Hide and Seek

“So who is she to you?”

Max blew out a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his head. “My sister.”

* * *

Erica rolled with the shock wave. Of course. Lydia Powell, Max Powell. “Your sister?” she said. Anger swelled inside her. “Your sister had something to do with my daughter’s kidnapping.”

His eyes flashed. “She wasn’t involved. She wouldn’t do something like that. When I saw her face on the news, it floored me. To hear that she was wanted for questioning about kidnapping a three-year-old?” He shook his head. “She wouldn’t. There’s got to be some explanation.”

Erica tucked her purse back behind her seat, thankful the car was exactly as she’d left it. She supposed having several police vehicles next to it had helped. “Well, I’d sure like to hear that explanation. And so would the cops.”

His lips tightened and he narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Erica lifted her chin, struggling a little to keep it together. “This is the house where my daughter was kept right after she was taken. When they did the raid last week, they found the clothes she was wearing when she disappeared. Along with the hair clip that had your sister’s fingerprint on it. I couldn’t believe that stuff was still here after three years. So I came to see... I hoped...” Tears clogged her throat as her failure hit home.

Max swiped a hand across his eyes but not before she saw the brief flash of sorrow in them. He sighed. “Let’s get this wrapped up here, and we’ll talk. I want to know what you know about Lydia.”

“And I want to know what you know.” She slid into the driver’s seat.

He spoke to the officers, and she focused on slowing her rapidly beating heart. Her emotions were on overload. She had accomplished nothing with her impulsive trip to the crack house.

No, that wasn’t completely true. She’d found Lydia’s brother. Maybe that was the first step in finding Lydia. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. Oh, baby girl, where are you? Please Lord, help me find her.

Sobs threatened once again as the helplessness overwhelmed her. With an effort, she focused on what she had to do next. The next step in the plan.

“I’ll follow you home.” She recognized Max’s voice and opened her eyes.

She sighed. “It’s all right. I can manage.”

His jaw firmed. “It’s late and you’re in the toughest neighborhood in Spartanburg. Plus, I promised your brother I’d make sure you got home safe.”

“I thought we were going to talk.”

“We are.” He tapped the hood of her car. “But you need some rest and I’m not through with my search for Lydia tonight.” He paused and glanced at his watch. “Would you be able to meet for breakfast?”

Erica mentally went through her calendar. She had two appointments she could delegate. “What time?”

“Eight thirty?”

“Sure.” She cranked her car.

Max pointed to the weapon that had been returned to her. “What made you feel the need to carry that?”

Erica felt a wry smile cross her lips. “A job that brings me into neighborhoods like this.”

Curiosity lifted his brow. “What kind of job is that?”

“I find missing people. Children mostly.” Sadness filled her. “I have a great track record, too. Mostly.”

“Then why the sad eyes?”

She started, surprised he’d noticed. “It seems I can find everyone’s child but my own.”

He looked away for a brief moment, but not before she caught another flash of raw grief in his blue eyes. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“Lydia?”

He nodded.

“She ran from you,” she said softly. Even though she thought Lydia had something to do with Molly’s disappearance, Max didn’t. He obviously believed in his sister, and Erica’s heart hurt for him. “I’m sorry.”

He swallowed hard. “At least I know she’s still alive. As of tonight anyway.”

“Who was the guy attacking her?” Erica asked.

He frowned. “He’s a punk who preys on young girls.”

“A pimp?”

“That, and more.”

She shuddered. “I’m sorry.”

With another shake of his dark head, he straightened and gripped the door, ready to close it. “Which is why we need to talk. Tomorrow.”

“Right.” She let him shut the door and waited for him to get into his vehicle.

Relief that she’d survived this night swirled as her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. Jordan. She frowned. “Hey, is everything all right? Did Brandon get home okay?”

“Yeah. He told me what you’d been up to. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” She was really tired of that phrase.

“Glad to hear it, but you’re not home yet. I’ve been sitting on your front porch for the last few minutes and Mrs. Griffin is giving me the evil eye from her window across the street.”

