Lullabies and Lies (14 page)

Sunny seethed as she watched Griff stride into the motel lobby. If he’d left the keys in the car, she’d have thought seriously about driving away, but of course he hadn’t. She should have insisted they bring her car. In fact, she should have flown. She’d have missed Burt’s attack, and been in Philadelphia by now. But all she’d cared about was action. And truthfully, she was glad to have Griff with her. His solid strength made her feel confident that she would soon be holding her baby.

She shifted in her seat and groaned. Every muscle in her body ached. Her eyelids were so heavy she could barely focus.

Lil was right, and so was Griff. She hadn’t slept. She couldn’t, not while Emily’s life rested in the hands of strangers.

Tears burned her aching eyes. No matter how determined she was, she knew she was reaching the breaking
point. When she did close her eyes, she had odd dreams—maybe hallucinations.

She’d dreamed Griff had caressed her cheek. She touched the place where his fingers had brushed her skin—in her dream. A fierce longing streaked through her, surprising her with its intensity. His touch had felt so tender, so caring. The dream must have been her subconscious need for reassurance that he really cared about her and her baby, and not just his job.

The driver’s door opened. Griff climbed in and started the engine. “There are only two rooms available. On opposite ends of the motel. Some car show in town.” He pulled away from the motel entrance and drove toward the far end of the building.

Sunny suppressed a yawn. “I still say I can drive.”

“No thanks. I don’t want to wake up in a ditch because you went to sleep at the wheel.”

“You actually think I’d fall asleep while driving toward my baby?”

“Staring at the road is hypnotic, especially if you’re exhausted, which you are.” He pulled into a parking place and cut the engine, then looked at her. “So indulge me.”

“Indulge you. How long are you planning to sleep while my baby’s life is in danger?”

He frowned in irritation, then held up the room key. “You’re not going to do your baby any good if you end up in a car accident. Now, here we are. Number 14. No frills. No surprises.”

Sunny frowned at the thought of settling between soft, clean sheets while Emily was missing. But oddly, for the first time since Emily had been taken, she felt as if she could relax. The thought that Griff would be close
by gave her comfort. Somehow she knew he had her baby’s best interests at heart.

“Great.” She reached for the key. “Where’s your room?”

Griff palmed the key, just out of her reach. “Right here. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

83 hours missing

GRIFF SQUINTED AT the clock radio on the bedside table. Nearly seven o’clock. He’d slept longer than he’d intended. His gaze slid past the clock to the other double bed, where Sunny lay, fully dressed except for her sneakers. She lay in a fetal position, her fists doubled up under her chin, as if she were holding fast to something precious. He hadn’t had much of a chance to study her. Even watching her as she dozed in the car had been restricted to short glances at her shadowed face while he’d concentrated on the wet, foggy roads.

Feeling guilty for wasting time, he indulged himself for a few seconds. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so beautiful. Her hair was that brown-gold color of pure honey, and it draped over her cheek like a silken scarf. Her skin radiated wholesomeness, like the petals of a delicately hued rose.

Dark smudges marred the skin under her eyes—evidence of her worry and exhaustion. And the nasty bruises on her arms had grown to the size of half-dollars.

He should have gone with his first instinct and cold-cocked Means for hurting her. He had the most uncharacteristic urge to lean over and kiss away the tiny
frown between her brows, to brush his lips across her injured skin.

Who was he kidding? What he’d really like would be to pull her sleep-warmed body into his arms, and see those emerald eyes gleam with something other than sadness and suspicion.

He didn’t know how to deal with the strong sexual attraction she evoked in him. He’d never felt anything but compassion and a secret kinship with the other people he’d helped. If someone had suggested three days ago that he would be lusting after a kidnapped baby’s mother, he would have told them they were nuts.

Yet here he was, lying beside her in a shabby motel room, faintly disgusted at the direction his thoughts were taking, and yet at the same time growing more and more uncomfortable in his snug jeans.

Groaning silently, he eased out of bed. Quietly, he opened his leather computer case and retrieved his notebook computer. He set it on the minuscule desk and turned it on.

