Unbreakable Bond. Rita Herron
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flickered off her creamy skin and highlighted her golden hair, and a surge of sexual attraction shot through him.
Damn. Not good.
Determined to avoid personal involvement, he jerked his eyes away from her, started the engine and drove back to GAI headquarters.
He parked and told Nina he’d call her in the morning. A storm cloud rumbled, threatening rain, and she thanked him again and climbed from the car.
“Get some sleep,” he called just before she turned away.
But her distressed look indicated that she didn’t expect to rest, that dreams of her daughter haunted her nights.
Slade had his own share of nightmares, and as much as he’d like to comfort her, he wasn’t a hero. The men he’d lost were.
But he would investigate.
Tomorrow he’d ask Gage and Amanda to pull all the police and medical reports from the hospital. Maybe Amanda could use her expertise to determine if Peyton Nash’s body had been among those in the fire.
NINA’S PHONE WAS RINGING as she let herself into her house. Thinking it might be Slade, she hurried to answer it.
But the voice on the other end of the line startled her. William.
“Nina, what the hell are you doing hiring a private investigator?”
Nina tensed at the rage in his tone. “How do you know I hired a P.I.?”
“Dr. Emery called. He’s worried that you’re having another breakdown.”
Nina gripped the phone tighter. “Well, I’m not. And what I do is none of your business, William. You gave up that right the day you walked out on me and our baby.”
“Listen to me, Nina. I don’t need some nosy P.I. in my business, especially asking questions about something that happened years ago.”
“Something that happened?” Nina said, her own fury mounting. “What happened was that your daughter went missing. That I was told she died, but that no one ever proved it or even bothered to look for her.”
“For God’s sake, you need psychiatric help,” William bellowed. “My mother tried to warn me, but I thought eventually you’d come to your senses.”
“Maybe you don’t want me asking questions because you have something to hide,” Nina said between clenched teeth.
William’s breath wheezed with anger. “If you make trouble for me, Nina, I’ll make sure everyone at the school where you teach knows just what a basket case you are. Do you think the people of Sanctuary will want an obsessive nutcase teaching their precious children?”
Adrenaline sizzled through Nina’s blood. “Are you threatening me, William?”
“Take it however you want, Nina, just leave me alone and tell that P.I. to do the same.”
Nina started to shout at him, but he slammed down the phone, cutting her off.
She stared at the dead phone in her hand, then dropped it into its cradle, paced to the mantel and picked up Peyton’s photo. “I won’t give up,” she whispered. “Not even if William did threaten me.”
In spite of her resolve not to do it, she walked into the bedroom, dragged on her nightshirt then slipped open the drawer where she’d stowed the tiny pink dress with the butterflies on it that she’d bought years ago. The outfit she’d planned for Peyton to wear home. She knew it was crazy to have kept it. Pathetic.
But she crawled in bed, pressed it to her chest and inhaled the sweet scent of fabric softener.
Then she closed her eyes and imagined her daughter coming home.
EIGHT-YEAR-OLD REBECCA Davis fumbled for her glasses, sweeping her hand across the desk in the bedroom at her foster parents’ house. Without the glasses, she was nearly blind. But at least the social worker had gotten her a computer with big print.
She hated the clunky glasses though. They were too big for her face, and some of the kids teased her and called her Four Eyes.
Other kids looked at her with pity just because she was handicapped, and she didn’t have a mommy.
She didn’t want them to feel sorry for her. She did want a mommy though.
She clicked on the keyboard, brought up her journal and began to type.
Mommy, I know you’re out there somewhere. I prayed that you would find me on Mother’s Day but that’s passed, so maybe you will on my birthday.
I don’t like it here. The house is dark and dusty. And Mama Reese says her knees hurt too much to play with me outside. Papa Reese’s cigarettes make my eyes itchy and watery and then I cough, and then he tells me to shut up. They don’t like my singing either.
I have to sing though. I dream sometimes that you’re looking for me. That you didn’t just leave me. That we just got losted from each other, and that you can hear me. That one day you’ll follow my voice and come and get me.
She swiped at a tear running down her cheek. Crying was for babies but sometimes she couldn’t help it. Sniffling and swallowing to hold back more tears, she finished the journal entry.
I know I look kind of dorky, and I’m little for my age, and I can’t run like the other kids. And one of my eyes looks funny because I can’t see out of it, but I take my medicine every day so I don’t have the seizures anymore.
I’m getting better in school, too. I’m only a year behind. I’ve been practicing my writing, and I can almost make the letters right now. I can pour my own cereal and make my own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And I don’t mind wearing hand-me-downs if you don’t have much money.
Please come and get me, Mommy. I promise not to be any trouble.
She saved her entry, then pulled on her pj’s and crawled in bed. Then she closed her eyes and prayed her mommy would hear her this time and come to get her as she began to sing….
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