Have You Seen Her?

  She nodded. “Thank you. I try very hard.”

  FOURTEEN

  Tuesday, October 4, 8:00 P.M.

  THE RIDE TO THE RESTAURANT HAD BEEN COMPLETED in what

  Jenna could only call contemplative silence. She wished she understood why he’d pulled back from the kiss in her apartment. He clearly wanted it as much as she had. He’d asked if she’d loved Adam. She wondered if he still loved the wife he’d lost, the mother of his sons.

  She wished she knew what was going on inside his head. She sure as hell knew what was going on inside of hers. And if his thoughts were anywhere near as confused and . . . erotic as hers, well, this would certainly be an interesting evening. Wherever it led.

  At the moment it was leading to dinner. He’d chosen the new Italian place on Capitol, ironically enough. Jenna took the chair he held for her, then met his eyes as he pulled his own chair to the table. His beautiful brown eyes that made her heart beat faster. That made her want to leap over the table, straddle him where he sat, and take the kiss from which he’d backed away.

  Oh, for God’s sake, Jen. Get it together here. You are not having sex with that man in this restaurant. So say something before he thinks you’ve lost your damn mind.

  So she said, “This is nice. I haven’t been here before.” “Neither have I, but one of my coworkers just raved about it last week.” He ran his long fingers over the white paper covering the tablecloth, then pointed over to another table where some children were decorating their own white paper with crayons provided by the restaurant. “Looks like they provide pre-meal entertainment.”

  Jenna smiled at him simply because it felt right to do. “Nicky would like that, I think.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, his gaze still fixed on the giggling children. His shoulders sagged. “Nicky doesn’t seem to enjoy much of anything anymore.”

  “I don’t know about that, Steven. He got very excited about training Cindy Lou.”

  Steven looked back at her, his brow raised in dubious question. “You think you can train that blubbering, drooling pile of hair?”

  “That eats your shoes?”

  He grimaced. “Dumb dog.”

  “Nicky loves her.”

  His face softened. “Yeah, he does. It’s the only reason she stays. So can you train Cindy Lou?”

  Jenna grinned at him. “I don’t think so. She’s kind of a dumb dog.”

  And that made him smile. Which took her breath away. Which must have shown on her face because he got that same look that he’d had in her apartment right before he didn’t kiss her. Once again she steeled herself against the overwhelming compulsion to jump the table and wrap her legs around his slim hips.

  “Hi! My name is Amy and I’ll be your server. How are you folks tonight?”

  Jenna jerked her gaze up to the pretty young waitress who was bending over their table, entirely too close to Steven, writing her name upside down on the white paper with a handful of crayons.

  Unfamiliar jealousy surged until she looked back at Steven and found his eyes fixed on her own face. He didn’t even seem to notice the waitress was there. Just kept looking at her as if she were the only person in the room. As if maybe he was thinking about coming over the table for her.

  As if maybe he wanted that kiss after all. The throbbing became a painful ache.

  “We’re...um... fine,” Jenna managed, the inside of her mouth as dry as cotton. “Just fine.”

  “Well, good,” Amy said cheerfully, and Jenna just wished the girl would go away. “Can I tell you about our specials this evening?”

  Steven shook his head, his eyes still locked on hers, dark and intense. “I’ll just have spaghetti,” he said and held the menu up for Amy to take away. He’d never even opened it.

  He just kept staring.

  Jenna swallowed hard. Oh, Lord.

  “Oh,” said Amy, nonplussed. “With tomato or meat sauce?”

  “Tomato. Jenna?”

  Looking at the menu would mean looking away from his eyes which at the moment seemed impossible. “The same,” Jenna murmured and handed the waitress her menu.

  “Can I get you some wine?” Amy persisted.

  Steven tightened his jaw and huffed an impatient sigh. “Jenna?”

  “None for me, please.” No way was she adding alcohol to what felt like a fire ready to consume her from the inside out. “Just water.”

  “The same.”

