A Hero In Her Eyes. Marie Ferrarella
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mind went numb. And then anger washed over him. White, hot anger. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
She tried not to take offense. “Nothing about kidnapping, or finding a kidnapped child, is a joke, Mr. Banacek.”
His anger had no direction; she was the only target available. “Stop calling me Mr. Banacek—you make me feel like this is a corporate meeting.”
“All right—Walker, then,” she allowed cautiously, watching his eyes.
He struggled to be reasonable. “How did you know about the toe shoe?”
In all the stories, the police had kept this one fact back, thinking somehow it might be a clue that would allow them to separate the truthful from the frauds who called in, looking for their fifteen minutes of fame.
“I saw it.”
He told himself not to believe. But no one knew about the shoes that had meant so much to Bonnie. “Saw it? Saw it where?”
“It was in the pocket of her overalls. She was wearing a pair of worn overalls that were too large for her. She kept the toe shoe in her pocket to make her feel better, careful to hide it from whomever it was who’d taken her.”
It took effort to keep the wave of emotion in check, to keep it from pounding down on him like a driving rain. Very quietly, he walked back to the chair he’d just vacated and sat down.
Gripping the arms of the chair, he tried to make himself relax, and succeeded only marginally.
“All right, Eliza, you have my attention.”
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