then his stories start to conflict. He’s with you; he’s not with you. He’s got guilt written all over his face when he comes home late. When he came home last night, he had a scratch on his shoulder. A fingernail scratch. He couldn’t explain it, and I knew, Max. I knew.” Tears filled her voice.

He felt even worse for what he was thinking. For what it would do to them if it was true. “How long has this been going on?”

“He started being preoccupied a few weeks ago. But then it changed, and he started getting… strange. Dark. He never laughs, doesn’t really talk to me or Petey. He obviously didn’t have a lie planned for the scratch, because he just looked at me with the saddest expression I’ve ever seen. But he wouldn’t talk to me. Max, why won’t men talk?‘

Because they’re hiding something. “Has this ever happened before? Your intuition, him being preoccupied… dark.”

Max knew that they’d been married for about twelve years. He didn’t want to tip her off, but he needed to know more. He couldn’t use police resources. What did he know about Sam’s past? He had family in Ireland. His parents were afraid to fly. “Have you ever met Sam’s parents? Any of his family?”

“No. We’re waiting until Petey’s old enough to appreciate his heritage.”

“A couple of times. They call to talk to Petey. Why are you asking me these questions?”

“I thought if you knew them, maybe you could call and see if they had any sense of trouble.”

Sam could have paid people to call as his family. He could have had plastic surgery to alter his appearance. Bobby could have taken someone’s family along with his identity. If he mimicked the guy’s voice and never saw them, he could probably pull it off.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t call them up for that,” Annie said. “You’re probably the person closest to him. I’ve been wanting to call you and afraid to call at the same time. I’m strong enough to handle the truth, you know.”

His chest tightened. “I’m sure going to try, but I’m really wrapped up in this case right now.”

“I know; so’s my dad. It’s not fair, you guys having to work on Christmas. Everyone should get the day off.”

If only crime would take the day off. If kidnapped girls were returned in time for the holidays. “I agree. You cheer your mom up. If I see your dad, I’ll tell him to call in, OK?”

After Max hung up, he set the phone beside him. He wanted that. A son, daughter… wife. Another shot at having a family. He was sick of his empty, dark house. Of his empty, dark life.

He pulled into the employees’ parking lot and found a spot near the front. He killed the engine but didn’t open his door. Instead, he picked up the phone and wondered if he should be relieved or worried that his ache lessened at the sound of Olivia’s voice. “You’re right. I have a hero complex.”

“That you’re in denial of your fear. Like toxic waste, if you bury it, it doesn’t just go away. It seeps into the soil and water, poisoning everything. It keeps things from growing there, like happiness… love.”

“Livvy was a scared girl who tried so damn hard to live up to everyone’s roles. Who was afraid no one would love her if she didn’t,” she added in a whisper. “I’m not her anymore,” she said in a stronger voice. “I don’t want you to see me as that girl.”

His fingers tightened on the phone. But she was, somewhere deep inside her. That was the part of her that responded to his hero complex. If she’d admit that she was still afraid of some things, she’d have to acknowledge the part of her that had reached out to him when they’d made love. And oh, yeah, it was lovemaking. Not something he could walk away from so they could remain in their safe little worlds.

“When I look at you, I don’t see a scared little girl. I see a woman hiding behind her false bravado.”

“Of course. I do want to save the day. And you know what? I want the girl, too.”

CHAPTER 24

Sam couldn’t stop sweating. He hoped no one at the station noticed. Especially Huntington, who’d called him into his office and demanded to know what was going on with Max. Now Sam was going through the last of the case files, but he had to keep backtracking. His mind wasn’t on the files. It was on what had happened late last night. He’d almost killed her. He’d wrapped his hands around her small neck and pressed against her windpipe. She’d looked at him with fear and disbelief, clutching at his hands, trying to pry them off.

It was all he could do to make himself let her go. She’d gasped and choked and stumbled away from him. He just sat there, unable to speak. When he’d finally looked at her, her brown eyes had accused him.

Yes, he’d wanted to kill her, but there was a time and a place. A plan. Strangling her in a fit of rage wasn’t the way.

Then he’d gone home and Annie had accused him of seeing another woman. He’d lied to her as he’d done before. It wasn’t what she was thinking, but Annie wouldn’t understand. He had to take care of things in his usual calm manner. Then it would be over, and he’d never slide into that dark place again.

Everyone looked up when Max walked in. When he glanced Sam’s way, Sam averted his gaze to the files on his desk, sure that guilt shone like a beacon.

When Max walked into the detectives’ area, he scanned those who were working that day. It wasn’t a big shift. Not a lot of crime happened on Christmas Day. Usually the atmosphere was lighter during the holidays, but not this year. Maybe it was Phaedra’s disappearance bringing them all down, reminding them that a little girl wasn’t home with her family today. But it seemed to be something else. They looked at him and quickly glanced away.

Max couldn’t forget that someone had left that note about Phaedra being punished, someone who had been inside the station and had not drawn attention. Max tried to place Bobby’s face among his colleagues. Change in hair, weight, and time could make an amazing difference, especially with any deliberate alterations.

Sam had glanced up and guiltily looked down again. Mathers and Holland were there, along with a couple of other detectives who were working critical cases that couldn’t be put aside for the holiday.

Huntington was on the phone, so Max walked over to Sam. “Any word on the envelope?”

“They just called: no prints, not even a partial. The pen used was your standard cheap ballpoint issue, the kind you find everywhere.”

That’s what Max had expected, but he’d still hoped something would turn up. He couldn’t help glancing at Sam’s desk, covered in files and paperwork and two pens— cheap ballpoints. The same kind Max used. The same kind everyone here used.

There were shadows in Sam’s eyes he’d never seen be-fore. A hopelessness Max didn’t like. “Look, if you need to talk or… whatever…”

“What does the lieutenant want me for?” Max glanced at his office and caught his gaze.

Sam tossed a folder on top of the stack and stood. “You’ll have to take that up with him.”

“Callahan, I’m ready for you,” Huntington’s ominous voice said a minute later. He was standing in the doorway. He’d put on a red tie with a bell at the bottom point; it looked out of place with his grim expression.

Max closed the door and sat down. The lieutenant stared at him for a full minute without saying a word. Max resisted the urge to shift under that perusal. Five mangled pencils littered the desk, and the lieutenant was working on the sixth.

Finally Huntington spoke around the pencil in his mouth: “I’ve got a real problem when one of my men takes on an investigation on his own, doesn’t tell his partner what’s going on, and conceals evidence. Evidence that’s damning to a suspect that the detective appears to be screwing.”

Max rubbed his face, preparing for battle. “I guess you’re getting this from O’Reilly.”

“And others. You’re acting unbalanced. That doesn’t go unnoticed in a place like this.”

“A little crazy? First, our leading suspect claims she’s psychically connected to the missing girl and you seem to believe her. I’d call that more than a little crazy.”

“If it wasn’t for Olivia, we wouldn’t have connected this case to the other ones.”

“Lucky guess. But it still hasn’t gotten us the girl.” He leaned back in his chair, and it squeaked like a mangled mouse. “Second, I hear you’re out saving old men in the middle of the night—and accusing our local football hero of luring the guy out. Come on, Callahan.”

He shook the pencil at him. “I really didn’t think this case would drive you over the edge. I thought you’d come out on top. I was wrong, and I’ll take responsibility for that. What convinced me is you thinking the guy who took the Burns girl is your father. Your dead father.”

“I can prove that his death wasn’t proven.” Max stood up and braced his hands on the desk. “You think I want to believe this guy is my father? That he’s still alive? I’ve never wanted a man more dead. He brought me nothing but shame and pain as a child. Now I find out that the sick son of a bitch has been abducting girls every leap year since 1976. He’s going to kill Phaedra at midnight, drown her like the rest of the girls. She won’t be the last if we don’t find him. Bobby Callahan is a cop—”

“Did you hear me? You’re off the case. I’m sending you to the shrink. You’re officially off-duty pending evaluation.”

“I just did. You’ve been wasting our resources from the beginning of this case. This Howe woman is probably involved, and instead of finding the truth, you got involved with her. I can’t tolerate the kind of insubordination you’ve displayed. Talk about shame, I’ll give you shame. I thought I put my best detective on a very important case, and he failed. I put my faith in you, and you failed not only me, but that girl and her family. Give me your badge and gun.”

Max’s insides were caving in. He knew it sounded crazy. That’s why he’d withheld information. Now it had backfired when he needed support the most.

“Tell it to the shrink. If he determines that you’re not out of your mind, then I’ll listen.”

Max set his badge and gun on the desk, hoping the lieutenant didn’t catch the tremble in his hand.

Huntington nodded toward the glass door behind him. “See those two uniforms? They’re going to escort you to the Smallwood Building.” That was where the contracted shrink worked across the street from their building.

Huntington looked as though he were trying to rub the strain from his face. “I pushed you to this, and that’s not something I’m proud of. I’m not going to let you go over the edge. I know you, Callahan. You’re a hothead. I can’t take a chance that you’ll either hurt yourself or do something that will jeopardize the case and the department’s reputation. I’m going to make you talk to the shrink before you can do any more damage. It’s either that or I lock you away until after the holidays.”

Max didn’t like this, not at all. He forced a hollow laugh. “I’m fine, sir. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Are you bringing me in under the Baker Act? I haven’t threatened to commit suicide.”