Mrs. Griffin. The street busybody who kept her nose in everyone’s business, but was a sweet woman. “Why are you on my porch?”

Max flashed his lights to tell Erica he was ready, and she pulled away from the curb and made her way out of the neighborhood. She lived about ten minutes away, on the opposite side of town, and right now, all she wanted to do was get home, crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

But she couldn’t. Not if Jordan was there.

Jordan was saying, “Because I care about you, Erica. Brandon does, too. He shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“I’m not alone.” She grimaced. A sigh slipped out. “Look, go home.” Those words were getting old, too.

Jordan paused. “All right. I’ll just wait until you get here. Make sure you get inside safely.”

“A P.I. is following me home. I’ll be—” She refused to say it again. “All the drama is over.” Please don’t add to it, she finished silently.

“Okay.” He didn’t hang up. At this rate, he’d still be there when she pulled into the drive.

“So go.”

“Right. I’ll just be going.”

Erica frowned. He sounded weird. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I was just—”

“Just what?”

“Nothing. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Erica hung up and glanced in the rearview mirror. Seeing Max following behind her was comforting in an odd sort of way, even though she knew he had questions for her. That was fine—she had questions for him. And she would not notice his blue eyes again. Even though she had a feeling she could get lost in them, wondering what was going on behind them. Wondering what it would feel like to see them soften and sparkle for her. But she wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t. She wasn’t interested in getting to know the brother of the girl who’d helped kidnap Molly. And she’d keep telling herself that as long as she had to in order to make herself believe it.

A few minutes later, she turned into her drive.

Jordan was gone and she breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been hovering like a mother hen lately—she couldn’t figure out what was going on with him. And Brandon calling him her boyfriend just added to the confusion. Why would he say that? Jordan was a nice guy, but he was like a brother to her, and Brandon knew that.

Max pulled up against the curb and rolled the window down. Erica got out of her car and walked up to him. “Thanks for the escort.”

“You want me to check out your house?”

“No thanks. No need.”

“So. Tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.” Her heart did a funny pitter-patter thing as his lips curved in a gentle smile. Shocked, she swallowed hard. She hadn’t felt an attraction for a man in such a long time, she almost didn’t realize what it was when it hit her. Ever since her husband had left her, she’d gone out of her way to avoid men. And now, in this crazy situation, she was finding herself attracted to a man she just met?

She shook it off and said, “We never picked a place.”

“Where’s your office?”

“On East Main Street in the same complex as the post office.”

“How about the café?”

“I’ll be there.”

“You have your phone?”

Erica lifted a brow and pulled it out.

He gave her his number. “Call me if you need anything, or if something changes and you can’t make it.” She punched in the number and heard his phone ring. When she hung up, he nodded toward her house. “Now go inside while I’m watching. And lock the door.”

“I always do.” Irritated by his bossy manner, Erica turned and made her way into the house, twisting the dead bolt after shutting the door. The lamp on the end table next to her sofa gave off a soft light that reached into the foyer, casting friendly shadows on the wall beside her.

Much friendlier than the ones in the crack house.

Erica glanced out the window and watched Max drive away. Without his distracting presence, images from the night bombarded her and she shivered. “So close,” she whispered to the empty room. So close to some answers, and once again they’d slipped away from her grasp.

Erica crossed to the mantel and picked up her favorite picture of Molly, the one taken the day before she disappeared. As always, the tears threatened, but she couldn’t look away from Molly’s bright smile, her unruly red hair pulled up into a ponytail and her green eyes glinting with good-humored mischief.

Well, the answers may have slipped away tonight, but at least she had a name to follow up on, thanks to Katie, and now she’d seen Lydia’s face up close and personal. She would recognize her again when she saw her, even if she was still trying to hide beneath that hoodie.

Erica set Molly’s sweet picture back on the mantel and turned to flip the lamp off.

Darkness covered her and for a moment she just stood there, nearly drowning in her grief. It had been three years and still sometimes the pain of missing her child made her go weak.

