CA 50.7 Little Girl Lost (3 page)

"Jenna." Paul touched her arm. She trembled, unable to suppress the reaction. Those blue eyes of his—the same ones she had looked into this afternoon in that damned institute—searched hers. "Please let me help you."

Fury obliterated any softer emotions that had crept in beneath her defenses. "Go back to Chicago, Paul. Back to that hotshot Colby Agency where you work and pretend that it doesn't bother you that you and all their resources couldn't find our daughter." The ache exploded inside her. How could he come here and pretend to know what was best?

He had given up!

Paul reached for her again, and she backed away.

"Six years," he said quietly. "We searched and searched. I did everything I knew to do. The FBI, the LAPD, my connections at Homeland Security, private investigators—no one was able to find her then or now. Not a single trace. She's gone, Jen. Last year you almost lost your life to the denial. At some point we have to move on. It's past time."

That was his answer. Give up and move on. "I'm just supposed to forget about my baby?" She shook her head. "Impossible. I won't ever stop looking."

The urge to tell him what she believed burgeoned in her throat. But she couldn't. If she was wrong—again—he and her mother might really do something extreme. They had threatened to after what had happened last year. Of course, her mother would need to be sober to do anything.

Jenna might be living in denial, but that was better than drowning herself with booze like her mother or burying herself in work like Paul. The fact was, none of them had a life anymore. Frankly, Jenna didn't want one if it meant her daughter was lost to her forever.

"This is killing you," he murmured in the voice that made her want to believe he still cared.

But that was impossible. They hadn't been intimate in years. How could she even think about personal pleasure with her baby out there somewhere. lost? For the first three years after their baby had gone missing they had been completely wrapped up in the search. United in their determination. By the time five years had elapsed Paul had admitted defeat. Year six had been an endless nightmare of battles and frustrations.

Last year he had taken that job in Chicago and left her to stare at the four walls of what had been their home outside L.A.

"Our divorce is only days from being final," she reminded him. "Go back to solving other people's problems and leave me alone."

"Whatever you're doing here," he insisted, concern cluttering his face, "I'm really worried about you, Jen. You need help."

Another blast of outrage slammed her. "You're right. I do need help. The problem is I can't count on you to give it to me or our little girl." She'd show him. She would find their baby.

Maybe she already had.

Not maybe. Jenna was as certain as any mother who hadn't seen her child in seven years could be.

Paul was the one backing away this time. He dropped his arms to his sides and shook his head. She'd gotten him where it hurt, and she struggled to ignore a twinge of guilt at the agony on his face.

"Now, if you don't leave—" she tugged the cell phone from the pocket of her trousers "—I'm calling the police. They know this neighborhood well, so they can be here lickety-split."

Silently she counted to three, praying with each passing second that he would go away and leave her be.

"Tell me what you're doing here and I'll go," he offered, his own anger coloring his tone.

Her cell vibrated and she jumped. She glanced at the screen.
Private Number.
Now what? She hit Accept Call. "Hello." She took a breath; ordered herself to be calm.

Paul's gaze warned of his mounting frustration and impatience, but he didn't try to snatch the phone away. He'd been known to do that when she refused to listen to him.

"Miss Thomas, this is Dr. Hancock."

Jenna stilled, closing out all emotion save one: surprise. "Yes. Hello, Dr. Hancock."

Paul continued to glare at her and she ignored him. Something had happened. What if her visit had prompted a bad reaction and Dr. Hancock had called to tell her that not only did she not have the job but if she came anywhere near the institute again he would call the authorities.

"I don't know how to say this," Hancock began.

Dread and fear congealed into one pulsing mass inside her.

"But," he went on, "Diamond is asking for you."

Jenna couldn't have heard him right. Her knees threatened to buckle again. "What did you say?"

"Under the circumstances, the position is yours —at least on a probationary basis."

"I don't understand." Her emotions were doing that wild spinning again.

"Miss Thomas, let me make myself clear. This child has not spoken to anyone but the other children in all her time here. Never. Not once. She is asking for you. Apparently she connected with you on some level. If that holds true, I believe you'll fit in quite well here at the Wallace Institute."