The lieutenant held up the phone. “You want to call the captain and complain? Ask him what we should do, given all the facts. He’s having dinner with his daughter and grandkids. Be sure to wish him Merry Christmas before dumping all this on him. You know how sentimental he gets around the holidays.” He hung up the phone when Max didn’t take it. “Look, Callahan, I’m trying to keep this low-key. For your sake. For your job’s sake.”

“I’m putting Graham on it, but we’re not holding out much hope at this point. Maybe it was a losing case either way. We’ll never know, will we?”

Max walked out. He knew the two uniforms, young, strong guys gunning to move up to detective. They were uncomfortable with this particular duty, but they were going to do their job. Everyone was looking at him, but they averted their gazes when he met theirs. They all thought he was crazy, and the bitch of it was, he couldn’t blame them. Sam wasn’t at his desk. Max hoped he’d gone home.

“I need to make a call first.” He walked over to the water fountain away from nosy ears. “Olivia, it’s me. I’m going to be tied up here for a while. I’ve been suspended.”

“Yeah. I’m getting sent to the shrink. Huntington’s insisting I go now, either that or get thrown in the slammer. He’s afraid I’m going to off myself. So I’ll talk to the shrink, maybe get him on my side, and get out of here. I want you to call Judy and have her stay with you until I get back.”

“I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you. Keep yourself safe.” He hung up before he said anything more. “OK,” he said to the uniforms hovering nearby.

“You’ll need to leave the phone here. Doctor doesn’t allow phones in his sessions.”

He issued an expletive and set the phone on his desk. “This better not take long.”

Olivia pulled a Baby Ruth from the freezer and sat on the counter waiting for the coffee to brew. She knew getting suspended wouldn’t stop Max from trying to find Phaedra. He might be worried about her, but she was more worried about him.

As much as her body stirred at the thought, it was how her heart reacted that worried her. He couldn’t help being the way he was: protective, commanding… tender. He thought he knew so much. Sure, their lovemaking had been spectacular. Releasing tension wasn’t exactly the phrase she’d meant to use when describing it, but words like moving, shattering, and soul-shaking would lead him in the wrong direction.

She poured a cup and walked out onto the balcony. The air was damp and cool, and no sun warmed her skin. Holiday music played on regardless, contrasting with the tension gripping her. A gust of apprehension washed through her. She set the coffee down on the table and dropped into the chair. The sound of breathing overrode the sounds of people talking below and a boat passing along the waterway.

Phaedra’s breathing. Small hands worked an old black padlock. She kept inserting a thin piece of metal into the lock hole.

Her gaze shifted to that heavy door, then back to the lock. Nothing to lose. “Come on; come on, I know this is how Tommy did it.”

Something clicked. She jerked on the lock, but it still wouldn’t give. She jammed the metal inside again and twisted it. Another click. Then another. The lock popped open.

Adrenaline surged through her as she stepped out of the cage. She ran on wobbly legs to the door first, pulling on it. It wouldn’t budge. She turned and ran back through the kitchen area and down the hall with the bathroom at the end. To the right of the bathroom was a closed door. She pushed it open. Beyond the low light, though, the place was pitch-dark. She spotted a panel of switches and reached up to flick them on. Light poured through the place. It was lined with desks and phones and what she could only guess was computer equipment. She picked up each phone, whimpering, “Please help me; please help me,” into each one. But there wasn’t any dial tone. Something that looked like an old radio sat high on a shelf, out of reach.

She ran out of that room and through the doorway opposite. It was a large room, empty except for one broken bunk bed. Four large storage cabinets lined the wall, their doors hanging open to reveal empty shelving.

Stasia was licking Olivia’s face. “Oh, Stasia, you’ve got to stop bringing me out. I’m OK, really. If only you could understand me. I know, sweetie. I love you, too.”

She made her way inside and dialed Max’s cell phone, feeling sharp disappointment when she got his voice mail. “Phaedra escaped from her cage! I’m thinking it’s some kind of jail or other facility. There’s a room with radio equipment and another large room with a broken bunk bed. The rest of the rooms are clean, too, as though they’ve never been used. All I can hope for is that she gets out. It’s so frustrating not being able to help her. Call me as soon as you can.”

She had to paint what she’d seen. At least try. She knew she should call Judy, but she needed to focus on the painting. Once she made some headway, she’d call her.

He heard Max’s cell phone ring four times, then stop. The detectives’ area was empty. Most everyone was in the break room enjoying a Christmas dinner one of the guys’ wives had delivered. He casually picked up Max’s phone and walked to the window. While he pretended to look out at the gray day, he retrieved the message.

He tossed the phone back on the desk and headed outside. He took his time crossing the parking lot, nodding at those he met along the way. He didn’t look like a man who was anxious. No, he looked pleasant, casual, just another government employee enjoying a break.

A patch of parklike land separated the police station from the old courthouse. The records division was still located on the third floor, waiting for their offices in the new building to be finished, and there was one lone clerk still on the ground floor. All the rest of the divisions had moved over already. What they were going to do with the quasi-historic building was under consideration. The way the board of commissioners kept squabbling over its fate, it would be months before anything was decided. Plenty of time for the place to get flooded and destroy any evidence he might have left behind.

Olivia sank back into that strange place with the kitchen and clean floors and watched through Phaedra’s eyes as she dug her way into a hole in the large concrete bricks. She’d dumped over a pile of the plastic buckets and had stacked up several so she could reach the square hole in the wall. Wads of yellow insulation surrounded a cylindrical object.

It was the sound that had halted the girl and made her already-pumping heart race even faster. She’d heard that sound enough, knew it meant disaster.

Fear shuddered through her and propelled her off the buckets. They fell over with a loud clatter, skidding across the floor. She ran through the doorway to a large room with several picnic tables.

“Rose!” His voice thundered through the empty rooms. “Get back here now!”

She turned around to an opening with steps leading up. She’d already investigated and knew there was a brick wall there. There had once been another steel door there; the heavy-duty hinges were still in place. She ran up the steps, stumbling on one, and then crouched in the darkness of the corner.

There was panic in his voice, too, scaring her even more. “Rose! Come here!”

He was getting closer. She heard cabinet doors being thrust open. He’d find her there. It was hopeless.

But wait! She could try to race to the door he’d come in, and if he hadn’t closed it all the way…

As she readied herself to bolt, he stepped in front of the doorway. His breath was coming heavily, and his mouth tightened in a furious line. She pressed farther into the corner, even as her hope of escape spiraled downward.

He’d only taken two steps into the alcove when he stopped and looked at her.

With sure steps, he climbed to the top platform. Dread and fear stopped her breathing altogether as he reached for her arm. She dodged around him and tripped down the steps, landing on her knees. Her legs were still stiff from crouching in the cage, but she forced herself up and ran toward the steel door. She didn’t know what was on the other side, but she had to take the chance.

She didn’t get that chance. He grabbed her ankle and jerked her to the floor. She yelped, but before she could think of trying to wriggle away, he had her pinned beneath him. He yanked her to her feet and hauled her into the bathroom. The tub was almost filled with water now. She didn’t struggle, didn’t want to make him any angrier.

He plunged her into the water face-first, pressing her down so hard, her nose mashed against the bottom of the tub. She thrashed with her arms and feet, but he was too strong. Help me, help me! she thought. No one could help her. She’d never see her family again.

Just as suddenly, he pulled her out. She gasped for breath and watched rage color his neck and face. He was breathing almost as hard as she was.

“Not yet, Rose. You almost made me ruin everything. Marie died at midnight. I have to follow the plan or it won’t go away. But you won’t be alone. I’m going to bring back the Rose who got away. He tilted his head. ”Olivia, are you listening? Thanks for letting me know Phaedra had gotten out. But she won’t get away—neither will you. And Max won’t save you this time.“

Max paced inside the doctor’s office. “Look, I’m fine. Tell Huntington you talked with me, I wasn’t displaying any irrational tendencies, and we can be done with this.” Dr. Martin shook his head.

Max lowered himself into the chair. “Fine, let’s see if you can make any sense of this.”

Olivia’s heart was beating frantically as she pulled herself off the floor. Someone else had Max’s phone. Bobby had Max’s phone, and she had given Phaedra away. That’s all she could think about as she tried to make her weak legs work. She didn’t have time to soothe the pain pounding in her head or wipe away the sweat. Where was the phone, dammit? She always knew where it was, but panic was muddling her thoughts.

When she found it, she fumbled with the buttons. It took three tries to get her finger to work properly. She pressed the redial button. When she heard Max’s outgoing message, she hung up. No, she needed to call the regular number and talk to someone else there. Information gave her the police station’s number. She had to warn Max that his father was there. Whoever answered the phone was safe to trust. It would take Max’s father time to get back to the station, even if he left right after he’d talked to her.

She was put through to Max’s desk. After four rings, a man answered, “Callahan’s desk, O’Reilly speaking.”

Not her favorite person, but obviously not the kidnapper. “It’s Olivia Howe. Is Max anywhere that you can get hold of him? It’s a matter of life and death—Phaedra’s life.”

“Can you please take a look around and tell me which detectives are not there right now? Someone who was there a little while ago.”

