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Lone Witness
Shirlee McCoy
She’s keeping secrets. He must keep her safe. An FBI: Special Crimes Unit page-turner Were it not for Tessa Carlson, Special Agent Henry Miller’s daughter would have been abducted. But rescuing the little girl has thrust Tessa—a woman in hiding—into the media’s spotlight…and into a criminal’s crosshairs. Now her survival depends on putting her faith in widowed single father Henry if she wants to live to see another day.


She’s keeping secrets. He must keep her safe.
An FBI: Special Crimes Unit page-turner
Were it not for Tessa Carlson, Special Agent Henry Miller’s daughter would have been abducted. But rescuing the little girl has thrust Tessa—a woman in hiding—into the media’s spotlight…and into a criminal’s crosshairs. Now her survival depends on putting her faith in widowed single father Henry if she wants to live to see another day.
Aside from her faith and her family, there’s not much SHIRLEE McCOY enjoys more than a good book! When she’s not hanging out with the people she loves most, she can be found plotting her next Love Inspired Suspense story or trekking through the wilderness, training with a local Search and Rescue team. Shirlee loves to hear from readers. If you have time, drop her a line at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com.
Also by Shirlee McCoy (#u830d3f44-96ff-5f28-887d-347dc0a9ece5)
FBI: Special Crimes Unit
Night Stalker
Gone
Dangerous Sanctuary
Lone Witness
Mission: Rescue
Protective Instincts
Her Christmas Guardian
Exit Strategy
Deadly Christmas Secrets
Mystery Child
The Christmas Target
Mistaken Identity
Christmas on the Run
Military K-9 Unit
Valiant Defender
Classified K-9 Unit
Bodyguard
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Lone Witness
Shirlee McCoy


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09647-8
LONE WITNESS
© 2019 Shirlee McCoy
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
“What happened?”
“It was a prank phone call,” Tessa said hurriedly. “I got spooked.”
“What did the caller say?” Henry asked.
“Nothing that made any sense.”
“Can you be a little more specific?”
“He said he knew what I had done,” she replied.
“There’s someone you were thinking of? Someone who might want to scare you?”
“The kidnapper pops to mind,” Kayla offered before Tessa could respond.
Too bad. Henry would have liked to hear Tessa’s answer.
He had a feeling the kidnapper hadn’t been the first person to pop into her mind. She’d told him very little about her past. But that seemed to be Tessa’s MO: very little information and very few details.
He wanted to protect her.
She wasn’t making it easy.
He was about to tell her that when something crashed through the window a few feet away, smashing the pane of glass and shattering it into millions of tiny shards.
“Get down!” he shouted, diving toward Tessa and tackling her to the ground as light flashed and a ball of fire shot across the room.
Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.
—Joshua 1:9
To my children. Who know me well and love me anyway.
Dear Reader (#u830d3f44-96ff-5f28-887d-347dc0a9ece5),
It’s been thirteen years since my first Love Inspired Suspense book was published. In the years since, many things have changed. My children have mostly grown. I’ve moved several times. I’ve said hello to new friends and goodbye to some old ones. I’ve learned a lot about what it means to be part of a family created not just by blood but by the bonds of friendship, faith and community. It is through those bonds that I have been taught the incredible value of compassion, empathy and kindness.
For Tessa Carlson, life has never been easy. She grew up in tough circumstances and found herself in worse ones. She fled something intolerable and created a life that she could be proud of. When she sees a little girl being kidnapped, she knows that intervening could cost her everything she’s worked for, but she’s not willing to turn her away. As the past she’s fled stalks her, she learns the true meaning of love and the beauty of second chances.
I hope you enjoy Lone Witness, the fourth book in the FBI Special Crimes Unit series. I love hearing from readers. You can reach me at shirlee@shirleemccoy.com (mailto:shirlee@shirleemccoy.com), or find me on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram.
Blessings,
Shirlee McCoy
Contents
Cover (#ubcb2bae9-cb2f-555d-b4af-c2f697ada798)
Back Cover Text (#uc960a774-a2cb-5fd6-84d5-154bc5fce9cd)
About the Author (#u4c93d7dc-16fd-5112-804b-fbcca69dd7c8)
Booklist (#uf6fef454-806f-5848-aba9-75cffbfc5def)
Title Page (#u77c393ad-d023-5c11-b824-62a7f7340099)
Copyright (#ub174ade4-5b8a-5ab7-a9d4-bb2094001174)
Introduction (#u365394d0-78d6-5463-b084-1c64eed4b619)
Bible Verse (#ubd994104-a32e-54f2-95fb-45540b161ffb)
Dedication (#u24efd5fb-28d5-5ece-9bc5-c23260391bc5)
Dear Reader (#u244a24a1-4add-5d87-b559-30d0642ccfc0)
ONE (#u890c900a-cd25-50d4-b4ef-b3d9a1494ad3)
TWO (#u246fe1d7-f9ec-5b6f-aba0-bb03a8a7b32a)
THREE (#u82f11d39-01a3-511f-a0b1-73939fb0c304)
FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

ONE (#u830d3f44-96ff-5f28-887d-347dc0a9ece5)
Wind buffeted the windows of Tessa Carlson’s tiny cottage, rattling the glass as she rinsed her coffee mug and set it in the sink. Outside, thick shrubs brushed against the siding, scraping against the old wood shingles, the sound eerie and unnerving. Usually, she didn’t feel unsettled by the solitude of winter in Provincetown, Massachusetts. This morning, she felt a little anxious and a little off, as if all the hard work she’d done healing from the past had been wasted.
Three years, four months, twelve hours.
That’s how long it had been since she’d disappeared from Napa Valley. There’d been no missing person report. No emotional plea for her return. She doubted Patrick had cared that she was gone. Although, he’d cared a lot about his reputation. To have his girlfriend walk away had to have been a blow to his ego.
Or, maybe not.
He’d moved on quickly after she’d gone, stepping into a new relationship within months of Tessa’s exit from his life.
She knew, because she’d kept tabs on him. She had been afraid not to.
The man who had once been her Prince Charming, her path out of abject poverty, had become her worst nightmare. The abuse had been subtle at first. A quick insult. A veiled threat. Eventually, veiled threats had become overt. Words had become shoves and slaps. She had spent eight years believing things would get better and another planning her escape. She had known leaving was the only way to survive, but it had still been the most difficult thing she’d ever done.
She’d grown up tough. She’d had no idea who her father was, and very little idea of what a mother should be. Hers had always been hopped up on drugs or coming down from a high. There’d been nothing stable about the life she’d lived in the Los Angeles projects, but she’d been working to get herself out when she’d met Patrick.
He’d been the antithesis of everything she had hated about her life. Polished and refined, well-mannered and quick to offer compliments, he’d taken advantage of an eighteen-year-old’s desperation. She could see that now. At nearly thirty, she understood that she had been groomed to be his plaything, his prize. He had never loved her. He had loved the control he had over her.
