Kidnapped At Christmas. Barb Han
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sit down.”
Stephanie shot her an apprehensive look.
“Well, then maybe you should rethink going to the hospital to get checked out.” Meg eyed the cup of coffee in Stephanie’s shaking hand, wishing her friend had gone for the calming tea, instead.
“The ibuprofen is already kicking in. I’ll be fine. I’m just so glad...” Another stream of tears slid down Stephanie’s cheeks. She turned her back and sniffed.
“Let’s not even go there. None of this is your fault.” Meg held her baby a little closer. “And she’s right here. Fine. Look at her.”
A knock on the glass out front startled them both.
“That’s probably him,” Meg said.
“Stay right here. I’ll check.” Stephanie was out of the room in a flash and Meg figured her friend needed to work off some of her stress energy. The adrenaline would wear off soon, and she was afraid Stephanie was in for one monster headache when it did.
Her own nerves were on edge after the day’s events and thinking about seeing Wyatt again didn’t help. Based on his actions earlier, he planned to be in Aubrey’s life, and Meg would have to get used to her body’s reaction to him. Her heart seized a little bit at the thought he didn’t want to be in hers, too. What did she expect?
Sure, they’d connected last year with chemistry she’d never experienced before, and that spark between them, mentally and physically, had produced amazingly hot sex. And a baby, a little voice reminded, grounding her.
“Ready?” Wyatt examined her and the baby in her arms. He was the kind of man who would do the right thing by his child no matter how he felt personally about the child’s mother. On the one hand, there was something encouraging about the sentiment. At least Aubrey would have a father.
Meg stood and reached for the diaper bag. Wyatt moved beside her in a beat, taking it from her. He hadn’t asked to hold the baby yet, and this was the closest he’d been to her since they’d found her. Not exactly encouraging, but it could’ve been so much worse.
Based on the crease in his forehead, the one he got when he was deeply contemplating something, he needed a little time to process. His daughter had almost been kidnapped.
“Wyatt, meet your daughter, Aubrey,” Meg said.
A flash of emotion passed behind his eyes as he looked at her but he seemed to get hold of it. “She’s a pretty little girl.”
“Do you want to hold her?” she asked.
“Not yet,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later, the four of them arrived at the sheriff’s office.
Janis, the sheriff’s receptionist, rose to her feet. “We’ve spoken on the phone a few times. Come on in. The sheriff is waiting for you.” She wrapped Meg and the baby in a big hug before leading them down the hall.
Sawmill got to his feet and extended his hand. “Please, sit down.”
The sheriff’s office was large, simple. There was a huge mahogany desk with an executive chair and two flags on poles standing sentinel to either side. A picture of the governor was centered in between the poles. Two smaller-scale leather chairs nestled up to the desk. A sofa and table with a bronze statue of a bull rider on a bull were on the other side of the room. Meg and Stephanie took the leather chairs across the sheriff’s desk. Wyatt stood a few feet behind Meg’s chair, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.
“I wish I could remember more about the man who attacked me. I’m just so glad everything turned out okay.” Stephanie’s shoulders seemed set in a forward slump. She shot another apologetic look at Meg as more tears welled.
“You were brave today. Without you, this could’ve turned out very differently,” Wyatt said, and there was admiration in his otherwise tight voice. It was probably easier for him to sympathize with Stephanie, or anyone who wasn’t Meg considering the bomb she’d dropped on him.
He put his hand on Meg’s shoulder and she ignored the sensual zing of electricity that always came with his touch. After a year, it hadn’t dimmed and that caught her off guard. She’d had the same reaction in the parking lot of the restaurant but was too stressed to acknowledge it.
“Mr. Daron, the park worker, gave the sketch artist very little to work with, so we’re hopeful his build will seem familiar to one of you.” Sawmill picked up a folder on top of a stack of papers on his desk. He showed them the sketch.
Stephanie balked. “He could be half the town. I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup if he was standing right in front of me and I actually knew what he looked like.”
Meg stared at the image. It was like a bomb exploded in her brain and yet she had no idea why. She could feel Sawmill’s eyes on her, examining her. The blast from the past nearly crippled her. She remembered being in this very office, although the furniture was different then. There had been a different person in the chair opposite her and an overenthusiastic rookie investigator grilling her for answers.
A scared ten-year-old had sat in the chair in Meg’s place. Being here, sitting in this very spot caused a lot of bad memories to crash down around her.
Meg took in a fortifying breath. She was no longer an innocent kid being railroaded by a system that too often protected criminals’ rights more than victims’. Besides, she’d grown into a woman. Everything in her life had changed since then.
The baby stirred in her arms and looked like she was winding up to cry. Like a balloon deflating, she blew out a breath and made a sucking noise before settling into her mother’s arms again.
Meg forced the old thoughts out of her mind—thoughts that had her feeling vulnerable and alone.
“I don’t know. Nothing about him looks familiar at all and yet I feel like I should know who he is.” She scooted closer to the image, but Sawmill was already up and coming around his desk with the paper in hand.
She took the drawing from him and studied it. Her brain hurt from thinking so hard and she was coming up empty. “All I’m getting is a headache.”
But then Stephanie had been the one with Aubrey when she’d been taken. She turned to her friend. “Does he look familiar to you?”
“You’ve never seen him before?” Sawmill said to Meg, a hauntingly similar note of disappointment in his voice. He had been hoping for better news, based on his tone.
Meg pushed but nothing came except more pain that felt a lot like a brain cramp. “I’m sorry.”
Sawmill turned to Stephanie. “What about you, Ms. Gable? Do you know anyone with a similar shape or build?”
She was already shaking her head before he finished his question. “No, sir. Not one person in particular.”
“Do you have any idea what age he might be?” Wyatt asked.
“Twenty-five to forty-five,” the sheriff supplied.
Not exactly reassuring.
“There must be more to go on than that,” Wyatt said. All signs of his casual swagger were gone, replaced by chiseled facade.
“White, male,” the sheriff added.
“What about the hair ribbon?” Meg asked, hoping for some good news. “Is it connected to the case?”
“There’s no information from forensics yet, ma’am. It might take a few weeks. I called in a favor to see if the results can be fast-tracked. The town’s been through enough already without citizens feeling like their families are no longer safe here.” The flash of frustration was quickly replaced by determination.
Meg studied the image on the paper in front of her. Fear rippled through her. But why? What was it about him? Was it the fact that this man had tried to kidnap her daughter? Those words were like gut