After a pause, he said, “Mathers is only on call, though I did see him this morning. Graham’s here somewhere, but I haven’t seen him in a while, either. Several of the guys were in the break room, including Lemmings and Sharp. I just saw the lieutenant in—wait a minute. Why am I telling you anything? What’s going on?”

“It’s right here on his desk.” He must have reached for it. “Says ‘Missed Call’ on the screen. Why?”

“I left a message for him, and the man who took Phaedra intercepted it. I need to get to the station and wait for Max. Bobby Callahan threatened me.” She knew her fear was plain in her voice and didn’t try to disguise it. “He… might even be on his way here.” She would be safe there, surrounded by detectives and near Max.

“He’s not dead. They never verified that the remains were Bobby’s. Please, you’ve got to help me.”

“All right, calm down. If you feel like you’re in danger, I’ll send someone to get you.”

He let out a sigh, clearly not buying most of her story. But he must have believed she felt threatened, because he said, “All right, I’ll come get you. I was just heading out actually.”

Sam shook his head as he dropped the phone in the cradle. This was nuts. “I’ll be back in about forty minutes or so,” he told John Holland, who had just walked in. He’d almost made it out of the room when he ran into Huntington and Graham coming in.

Max knew how crazy the story sounded as he relayed it to the doctor. When he’d started, something had niggled at his subconscious, something he’d overlooked. He finished with, “Which leads me to sitting here in your office while that little girl waits for a rescue that’s not going to happen.”

The man, who looked a bit like Albert Einstein, tapped his pen against his chin. “Other than the so-called psychic connection, you don’t know that the girl is even alive.”

“All I have is the connection. If you would have seen Olivia… if you knew how my father was, you’d believe it, too. We have nothing else. No other viable leads, no clues. It makes sense to explore the only avenue we have, no matter how it sounds.”

Dr. Martin set the pen down. “Tell me about your father. Growing up with a disciplinarian like that, and then learning that he had kidnapped a girl, that must have been traumatic for you.”

“I need to check the storage room over at the station. This could be a real piece of evidence, a real lead if he returned the suit. My escorts can take me over there and back.”

“All right. I’ll give you fifteen minutes. Then I want to talk about your mother. Her killing herself on Christmas Night is quite significant.”

More than he realized. Max walked out. He understood Huntington’s position, but he wasn’t giving this much more time. And he was getting his cell phone. He hadn’t thought it would take this long, and he didn’t like being out of touch with Olivia.

The two uniforms said nothing as they shadowed him like bad tails all way to the station. He grabbed his phone on the way to the storage room. He’d missed a call. As he accessed his messages, he was glad to see that both Sam and Huntington were gone. His face went pale as he heard Olivia telling him about Phaedra’s escape.

Her voice rushed out at him. “He got the message I left on your cell number and he went and caught Phaedra. He thanked me for helping him.” Her voice cracked on that. “I gave her away. Then he said he was going to bring back the Rose that got away. And that this time you wouldn’t save me.”

“Stasia and I will meet you there. Your partner’s coming. O’Reilly’s OK, Max. When I called on your regular phone, he answered. There’s no way that Bobby could get back to the station that fast, not unless where he’s keeping Phaedra is within a short walk of the station.”

“I doubt that. Most of the buildings in this area are government buildings and are in use. The rest of the area has been checked out already.” He was glad Sam was in the clear. He’d hated suspecting him.

“I asked your partner who was there. Your lieutenant and someone named Lemmings were. Graham and Mathers weren’t there. Maybe you can pin down more names.”

Graham and Mathers were possibilities. “What about where Phaedra is being held? Could you see anything else that might help? You said it looked like a jail or some kind of barracks.”

“It has a large area with tables and a doorway at the other end. It was a doorway, yet there wasn’t a door. It’s blocked by a brick wall. That’s where she was hiding when he found her, in an alcove.”

“It can’t be a jail, not locally. We’ve had the same one for twenty years. The new government building is occupied. The cafeteria is already in operation. The old courthouse is mostly empty, but there isn’t a kitchen or anything like you’ve described over there, just a bunch of offices. The teams checked out the building as part of their grid search. Let me think about what it could be.”

“No, it’s not OK.” Another sob. “I’m afraid of the world and life changing in a heartbeat. I’m afraid of the way I feel every time you say my childhood name, because I’m that little girl again who wants to feel safe and protected, and that girl wants you to be the person who protects her. I’m afraid of falling in love with you, and I’m afraid of you walking out of my life forever. You were right about the buried-in-the-sand thing. I don’t want to be paralyzed by it anymore.”

“Me, neither,” he caught himself saying. He felt his chest open like a butterfly spreading its wings for the first time.

That was why he’d pressed her so hard to admit her fear—it was his fear, too, his weakness. “I’ve been afraid to put someone I care about in a vulnerable position. It paralyzed me to think that I couldn’t protect them.”

“I know. I know that now.” He swallowed hard. “Keep me on the line until Sam gets there.”

“I’ve got to keep painting. Sam will be here any minute, and I want to get down what I can.”

He squeezed his eyes shut against the ache in his chest and disconnected. When he opened them, he found the two uniforms pretending they hadn’t been listening and looking a little embarrassed about it.

Max found the Santa suit stuffed back in the box, one of the sleeves dripping over the edge. He didn’t dare touch it, and he wasn’t sure whom he could trust to process it for DNA. Then he realized that it wouldn’t help Phaedra in time. All it might prove was that one of the men who had worn the suit had been with the girl. He glanced at his watch. Time was running out. Maybe Olivia’s latest painting would help, though he wasn’t holding out much hope for that. She just couldn’t capture the necessary details.

When he returned to the detectives’ area, one of the uniforms said, “We’d better get back to the doctor’s office.” They were visibly nervous, afraid Max would try something.

Max was too busy looking for Sam and Olivia to reply. He called Sam’s cell number—no answer. Where was he? He called Olivia and got her answering machine. OK, so Sam had picked her up. They were probably on their way.

“I’m not leaving until Olivia and O’Reilly return.” Max leaned against the edge of his desk, crossed his arms, and made sure he looked as though he was there for the long haul.

“No, I didn’t.” But he had. His fingers had gone round her throat and he’d had a devil of a time loosening their grip. “I got carried away, that’s all. It’s your fault. You made me so damned angry. I apologized. What else do you want from me?”

Helene let out a tortured sigh. “You know what I want. Leave Annie. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Sam. You know we belong together.”

Even now his hands flexed at his sides. He had wanted to kill her. She was trying to destroy his life. He’d thought of several ways to accomplish it, none of which included strangling her with his bare hands. But he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t because he was a cop, or that he was multiplying sins he would already pay for in the hereafter. It wasn’t even Annie who had stopped his machinations. It was his son. How could he face that boy knowing he was a murderer?

“This was all a game, wasn’t it?” he said. “The scratches on your face, the flat tires, the threatening messages from your so-called boyfriend… you did all that, didn’t you?”

“There never was an ex-boyfriend stalking you, was there?” She’d come to his house once, when Annie was at work, crying about her ex. She was afraid to go to the police and file a report, because he’d threatened to kill her if she did. She’d pleaded with him to keep an eye on her, to teach her to defend herself. She had seduced him along the way. Oh, he took full responsibility for allowing it to happen. It had never occurred to him that he was the cheating kind. Or the killing kind.

“It was the only way to get you to pay attention to me.” She grabbed at his arm. “I waved at you, tried to strike up a conversation. You’d hardly give me the time of day. So

I figured if I played the woman in danger, you’d care. You did care—do care. I know you do.“

He pulled out of her grasp. “It’s over, Helene. I’m sorry if I somehow led you to believe there would be more to this than…”

Her pitiful expression hardened. “Sex?” The word sounded more like an expletive. “You thought you’d use me up and toss me away, is that it?” When she saw that anger wasn’t getting her anywhere, she reverted to the pitiful tact again. “That’s all men ever think of me for. I was so sure you were different.”

He had no excuse for going to her place that afternoon and having sex with her. None at all. All the rationalizations evaporated as soon as their bodies had cooled down. He’d tried to leave without any commitments.

She hadn’t let him. Instead, she’d threatened to tell his wife and his son. His son! She’d even threatened to claim he’d raped her. He’d buckled under her threats, but everything was falling apart anyway. He couldn’t live like this anymore. He headed to the door.

“Yes, I can. Annie already knows about us. And I’m going to talk to my boss. He’ll know exactly what’s going on if you make any claims that I assaulted you. Helene, get some help. You’re a beautiful woman. I don’t understand why you so desperately need a man in your life that you’re willing to blackmail him—”

She launched herself at him, her nails braced and teeth bared. He deflected her, but carefully so that he didn’t leave any marks. She’d left marks on him when he’d nearly strangled her. She managed a few new scratches on his arms, but he shoved her down on her couch.

He didn’t look at her as he left, didn’t want to see that determination he’d seen every time she threatened him. Whatever she did, he’d handle it. And he hoped Annie would forgive him. He’d make her love him again. He needed someone to talk to. A friend. He remembered Max’s offer to listen.

What would happen to Max now? he wondered as he drove back to the station. Their friendship was down the crapper, and that bothered him. This case had gone horribly wrong from the beginning—from when the Howe woman became involved. Max was as obsessed with her as Helene had been with Sam. Women weren’t worth it. He was even mad at Annie for suspecting an affair that was real. Maybe they were right. Men were pigs. No, he was a pig. He’d let his feelings color everything—including, he had to admit, how he’d viewed Olivia.