Still, nine years was a long time to be with someone. It was a long time to love someone who didn’t love you.
If that’s what her feelings for Patrick had been.
Even now, three years of contemplation later, she wasn’t sure. She had thought that she’d loved him. She knew that. By the time she’d left, all she had been able to feel was terror. She had planned to run as far as she could and create a new life that he would never be able to take from her. She had done that.
If he found her, he’d be bent on destroying what she had built for herself. Out of spite. Out of a need for revenge.
And, she had unwittingly given him the perfect means to do it, because she’d grabbed everything from the wall safe in his walk-in closet the day she’d left rather than just the items that had belonged to her.
Money. Antique jewelry meant for his Napa Valley antiques store. The valuables were a drop of rain in the ocean of his wealth, but Patrick never forgot an insult. He never forgave a perceived wrong.
She shuddered, stepping away from the sink and the darkness beyond the window.
“He’s married now,” she reminded herself as she grabbed her coat and slid into it.
She wanted to find comfort in that, but she couldn’t. Patrick had become engaged to the widow of his business partner, Ryan Wilder, less than a year after Tessa had left. Ryan had been murdered several months before Tessa fled. She had attended his funeral with Patrick and seen how deeply his widow, Sheila, had grieved. The fact that she and Patrick had married a few months ago surprised Tessa every time she thought about it.
She tried not to think about it.
Just like she tried not to think about Patrick. Skimming online articles from Napa Valley gave her quick glimpses into the high-society life she had once lived and reassured her that Patrick was busy living a life that didn’t include her. She didn’t miss him or the life she’d had with him. She wasn’t mourning what she’d lost. She certainly wasn’t jealous of Patrick’s marriage.
She was worried.
Always. Every day. She lived with the fear that Patrick would find her and use the theft of his belongings as a bargaining tool to force her back into a life she hated.
If she’d been thinking clearly at the time, she would have realized taking anything out of the safe would be a mistake. Even the beautiful and expensive jewelry Patrick had gifted her during their relationship should have been left behind.
She’d been desperate to secure her future, and she had been in a rush to grab all the pricey pieces he’d given her. She’d been terrified Patrick would return home, so she hadn’t taken time to look at each item. She’d taken everything and tossed it into an oversize purse before closing the safe and fleeing.
Her reason didn’t make her feel better.
What she’d done was wrong.
She knew that now.
Then, all she’d known was how afraid she was.
She glanced at her watch and frowned.
Time was ticking away while she worried about a past that she had left far behind. She had a diner to open, and if she was late doing it, her boss would not be happy. Ernie wouldn’t fire her, but he’d be disappointed, and he’d let her know it. He’d taken a chance when he’d promoted her to day-shift manager, and she’d worked hard to ensure that he didn’t regret it.
She grabbed her purse from a hook near the door and stepped outside, locking the door and checking it twice. Just like she always did.
Even with the wind whispering through dry grass and dead leaves, the morning seemed quiet. The distant sound of waves lapping against the shore was the only reminder that Provincetown was a thriving tourist destination. In the spring and summer, the beaches teemed with people, but in the winter, the sandy windswept dunes were nearly devoid of life. That was when Tessa loved it most.
She hurried down the path that led to the road, scanning the area for signs that she wasn’t alone. She didn’t expect to see anyone. In the years that she’d been walking to Ernie’s Diner, she’d only ever run into people during the summer months, when the sun rose early and excited vacationers rose with it. During the coldest months, she enjoyed her solitude, making the walk through the icy darkness as the sun made its way above the horizon.
The dead-end street she lived on was lined with rental cottages, all of them empty in the fall and winter. The one she occupied belonged to Ernie and his wife, Betty. They’d offered it for a good price, and she had been happy to accept.
She had been renting the place for nearly as long as she had been in the Cape Cod town. Some days it felt like home. Other days, it felt like a place to stay for a while. She’d have her nursing degree at the end of the school year. She’d take her RN exam in the summer. If she passed—when she passed—she’d have good job prospects and options for where she wanted to live.
Life was working out the way she’d planned.
Maybe that was why she’d felt so anxious lately. She didn’t expect good things to happen. Even when she was living right, doing right and following the rules, she expected the gavel to fall and her life to be thrown into chaos again.
Betty often told her that God had good things in store, and Tessa wanted to believe it. She certainly believed that He’d brought her to Provincetown and given her the chance she needed to begin again.
As for the rest, she wasn’t sure.
She only knew she had to keep moving forward and hoping for the best.
She turned left at the end of the road, bypassing several empty houses as she walked toward the more populated residential area. Ernie’s Diner was in the heart of Provincetown’s business district. Sandwiched between an art gallery and a small motel, it came alive in the late spring and summer and quieted down as cold weather moved in. A skeleton crew worked through winter, and it was the manager’s job to prep for the morning rush. Tessa didn’t mind. She enjoyed being alone in the diner, setting the tables and sweeping the floor, checking the restrooms and the previous evening’s receipts.
Even in the winter, the diner had a busy breakfast and dinner rush. She enjoyed that, too. There was something cathartic about the routine of small-town life. As much as she thought it might be best to go to a big city once she’d attained her nursing license, she couldn’t help thinking about how much she’d miss Provincetown.
She sighed, the cold wind stinging her cheeks and seeping through her black slacks. She shoved her hands into her pockets, her purse thumping her as she half jogged down a narrow side street.
She could see the Pilgrim’s Monument glowing in the distance, the tower standing tall against the dark morning sky. This area of town was well-lit, lights gleaming from front porches and shining down from streetlights that dotted the road. Just a few more blocks, and she’d turn onto Commercial Street. Ernie’s Diner was ten blocks down. A mile and a half walk from her place but an easy one.
Even in this busier area of town, she wasn’t expecting to see anyone outside before dawn. Not in the winter with the wind chill hovering just above freezing. Most people who commuted to Boston for work were already at the small regional airport, waiting to board the commuter flight. Those that worked in town were still in bed. The shadow that emerged from between two houses was so startling, she jumped back, putting an old elm between herself and the dark figure. Broad-shouldered and moving quickly, it appeared to be a man. That was enough to make her step back again. She was three houses away, frozen in fear, watching as he stepped into the street, a pile of blankets in his arms.
No. Not blankets. A child with long dark hair. One arm flopping out from beneath the covers. She told herself they were father and daughter, off on a long-weekend adventure together. But something about the child’s stillness bothered her. She wasn’t a mother. She had no real experience with kids, but she’d seen plenty of them in the diner—fidgeting, moving, talking... always busy. Even asleep, children seemed to be in a perpetual state of awareness. One little nudge, and they were awake and on the move.
This little girl was still, only one arm swaying with the man’s loping movements. He was heading across the road—a streetlight was shining on his baseball cap, and Tessa could make out pale skin and sunglasses.
And that wasn’t right, either. The sunglasses. Not before dawn.