  Then Amy was gone, leaving a few crayons on the table and the two of them quite alone. Unable to bear the intensity any longer, Jenna looked away, fixing her eyes on the bright white paper covering the table that was becoming wet as condensation dripped from her water glass.

  Wet and dripping. Somehow the visual didn’t help.

  After a few beats, Steven broke the silence. “I didn’t tell you that you looked very nice tonight,” he said quietly. “I guess I’m out of practice.”

  Pleasure coursed through her at the simple words. “Thank you.” She looked up to see that whatever spell had held him seemed to be broken. Gone was the intensity that had turned his brown eyes almost black. Disappointment mingled with relief. “Thank you.”

  He tilted his head to one side and frowned a little. “Mrs. Kasselbaum told me about the water in your gas lines. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she reassured him. “I’ve been doing what you said and parking close to the school and having someone walk me out after closing.”

  “Good. I heard about the vandalism in your class. Have they confronted the Lutz boy or any of his friends?”

  “No, and I don’t think they’re going to.” She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Principal Blackman says we can’t prove who did anything. They’re trying to force my hand, but they’ll find out I’m tougher than I look.” She took a thoughtful look at him across the table. “What about you? How’s your big case going?”

  His face tightened. “Not well.”

  “I’m sorry. I saw you on CNN on Sunday morning. You looked... tired.”

  “I was. I still am. But we don’t have anything definite to go on right now even though we’re all pulling double shifts. It’s small consolation for the Egglestons,” he added bitterly, looking away.

  Wanting to comfort him, she reached across the table to cover his hand with hers. The action was a reflexive one, a friend supporting a friend, but the feel of her skin on his was anything but friendly. The back of his hand was warm, rough, the reddish gold hairs coarse. Her palm . . . tingled. But her response was out of place at the moment so she swallowed it back. “I know you’re doing all you can,” she said softly.

  His eyes snapped back to hers, then dropped to her hand resting on his. Suddenly feeling awkward she started to pull away, but he caught her, twining his fingers with hers and for a moment she could only stare at the sight. Her fingers and his. Together. It had been a long time since she’d held hands with a man. She hadn’t realized until now just how much she’d missed it.

  “Thank you,” he said and she looked up to find him focused on her once again. And once again her heart raced. She opened her mouth to say something, but then his cell phone shrilled.

  Jenna jumped while Steven swore. He pulled his phone from his pocket with one hand, still holding her hand with the other. “Thatcher,” he barked, listened, then grew grim. Still one-handed he finished the call and dropped his phone back into his pocket.

  “What’s wrong?” Jenna asked.

  “I have to go,” he answered. “I’m sorry, but I have to go to the Egglestons’ house. I can drop you off at your apartment on the way.”

  She stood up when he did because he still held her hand. “Will you be long?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Why?”

  Concern for him edged out the tingle of his hand on hers, the nearness of his body. “You need to eat, Steven. If you’d like I can make us something at my place after you’re finished.”

  He looked down at her, worry in his eyes. “You don’t
mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  He motioned to Amy the waitress who came hurrying over. “Cancel the order. We need to go.” He let go of her hand only long enough to draw a bill from his wallet for the waitress’s trouble. He tossed the money on the table, took her hand again, and led her to his car.

  Tuesday, October 4, 8:45 P.M.

  Sheriff Braden, Anna Eggleston’s brother, met them at the Egglestons’ front door and looked at Jenna, a question in his eyes.

  “She’s with me,” Steven said. With me, his mind echoed and he liked the sound of it. Too damn much.

  “I can wait in the car,” Jenna offered and Braden shook his head.

  “That’s not necessary, ma’am. It’s getting cold outside. Please make yourself comfortable.” Braden gestured to a sofa covered with dainty little flowers, then turned to Steven. “Thanks for coming here to the house, Agent Thatcher. Anna didn’t want to take Serena into the station.”

  Serena. Samantha’s little sister. Steven’s brain jogged to life. Four years old. The Egglestons had kept their youngest daughter far away from the investigation, shielding their baby from the ugliness of the situation, a response Steven certainly understood. But tonight Serena had burst into hysterical tears and her parents had been able to glean only that their littlest daughter knew something she should tell the police. What had the little girl heard that night? What did she know?