The two uniforms tensed. They thought Max was on the edge. Sam was afraid they were right. “Calm down. I didn’t get her.”

“Just as I was heading out, Huntington and Graham were coming in. Huntington asked where I was going, so I told him what was going on. He said he’d get her, and since I had someplace else to go, I let him. One of the guys came up to Huntington and asked him something before he left, but that only delayed him for a few minutes.”

“Well, actually, he didn’t. I got a message from him on my cell phone, right after yours. He said she wasn’t at the apartment.”

“He left at the same time, said he was checking out something relating to the Bums case.”

Olivia didn’t let herself think about what she’d spilled to Max. She’d deal with all that later. Right now she had to focus on Phaedra. Her hands trembled as she tried to recreate the scenes she’d seen through Phaedra’s eyes. She concentrated on the doorway where Phaedra had hidden from the kidnapper. The bricks were in an odd pattern. She dipped her finger in the paint and tried to re-create the pattern on the canvas.

Sam had called to tell her that Huntington was coming in his place. He’d said that Huntington had something new on the case and wanted to ask her some questions on the way. She opened the door.

“I hate to admit it, but I think you may be on to something.” He gently took her arm. “I’ll guide you.”

She locked her door and let him lead her down the stairwell. Her mind went back to what he’d said. “You believe me? My visions? Just like that?”

“It might seem sudden, yes. I may have judged Max a little too harshly. It did sound crazy, after all. He was so adamant, though, that I decided to read through his notes while he was talking to the doctor. Given all the facts, it’s pretty convincing. I’ve been talking to Max on the cell phone during the drive here, trying to put everything together. You’re the key, Olivia.”

“We have an idea. You told O’Reilly Bobby Callahan threatened you. Can you identify his voice?” He closed the door and got in on the driver’s side.

“Kind of deep, no accent. But he can fake a southern accent very well. If you believe me, why isn’t Max here?”

“He’s keeping an eye on our suspect. We’re going to set him up. You’re going to tell Max that the girl has escaped again. Hopefully that’ll prompt him to check on her. We’ll be on his tail, and”—he smacked his hands—“we’ll have him and the girl.”

Her heart raced at the prospect of this being over soon. Phaedra home, safe and sound. She mentally recited the Lord’s Prayer again, just as she had when her father was in danger. She turned toward Huntington when she was done. “Who do you think it is?”

“I don’t want to say, not just yet. You have to understand that it’s hard enough to suspect one of my own men in a crime like this. Before I name him, I want to see if he falls for the trap.”

The police radio crackled periodically as they made their way to the station. He said, “I’m taking you to the courthouse so he doesn’t see you. Max will meet us there and we’ll go over our plan. Don’t worry; you’ll be perfectly safe.”

She kneaded the material of her pants, eager to see Max, eager to get on with the plan. A police siren pierced the air and faded into the distance a few seconds later. They must be near the station. They slowed and turned into what was probably the parking lot. He helped her out of the car and linked his arm through hers. They took the steps up to an entrance, and he opened a door. It was quiet inside and smelled dusty and old. He guided her down what sounded like a long hallway. She could tell by the echo of their footsteps when they entered a smaller room, and then he unlocked yet another door. It creaked as he pushed it open.

“In you go,” he said before she could collect her thoughts. He shoved her inside, and she tumbled down the short flight of steps. “Welcome back, Rose.”

CHAPTER 25

Max wasn’t about to give those two uniformed goons a chance to curtail him. He took the shortcut out to the parking lot, jumped in his car, and headed to Olivia’s apartment. “Don’t panic,” he told himself as he pulled onto the highway. “Maybe she was in the bathroom.”

His chest felt as though it were compressed into a half-inch cube by the time he pulled up to her building. He double-parked and ran inside. When he knocked on her door, Stasia barked.

He pounded on the door. “Olivia, it’s Max! Open up.” Only Stasia’s answering bark. He tried the door, just in case. It was locked. A bad sign, because he was going to have to break in the door again. He kicked it this time; his shoulder was still sore from his last breaking-down-the-door heroics. It took a few kicks, but he finally broke the frame.

Stasia was cowering behind the easel, though she inched forward when she saw him. He scratched her head as he scanned the apartment. No sign of Olivia. He called Sam. “Has the lieutenant returned?”

He heard the concern in his friend’s voice. “I’m not crazy, Sam. Has Huntington returned?”

He placed the faded memory of his father’s face over Huntington’s face. Different. Huntington had a gap between his teeth that his father didn’t have. If someone could get a gap fixed, he could probably have one created if necessary. The color of his eyes wasn’t the same, though that could be accomplished with contacts. Huntington had always seemed a few years older than his father, but Max couldn’t be sure. His receding hairline would make him look older.

Graham, on the other hand, dyed his hair black to look younger. He liked working on motorcycles, and Bobby had worked on trucks. Graham was a bit of an outsider.

“Isn’t she back? I wanted to say sorry for not telling her about Terry owning the apartment across the way. I don’t want—”

Judy nodded. “Under a company name. He told me not to tell her. He only wanted to keep an eye on her, make sure she was safe.”

Could Olivia be there? He walked over and knocked, but there wasn’t any answer. He tried the door. Locked. “Ah, hell. Judy, go into Olivia’s apartment and close the door. Or try to, anyway. Stay there until I tell you to come out.” After she’d done what he asked, he reared back and broke the frame around Terry’s door.

The smell hit him first. Not Olivia, he told himself, reaching for his gun before realizing he didn’t have one. He found the body behind a closed door in a back bedroom wrapped in white garbage bags. Someone had stuffed a towel beneath the door to keep the odor in. The nest of black curls confirmed his suspicion: Terry Carlton. He searched the rest of the place—empty. He backed out and closed the door as best he could. Judy was standing just inside Olivia’s doorway, humming a Christmas song.

Before she could ask what was going on, he asked, “Did you see anyone come into the building you didn’t recognize?”

“I saw him walk into the building. He was singing a Christmas song, and that made me think of Olivia, so I went to my apartment and got her present. When I walked out, she was leaving with him. I came over to see if she was back yet.”

He tried to keep sheer panic from his voice. “Did you see what he looked like? How old he was?”

She shook her head, then said, “I think he was my dad’s age. He was wearing a hat, so I couldn’t see his face. What’s wrong? You look kinda funny, Detective Max Cal-lahan. All white like a ghost.”

“I’m—” Something registered in his brain. “Judy, sing the song again, the one you were humming just now.”

She lifted her finger. “Oh, yeah, that’s where I heard it. Guess it was catchy ‘cause he was singing it kind of sad-like, and I was in a sad mood with Olivia being mad at me and all.”

“Jingle Bells” in slow motion. Lethargic. His blood slowed. “Oh, hell. Oh, hell!” He grabbed at his phone and called Sam again. He could barely squeeze out the words, “It’s Huntington.”

“The man who abducted Phaedra is Huntington. And now he has Olivia.” His whole body felt rubbery with fear.

“OK, Max, you’re really starting to scare me. Are you actually accusing our superior of being a kidnapper?”

Max heard someone else get on the line. “Listen to me, dammit! He has them. I got a witness here who says Olivia left with Huntington. He lied about not finding her at home.” He had to lean against the wall for a moment. “The witness heard him singing ‘Jingle Bells’ that same slow, eerie way Huntington does.” He looked at Judy. They’d never believe her. “He’s got both of them. He’s going to drown them at midnight. In a tub. In a facility with a kitchen.” He could hardly breathe.

“I know. But he’s not really Basil Huntington. He’s Bobby Callahan.” The blood rushed to his head, sending wriggling worms across his field of vision. “My father.”

“Yes.” He was sinking this time, his words sounding as though he were saying them from a distant place.

He could hear a slight difference in Sam’s voice. He was looking at someone else, making plans: Get crazy Max and hold him in a cell until he comes to his senses. “Sam, one more thing: Terry Carlton’s in the apartment across from Olivia’s. He’s dead.”

“Probably. If you run the blood found in Olivia’s apartment against Terry’s, I bet you’ll find a match.”

He hung up the phone and looked at Stasia, who was watching him from the doorway. She reminded him so sharply of Olivia, he felt that rush of blood to his head again. She’d admitted her fear, and now he couldn’t protect her. He walked into the apartment to find Stasia’s harness. The painting Olivia had been working on caught his eye.

She’d done several sections, trying to capture different aspects of this place, this damned place they’d been trying to find. He could barely make out the kitchen area, didn’t know what she was trying to show in the upper right portion. The lower portion looked like a doorway. She had said something about the girl hiding in a doorway. Not the one Bobby entered, but another one. She’d painted steps leading up to an alcove and the lower portion of a brick wall at the end.

He stared at the wall. There was something familiar about the pattern of bricks. Instead of being staggered, they were lined up in straight rows, an amateur job. What was it a doorway to?

Stasia whined from her place at his feet. “It’s all right. We’re going to find her. Come on, girl.” He grabbed the painting and headed down the stairs, making sure the dog was with him. Sam would be there soon, and now he didn’t have time to find the harness.