Erica forced herself to head for her bedroom. She needed her rest. She would be no good for anyone if she let herself get to the point where she couldn’t sleep again. Thankfully, she no longer needed medication most nights.

Tonight might not be one of those nights.

In her bedroom, she flipped on the closet light and let the warm light filter into the room. She wasn’t in the mood for the strong overhead light tonight.

Just as she started for the bathroom to get ready for bed, she heard the distinctive click of the front door closing.

THREE

Max sat in his den staring at the file in front of him, wondering why he couldn’t get Erica James off his mind. Her story touched him. Her fragile beauty drew him to her. But her accusations made him angry. The fact that she thought Lydia was involved with Molly’s kidnapping made him more determined than ever to find his little sister and prove her innocent.

He ignored the little niggling of concern at the back of his mind that Erica might have a reason to be throwing her accusations out there.

Which was why he’d made a point of doing his homework on her.

Erica was twenty-eight years old, and had, by all appearances, been happily married until her daughter’s kidnapping three years ago. Her husband had left and moved overseas about a year later.

Erica had pulled herself together and started her own business working as a skip tracer, learning how to use specialized equipment and unique skills to locate missing people—or in Erica’s case, missing children. He remembered the sadness in her eyes, and what she’d said about being able to find other people’s children and yet not Molly.

Thanks to his contacts at the police station, acquiring Molly’s case notes hadn’t been a problem. He flipped to the evidence section.

A witness had reported seeing a woman with red curly hair, large sunglasses and a long coat at the zoo that day. Another witness claims he saw a man following the preschool group. Too many reported seeing nothing unusual.

Curly red hair. Erica had curly red hair. But she had an airtight alibi. She’d been working another missing persons case and had even had a police officer with her.

And then there was the matter of that pain in her eyes. No, she hadn’t had anything to do with her daughter’s disappearance.

It had been a chilly day in November when Molly had gone missing. This month would be a tough one for Erica.

And now she was looking for Lydia. Max felt anger surface again. Twenty-one years old, his sister could pass for thirteen or thirty, depending on how close one looked. He supposed the drugs and sporadic eating could do that to a person. His heart ached for her. If only...

An idea hit him, and Max hauled himself out of the recliner and made his way into the kitchen to get his phone. He grabbed it only to frown as he saw an unfamiliar number listed, indicating he’d missed a call.

He dialed the number and listened to it ring.

When the phone went to Erica’s voice mail, he hung up and felt the heat climbing into his face as he realized she’d called him earlier, when he’d given her his number. And here he was, calling her at nearly midnight. He shrugged. If she asked, he’d explain.

Then again, he couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t answered. Was she all right? Or had something happened?

He clenched his jaw.

He had no reason to think that anything had happened to her.

Just like he’d had no reason to think anything had happened to Tracy. His throat tightened at the thought of his fiancée, dead because he hadn’t worried enough.

He’d ignored his instincts and she’d died.

Max grabbed his keys.

* * *

Erica’s pulse pounded as she stood frozen, unsure what to do.

When the door had clicked, she’d raced into the bathroom and twisted the lock.

Leaving her cell phone on the end table in her bedroom.

She listened to it ring and put her hand on the knob. When it stopped, she bit her lip and looked around.

The only window in the bathroom was stained glass and didn’t open. That cold hard knot in the pit of her stomach turned to granite as she realized what she’d done.

She’d trapped herself.

Desperately, she tried to control her ragged breaths so she could listen.

She pressed her ear against the door and heard nothing.

Except her phone ringing again.

Should she stay and assume whoever had entered her house would get what he was looking for and then leave?

Or should she try to slip into the bedroom and grab the phone?

Indecision warred with her fear. By the time she decided to stay put, the phone had stopped again.

How had her intruder come in the front door—the one she remembered locking? Mentally, she ran through a list of people who had a key to her house. Her brother, Brandon; her best friend Denise Tanner, who’d moved to New Mexico; her parents, although they’d only used the key one time in the past three years; another friend, Ginny Leigh, and...