Tessa told herself that it wasn’t her business. She reminded herself that she had a lot to lose if she called attention to herself or caused any trouble in the quiet neighborhood. She tried to turn her back and pretend she hadn’t seen anything, but she couldn’t live with the consequences of inaction. If the next biggest news story was about a little girl stolen from her home, then what? Would Tessa step forward and give an account of what she’d seen? Too late to stop it? Too late to help?
“Good morning,” she called, stepping out from behind the tree, her heart hammering against her ribs.
A tiny hesitation in his stride was the only evidence the man gave that he’d heard her.
“It’s awfully cold this morning, isn’t it?” she asked, following him up the street toward a Jeep that sat near the corner of the road.
“Too cold for a conversation,” the man finally replied, nearly jogging now.
“Is that your daughter?”
“Mind your business, lady,” he growled, the Jeep just a few yards away.
“So, she’s not.”
He whirled around, the cap flying from his head. He had dark hair and those sunglasses. “I said, mind your business.”
The venom in his voice made the hair on her arms stand on end. She knew the tone. She knew the threat it implied. “It is my business, if she’s not your daughter.”
“She’s my daughter,” he growled, swinging back around and striding away.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and dialed 911, because she didn’t dare take a chance that he was lying.
Maybe he sensed what she was doing.
Maybe he just glanced back to make certain she was no longer following. One way or another, he looked back and saw her with the phone pressed to her ear.
“Hang up,” he said coldly.
“Put the girl down,” she countered, the operator’s voice ringing in her ear.
The man lunged, the child held in one arm, his free arm grabbing for the phone. He slapped it from Tessa’s hand, then shoved her so hard she fell backward. She scrambled after the phone, desperate to give her location. He kicked it across the pavement, then sprinted to the Jeep.
Tessa screamed for help as she followed. He reached the Jeep seconds ahead of her, yanking open the back door and tossing the girl inside. He would have slammed the door closed, but Tessa grabbed his arm and pulled him away as she tried to get to the child.
She was tugging the little girl out of the Jeep when his arm snaked around her throat. She tried to scream again, but his grip was too tight and no sound would come. She had no choice but to release the girl, to claw at his arm and shove backward into his thin frame. They tumbled to the ground, his curses ringing in her ears.
She saw the barrel of the gun seconds before it was jabbed into her temple. “Get up,” he ordered.
She did as she was told. Not because she was afraid to die, but because she was afraid of what would happen to the girl if he drove off alone with her.
“Get in the Jeep,” he demanded.
She hesitated, desperate to find a way out of the situation. One that would save her and the little girl.
“I said, get in,” he nearly screamed, slamming the barrel of the gun into the side of her head.
She saw stars, tasted blood, felt herself falling.
She knew he’d lifted her, was shoving her into the Jeep. She thought she heard someone shouting for them to stop, thought she heard the faint sound of sirens. Then the door slammed shut, and she heard nothing but the rev of the Jeep’s engine as the man sped away.
* * *
Special Agent Henry Miller sprinted across the road, his focus on the Jeep that was speeding toward the intersection at the end of the street. His five-year-old daughter Everly was inside the vehicle. He was certain of that. He’d heard a woman screaming for help as he was heading down his in-laws’ hall to check on his daughters. The screams had been faint but audible through the nineteenth-century windows.
He’d run to the girls’ room and found the window open, frigid air wafting in. Aria had been sleeping, huddled beneath her blankets. Everly was gone.
He’d been in the house when she’d been taken.
He hadn’t heard anything earlier. Just the settling of old boards and joists as he carried his overnight bag into the guest room and unpacked for the weekend. His in-laws had been in bed when he’d arrived, the girls tucked in and sleeping. The quiet was comforting, and the house had seemed as much like home as any ever had. Like every other parent who had ever woken to find a child missing, he had had no clue that anything was amiss.
Until he’d heard the scream.
“Everly!” he shouted, his heart thundering, his brain screaming that this had to be a nightmare.
There was no way his daughter could have been taken from her room, carried out a window that had been jimmied open and tossed into a Jeep that was quickly driving away.
But he’d seen the window, the cut screen, the jimmied lock.
He spun on his heels, sprinting back to his in-laws’ house and the car he’d parked in the driveway less than an hour ago. The keys were in the pocket of his jacket, and that was still in the house. He reached the porch at a dead run, then glanced over his shoulder to see which direction the Jeep turned at the end of the road. Left toward Commercial Street. From there, it would be an easy drive out of town.
The front door flew open, and his mother-in-law, Rachelle, stepped outside, her face stark white. “Where’s Everly?” she cried.
“I need my jacket,” he responded, the words as hard and crisp as the winter air.
“Right here.” His father-in-law, Brett, shoved past Rachelle, thrusting the jacket into his hands.
“Call nine-one-one. Report a kidnapping. The vehicle is a black Jeep. Newer model. Four-door. Heading toward Commercial Street.”
He ran to his car and sped out of the driveway, the tires kicking up gravel as he turned onto the paved road. A purse sat near the curb, a phone several yards away from it. He’d seen a woman and man struggling with one another as he’d rounded the side of the house. She’d been shoved into the Jeep. Everly wasn’t alone. That didn’t make the situation any better.
He’d already lost his wife, Diane, in gunfire from a drive-by shooting. She’d been eight months pregnant with Everly and her twin sister, Aria. The surgeon had been able to save the girls, but Diane’s injury had proven fatal.
The heartache of saying goodbye to his wife had brought him to his knees. He didn’t think he could survive losing one of his daughters, too.
He rounded the corner at the end of the street, taking the turn so fast, he wasn’t sure all the tires stayed on the ground. Commercial Street was quiet as the shops that were usually bustling with life were dormant and dark, though a few exterior lights illuminated doorways and outdoor eating areas. Diane had loved Provincetown. It had been her family’s summer home when she was growing up. Now that she was gone, her parents lived there nearly year-round. Henry and the girls visited often, and they always spent the weekend closest to Diane’s birthday in town.
This was that weekend.
He’d had a full docket at work, and he hadn’t been able to take Friday off. His in-laws had picked the girls up after school and made the three-hour drive. He had finally clocked out of work just before midnight. He’d almost spent the night in Boston. He’d been that tired, that ready for sleep. But the girls had been looking forward to their yearly breakfast on the winter-cold beach—blankets spread on the sand, the sun rising above the ocean. All of them bundled up and pink-cheeked, adults sipping coffee. Kids drinking cocoa.
He hadn’t wanted to disappoint them, so he’d made the long drive, stopping a few times to drink black coffee and wake himself up. What if he’d stayed in Boston? Would he have arrived in the morning and been the first to realize Everly was missing?