As soon as he exited the building, he could hear sirens. Traffic was jammed up around his car, horns were honking; fists and fingers were shaking. Obviously the yellow tag identifying it as a police vehicle didn’t matter.

Max helped Stasia into the car before he jumped in and nosed his way into the line of cars. The sirens were drawing closer. He slammed on his horn, and the car next to his stopped his attempt to butt in front of Max. Max put his light on the dash and wailed on the horn again. The jam finally moved out of his way, and he eased out as flashing lights glanced off the rearview mirror. He killed his light and took the first left.

Olivia’s words echoed in his head: “He’s got her. Oh, God, he’s got her.”

It was every nightmare she’d ever had, and it was every terrifying minute she’d spent in Phaedra’s mind.

The bars felt as solid as they had years ago. Phaedra was crouched nearby, her breath coming in short puffs. When Olivia had tried to touch her, to comfort her in some way, the girl had become more frightened.

Bobby Callahan knelt down in front of them. She could hear his knees crack. “Rose, you were a naughty girl, getting away last time. Maybe if both of you die, the rage will finally go away. I need it to go away.”

Phaedra whined at those words. Olivia took a deep breath and pushed out the words, “Maybe if you accept responsibility for Rose’s death, the rage will go away.”

“Rose is a bad girl.” Olivia could tell Bobby was looking at Phaedra, ignoring her words altogether. “If only she was a good girl. If only she loved me the way she loves her mother.”

“Who died when you rammed your truck into your house?” she asked, hoping to bring him back to a more present time.

It took him a moment to answer. “Hitchhiker. I spotted him on the way to the house and knew what I had to do: start over.”

“The opportunity was handed to me, really. I got a job at a hunting camp in Canada and met up with a cop from the Midwest who had recently retired. We became friends, a man on the run and a former cop. Ironic, isn’t it? He only had distant relations; his ex-wife was living out in California, and his only child had died in a car accident two years earlier. I couldn’t pass up that kind of gift. I killed him and became Basil Huntington. I used his bank account to change my face to match his and rejoined the force in St. Petersburg. When Max became a cop in Palomera, I put in a transfer. It took a while, but it eventually came through.”

“And if they’d checked, they’d have found that out. But there was no reason to. Except now they might, because of this psychic connection you have with the girl here.”

“Have to. The information you gave Max—and me— was too specific. There’s no other way you could have known as much as you did.” His voice lowered. “Did you get my messages?”

“I liked that, being able to talk to you through Phaedra. You probably feel bad for giving away our little escapee here. She wouldn’t have gotten out of here. As much as Max knows, he won’t find you here. Another irony, that the police have been looking all over for her and she’s been within sight of the police station the whole time. Sure made it easy to come and go.”

“And misjudge who to trust,” she added in a low voice. She’d trusted the lieutenant because Sam said he was at the station. She never thought he’d been within walking distance. That he was Max’s superior, that he’d stood up for Max during that press interview—that helped, too. Since he couldn’t lure her out, he’d resorted to going to her apartment after all. “What is this place?”

“An old bomb shelter. I discovered it by accident, going through some old clippings in the bottom drawer of my desk. During the Cuban Missile Crisis, the mayor was terrified of nuclear war. With all those nuclear weapons pointing right at us from Cuba, he managed to convince government officials to construct a bomb shelter. The public didn’t know about it. It was constructed right in front of them and billed as a water treatment facility. There was speculation, of course, as to what the strange facility was. That’s what the newspaper article was about.

“Years later, it was sealed on the police station side. When the new courthouse was completed and most of the employees had moved over, I started snooping and found the door hidden in a closet. It was perfect. Again, a golden opportunity. Close to hand, with the built-in excuse that the records department still hasn’t moved. I’ve had a lot of business with them lately.”

She heard him stand. “I’ll be back. I have to ditch the car. Tonight I’ll have to head on, just in case crazy Max does convince them to check those fingerprints.”

“No, but everybody thinks he is, thanks to you.” He sounded disappointed when he said, “And I was hoping to help him pick up the pieces once he failed to save you and Phaedra. But I’ll be back in his life again. I like to keep tabs on the boy.”

“He’s my son. It’s my right as his father. Besides, I’ve got to keep him in line.”

As soon as he opened the door, his cell phone rang. The shelter’s walls had probably blocked the signal. “That’ll be Max. He’s going to try so hard to save you. And he’s going to fall apart when he can’t.”

He closed the door again, and the ring died. “Max had lost his zest for life, so I gave him the case. I knew it would push him to the edge. But I didn’t count on you. You were an unforeseen complication… and an added bonus.”

“It is, isn’t it? Max wouldn’t have gotten this far if it weren’t for you and your spooky psychic thing. But that made it more interesting.” He paused. “You brought him back to life, too.”

“He’s smart. He’ll figure out who I am.” He sounded weary. “And once again, I’ll have to start over.”

“Don’t punish Max for that. He was only doing his job, a job you gave him.”

His voice went soft, and he sounded more like a boy when he said, “You didn’t hear the things he said about me when he told me about his father. He feels shame. He hates me. He wants me dead.”

“Those who sin must be punished. That’s the law.” He opened the door again, and a moment later his phone rang. “Think I’ll have a chat with my son, see how he’s holding up. I’ll send him your love.” The door closed.

It was all she could do not to give in to the urge to rail and cry and pound the bars. She had to keep her cool, if not for her own sake, for Phaedra’s.

CHAPTER 26

Max parked behind a grocery store and continued dialing Huntington’s cell phone. When he finally answered, his tone was normal, businesslike. “Lieutenant Huntington here.”

Max wanted to kill him, but he held in his rage and managed a similarly calm voice, “Where are they, Bobby?”

“Max, they all think you’re crazy down at the station. I think they’re right.”

It was that same voice that had haunted him for years. “Coward!” It stole his breath away and reminded him of being helpless. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. He still was. “You know I’m not.”

No, he was worse than crazy. “We can work this out. You don’t have to keep killing Rose.”

“I tricked her into it.” He didn’t want Bobby punishing her, too. “Look, Rose paid for her sins, and now it’s over.”

“But it’s never over, don’t you see? That’s why I have to keep taking them. It never goes away. I keep reliving it every leap year. This is the only way I can make it go away.”

Max could hear the anguish in Bobby’s words. He really believed that. “We can make it go away… together. Tell me where they are. We’ll meet there and talk.”

The strength returned to Bobby’s voice. “I can’t do that, Max. I have to follow through. All bad girls must be punished.”

The note had meant Olivia, too. He automatically reached over and ran his hand through Stasia’s soft hair. “You can’t punish Olivia for getting away from you. That was my doing. Punish me instead.”

“I already did, but it backfired. Your daughter—my granddaughter—wasn’t supposed to be in the car that day.”

“I didn’t mean for Ashley to be killed. I heard you say she was spending the weekend with Diana’s parents in Clearwater.”

Max felt that rush of blood to his head again. An earthquake had shaken his world when Olivia was taken, and the aftershocks kept coming. He couldn’t even speak for a moment, could only swallow back the bile rising in his throat. Stasia seemed to sense his pain; she laid her head on his thigh.

“Fine, so punish me in their place. Take me and let the girls go. You can kill two birds with one stone.”

“Ah, Max, always the hero. Well, you know what? I hate heroes. When you saved the Stevens kid, everyone fawned all over you. Just like they did my father. There are no true heroes, only men who pretend. But you, Max, you’ve given it your best shot, haven’t you? You’ve been fighting your greatest villain a long time: me. I can see it in your eyes. Every child molester, every murderer that you hunt down—it’s me, isn’t it?”

“But you can never defeat me. Just like I could never kill you, which does put a hitch in that noble gesture of yours.”

Bobby only laughed. “You had your chance. Remember, in the truck. You couldn’t kill me. And that’s the only way you’ll ever take me in. I’m your father; you’re my son. We have a bond, whether you like it or not. See, you stopped your heroic little dash when you were leading Olivia to safety. You stopped at the sound of my voice. I’m telling you now, Max, let me go. Drop your crazy allegations and accept defeat. Save your career. It’s the one thing you can save. And rest assured, we’ll meet again.” He disconnected.

Max wanted to throw the phone through the window, but he forced himself to set it on the seat. Wherever Olivia and Phaedra were had to be close to the station, close enough that Huntington could get back fast.

Huntington’s house. Max doubted he’d be that obvious, but he had to check it out.

After Diana’s and Ashley’s deaths, Huntington had invited him over for dinner. The house was simple, small. Max hadn’t been much of a conversationalist, and finally the awkward silences had prompted him to leave. He’d been surprised when Huntington had invited him back, but he’d declined. His father had wanted to get closer to him, had wanted to, in his sick way, comfort him for the pain he’d caused.

Fifteen minutes later, Max pulled into the driveway. It took him only a few more minutes to get into the house. Cops sometimes had the laxest security in their own homes. The house didn’t fit Olivia’s descriptions, but he had no place else to look.

There was no trace of them or anything that tied Bobby and Huntington together. He headed out and pulled into a busy parking lot around the corner. He jerked the map out of the glove box and spread it out against the dashboard.

“It’s Lieutenant Huntington. I still haven’t been able to locate the Howe woman. Has she called in?”

“No, sir,” O’Reilly said. “But Callahan’s gone off the deep end. He went to her apartment.”