  “Where is she?”

  “In the kitchen.” Braden looked at him helplessly. “She’s just a baby, Thatcher.”

  Steven grasped Braden’s upper arm and squeezed. “I know. Let’s see what we can get without making this any worse than it is.”

  There was a crowd around the kitchen table. Marvin and Anna Eggleston sat on either side of Serena, creating a human protective wall around their daughter. Serena herself sat quietly, her little round face streaked with tears. She was a beautiful child, with large blue eyes and dark, dark hair that fell in damp baby ringlets around her shoulders.

  Steven looked from the Egglestons huddled around their daughter to the older woman that sat on Anna’s left. Anna’s and Sheriff Braden’s mother. Mrs. Braden looked at him defiantly, as if daring him to harm her granddaughter. Then someone stepped from the shadows of the back door.

  Mike Leone looked at him with worry in his eyes.

  Of course this family had called their priest. Of course it would be Mike.

  Steven quickly looked back to the table where Serena stared up at him, her blue eyes huge and teary and terrified. He smiled as he sat down. “Hi, Serena. My name is Agent Thatcher.”

  The little girl sniffled. “I know.”

  Steven leaned forward, pressing his forearms into the table. “Serena, honey, can you tell me why I’m here?” he asked gently.

  Serena’s lips quivered. “Because I’ve been bad,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “Now, Serena,” he said softly, “there’s nothing you did that could be that bad. The bad person is whoever took your sister. Samantha didn’t do anything wrong and neither did you.”

  Serena was clearly unconvinced. Her lower lip thrust out and her delicate eyebrows bunched. But she said nothing.

  “Serena, tell the officer what you heard,” Anna said, her voice a shaky tremble. “Please.”

  Serena looked up at her mother, who forced a smile. Then she looked up at her father who put his arm around her tiny shoulders.

  “It’s okay, honey,” Marvin said. “You’re not in trouble. Just tell Mr. Thatcher what you know.”

  Serena turned her dark blue eyes to Steven and he smiled again, even more gently than before.

  “See, honey? Your mom and dad aren’t mad.” Serena’s lip quivered and Steven understood. At four years old, of course Serena would interpret her family’s wild grief and anger to be her fault. It was normal. “Honey, I need you to listen to me. Can you do that?”

  Serena nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Steven ducked his head closer. “Good. Now I know you’re a big girl, and a smart one. I want you to think about your friends. Do you have a best friend?”

  Serena blinked, confusion in her eyes at the unexpected question. She nodded uncertainly.

  “What’s your best friend’s name?”

  “Carrie.” Serena looked down, then back up. “We play dolls and video games.”

  “Good. You know who was my best friend when I was your age?” Serena shook her head and Steven winked at her. “Father Mike.”

  Her blue eyes grew round in disbelief. “Priests don’t have friends.”

  From the corner of his eye Steven saw Mike hide a smile behind his hand. “No, it’s true,” Steven insisted. “When Father Mike was a little boy we’d catch frogs in the creek behind the elementary school down the street from the church.”

  “I’ll go to the element’ry school next year,” Serena declared proudly, then narrowed her eyes. “If you and Father Mike were friends, how come you’re not a priest, too?”

  Again Steven glanced at Mike from the corner of his eye. “Busted,” Mike mouthed silently.

  “Well, I thought about it, but then I decided to be a policeman instead. What do you think priests and policemen have in common, Serena?”

  She thought a moment, chewing on her lower lip. “They help people,” she decided.

  Steven nodded. “That’s exactly right. See, I knew you were a smart girl.”

  “I can count to twenty,” Serena said with a decisive nod, then shook her head in disgust. “Carrie can only count to ten.”

  “Well, I’m sure Carrie will catch up soon.”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head and her damp ringlets bounced. “She can only make it to level one on Sonic Two.”