Stunned, Jenna grappled for her voice. "Thank you, sir."

She was scarcely aware of his instructions for reporting for duty the next day and then ending the call. She closed her phone and stared at it, unable to fully absorb the ramifications of what had happened.

"That was Dr. Hancock." She shifted her attention to the man still standing there, waiting, arms crossed in determination, feet wide apart as if ready for battle.

Paul looked confused, maybe even startled. "Who?"

Jenna shook her head, hardly believing what she was about to tell him. "The administrator from the Wallace Institute. I've got the job."

The frustration was back. The tic in his jaw indicated that he was approaching his wit's end. "Why are you here, Jen? Why do you want this job?"

She might as well tell him. He wouldn't shut up or go away until he knew. If he screwed this up she was never going to forgive him. They hadn't spoken in almost a year as it was.

"I'm here because our daughter is here. At the Wallace Institute. I saw her today." Before he could launch a rebuttal, she added, "It's her, Paul. I know it's her." The doubts that common sense prompted gnawed at her but she disregarded the warnings.

It was Sophie, and Jenna intended to prove it.

Chapter Three

Paul fought the urge to grab Jenna and shake her. She kept doing this to herself and nothing he had said or done so far had made a difference.

One year ago when she'd gone off on her last one-woman hunt for Sophie, she'd almost gotten herself killed. She'd decided Sophie had been taken by a human-trafficking ring in L.A. that she'd read about in the
Times.
Jenna had set out to make herself bait—and she'd succeeded. Luckily Paul and two of his Homeland Security colleagues had located her before it was too late, but forty-eight hours as a hostage had taken its toll. She'd been in no condition to argue with his assessment that she needed a break in a place where she'd have support and help. Fourteen days later she'd come out of the clinic and gone straight to a lawyer to begin divorce proceedings.

Maybe he'd been wrong to take such a drastic measure, but he'd been desperate to help her. His own counselor had advised him to get on with his life and that perhaps his example would help Jenna more than anything else. So he had. He'd resigned from Homeland Security and joined the Colby Agency in Chicago.

Evidently his example hadn't helped. Not that he'd given up on learning the truth about Sophie's disappearance himself. Ian Michaels and Jim Colby had used their every resource to help with his search. To no avail, unfortunately.

Sophie had vanished without a trace. Paul had reconciled to the idea that she was likely dead. It was the only way to go on. His baby was lost.

But Jenna was here, right in front of him, and he couldn't let her keep doing this. He didn't want to have to take the next step, and his chest tightened with the thought. As much as the concept tied his gut into knots, he was prepared to do whatever was necessary to save her from herself. She couldn't keep living like this. Chasing a dream that always turned into a nightmare.

"May I sit down?" He needed her calm and he had to stay that way himself. She'd gone on the defensive as soon as she opened the door and found him standing there.

Despite his differences with Deidra, Jenna's mother, he was grateful she had notified him there was a problem. Since Jenna refused his calls and he'd just returned from working back-to-back cases for the Colby Agency, he'd had no idea there was trouble until her mother called. The fact that Deidra was sober when she called set off all kinds of alarm bells in his head.

"You're not going to change my mind about this, Paul, so don't waste your breath."

Jenna was way too thin. And the weight loss wasn't even the worst. The cornered animal look was in her eyes again and that always signaled that she was in deep trouble emotionally. How had he let this much time pass without demanding to see her?

"I swear I'm not here to make you do anything you don't want to do, Jen." He held up his hands in surrender, prayed she would believe him. It was true. He wanted to help her. Somehow he had to make her see that their baby was gone. There was no happy reunion in their future. She needed to face that fact so she could start living her life again. "Deidra said you were on to something. I just want to help." He lowered his hands back to his sides. "I can't do that if you don't tell me what's going on."