“He took us by surprise. We just tried to intercept him at the apartment, but he’s gone. Howe and her dog are also gone. Lieutenant, Callahan made some pretty crazy allegations. He said you have the Howe woman and the Burns girl, and—”

“I know what he said. We just spoke on the phone. Are you familiar with his family history?”

Because he was ashamed, just as he had been ashamed of his father. But this was different. He was different. “I think this case has pushed him over the edge. For some reason, he’s starting to see his father in me. I’m worried about him, of course, but I think we can straighten him out before he does anything rash. I want you to bring him in. I’m afraid he’s going to do something to hurt himself. I’ll be on the lookout for him.” He hung up and turned off the phone. They’d never hear from him again.

He nearly walked right into a confrontation with Max, whose car was parked in Bobby’s driveway. He drove by and circled back ten minutes later. Max was gone. Bobby pulled into the driveway three doors down, weaved through backyards to his home, and took the stash of money and IDs he’d tucked away for just this occasion. A man had to be prepared, after all. He put on a dark wig and filled in his eyebrows. He’d have to get the gap in his teeth fixed right away. He had a few more errands to run, a car to procure. Once he left the courthouse after midnight, he would disappear again.

The gratitude came through beneath the surprise. Olivia knew exactly how she felt.

“Max and I have been trying to find you. Max is a detective, and he’s also this man’s son. He saved me once, when I was your age and the same man had taken me.”

Olivia felt a hitch in her chest. “I don’t know.” Their only hope would be if Max could talk his father into giving up. That was unlikely. She reached out again and touched the girl’s arm. Her sleeve was still damp from her dunk in the tub. “But he’s going to try his darnedest.” That’s how Max was, how he’d always be. She could accept that. Just as he, she realized, accepted her psychic quirks. He had given her the acceptance and understanding she’d always wanted. As long as he didn’t see her as Livvy, she could accept and understand his tendency to protect her. If she got a chance.

“I’m blind,” she said. “But I know what this place looks like. You couldn’t find a way out when you got out of the cage, could you?”

“Since we were both kidnapped by the same man, we have a… special connection. I’ve been seeing through your eyes.”

Olivia said, “When he cut you, when he left the food right outside the cage and told you not to eat it, could you feel me?”

So the connection didn’t go both ways. She’d wanted to comfort the girl so badly. Because she knew what Phaedra was thinking about now, she was finally able to give her that comfort. “Your parents are worried and they want you home. They love you very, very much.”

Phaedra slid her arms around Olivia’s neck and started crying. “I want to go home!”

“I know, honey; I know.” She held her close. Tears pricked her eyes as the girl sobbed in her ear. She wanted to go home, too. She wanted to cuddle with Stasia and feel Max’s arms around her. When she opened her eyes, she was startled to see green walls and the steel door. The door had six latches to lock out the world, but the metal slides had been disabled, probably so Phaedra couldn’t lock him out if she escaped the cage. “I can see!” She took in their surroundings, the hallway with the bathroom at the end, the oven not far away.

The world went black again. “It’s you. When I was holding you, I could see.” The connection was still there. She touched Phaedra, but her sight didn’t return.

She took Phaedra’s hands in her own. “We can’t give up yet. We have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

“We do?” she asked so hopefully it was painful. “You’ll get us out of here?”

Olivia squeezed her hands. “I’ll try my best. You picked the lock with a piece of metal. Is there any other piece like that?”

“Wow, you did see me. He checked the cage after that to make sure I couldn’t get out again. I don’t see anything else we could use.”

Would her daddy even remember her to realize she’d gone? “We need a plan. Have you ever seen him lock the door when he comes in here?”

“Yeah, I heard him unlock it from the outside when he brought me here. So that means the door isn’t locked while he’s here.”

“We could beat him up when he tries to get us out of here and make a run for the door.”

A blind woman and a child beat up a grown man? “I don’t think that’ll work. I didn’t see anything around here we could even use as a weapon.” Maybe it wasn’t a physical weapon they needed but an intellectual weapon. An emotional weapon. “Phaedra, I know you hate being Rose, but you could do it if it meant maybe escaping, couldn’t you?”

Olivia could hear the water dripping into the bathtub. In breathless loyalty, Phaedra said, “I can do anything you want.”

Time was running out, and Max was at a dead end. He threw the map into the backseat and banged his forehead against the steering wheel. The horn blared. Stasia put her paw on his leg. The dog actually looked worried.

He rubbed his eyes hard, feeling frustration and loss burning behind them. Had his comrades believed any of what he’d told them? Had they bothered to check into anything that could be verified, like Huntington’s fingerprints? Still, that would take too long.

No, it wasn’t too late, not yet. At midnight it would be too late. He had four hours left. He couldn’t lose Olivia now, not when he loved her.

The truth of that tightened his chest, making it feel as though it were imploding. His Livvy. No, not Livvy, not the scared girl she was afraid of being. Olivia, just Olivia.

He reached into the backseat and pulled her painting to the front. The paint was still damp. He traced his finger over the lines her fingers had created. She had seen where they were being held. It was here in her finger strokes. She’d painted an odd brick wall in the doorway, the one that had caught his attention before. Had he seen it somewhere?

When he was a boy, he used “X-ray vision” to see through buildings and find villains. He laid his fingers on the canvas and stared until his vision blurred. The Santa suit came back to mind.

Forget the suit. Where were the bricks? Bricks in a row. Columns of bricks. Someplace drab, a place he rarely went.

The Santa suit. The storage room at the police station. The room was as close to a basement as you could get in Florida, built a half-floor into the ground. His whole body felt electrified, and he had to hold himself back from starting the car and racing over. No, it didn’t make sense. It was the police station, and though it wasn’t often used, clerks did go in there from time to time. Besides, they might detain him. Then all hope would be lost.

It was all he had to go on, just like Olivia had once been all he’d had. He’d trusted her, and she’d helped him. He would never have gotten this far without her, would never have known his father was still alive.

When he parked in the back of the lot at the police station a few minutes later, he had to blink in disbelief. God, he was thinking of getaways from the police.

“Stay here, girl. I’ll be back soon.” His reassuring pat didn’t seem to reassure her at all, but she was better off in the car than going inside with him.

He walked casually into the building, bypassing the detectives’ area where he heard someone speculating as to where he might be. The storage room was dark and musty and full of stuff: a box of equipment for their annual soft-ball games, old computer equipment, and files. He glanced up on the top shelf. The Santa suit was still there.

He searched the outer walls, which were mostly redbrick. He didn’t see any aberration on the normal pattern, but most of the walls were lined with shelving units. It was the far unit that caught his eye. All he could see was a couple of inches around the perimeter of the unit—and those inches were bricks in one line.

He searched the room, shoving boxes and shelves out of the way, looking for a cage. Nothing. He turned back to the unit with the lined bricks and pulled it forward. It was heavier than he would have been able to handle if lives weren’t on the line. As soon as the shelf started tipping, he jumped out of the way. Boxes and equipment crashed to the concrete floor. Before the noise stopped echoing in his head, he climbed over the debris and laid his hands on the wall.

“What are you doing in here?” A woman stood in the doorway of the storage room, looking both annoyed and worried.

“My name’s Detective Callahan.” He swallowed. “Lieutenant Huntington’s division. I need to know what’s on the other side of this wall.” He knew he sounded on the edge. Hell, he was on the edge.

He turned back to the wall and started shoving at the bricks. They were solid, despite their amateur layout. He tried his breaking-down-the-door technique but only smashed his shoulder again. He kicked, punched. Damn it, he needed something heavier, like a car.

Nick Mathers, Sam, and John Holland all advanced into the storage room; the clerk hovered nervously behind them.

Max was covered in dust and sweat and probably looked a little mad. “What’s on the other side of this wall?”

Sam approached cautiously, while the other two detectives were ready to draw weapons. They really thought he was crazy.

“Olivia painted what the girl saw when she escaped the cage and hid in a doorway.” He put his hand on the bricks. “This is what she saw, this pattern. And it’s big enough to be an old doorway. They might be on the other side of this wall.”

Max pointed to the suit on the shelf. “He used that suit. I came down here before the abduction, thinking about whether I wanted to be Santa for the kids. The suit wasn’t there, and it gave me the excuse I needed to not do the gig. We know Phaedra was abducted by a man wearing a Santa suit. Now it’s back. It’s perfect. Who would think about looking in the police station’s storage room for the suit?”

“That’s not all of it. The man who took Phaedra knew about Olivia’s connection with the girl, which meant he was a cop, someone here who knew about the case. Huntington went to get Olivia but lied about her not being at the apartment. Did you talk to Judy?”

John smirked. “The retarded woman? Yeah, she sang ‘Jingle Bells’ for us. How does Terry Carlton fit into all this?”

“I think Terry caught Bob—Huntington at Olivia’s apartment. Since Terry could ID him, he had to be killed. We can’t help Terry, but we can help Olivia and Phaedra.” He touched the wall. “I’ve got three and a half hours to find them. He’ll drown them at midnight; that’s what he always does. Sam, you know that. You know everything. I need your help. If there’s nothing behind this wall, you can lock me up with the felons. You’ve got to help me find out for sure.” If this wasn’t the key, it would be too late. And what he’d endure being a detective locked up with felons would be nothing compared to what he’d be suffering inside if he failed.