He’d check his e-mail and quickly run through the major news stories, in case there had been another kidnapping, or in case someone had already discovered he and Sunny were gone.

He glanced over at Sunny to be sure he hadn’t awakened her, then slipped into the bathroom.

A hot shower and a quick shave made him feel much better. He pulled on his jeans—not easy over his damp skin—and exited the bathroom.

Sunny was sitting at the tiny desk, staring at his computer. She turned her gaze on him, and he flinched at the furious glint in her eyes. “Sunny—”

“What is it?” Her voice cracked, and shock deepened the lines between her brows. Her gaze never wavered as she pushed her fingers through her sleep-tousled hair.

She’d opened the icon on his desktop labeled Missing Children.

“That’s official business. You shouldn’t—”

“What is this?” Her voice was as fragile as an old newspaper.

“It’s a database. I use it—”

“What kind of a database?”

Griff swallowed. No one had ever seen his files before. Not even his boss, Decker. This was his private obsession. He’d kept information on every missing child case he’d ever heard of from the time he was fourteen—since his sister had disappeared. He’d started with notes jotted in a spiral notebook, then later on the computer.

“Never mind. It’s obvious what it is. It’s a list of child kidnappings.” She tried to laugh, but her breath caught in the middle. “And look. Here’s your latest entry. Date of disappearance—June 20, city—Nashville, abductee’s name—Em-Emily Rose Loveless, age—six months.” She rattled off the fields he’d set up, her voice becoming more and more brittle.

His face burned with shame. He should have been more careful. How awful for her to be confronted with her beloved child’s name on a cold, impersonal computer screen.

His heart ached. How could she ever understand his need to catalog the dozens of successes and failures—not only his but others? His obsession with the methods and details of each case, in the hope that one day, he’d
come across a case with enough similarities to his sister’s disappearance that he could trace her whereabouts.

So he could finally find some closure.

“Oh, God—” Sunny’s voice cracked like glass. “Disposition—recovered alive, recovered deceased, unsolved.”

“Sunny, don’t—”

“Emily’s
disposition
is blank.” She turned her haunted eyes on him. “You know, don’t you?”

He shook his head. “Sunny, let me—”

“You know what will go in that space. Tell me. How long do you leave it blank? How long before you enter
unsolved
in that space?”

Griff swallowed. “Usually eight to twelve weeks.”

He watched the color drain from her face. “That doesn’t mean the case is closed,” he said quickly. “We never close a missing child case. You’re looking at a working file I use to check on similarities, patterns. It was never meant to be seen by the families.”

Sunny’s eyes filled with tears. “I can see why,” she said on a harsh little laugh. “Is this what you meant when you said it was just a job to you?”

Griff shook his head. He couldn’t even put a name to all the turmoil inside him. It shattered him to watch her pain, to know he’d caused it. He already knew how she was going to feel each step of the way. How hope would grow inside like a balloon being filled with air, only to be deflated over and over again, by time, by disappointment, by failure.

“How far back does this list go? Ten years? Twenty? Thirty? Is there a listing of an abandoned newborn who was adopted by a kindly older couple here in Nashville almost thirty years ago?”

“Stop, Sunny. Don’t do this to yourself.”

She scrolled backward through the dates. “Do what to myself? Obsess over my missing baby? Wonder if the FBI knows anything about my birth parents?”

Griff stepped toward her. He had to stop her, for her sake, and for his. If she scrolled down very many more screens, she would see the first entry, his sister’s.

“That list only covers fifteen years. There’s nothing in there about you. As far as local records are concerned, there is no report of a newborn missing at the time of your birth.”

“So you did check.”

“Sure. It’s my business.”

Her face looked pinched. “Right. Your business.”

She stood abruptly.

He breathed a sigh of relief that her attention was off his laptop, but then she walked toward him, her eyes bright with tears.

“I felt something in you,” she said softly. “A sadness, an understanding. A need to save the children that went beyond just a job.”

She placed her palm in the middle of his chest, branding the imprint of her hand into his skin.