When she didn't immediately balk, he gestured to the threadbare sofa. "I'll just sit right here and listen." He eased down onto the sofa and settled onto a lumpy cushion. It killed him to see her living like this. He'd given her the house in L.A. and a generous monthly allowance way before the subject of alimony had been broached. She was his wife, divorce or no. He would take care of anything she needed. All she had to do was let him.

The suspicion hadn't totally cleared from her brown eyes. The memory of how they'd both marveled over their baby girl's blue eyes almost made him smile. Family and friends had warned that babies' eye color often changed from blue. He hadn't cared if their baby had her mother's eyes. Paul loved Jenna's eyes. Loved getting lost in those dark depths.. .but that hadn't happened in a very long time.

She didn't sit and she kept her arms folded over her chest in a classic protective manner. He understood that gaining a few minutes of her time was likely all he would accomplish. She hadn't trusted him in so long.. .seven years to be exact. Not since the day their daughter went missing.

Jen had warned him repeatedly never to leave the baby with Deidra after six in the evening. At the time, her mother had been no lush by any stretch of the imagination, but she still enjoyed her evening glass or two of wine. As much as Jen loved her mother, she had feared the alcohol. Being the only child of an alcoholic father who had driven himself into an unyielding embankment to his death would do that to a girl.

But Paul had made a mistake seven years ago..

"I received an anonymous tip," Jenna said.

The disturbing memories from the past faded. "Can you be a little more specific? What kind of tip? From whom?" This was definitely different. Usually Jen researched unsolved cases involving missing children. Or she discovered a child that had been found but not identified and she went off in search of Sophie.

Sophie.
His throat closed at even the thought of his little girl's name. She was lost to them and that was his fault. What had happened to the woman he loved since then was his fault, as well. Not Deidra's.. .his and his alone.

Jen's gaze narrowed with uncertainty. "You worked Homeland Security for ten years, you comprehend what an anonymous tip is."

"How did this person contact you?" The idea that she'd met some stranger in person terrified him. She'd done that last year and she'd almost paid the ultimate price.

"First there was a letter, postmarked from Alabama. Eventually we talked by phone and then I agreed to come here and meet him."

Unable to keep the bitter disappointment from his expression, he turned away. How could she make that kind of mistake again?

"I know what you're thinking," she said. "But this is not like last year."

Struggling to maintain some semblance of composure, he met her scrutinizing gaze once more. "All right. This time is different. How? You said you'd found our daughter. What proof do you have?"

She turned and strode to the row of kitchen cabinets beyond the battered table and chairs. Her side of the duplex was basically a one-room living space. She removed a plastic container of coffee grounds from the cupboard above the sink and opened it. When she'd removed whatever was inside she walked back to where he waited and thrust it at him.

A photo. A four-by-six print that could have come from any drugstore or photo processing booth. A little girl with long dark hair and blue eyes stared back at him. His heart stumbled. She looked the way he imagined Sophie would look now. "Who is this?" The growl in his tone gave away the emotions twisting inside him.

"That's your daughter. Don't you recognize her? She has your eyes and your mother's nose—bless her heart."

No. He would not get his hopes up like this without evidence. He handed the photo back to her. "What other proof do you have?" He'd had his heart ripped out too many times to be this gullible.

She snatched the photo from him. "It's her. I've seen her, Paul. It's Sophie. She has the scar from when she fell on that glass."

Her last statement chased away a little of the doubt. "You saw the scar?" Anticipation seared through his veins. Could their girl be alive.. .here? Hope crowded into his chest.

"No, I didn't see the scar but he told me about it."

Defeat sucked the wind out of his sails. "Who mentioned it first? You or this anonymous source?" He hated the frustration that colored his tone.

She noticed the change. "I wouldn't want you to waste your time. Why don't you go now and save us both the grief of what we know will come next?"

That was it. His patience snapped and he shot to his feet. "You think I don't spend every day of my life wondering what else I can do to find her?" He pounded his chest with his fist. "She's my little girl, too. But she's gone, Jen. She's gone. Letting these freaks draw you into their trap, for whatever sick motives they have, is not going to find her! You're only hurting yourself. You've already let this destroy us."