He shuddered, forcing away that thought, and the fear. He needed to stay focused on the task. Taillights gleamed in the distance, as the car ahead cruised through the business district at a pace that was probably just under the speed limit. The driver had no intention of being pulled over for speeding. If he made it to Route 6, it would be easy for him to find a place to pull off the road and hide. There were small towns dotting the Cape, and plenty of places for someone to disappear if he wanted to. Henry couldn’t let him. For Everly’s sake, and for the sake of the woman who’d been thrown in the Jeep with her, he had to stop the driver before he made it out of Provincetown.
He accelerated to a dangerous speed, whizzing past shops as he closed in on the fleeing vehicle. The driver must have realized he was being followed. He took a hard turn onto a side street, the back wheel bouncing over the sidewalk. Henry did the same, easing up on the accelerator as he rounded the turn.
The Jeep had slowed, as the driver navigated the narrow side street and headed south. Henry’s cell buzzed. He ignored it. The Jeep slowed more, turning into an alley that Henry had walked down dozens of times when he and Diane were dating.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his heart galloping, the pace fast and erratic. He’d held Diane’s hand at the hospital after the shooting and promised her that everything would be all right, and that no matter what, he’d take care of their daughters. When the surgeon had told him Diane was brain-dead, he’d sat by her side and told her how much she’d meant to him, how fortunate and blessed he’d been to have her in his life.
And he’d promised her that the girls would be fine.
That he’d make certain they had wonderful lives.
He’d promised that they would know who she was and how much they’d meant to her.
He’d spent nearly six years working to fulfill those promises. He refused to fail now. He refused to believe that Everly would be taken from him, that she’d disappear like so many other children had. That he’d spend the rest of his life searching the faces of strangers, hoping to see his daughter.
The Jeep cleared the alley and bounced onto Conwell Street. Henry followed, the traffic light at Route 6 glowing green. It turned red as the Jeep approached. The driver slowed and then stopped. Perhaps out of caution. Perhaps out of habit.
Henry was closing the distance between them, not trying to hide the fact that he was following. He’d let the guy know he’d been seen, that what he’d tried to do under the cover of darkness had been exposed.
The light turned green as Henry neared the back bumper of the Jeep. He thought about clipping it, but worried that Everly would be hurt.
As the Jeep turned onto the highway, the back door flew open and a woman jumped out, Everly clutched against her chest. She stumbled and fell, skidding across the pavement on her knees, her arms still tight around his daughter.
She was up in a flash, sprinting toward buildings that she probably hoped would offer her cover or a place to hide. Everly hadn’t moved. She was limp as a rag doll, bouncing against the woman’s shoulder.
Henry threw the SUV into Park and jumped out, racing after her. Not caring about protocol, about securing the perpetrator, about doing any of the things he’d been trained to do. He was only worried about how still Everly was. How quiet. How completely unlike the bubbly little girl he knew her to be.
“FBI! Slow down and let me help you,” he called as he sprinted after the woman.
She didn’t believe him, of course.
She’d been traumatized and was running for her life with a child in her arms. He doubted his words had even registered. He’d spoken to victims of violent crimes. He’d interviewed witnesses. He knew how difficult it was to process information when the brain was bent on survival.
He tried again. “Ma’am! Stop! Let me help you!”
She darted between two buildings and entered an alley much too narrow for a vehicle.
He was right behind her, catching up fast. His attention was on Everly’s arm, flopping against the woman’s back. He’d never seen his daughter unresponsive. She was always filled with energy and verve. Unlike her twin, she was outgoing and talkative, her mouth running as often and as fast as her nearly six-year-old feet.
“Everly!” he called as he finally caught up to the woman. He grabbed her narrow shoulder, yanking her backward.
She whirled toward him, her arms wrapped around his daughter, her eyes wide with fear.
“Back off,” she panted.
“I’m her father,” he responded, dragging her farther away from the opening of the alley.
“You said you were with the FBI,” she replied, trying to pull away.
“I am.”
“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t be her father and with the FBI.”
“Why not?”
She scowled. “I already called the police. I can hear the sirens. They’ll be here any minute.”
He could hear the sirens, too, wailing in the distance, shouting that help was on the way.
Only help had no way of knowing where they were, and the perp was still on the loose. “Come on. Let’s get away from the street.”
He pulled her toward the far end of the alley, past a Dumpster and pile of dismantled cardboard boxes.
Something scuffled on the cement behind them.
He glanced at the entrance to the alley as a dark figure stepped into view. Tall and lean, his face hidden by the shadows, he took a step forward and pulled something from beneath his jacket.
Henry jerked the woman sideways, shoving her behind the Dumpster. He followed, throwing himself in front of her and Everly as the first bullet shattered the quiet and slammed into the metal near his head.

TWO (#u830d3f44-96ff-5f28-887d-347dc0a9ece5)
A bullet pinged off the brick building, the casing dropping to the ground and rolling under trash that littered the alley. Another slammed into the ground just beyond the Dumpster they were hiding behind.
Sirens screamed in the distance, but help was too far away. The next bullet could pierce the metal and slam into Tessa, the little girl she carried or the man who’d shoved them behind the Dumpster.
“We need to get out of here!” Tessa yelled as a third bullet hit the building just above them. Bits of brick and mortar rained down, clattering onto the ground and skipping across the concrete.
“It’s okay,” the man said, pressing her into the old brick wall. She knew the alley, the buildings on either side—a barber shop and an art shop—the streets that crossed in front and behind it. She knew where she was, but she doubted the police did, and she doubted that staying where they were was going to make anything okay.
“It is not okay,” she whispered, shoving against his solid weight, the little girl still in her arms.
“It will be,” he replied.
“How do you know?”
“He’s not going to come around the Dumpster. He has no idea if I’m armed.”
“He is armed. That’s what’s going to matter to him.”
“What is going to matter to him is escaping. He might want to get rid of a witness, but he won’t risk losing his freedom to do it.”
It made sense, but that didn’t make her feel any less like a sitting duck.
She shivered, her body smashed between the wall and the man.
She hated the feeling of helplessness that brought, the memories that clawed at the back of her mind. Other dark mornings and late nights when fear had made her cower and beg. When she’d fled Patrick, she’d promised herself that she would never do those things again. That she would fight or go down trying to.
She tried to move, but the man was a solid mass of muscle and sinew, all of it focused on keeping her where she was.
“Let me go,” she demanded, her voice shaking.
She hated that as much as she hated feeling helpless.
He stepped back, just enough to let her breathe. She inhaled cold air and baby shampoo. She’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d kept a child from being kidnapped. Now, she wanted to go to the diner and get back to the familiar routine of prepping for opening. That felt safe to her, and it felt more right than staying in the cold alley waiting for the police to arrive.
“I need to get to my job,” she murmured.
“Your boss will understand if you don’t show up,” the man said gently, reaching for the little girl and taking her from Tessa’s arms.
“You don’t know my boss.”
“No. I don’t,” he said, his attention on the child.
“He’s counting on me to open the diner.”
“The police will want to speak to you first.”
“They can find me at Ernie’s.” She knew it was unreasonable. She knew that she needed to stay where she was. The police would want to speak to her. She’d have to give a statement. There’d be dozens of questions about what had happened and what she’d seen.