“I thought you really cared.”

She looked at her hand, then curled it into a fist and jerked it away.

Griff grabbed her wrist, trying to stop her, trying to force her to listen to him, but as soon as he touched her, she went rigid. She wasn’t going to listen to anything he had to say. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He let go. “I do care, more than—”

Behind her, the computer screen flickered, and the
screen saver came on—the photo of the Parthenon in Centennial Park that bright summer day fifteen years ago.

Griff pushed past her, reaching for the mouse. He moved it, stopping the slide show of photos of Marianne.

He was already in over his head with Sunny. He sure didn’t want to explain about his sister.

Sunny turned as Griff’s damp shoulder brushed her arm. His naked, curved back glistened with water droplets. Her fingertips already knew the texture of his skin, damp and warm from his shower. She’d felt the sleek, hard muscles of his chest, the faint rise of his pectorals. The fast, strong rhythm of his heart.

She rubbed her palm with her other thumb, wishing she’d never touched him, as her eyes traced the curve of his shoulders, the enticing bumpy trail of vertebrae down his back, the narrow glimpse of paler skin above the waistband of his jeans.

She fisted her hands as he maneuvered the mouse to close the database program.

It didn’t matter. It was too late. She’d already seen the stark, impersonal list.

She couldn’t describe, even to herself, how painful it was to see Emily’s name there, just one among dozens of children over who knew how many years—some living, some dead, some still missing.

What she’d told him was true. She had felt a deep connection with him from the very beginning. His dark violet eyes were shadowed by a sadness that was more than just sympathy. She was certain he understood her pain, the way she understood the pain of the people who came to her for help.

But he worked with kidnappings on a daily basis.
Maybe he’d developed a method designed to make frightened families trust him. Maybe it really was just a job to him.

When he straightened, a rivulet of water slithered down his spine to darken the waistband of his snug-fitting jeans. His lean back looked vulnerable, his skin still faintly pink from his shower, his wet hair curling a little at the nape of his neck.

To her dismay, her body tingled with a surprising need. Her fingers curled with the imagined feel of his sleek back. She swallowed, berating herself silently, about two seconds from asking him to please put on a shirt.

She needed a protector, a champion, a hardened lawman who could get the job done. Right now Griff Stone looked like a lover.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

She realized he was studying her, a curious glint in his eyes.

“No,” she said shortly. “I need to shower. It won’t take me but a few minutes.”

“Yeah, right,” he said, a small smile curving his lips.

She glared at him. “Time me,” she snapped.

“It’s okay. I need to check my e-mail and take a quick look at the news wires and the FBI alerts.”

“Are you going to call Lieutenant Carver? Tell him where we are?”

“He’ll be calling me soon enough. And you.”

“What are we going to tell him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Please, tell me the truth.”

Griff shrugged. “That is the truth. I’m going to call my boss first.”

“Is that a good idea? I mean, you’re not exactly following protocol, are you?”

“I think I can convince Decker to let me have a day or so, see what we find in Philadelphia.”

Sunny wanted to beg Griff not to disclose their whereabouts to anyone, but she knew she couldn’t push her luck.

Sunny went into the bathroom, which was still warm and humid from Griff’s shower. She doffed her clothes and stepped under the shower’s spray, letting the hot water sluice over her, washing grime and dust down the drain. She wished she could wash away the coating of fear and guilt that enveloped her. Fear that she would never see Emily again. Guilt that what her baby was going through was her fault.

Someone hated her so much that they would hurt her daughter to punish her.

As she quickly washed, she thought about Griff’s computer, and whatever he had rushed to hide from her. As the hot, cleansing water sluiced over her, she prayed it wasn’t bad news about Emily.

When she came out of the bathroom, Griff was on his cell phone.

Sunny’s breath caught. Had Carver called? Had something happened?

“Great, Natasha. That’s a big help. What about the other phone number?”

Sunny eavesdropped without shame as she squeezed water out of her hair with a towel.

He looked up, his gaze taking in her towel-draped hair, her jeans, and the little red top she’d pulled on.