Footsteps sounded outside the bathroom door. She gasped and pulled back. He was in her bedroom. What would she do if he tried to get in the bathroom? Frantic, she cast her gaze around, looking for something she could use as a weapon.

A razor, a can of hair spray, the towel bar.

Then the steps receded. Faded. Stopped.

Was he gone?

Did she dare open the door? She waited. And listened.

Still nothing. Just the pounding of her heart.

The minutes ticked by.

Silence.

Her shaky fingers twisted the lock. She gripped the doorknob and turned it slowly, then pulled the door open a crack.

The door exploded inward and she cried out as the edge of it caught her on the chin. She fell to her knees as a tall figure reached down to grab her by the arm. “I knew you were in there.”

“Let me go!” She twisted, kicking out and catching a shin.

Her captor grunted.

“Hey! Let her go!”

She froze once again. “Peter?” Disbelief made her dizzy. “What are you doing?” she cried. Peter approached her, his hands replacing her captor’s on her arms.

Erica hit him in the chest to push him away from her, but he kept his grip on her upper arms. It didn’t hurt, but she didn’t like it.

“Hey, chill, sis. We just need some cash, okay?” His foul breath made her grimace.

“Let. Me. Go.” She kept her voice low and did her best to rein in her fury and fear. Peter—her younger brother, the black sheep, the ne’er-do-well. Whatever one wanted to call him, he had also once been a suspect in Molly’s disappearance but had been cleared when there’d been no evidence to support his involvement. He released her and she backed away from him until the back of her knees touched the bed. “Where did you get the key?”

“Let’s get the cash and get out of here.” Erica swiveled toward the man who’d grabbed her when she’d exited the bathroom. Menace dripped from his gaze.

Real fear clutched her. “Who’s he?” she asked Peter.

Peter advanced. He stopped in front of her, but he didn’t attempt to grab her again. His sullen, bloodshot eyes slid from hers, and she reached for the cell phone on the end table. “It’s late, Peter, and I’m tired,” she said, trying to sound normal. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

And she wouldn’t give it to him if she did.

He was twenty-four and in spite of the drugs he pushed into his body, still looked young and innocent. He shot his buddy a black look. “I told you to wait outside.”

“I got tired of waiting. You were looking in the wrong place.” Drug-addled green eyes lingered on her and he licked his lips.

Peter stepped between her and the other intruder. “Back off, Polo. That’s not what you’re here for.”

Polo leered. “Says you.”

Peter stood tall and straightened his shoulders. “Yeah. I do. Now get out of here.”

Erica blinked at Peter’s defense of her. All of a sudden, she had a glimpse of the man he could have been.

Polo shrugged and backed down. “I’ll be outside.” He gave Erica one last look and she shuddered with distaste when he finally turned his back.

“Peter, get rid of that loser, then give me back my key.” She paused for a moment, knowing she probably shouldn’t say what she was about to say. “You can stay in the guest room tonight.”

Peter lifted his hands and raked them through his hair. They trembled. He paced from one end of the room to the other, glancing at the door as though expecting Polo to return. “I need you to give me some cash. I’ll give it to him, and he’ll leave you alone.”

What was he coming down from? His drug of choice was usually cocaine or heroin.

He shook his head. “I’m so tired.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Look, Erica, I’m sorry about all this.”

She lifted a brow. “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I’m—” He waved a hand. “I wish...”

“Wish what, Peter?”

Erica took his arm and tried to lead him from the room but he jerked away from her. “What are you doing?”

“Police! Anyone here?”

Peter froze like a deer caught in the headlights. “You called the cops?” he snarled.

“No! I didn’t.” She turned and yelled, “We’re back here! Everything is fine.”

Had they seen Polo?

Footsteps sounded on her hardwood and for the second time that night she faced the officers Max seemed to know personally, with their weapons drawn. She held her hands where they could see them. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“Everything all right?” The officer in front stepped forward, his narrowed eyes taking in the scene before him.

Erica nodded. “Yes. Fine.”