But, all she wanted to do was walk away.
Just like she’d done three years ago.
She knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Running from problems never did. Her grandmother used to tell her that. The one person in her childhood who had actually cared, Hester had done her best to give Tessa a firm foundation on which she could build a better future.
It had taken way too many years for Tessa to do that.
“The police will know where that is,” she continued.
“You’re in shock. You’re not thinking clearly. If you were, you’d realize that the best thing for you and my daughter is to wait here until police and medics arrive,” the man said in the calm and patient tone she would have used with a screaming toddler tossing biscuits on the floor of the diner.
“Is she really your daughter?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry this happened to her.”
“Me, too,” he responded, frowning as he looked at the little girl. “She’s never this soundly asleep. Everly?” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
“Her pulse is good. I checked in the Jeep.”
“Thank you for doing that, and for saving her.” He shrugged out of his jacket and spread it on the ground, stepping far enough away that Tessa could have left if she’d really wanted to. He laid Everly on the coat, checking her pulse and then running his hands down her arms and legs.
“No breaks,” he murmured, reaching into his back pocket and tossing a phone in Tessa’s direction. “Can you call nine-one-one? Give the police our location and ask for an ambulance. Make sure they know this is related to the report of a kidnapping.”
She made the call, her hands shaking, her voice trembling. When the operator asked for her name, she hesitated before giving it. She’d worked hard to create a life she could be proud of, one she thought that God would approve of and that her grandmother, who’d died when she was fourteen, would have applauded. She was risking that by allowing herself to be drawn into someone else’s drama. The fact was, in the past, she’d done things she wasn’t proud of. None of the people in her new life knew that. None of them really knew her. Not the real her. She wanted to keep it that way.
But, she also wanted to help.
She wanted to make certain that the person who’d tried to kidnap Everly didn’t try to kidnap another child. She wanted to do the right thing, because it was right. Even if it cost her everything she’d worked for.
She crouched next to the man and his daughter, watching as he checked the little girl’s bruised shins and bare feet. He pushed up the sleeves of her nightgown, turned her arms so the exterior building lights fell on them. There was a smudge of blood on one arm, and he paused, studying it for a moment.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Puncture wound. She was drugged.” He took off his flannel shirt and tucked it around Everly, his face hard, his expression unreadable. He had a five-o’clock shadow on his chin and dark circles beneath his eyes. Short hair. Muscular build. Even if he hadn’t told her he was with the FBI, she’d have guessed he was law enforcement or military.
“Your wife must be worried sick,” she said, imagining the girl’s mother waiting at home, praying that her daughter would be returned. “Maybe you should call her and let her know you found Everly?”
She handed him the phone, and he tucked it into his pocket. “Her mother died the day she and her twin were born.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.
“Thank you. It was difficult. Some days, it still is. Diane was a wonderful person. She would have been a great mother. I wish she would have at least had the chance to meet her daughters.”
“I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to grieve her loss while trying to take care of two newborns.”
“They were in the NICU for a while, and my in-laws were a huge help. By the time I brought the girls home, I had people lined up to step in and help out. I’m very fortunate in my friends, and I’m very fortunate tonight ended as well as it did.” He touched Everly’s cheek, tucked the shirt around her a little more tightly.
Police lights flashed on the pavement and a radio crackled. Help had arrived. Soon half the population of Provincetown would be aware of the attempted kidnapping. People would be congregating on the street, trying to get a look at the girl and her rescuers. There would be local reporters jockeying for position, trying to get the best photo and the best answers to the most insightful questions.
A story like this could make national news.
And Tessa couldn’t afford to be part of that.
She stepped away from the Dumpster, and the man, easing toward the back of the alley. It led to a side street that would take her to Ernie’s Diner if she followed it long enough. She’d already given her name to the 911 operator. The kidnapper was probably halfway to the mainland by now. If he was smart, he’d never return.
She’d go to work. She’d open the diner. She’d go on with her day and hope that her name would be overlooked or misplaced or forgotten.
It was a vain hope, of course.
They recorded 911 calls.
Eventually, the police would track her down and interview her. She’d be happy to provide whatever information she could. Right now, though, she was going to put distance between herself and the drama. She took another few steps away, shivering as cold wind whipped through the narrow alley and scattered bits of debris. The sun had begun its ascent, and the sky was gray with deferred light. She could see Everly clearly—the soft slope of her chin and cheek, the darkness of her lashes. Her father had pulled the edges of his coat around her tiny body, and his dark T-shirt clung to broad shoulders and a firm abdomen. He had to be cold, but he didn’t shiver. His focus was on his daughter, and that gave Tessa plenty of opportunity to leave.
God, please don’t let anything horrible be wrong with Everly, Tessa prayed silently as she shuffled backward.
A police officer stepped into view, his radio crackling as he hurried toward Everly.
Tessa turned and walked away.
She knew how it was done. She’d done it before, parking the Cadillac Escalade that Patrick had given her for her birthday in a mall parking lot and walking away as if she had every intention of returning. Head high, like she’d been doing nothing wrong, the backpack slung over her shoulder filled with everything she’d needed to escape.
Shoulders straight, chin up and a quick stride that didn’t seem rushed. She did the same now. Confident. Focused. Completely unremarkable.
The alley was short and she walked out of it without anyone trying to stop her. She turned onto a narrow through street that was really nothing more than a paved path. Maybe she wouldn’t go to the diner. Maybe she’d go back to the cottage, gather what she could and leave town. She’d done it before. She could do it again. Make her escape. Start fresh.
She thought she heard someone call her name, but she didn’t look back. There wasn’t a police officer in Provincetown who hadn’t eaten at the diner. They knew her, and they knew how to find her.
For now.
That might change, because she didn’t feel safe, like she had the day she’d driven into town and seen the ocean stretching out to one side and the bay to the other. It had been summer, the streets crowded, the beaches filled, but she’d felt solitude in the ocean breeze and peace in the warm sunlight streaming from the cloudless sky.
Cold wind blew through her cotton shirt. It had been crisp white and wrinkle-free when she’d left home. Now it was crinkled and smudged with dirt. She wiped at the spot, shivering as she checked for the key she always carried in the pocket of her slacks. It was still there. She’d dropped her purse. It was probably lying on the road, her identification and bank card easy pickings for anyone who might find them. She’d lost her phone. It had probably shattered when she’d dropped it.
“That is the least of your worries,” she muttered as she wound her way behind commercial properties and, finally, walked out onto Commercial Street. She could see the bay from here, silvery blue in the lightening gloom.
She glanced back, but no one was following.
The medical and emergency-response teams were busy helping Everly.