The three men were considering him, taking in the mess he’d created. He knew their position. You couldn’t trust a crazy person. There would be repercussions if Max was wrong. Nick touched his cell phone and started to back out of the room. He was going to call in reinforcements.

Max made it easy on them. He grabbed Sam’s gun and pointed it at his head. “Don’t make me do something we’ll all regret. I’m not going to let him kill them. Sam, I’m sorry about this. You were just the closest one, that’s all. It was nothing personal.”

“I gave you the chance to help me. All you wanted to do was turn me in as some crazed wacko. I’m not crazy, Sam.” When the other two men started to move forward, he jammed the gun into Sam’s cheek. “But I am desperate. Throw your guns and phones on the floor. Now!”

His mind was spinning, but he couldn’t think beyond that minute. What would he do next? How far would he go? He made Sam bend down with him as he picked up the phones and guns and stuffed them into his pockets. He turned around and backed toward the door. If he could lock them in here, he’d have more time to talk Sam into helping.

“I have to do this, Sam. I can’t let them die. Maybe this mysterious place we’ve been looking for has been right here all along. I’ve got to check it—”

A flash of pain roared through his head. Everything went dark as he dropped to the floor.

CHAPTER 27

Even with a plan, Olivia’s heart lurched at the sound of the door opening. She had become hopeful that Max had found Bobby. It was nearly midnight. Phaedra’s breath quickened as well, and she wrapped her hands around Olivia’s arm. Olivia had a flash of vision, Bobby closing the door and walking toward the cage.

“My two Roses,” he said, crouching next to them. “It’s time for your bath, Rose. Such a dirty child. Why must you drive your mother to tears every time she tries to get you to bathe? I’m going to do it this time.” He started to unlock the cage.

Phaedra’s fingers dug into Olivia’s arm now. Olivia grimaced in pain as she scooted forward. She was afraid that the girl wouldn’t let go. Eventually she did, and he opened the door and pulled Olivia to her feet. Her legs were stiff, and she shook them out. He locked the cage again.

“Rose, come with me.” He led her toward the bathroom at the far end. Toward the tub full of water. “Don’t try to fight me. You’ll only hurt yourself.” Another drop fell into the tub of water.

She stopped, taking him by surprise. “Why do you keep calling me Rose, Bobby?”

With her free hand, she reached up in the vicinity of his face and eventually touched his cheek. He flinched. “Bobby, darling, I’ve always called you that. Since the day we married.”

She pointed toward that cage. “That’s our Rose. She has given us a bit of trouble, hasn’t she? But she’s only a child, Bobby, a normal child. You know how much I wanted a girl. How much she means to me.”

She gestured toward her body. “How can I be Rose? I’m a grown woman.” In a coy voice, she added, “Something you know well.” She dared to touch his face again; he didn’t move away this time. He did take hold of her wrist but held it there.

“Look at me, Bobby. I’m here, aren’t I?” She glanced toward Phaedra. “We’re together, one happy family.” She smiled, hoping it looked soft and genuine.

“We’re almost a family again.” She inserted just the right amount of wistfulness into her voice. She could smell the sweat on his body and could feel the heat coming off him.

She wasn’t expecting him to shove her against the wall, banging her head against the concrete, nor the anger in his voice, melted with anguish. “You left us!”

She nearly cried in relief. “I’m sorry, Bobby. I had to go. I was in such pain; Rose was gone… I couldn’t live anymore.”

“Why did you hurt me like that? I would have made things right. I’m a good father, not like him.”

Him? She kept playing along, trying to stay in safe territory. “But Rose was gone, and we couldn’t make that right again. We have a second chance now.”

He kissed her hard, shoving his tongue in her mouth. Still stunned from the smack against the wall, she tried to reciprocate. Play the part—don’t think about it; just play the part.

He pulled her hard against him now, holding her close, as though he was afraid she’d leave again. “I didn’t mean to kill her.”

“It was an accident. She fought you every time you tried to make her bathe, and you’d end up in tears. I wanted to fix it so she’d listen to you. I pushed her under the water, and she didn’t fight me anymore. It was nice, her not fighting.”

She squeezed him tight, even though his words repulsed her. “It’s all right now.”

“She doesn’t make me mad anymore. She’s a good girl now. Come here, Rose. Show Daddy how good you are.”

“Bobby, please don’t punish her anymore.” Her tears weren’t phony. She was crying for them, for Rose, and for every girl who had died in Rose’s place. “She’s a good girl now. She’s sorry for what she did.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Phaedra said, sending relief through Olivia that she could pull this off. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

She felt Bobby sag. “I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help hurting her. The rage was inside me; it was so powerful. It wouldn’t go away.”

“I know,” Olivia whispered, stroking his arm. “You wanted to be a good father, that’s all. But it’s OK now. We’re a family again. Let Rose out of the cage so we can be together. Please, Bobby. You love me, don’t you?”

She heard hire fiddle with the lock. She waited for Phaedra to stretch her legs and give the sign that she was ready to bolt. “Hi, Father.”

Damn. Phaedra was supposed to wait until he was distracted. She lunged toward him just as Phaedra struggled to open the door. “Bobby, please don’t hurt her! You’ve hurt her enough.” Her arms tightened around his shoulders as he tried to fling her off. He finally managed to throw her. She hit the floor and tried to roll away. Had Phaedra gotten out?

“You betrayed me again,” he growled, and before Olivia could move out of his grasp, his hands clamped around her neck. “You were going to go to the police and tell them I killed Rose. You were going to turn me in! I had to stop you then, and I’ll stop you now. You must be punished, Marie.”

He’d drowned Marie. The horrid realization flashed through her mind as he dragged her toward the bathroom. She kicked and fought, but as she’d predicted earlier, she was no physical match for him. Her emotional weapon had backfired. She hadn’t thought about him having killed Marie, too.

She heard a sound beyond the bathroom. Oh, God, please don’t let that be Phaedra crying out there. Please let her be long gone, getting help.

The water was cool as he twisted her painfully and shoved her into the tub. Water gushed up her nose, but she kept her mouth closed. She scratched at his hands pressing on her chest, pushing her down against the hard surface of the tub floor. The urge to breathe was made stronger by her panic. She pushed to the surface, fighting and scratching. Her nails made contact, clawing across his skin. He grunted in pain.

She didn’t have time to prepare for his backlash. He took hold of her head and slammed it against the side of the tub. The breath she’d managed to take rushed out. Pinpricks of painful light flashed through her mind. She fell from consciousness.

Max had been pounding on the bars for close to an hour. The only other guy in the temporary lockup was some drunk who’d pissed on a building. At first he’d gleefully joined Max’s tirade, but he’d long ago tired of it and fallen back asleep. The guard had made himself scarce.

Max rested his raw throat for a few minutes, his head pressed against the cold bars. The panic and fury had given way to an ache that wracked every cell in his body. He didn’t even know what time it was. They’d taken his watch, and there was no clock in view. When lie was about to start his verbal tirade again, he heard the door open.

Sam walked in, his cell phone pressed to his ear. “Thank you, sir. I’ll explain later.” He disconnected as he reached Max. “I asked the mayor if he knew about some room on the other side of our storage room. He’s been in local government for a long time; I figured he might know. As soon as he started talking about the bomb shelter that was built years ago between the courthouse and our building, I grabbed a gun and came down here to get you. The shelter’s been sealed for ages. He said it went from our storage room to a closet on the first floor of the courthouse.” He slid a key into the lock.

“A bomb shelter,” Max croaked. “It would have a kitchen, telecommunications-type room… just like Olivia said.” Sam was nodding. Max said, “But you don’t believe in Olivia’s connection.” He stepped out of the cell.

“No, but you do, enough to put your ass on the line. We’ve been friends a long time. If you believe so strongly, then I’m with you. I should have been all along.”

Max and Sam tore out of there. Max was still a little light-headed from the knock on his head, but he couldn’t let a wave of dizziness stand in his way. They exited the building and ran across the parking lot to the courthouse. Sam slipped inside the dark building first and started searching the empty offices. Max motioned him toward a door halfway down the hallway that he knew was a closet.

Now he was even more aware of every passing second as he saw the digital clock in the one occupied office on the left: 12:02. The numbers burned his eyes as the words Too late! Too late! screamed through his brain. He couldn’t give up. Like those agonizingly long minutes as he ran across the macadam with Olivia’s small hand clutched in his, and his muscles burning and his head pounding, he had to keep going.

He and Sam moved like shadows, in sync just as they used to be. The closet door was closed but not locked. Max flipped on the light. One of the shelving units was askew. He pushed it aside and looked at the wall behind it. It looked ordinary, wood-paneled like the other walls. Why had the unit been moved? He pushed on the wall, and the paneling swung away from him and into a dark area—that revealed a steel door.

He didn’t have time to think about his approach. He shoved the heavy door forward and found the bomb shelter. The walls were green, the floor concrete. The kitchen was clean and the cage sitting in the middle of the floor was empty. As he registered a whimpering sound coming from the left of the steps, he heard thrashing sounds toward the right. He took only a second to see Phaedra crouched beside the steps, her hands in her mouth. He followed the sounds of splashing water to a bathroom at the end of the hall as

Max’s heart dropped to his shoes at the sight: the man he’d known as Huntington, kneeling by the tub holding Olivia under the water. He wanted to rush up and smash him, but he didn’t want to make himself a liability. He drew his gun and yelled, “Let her up!”