  Steven was well acquainted with Sonic the Hedgehog, a video game character who, although capable of racing at sonic speeds, looked absolutely nothing like a hedgehog. Sonic was one of Nicky’s favorites. Had been anyway.

  “So you’re pretty good at Sonic?” Steven asked and Serena nodded hard. “You practice a lot?”

  Serena’s face abruptly changed. She looked down at the table and said nothing.

  And Steven thought he knew what had happened. “Serena, are you allowed to play video games at night when you’re supposed to be in bed?”

  Serena stared hard at the table and shook her head. Marvin Eggleston opened his mouth to say something, but Mike stepped forward and put a restraining hand on the man’s shoulder.

  “But you were up playing Sonic the night Sammie disappeared, weren’t you, honey?” Steven asked quietly.

  Serena said nothing. Made not a single move.

  Steven leaned closer and laid his fingertips against the little girl’s cheek and she looked up, misery in her eyes. She blinked and fat tears rolled down her rosy cheeks. Steven felt his heart clench. What the public never seemed to realize is that crime happened to people. It wasn’t sensational, it wasn’t thrilling. Crime happened to people, to families, tore them apart. Made little four-year-old girls feel responsible and afraid. Made them cry.

  He softened his voice. “Serena, honey, this is important. You will not get into trouble for playing video games. But, sweetheart, you need to tell me what you heard that night.”

  Her lips trembled and more tears flowed. “Sammie was on the phone,” she whispered.

  “Did she know you were there?”

  Serena shook her head. “No.”

  “Do you know who Sammie was talking to, Serena?” Again she shook her head. “No, sir.”

  Impatience simmered and he clapped a tight lid on it. “Did it sound like she was talking to one of her friends? JoLynn or Wanda, maybe?”

  “No, sir.”

  Steven leaned closer still. “Was it a boy, honey?”

  Serena looked up at him, her eyes filled with guilt. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.

  Anticipation sizzled across his skin. They were on to something. “Did she say his name?”

  “No, sir.”

  “
What were they talking about, Serena?”

  She looked down at the table. “Kissing and stuff.” Steven glanced up to find Marvin’s face pale and his body trembling. Silently, Steven shook his head, then hooked his finger under Serena’s chin and gently tipped up her face.

  “What else, honey?”

  Serena stared up at him and again his heart clenched at the misery he saw there. She was just a baby. No child should know this kind of devastation. “She didn’t want to go,” Serena whispered and Marvin and Anna looked sick.

  “What do you mean, she didn’t want to go? Go where, Serena?”

  Serena lifted one thin shoulder. “To meet him. She kept saying, ‘I don’t know.’ She knew Mommy and Daddy would be really mad.” Tears rolled again. “But she finally said yes.”

  Anna swayed and her mother put her arm around her for support.

  “Serena, I need you to think very hard,” Steven said, his voice barely a whisper. “Did Sammie mention where she was meeting him?”

  Serena nodded. “Behind the McDonald’s.”

  Steven forced his voice to be very calm. His gut told him Serena was on the verge of remembering something critical. “Did she say which one?”

  She frowned. “Behind the railroad tracks? I don’t know.” She looked up at her father, panicked. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  “It’s okay, pumpkin,” Marvin managed in an even voice and Steven respected him for the effort. His father’s heart had to be shattering, visualizing what happened at the McDonald’s behind the railroad tracks. “You’re doing just . . . great.” His voice broke on the last word and Mike put both hands on Marvin’s shoulders. The big man managed a smile of encouragement for Serena, but his throat worked viciously as he struggled not to cry.

  Steven touched Serena’s hand lightly and she looked back at him. “Your daddy’s absolutely right, Serena. You are doing fabulously. Now, can you remember anything else?”

  Her feathery brows scrunched as she concentrated. Then she looked up sharply and Steven knew this was what he’d been waiting for. “Sammie told him he played a good game.”

  Steven tried not to let his excitement show. “Did she say what kind of game?”

  “No.” Her lower lip quivered again as more tears fell. “I’m sorry.”