Headlights illuminated the grayish world and an SUV drove past. Provincetown was waking, and the people who made it their year-round home would soon be out and about. According to her watch, she was twenty minutes late for her shift. The diner was still dark, the garish neon sign Ernie had purchased when he’d opened the place hanging listlessly from the clapboard siding near the gabled roof. The building had been around for over a hundred years. Some people said it had been a tavern back in the days when Provincetown had been a haven for writers, actors and freethinkers. Now it was a haven for people who enjoyed quiet and anonymity, who craved peace the way others craved chocolate.
Tessa unlocked the front door and stepped into the dining area, her heart still racing, her body almost numb with cold and fear. She had prep work to do before the line cook arrived—setting the daily special, putting out silverware and making sure the closing crew had cleaned the place to Ernie’s standards. This time of year, staff was cut in half, days were slower and profits were slimmer. Ernie demanded a high work ethic from his employees and expected them to do whatever jobs were necessary to keep the place going.
Tessa had proven herself to him and to his wife. Unlike her husband, Betty had a soft edge and a warm nature. As far as Tessa knew, they’d never had children.
Of course, she hadn’t asked.
She’d come to Ernie’s for a job. Not for friendship or support.
She flicked on the lights, hung her coat on a hook near the door and hurried across the room, grabbing the cart of napkin-wrapped silverware from its place near the waitress station and rolling it into the dining room. There was seating for one hundred there. The patio out back seated another twenty, the view of the bay making it a prime location during the tourist season.
It was so much easier to think about that than to think about the attempted kidnapping. Everly. The man with the gun and the pale face. Her breath caught as she set silverware on place settings and tried not to hear the sirens that were still screeching in the distance. This type of crime didn’t happen in Provincetown. Kidnapping wasn’t a thing in the quaint artsy community.
Someone knocked on the diner’s glass front door and she screamed, whirling toward the sound, a set of silverware falling to the ground. She recognized Ernie immediately, his white hair gleaming in the exterior light as he unlocked the door and stepped in, Betty close behind him. A police officer followed, standing in the entryway, her hat in her hand, her gaze fixed on Tessa.
“Tessa! What in tarnation are you doing, girl! You were just involved in a kidnapping. The police scanners are going crazy!” Ernie charged toward her, his white beard making him look like an angry grizzled gnome. “And you’re here, setting silverware on the tables!”
“Ernie! Hush! Can’t you see she’s in shock?!” Betty said, taking off her coat and wrapping Tessa in scratchy wool and day-old perfume.
“And, look.” Betty touched a throbbing spot on Tessa’s temple. “What a goose egg! She probably has a concussion. You probably have a concussion,” she repeated, cupping Tessa’s cheeks and looking into her eyes.
“I’m okay,” Tessa protested.
“Of course, you’re not,” Betty replied. “You’ve been through a terrible trauma, you got knocked in the head. More than likely, you feared for your life. Right?”
“Yes,” she murmured, trying to avoid looking anywhere except Betty’s face. As a child, Tessa had often lain in bed, listening to her mother partying with her newest boyfriend and wondering what it would be like to have a mother who cared. In her imagination, that kind of mother had always looked like Betty—soft face, soft eyes, soft curves and easy smile.
“Exactly. You’re not thinking straight. That’s why you left the scene instead of sticking around to talk to the police.”
It wasn’t a question, but Tessa nodded.
“It seemed to the responding officer that you were fleeing the scene. I told him that probably wasn’t the case. Fleeing would make no sense, seeing as how we all know exactly where to find you,” the officer said, and Tessa finally met her eyes.
Holly Williams had joined the Provincetown Police Department a few months after Tessa arrived in town. Young and brash, she had a no-nonsense approach to life that was obvious when she ate at the diner and when she attended the church they both belonged to. She didn’t suffer fools gladly, and she certainly wouldn’t believe lies. Not that Tessa planned to tell any. She hadn’t told anyone in Provincetown about her old life, but she hadn’t lied about it either. She’d simply come to town with a new identity, found a job and made a home for herself. If people asked about the past, she sidestepped the questions or gave vague answers that excluded details.
“I wasn’t fleeing. I was scheduled to open today, and I didn’t want to let Ernie and Betty down.” It wasn’t an explanation. Not really.
Holly noticed.
She eyed Tessa for a moment. Then, she shrugged. “I’m certain you know better than to leave the scene of a crime, Tessa. But, it does look like you took quite a hit.”
“I guess I did.” She touched the sore spot, felt the swollen lump and winced.
“Head injuries do strange things to people. How about I have an ambulance transport you to the hospital? I’ll take your statement there.”
“I don’t need an ambulance,” Tessa said, but she did feel woozy and a little sick.
She dropped into a chair, the room spinning crazily.
“Tessa, you’re white as a sheet.” Ernie cupped her shoulder, his voice gentler than she’d ever heard it. “And your forehead is the color of a ripe eggplant. Go get checked out. Betty and I will handle things here. Once the morning crew shows up, we’ll come to the hospital. If you’re ready to be released, we’ll bring you home.”
“I have a ten-hour shift today. I agreed to work extra because I have that test next week, remember?” That was the truth. She did have a test. One of her last of the semester. She was so close to finishing her degree, she could almost taste it.
If she left town, she’d lose the progress she had made.
If she walked away, she’d have to leave all those hard-earned credits behind. She would have to leave the diner behind, and Ernie and Betty.
“You can still take time off for the test, but you’re not working today.” Ernie took her arm and helped her to her feet. He’d celebrated his seventieth birthday a few months ago, but he had the strength and energy of a man in his fifties. He had been more of a father to her than any man. He’d taught her how to run the diner, how to balance the books. He’d supported her efforts to get her degree, and he’d cheered her on, in his gruff way.
“Ernie, I can’t leave you in a lurch,” she protested.
“What lurch? It’s winter. We barely need more than ourselves to keep things going this time of year,” Betty responded.
“She’s right,” Ernie agreed. “Can you take her to the hospital, Holly? I want to make certain she goes straight there.”
“Ernie, really,” Tessa protested. “I have school bills to pay, and I need to—”
“Don’t say another word about it, honey,” Betty said. “We’ve got you covered. Everything will be fine.”
“I really don’t need to go to the hospital.” It was an hour away, and she didn’t want to spend any amount of time in a police cruiser with Holly. She wasn’t afraid to answer questions about the kidnapping. She was worried about saying too much about herself. Or, too little. Holly seemed like the kind of person who would pick up on the fact that Tessa never gave straight answers about where she’d come from or why she’d settled in Provincetown.
“I can take you to the police station instead,” Holly interjected, her tone firm and her gaze direct. “It’s up to you.”
There was a threat there. Tessa heard it. Leaving the scene had been a mistake. She should have realized how big of one before she’d done it.
Betty was right.
She hadn’t been thinking straight, but she needed to start. There would probably be a media blitz at the police station, and Tessa wanted no part of that.
“I suppose it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a doctor look at my head,” she murmured, touching the sore spot.
“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Holly replied, taking her arm and urging outside.