Bobby jerked around to face Max. He brought Olivia out of the water with the movement. She wasn’t fighting anymore; she was using all her strength just sucking in air.

Max tightened his grip on the gun and willed his hands to stop shaking. “Let her go and step away.”

Bobby only smiled. The eyes might be a different color, but they were his father’s eyes, filled with gloating evil. And Max was that boy again, waiting to see what his father would do.

“Max, you’re good; I’ll give you that.” He glanced behind him. “What, no cavalry?”

“I’m right here,” Sam said from behind Max. “Huntington—or whoever you really are—think about what you’re doing here. Move away from Olivia.”

Huntington surprised them by pulling a gun and pointing it at Olivia. He looked at Sam. “This is between me and my son. Get out of here or I kill her like this.” When Max tightened his grip on the trigger, Bobby said, “You could shoot me, but I’ll shoot her, too.”

After a tense moment, Max turned to Sam. “Let me handle this. Go take care of Phaedra.”

Sam would take the girl and go for help. Bobby had to know that. And that meant he knew there was no way out of this. Max swallowed hard. Bobby had nothing to lose. Olivia was reaching out with one droopy hand, trying to gain her bearings. Max had everything to lose.

Again, to Max’s surprise, Bobby set the gun down without hesitation. “This is between us now.”

Bobby’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t do that, Max. Then you’ll be the big hero, and I’ll be sitting in prison. That just won’t work for me. So here’s the deal.” He pushed Olivia back under the water. “You’ll have to kill me if you want to win. Can you kill your own father? I think you’re too much of a coward. Let’s see what my boy’s got.”

An explosion rocked Olivia out of the encroaching blackness. Her body jerked in response to it. The pressure of Bobby’s hand on her chest eased. She burst out of the water and sucked in air—then coughed violently. She got the impression of being surrounded by the color red. A coppery smell filled her nostrils. His hands were still on her, though he was no longer gripping her. What had happened? She didn’t give herself time to think about it. As he slumped into the tub, she pushed him away and reached for the side.

Max’s voice! He pulled her out of the tub and into his arms. Still coughing and pulling in breaths, she was too weak to even stand. He hoisted her up and carried her out of the bathroom and down the hallway. She wasn’t too weak, however, to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face against his shoulder.

He carried her up the steps, through the smaller room, and down the hallway. The outside air was cold against her wet body, and she pulled closer to Max.

He sat down on the front steps and kissed her forehead. “Can you breathe all right?”

She heard voices rushing toward them. “Max, what happened?” Sam O’Reilly’s voice said.

“No, you did it. I couldn’t get the door open. It was too heavy. And I was so scared when I heard him hurting you.” Her shame was clear.

Olivia squeezed her hand. “It’s all right, sweetie. All that matters is that the bad man will never hurt you again. I promise,” she managed between wheezing breaths.

“Shh,” Max said against her ear. “Save your breath.” He reached over to Phaedra. “Little girl, you don’t know how happy I am to see you. Are you OK?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Phaedra hugged Olivia close. “You were right; Max did save us.”

“Your painting told me where you were. The brick pattern was the same one I’d seen in the police station’s storage room.”

Footsteps continued going in and out of the doorway, and various voices discussed what they’d seen down there.

“Olivia, I’m sorry I doubted you.” It was Sam O’Reilly’s voice again. “I took Phaedra to the station and got backup, but she wanted to come back and make sure you were all right. An ambulance is on the way.”

“Yeah, he’s dead. But your shot only hit him in the shoulder. He fell into the tub and it looks like he drowned.”

A minute later another man’s voice said, “What the hell is going on around here? First I’m called because one of my men has gone bonkers. And now…”

Max said, “Captain, this is Phaedra Bums. That’s the important thing right now. Call her parents and tell them to come get their girl. I’ll explain everything else later.”

An ambulance pulled up, sirens pulsing through the night air. A minute later, a man said, “Are they all right?”

“Yeah, they are,” Max said in a voice that revealed he still couldn’t believe it. He brushed Olivia’s hair back from her face. “But give them a look-over just to be sure. We’ll need some blankets, too.”

After Olivia and Phaedra had been examined, a female officer took Phaedra to the station. Max swaddled Olivia in a scratchy wool blanket.

She heard the stretcher clatter by as they took Bobby away. Even though he couldn’t hurt her anymore, Max still tightened his hold on her as it passed.

“Olivia, why do you keep blinking?” He bracketed her eyes with his fingers. “Are your eyes all right?”

She lifted her hand in front of her face. Slowly, she looked up at him. “Max… I can see.”

Epilogue

Max made a sound of frustration. “I got used to the ties, but bow ties are a whole other matter.”

Olivia set her shawl on the corner of her bed and slid her arms around him from behind. “I wish I could help. More important, I wish I could see just how handsome you look in that tux.”

He swung around and before she even knew what happened, he’d pinned her down on the bed. “Let’s just blow the whole thing off and fool around all night instead.”

She let him get away with a long mind-bending kiss before playfully pushing him off. “No way. We’ve earned this night. I, for one, am going to enjoy it. Besides, it means a lot to the Burnses, and to Phaedra.”

The Burnses had insisted on arranging for an appreciation dinner. They’d invited everyone who had helped with the investigation, including Judy. Olivia and Max were going to pick her father up on their way to the hall. Stasia would be there, too, of course. Max wasn’t thrilled at his and Olivia being the guests of honor.

He got to his feet and pulled her up. “They could have just treated us to dinner at one of their restaurants. I would have been happy with that.”

“For saving their daughter? I don’t think they would have been happy with that.” She pinched his cheek. “It’s only one night.”

All Olivia could see of him was a dark blur as he stood before the mirror and fiddled with the tie again. It was more than she’d seen of anything in so long, she was grateful for that. Dr. Bhatti and Dr. Marano had been studying the gradual return of her sight. One theory was that Olivia had indeed sustained a minute brain injury sixteen years ago. That injury may have caused some visual problems, but no one knew because of the conversion disorder. The recent knock to her head reversed that initial damage, and, oddly enough, Marano thought Max’s love had reversed the conversion disorder. Or, more specifically, her acceptance that she needed his love had reversed it. It would take time before they’d know how much of her vision would return, but as long as she had Max by her side, she’d handle whatever it turned out to be.

“Are Sam and Annie going to be there?” she asked. “When we had lunch last week, it sounded like they were going to go as a family. She’s really trying to get past the Helene thing.”

“Last I heard, they were all going to be there. I think they’re going to make it work. Aha, got it.”

“Good.” She ran her fingers over the bow tie. “Speaking of family, have you decided when to visit Odette and make peace?”

Right or wrong, Max had left out her obstruction of justice in his report. He couldn’t bear to see her prosecuted for her blind devotion. “Maybe we can drive out next week.”

We. Both of them. Max had come home with her on Christmas Night, and they’d spent every night since together. She knew he was giving her space, trying not to overwhelm her or threaten her sense of independence. He was letting her set the pace. They’d been talking about making his house into a place where mentally challenged people like Judy could learn to live independently. Tonight, after the dinner, Olivia was going to suggest they move ahead with the plan… because he wouldn’t need a place of his own anymore. His home was here, with her, holding her so close at night that she’d never felt safer. Or more loved.

But there was something she needed to know first. She slid her arms around him, facing him this time. “Is the whole hero thing the reason you don’t like the idea of this dinner? Is that why you turned down the promotion to lieutenant? You haven’t talked much about what happened. You don’t have to hold it inside anymore. You don’t have to face it alone.” She swallowed the thickness from her voice, giving away, even to herself, how much his silence on the matter was bothering her. “It must have been hard to shoot your own father, no matter how evil he was. Please talk to me, Max.”

He touched her face the same way she often touched his. “I didn’t mean to shut you out, love. I guess I’ve just been trying to work it out in my mind.” He held her closer and let out a long breath. “It was harder than I thought it would be. After all he’d done to me, to those girls… you… I thought I could pull that trigger without hesitation. He played the same mind games he used to play with me, making me feel like that helpless kid again. He called me a coward and told me I’d have to kill him if I wanted to win. When he pushed you under the water again, his power over me evaporated. All that mattered was saving you.”

“But that’s the way you are. You’d shoot to save anyone’s life. Whether you like it or not, you’re a—”

“Being a hero is a charade. All my life I drove myself because I was afraid to be anything less. But when I knew he had you”—he moved his finger to brush her cheek— “everything changed. All I knew was that I couldn’t lose you. That’s what drove me, not anything rooted in my childhood, not an ongoing quest to eradicate my father. I realized there was another reason to do what I do—because I love doing it. I never loved being a cop; I was driven to it. Driven to rescue damsels in distress, driven to right the wrongs of the world. But now I want to do it because… well, because I want to do it. That’s why I turned down the promotion. I need to really earn it, in my mind.”

He tilted her chin up. “I’m ready to let the past go. When I look ahead, all I see is you.”

“Hey, I thought you wanted to go to this dinner,” he half-protested between kisses.

Now You See Me

By

Tina Wainscott

Contents