The officers exchanged glances and the first one holstered his weapon. The second only lowered his.

“Who called you?” Erica asked.

“Your neighbor said she saw a suspicious man hanging around your front door. He was on his way over to see if you needed help when he heard you scream. Decided to call the cops instead.” He motioned to the bruise on her chin. “Want to explain that?”

Erica looked at her brother as she reached up to touch her chin. “He surprised me and I got banged with the door.”

Peter looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Was he sorry? Or was he sorry he wasn’t going to get what he came here for? She honestly didn’t know what to think of him anymore. She just knew she wanted to help him, couldn’t give up on him.

He was her brother, plain and simple.

The cop nodded, suspicion still written on his face. “What’s he coming off?”

Pete glared at the officer and Erica sighed. “I have no idea, but I’ll take care of him.”

“You’re not helping him by covering for him.”

“I know.” Weariness invaded her as she looked at her little brother. How had he become this stranger she didn’t know anymore? Someone she didn’t trust and was afraid of some of the time, like when he came into her apartment with a creep and tried to shake her down for cash? “He had someone with him. A guy named Polo.”

Peter winced and the officer’s eyes shot wide. “Polo Moretti?”

She grimaced. “I didn’t get a last name.” She looked at her brother. “Peter?”

“I just met the guy,” Peter muttered. “I don’t know his last name.”

“Who is he?” Erica asked.

The two officers exchanged a glance. Then one said, “He’s involved in all kinds of nasty stuff. You don’t want to mess around with him.”

Erica drew in a quick breath. “Peter, what are you involved in?”

“Erica?”

She frowned—she knew that voice. She shot a look at Peter to let him know the conversation wasn’t over. “Max?”

Max stepped into the hall and greeted the officers by name. Then he looked at her. “What’s going on? I kept calling but you didn’t answer.”

“So you drove over here?” Erica felt a thrill in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t explain but didn’t want to think about.

“Yeah. It’s not that far.” Pain flashed in Max’s gaze for a brief moment—long enough for her to wonder about it— until his gaze shifted to her brother, a question on his face.

Peter’s eyelids drooped. He didn’t seem so dangerous now. In fact he reminded her of the sleepy little brother she used to put to bed. Erica said, “Look, let me get Peter settled and we’ll talk in the den.”

Max and the other two officers left the room. “Go on in the bedroom. I’ll take care of this,” she said to Peter.

For once, he didn’t argue with her, just shuffled his way down the hall with one last look toward the front door, probably wondering where his friend went.

If Peter stayed here, would that Polo guy come back looking for him?

She felt sick at the thought.

The guest room door shut with a decisive click. Erica stood staring at the door for a brief moment then shut her eyes as she fought the weariness that threatened to make her keel over. Oh, Peter. What was she going to do with him?

Voices from the den grabbed her attention. She’d worry about Peter later.

Erica made her way back into the den where she found Max sitting on her couch and the other officers standing in front of her fireplace looking at Molly’s picture.

Max said, “This is Chris and Steve. You remember them from earlier tonight?”

Erica nodded, shook their hands and said, “Sorry for all the trouble. Peter’s going through a rough patch and...” Her voice trailed off. What could she say? Peter’s actions, the company he was keeping and his appearance spoke for themselves. She refused to make excuses for him anymore.

Chris nodded and said, “Just give us a holler if you need any more help with him.” He paused. “But I’ll caution you. Don’t trust him.”

She sighed. “I know.”

After Chris and Steve asked her a few more questions and finally left, Max rose. “Guess I’d better be going, too.” He glanced down the hall. “I’d feel better if he wasn’t here.”

So would she, but Erica wasn’t going to tell him that. “Peter will sleep awhile and so will I. I’ll talk to him in the morning, see if he’s open to a plan—or rehab. Again.”

Max nodded. “Okay.” He rubbed his chin. “I talked to the detectives who handled Molly’s case.”

She lifted a brow. “Lee and Randall.”

“Yes. Good detectives.”

“Not good enough.” The words left her lips before she could stop them.