Dawn had broken over the bay, bathing the town in a golden haze. The sky was deep pink, with dark clouds looming on the horizon. A winter storm was blowing in. She could feel moisture in the air, taste it in the salty wind that blew across the bay.
She hoped the weather would keep the gawkers away. She hoped it would prevent outsiders from arriving with cameras and questions.
She hoped, but she wasn’t counting on it.
She had the sinking feeling that everything she had worked for had been undone, and all she could do was pray she didn’t come undone with it.
She shuddered as she climbed into the front seat of Holly’s cruiser and closed the door.
* * *
Henry paced the corridor outside Everly’s hospital room, his cell phone in hand, his body humming with adrenaline. According to the physician who’d examined her, his daughter would be fine. She had been drugged but was otherwise unharmed. Blood tests had been taken and sent to the lab. They’d soon know what she’d been injected with.
Henry suspected they’d find midazolam in her system.
The thought filled him with dread.
In the past eighteen months, five young children had been taken from their homes. Each had been missing for several days and then been found dazed and alone at nearby public schools or medical clinics. The kidnappings had happened in small New England towns. All the victims had midazolam in their systems. All had multiple needle marks on their arms and legs. All had obvious signs of abuse but no memory of what had happened. Girls. Ranging in age from five to eight years. All of them pretty and dark-haired.
Just like Everly.
His hand clenched, his body tense with anger and frustration. The FBI special crimes unit had been working the case for several months, putting together a profile of the kidnapper and trying to find a pattern in either timing or location of the crimes.
Thus far, they had little to go on.
The perp was careful. He left no DNA evidence. No fingerprints. Nothing that would identify him. But he had an MO. One that was easily recognizable to anyone who’d read over the case files. He targeted older homes with poor security. He took children from quiet residential areas that had easy access to interstate roads. He struck in the early morning hours. Before dawn but after midnight. He cut through window screens and jimmied locks with silent precision.
Parents didn’t realize what had happened until they went to wake their daughters in the morning. Hours later. When it was too late to do anything but panic and call the police.
That would have been Everly’s story.
It would have been his.
If not for a stranger’s timely intervention, he would have walked into his daughters’ room and realized every parent’s worst nightmare had come true.
He pivoted, opening Everly’s door and peeking in. She was still out, tucked under layers of blankets—her dark hair had been braided by the nurse who sat by her side.
Briana or Brittany. He couldn’t remember which.
A police officer stood near a curtained window, his hand resting on the butt of his firearm. He didn’t speak. Just nodded in Henry’s direction.
The nurse smiled. “She’s still out, Mr. Miller. The doctor said it could be several hours.”
“I know,” he replied.
“She’ll be okay. She looks good. Vitals great. Heart rate, respiration, oxygen, all of it normal. You can have my seat, if you’d like to hold her hand. Sometimes, that makes parents feel better.”
He knew that.
He’d witnessed it firsthand with the parents of the girls who’d been kidnapped and returned. He’d stood in hospital rooms, asking questions as delicately as he could while they clutched the hands of the children they’d almost lost forever. Eventually, the perp might change his MO. Eventually, the girls might not be returned. He and his colleagues suspected the kidnappings were part of a child-pornography ring, and they were desperate to shut it down.
They would shut it down.
Not just because Everly had nearly been taken, but because every child deserved to have a safe and carefree childhood. He couldn’t change all the evils in the world, but he could change some of them. For as long as he could, for as many years as he was allowed, that was what he planned to do.
“Thanks. I’ll probably do that after I take the call I’m waiting on.” He smiled, because he knew his voice and tone were gruff. He felt raw and ripped open, his emotions exposed in a way he wasn’t used to.
“Sounds good.” She returned his smile and picked up a paperback, burying her nose in it as he closed the door.
The hospital was taking every precaution.
The local police were doing the same.
Henry appreciated that. He appreciated the fact that Everly was okay. She hadn’t been harmed. She’d have no memory of being kidnapped, no residual fear or trauma to recover from.
He still wished he’d been more careful. He’d known the security at his in-laws’ house was lacking. He had known the windows were old. He had also known that a serial kidnapper was on the loose targeting girls his daughters’ age.
But he had not thought it could happen to his family. He hadn’t wanted to believe that tragedy would strike twice in one lifetime. That God would allow him to suffer again. Not the way he had when Diane died.
He hadn’t prepared, and he hadn’t planned. He had almost paid the price for that. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.
His phone rang, and he answered it, his voice terse. “Miller here.”
“This is not your fault,” his supervisor, Wren Santino, said, her tone brisk and business-like.
“When did you become a mind reader?” he replied, pacing a few feet from the room and then back again. His in-laws were on the way. He’d asked them to bring Aria. He wanted to keep both girls as close as possible until the perp was caught.
And he would be caught.
Henry had been able to provide a description of the Jeep. No plate number, but he was hopeful exterior security cameras at local businesses might offer more identifying features.
And then there was the witness.
Tessa Carlson. When she had disappeared from the scene, Henry had been afraid she might not be found. Fortunately, she worked at a Provincetown diner and everyone on the local police force seemed to know her. She had been easy to track down. He was hopeful she had been able to provide a description of the perpetrator.
“It doesn’t take a mind reader to know what you’re thinking,” Wren said. “According to the message you left, Everly was possibly drugged with midazolam. I’m sure you’re making the same connections I am.”
“What other connections are there?”
“It’s possible another drug was used. If that is the case, this may be the job of a copycat.”
“Copying what? Information about the kidnappings hasn’t been released to the public.”
“The public may not realize a serial kidnapper is on the loose, but the stories haven’t been kept quiet.”
“The information about the girls being drugged has,” he argued, because he knew in his gut that the man who’d attempted to take Everly was the same one who had kidnapped the other girls.
“I know, and I’m not saying you’re wrong in making these connections. I’m just saying we need confirmation before we can say anything with any certainty.”
“Agreed.” Because, that was the way investigations were run. Gather the facts rather than make assumptions based on hunches.
“Have you had a chance to speak with the witness?” Wren asked.
“Not yet. She has a head injury and is being treated. She did leave the scene after the police arrived. They had to track her to her place of employment.”
“That’s interesting.”
“If by interesting you mean suspicious, I agree.”
“You don’t think she was involved in the attempted kidnapping, do you?” Wren asked, the sudden sharpness in her voice letting him know that she was very interested in his answer.
He thought about the way Tessa had looked when she’d jumped out of the Jeep, with Everly held to her chest as she’d skidded across the pavement on her knees. She could have left his daughter behind. She had had no idea that he was following. “No, I don’t. But I think she’s hiding something.”
“If it’s not illegal, it’s none of our business.”
“Right now, my only business is making sure the guy who tried to kidnap my daughter is found and tossed in jail.”
“I understand. The team and I are standing behind you. We’ll do whatever it takes to make certain your girls stay safe and that the kidnapper is brought to justice. Jessica and I are on our way to Provincetown. We should be there in a couple of hours. See what you can get out of the witness before we arrive, okay? I’m curious to match her description with Jessica’s profile of the kidnapper.”
