Heir To Secret Memories. Mallory Kane
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day she’d found out she was pregnant she’d vowed she would keep her daughter, no matter what she had to do.
She knew the pain of abandonment—the hollow, terrifying fear of having no one. Katie would never spend one day frightened and alone, not if Paige were alive to prevent it. She would give her life to keep her daughter safe.
Paige shook her head and tried to concentrate on the awful music from the cabbie’s radio, but her brain wouldn’t let go of the past. She recalled the day six years before when she’d happened to glance at the society page, the day she’d found out who Johnny really was.
He was the son of shipping magnate, Madison Yarbrough, heir to a fortune so vast she couldn’t even imagine it. His family was the Yarbroughs.
Staring at a photograph of Johnny and his father captioned “Son Follows In Father’s Footsteps,” Paige had finally seen her worst nightmare come true.
He had never cared about her or intended to marry her. Their whole relationship had been a lie. He’d just been a rich kid slumming. She’d imagined all sorts of horrible reasons he hadn’t come back for her, but she’d never even considered the simplest one.
He hadn’t wanted to.
Then three years later, she’d seen his photograph in the paper again. This time it was the sensational story of his kidnapping played out on TV. She’d waited with the rest of the city, suffered along with his father, until the police found the bloodstained car and concluded that John Andrew Yarbrough was dead.
Now her daughter was six years old, and Paige had struggled and sacrificed to create a good life for the two of them. A safe, steady life.
No odd coincidence of a drawing with a familiar signature could change that. There had to be another explanation.
Maybe someone had unearthed one of Johnny’s old sketches and either unconsciously or deliberately copied the style and the signature. That would explain the recent date.
As bizarre as that idea was, it was easier for Paige to believe than the alternative…that Johnny wasn’t dead at all. That he was alive and well, living his privileged life and selling sketches of their intimate moments as a lark.
She stirred as the cab stopped in front of her apartment.
As she paid the driver, a car door opened at the curb and a small figure dressed in very long jeans and a very short top got out. It was Katie’s baby-sitter.
The teenager’s painted eyes were wide under her short straight hair. “Ms. Reynolds, I was just—”
Concern about Katie sharpened Paige’s voice. “Dawn? What’s going on here?” She looked toward her apartment. The front door was ajar.
Dawn pouted. “I was just…saying good-night to my boyfriend.”
Paige grabbed the girl’s arm. “Where is Katie?”
Dawn looked at her with eyes wide. “She’s right inside. She’s asleep.”
Paige tightened her grip on the girl’s arm. “You never, ever leave a child alone. Don’t you know that? Not for an instant.” She was so angry and worried that her voice shook.
“Katie’s asleep, Ms. Reynolds,” Dawn said in a small voice. “She’s fine. I was only out here for a minute.”
Rooting in her purse Paige found some bills. “Here. Have your boyfriend take you home.”
As she ran toward the door, she called back to the girl. “I will be talking to your mother, Dawn.”
Telling herself she was overreacting, but unable to shake her unease, Paige pushed the door open.
The first thing she saw was the phone lying in the middle of the living room floor, its torn cord twisted and raw, like the innards of a dead snake. She stared at it for a second, her brain not processing what she was seeing.
Katie!
She ran through the tiny hallway to Katie’s room. “Katie?” she whispered.
No answer.
Paige pushed the door open. Dawn had assured her that Katie was sleeping, but something was wrong. The room felt odd—empty. She fumbled for the bedside lamp with a trembling hand.
“Katie, sweetie. I’m home.”
Light flooded the room. It looked just like it had earlier in the evening, except that the bedclothes were rumpled and her daughter was gone.
“It’s okay. It’s been a weird evening,” she whispered, trying to calm her growing panic. Katie often slept in Paige’s room.
“Katie!”
She ran into her bedroom, throwing on every light switch she passed, but Katie wasn’t there.
“Katie.” Her voice cracked. “Where are you?”
She put her hand over her mouth, trying to hold in a scream.
It’s okay. It’s probably nothing. But her heart knew her brain was lying.
The bedroom phone had been ripped from the wall, too. She stared at it. It lay on the floor, ominous proof of a truth so awful, Paige couldn’t let herself believe it.
Her breath stuck in her throat.
She backed out of her bedroom and rushed into the little kitchen. The back door was open.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “Oh, no.”
“Katie!” Tears streaked down her face and tasted like blood in her mouth. Somehow her shaky legs carried her back to Katie’s bedroom.
She stared at the bed. It was so awfully empty, a small hollow in the pillow the only sign her daughter had been there.
She couldn’t keep trying to fool herself. She knew.
Her daughter was gone.
She touched the pillow, plumping it. She reached for the sheet, but her fingers couldn’t hold on to the material.
“Oh, Katie.” She put her hands over her mouth. “Katie! Where are you?” she screamed into her hands.
Her gaze searched the room as if she might find her daughter hiding behind a chair, or under the bed. As if the last few minutes were just a bad dream and Katie was playing a joke.
There was a noise from somewhere in the room. It took a few seconds for the sound to penetrate Paige’s anguish. She lifted her head. What was it?
The noise sounded again, a terrible, electronically cheerful chirp in the middle of Paige’s horror.
“A cell phone?” she muttered. Was that a cell phone? She didn’t have a cell phone. It was here, somewhere, in Katie’s room.
She rooted through the bedclothes, tossing pillows, pulling off the bedspread.
There it was, lying like a big black bug in her daughter’s bed. She grabbed it, jabbing at buttons that seemed stuck or broken. Finally one gave.
“Hello? Hello? Who is this?” she screamed, terror paralyzing her, darkening her vision.
She listened, but there was no sound.
“Please…who is this? Katie?” she cried.
Still nothing but silence.
“Talk to me!” she shouted, then shook the phone, desperation giving way to frustration. “Answer me! Where is my daughter?”
“Now, now, Paige, there’s no need to shout. Your daughter is just fine,” an obviously disguised voice said.
She almost dropped the phone. Relief burned through her like a firestorm. Her throat closed. “Who is this? Where is Katie?” she croaked.
“I told you, she’s fine.” The raspy whisper—Paige couldn’t tell if it were male