“Will do. I’ll give you the information I gather when you arrive,” he assured her.
“Great. See you soon, Henry.” She disconnected, and he slid the phone into his pocket, his gaze shifting to the end of the hall and the elevator doors that were opening.
His in-laws stepped out, Aria between them, mittened hands clutching theirs, her cheeks pink from the cold. She was a quieter version of her sister. Introspective and introverted, she tended to allow Everly to lead the way into new adventures. She would have been lost without her sister.
“Daddy!” she cried, breaking free and running toward him.
“Hey, munchkin!” he responded, lifting her and giving her a hug that might have been just a little too tight.
“I’m not a munchkin. I’m a young lady,” Aria corrected him, her expression somber and serious.
“Of course, you aren’t a munchkin. That’s just a figure of speech.”
“I know, but I wanted to remind you. Where’s Everly?” she asked. “Nana said she was at the hospital, but I didn’t believe her. Sister never gets sick.”
“You’re right. She doesn’t, but Nana never tells tales, either. Your sister really is here.” He set Aria on her feet and kissed her forehead.
“Why?” she asked, holding onto his hand and looking up into his face.
The girls were identical, their eyes the same shade of blue, their hair the same raven-black, but Aria was shorter and seemingly frailer, her scrawny frame currently hidden beneath layers of fabric and a heavy winter coat.
“She was sleeping a little too hard, and I got worried, so I brought her here,” he replied, trying to give her a response that would make sense to a not-quite six-year-old.
“That’s silly, Daddy,” she replied. “You always sleep too hard, and we don’t take you to the hospital.”
“Yes, but I’m not your sister. You know she barely ever sleeps, and when she does, she’s always easy to wake.”
“That’s true. Maybe, I should check on her. She’s probably scared,” she said with a frown.
“She’s still asleep, but you can see her.” He met his mother-in-law’s eyes. “I’m sure Nana and Pop-pop won’t mind bringing you in the room. I have a few things I need to take care of.”
“Of course we wouldn’t,” Rachelle said, her voice trembling. She stepped into the hospital room, urging Aria to follow. She was as shaken as Henry and trying not to show it. A long-time ER nurse, she usually had a calm approach to emergencies. Right now, she seemed on the edge of falling apart.
He started to follow, worried about her as much as he was about the girls.
Brett touched his shoulder. “She’s okay,” he said.
“She looks shaken.”
“She is, but she’d rather not know that we know it.” Brett ran a hand through his thick gray hair. “I feel terrible about this, Henry.”
“Nothing that happened is your fault. You and Rachelle have nothing to feel bad about.”
“I should have put new windows in. Better locks. A security system.”
“Provincetown is a safe community. You had no way of knowing something like this would happen.”
“Maybe not, but I still feel terrible. How is Everly?”
“The doctor said she would be fine.”
“And the other victim? I heard she had a head injury.”
It took a moment for the words to make sense.
Henry had been thinking of Tessa as a witness.
Brett was right, though. She was also a victim.
“I haven’t heard much except that she’s been admitted.”
“I wonder if there is anything I can to do help. We owe her a lot. If she hadn’t intervened, our Everly might not be with us.” A semiretired neurosurgeon, Brett had earned a reputation as being one of the best in his field. He still taught classes and gave lectures, and if it was warranted, assisted in cutting-edge neurosurgeries in Boston.
“I spoke to her before the ambulance transported Everly. She seemed lucid, but I’m going to check on her. I’ll let you know if things are worse than I suspect.”
“Rachelle and I will stay close to the girls until you’re back,” Brett said, his dark eyes so much like Diane’s that Henry had to look away.
“Thanks. I’ll hurry.”
“Take your time. We’ll work out a plan of action when you return.” Brett stepped into the room and closed the door.
Henry hesitated for just long enough to convince himself that a police officer, a nurse and his in-laws were plenty of protection for the girls. Then he walked to the nurses’ station and asked for Tessa’s room number.
The nurse gave it after she checked a master list of people who were allowed information about and access to Tessa and Everly. It was a short list. One Henry had helped create.
Hospital staff were on high alert, watching for unusual activity and turning away the press, who was already gathering outside the hospital.
A little girl had nearly been kidnapped.
A stranger had saved her.
There would be no hiding that from the local press, and Henry was confident national syndicates would pick up the story. For now, the hospital and police were keeping the victim’s identity and the identity of the hero who’d intervened secret.
That was normal protocol, but this wasn’t a normal case.
Not to Henry.
The perpetrator preyed on innocent children.
The victim was his daughter.
And he owed Tessa Carlson more than he could ever repay.
He would keep that debt in the forefront of his mind when he questioned her. He would also remember Brett’s comment—Tessa was a victim, too. But he wanted answers, and he wanted them quickly. He wanted to know why she’d walked away when the police arrived. He wanted to know what she’d seen, and what she was hiding.
He wanted to take whatever information she had and use it to track down the monster who had gone after Everly and who wouldn’t stop preying on the innocent until he was caught.
That was Henry’s goal and his mission, and he wouldn’t allow Tessa’s obvious reluctance keep him from achieving it.

THREE (#u830d3f44-96ff-5f28-887d-347dc0a9ece5)
Tessa’s experience with law enforcement had never been good. As a child living in the projects in Los Angeles, she’d been pulled out of bed dozens of times, taken outside by stone-faced officers who were more interested in checking her room for drugs than in making certain she wasn’t traumatized. She’d learned to wear street clothes to bed, so that she didn’t have to face the embarrassment of being outside in her threadbare nightclothes or too-small shorts and tank top. There had been many times when she’d watched as her mother was handcuffed and carted away. She had sat in the back of police cruisers waiting for her grandmother to walk the half mile that separated their rentals, inhaling the scent of vomit and urine while she tried not to cry.
Life in the projects had not been easy.
Being her mother’s daughter had not been easy.
Both had taught her the importance of staying on the right side of the law, steering clear of trouble and avoiding the police at all costs.
She tried not to show any of that as she perched on the edge of the hospital bed and answered Chief Carmichael Simpson’s questions. Dressed in street clothes, his short-cropped hair sprinkled with gray, he paced her room, a pad of paper in one hand, a pen in the other. Two uniformed officers stood near the door. Darrell Mitchel and Kayla Delphina were regulars at the diner, and Kayla attended Faith Community Church. Other than that, Tessa knew nothing about her and nothing about Darrell. Right now, she wouldn’t have minded a connection, a smiling face, someone aside from the taciturn police chief to focus on.
“So, what you’re saying is that you were walking to work before dawn in thirty-five-degree weather when the forecasters were calling for freezing rain?” Chief Simpson said, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
At least, that was what she thought she was hearing.
It was possible her perception was tainted by past bad experiences. Patrick had questioned and criticized everything, and she’d learned to always be on guard.
She swallowed a terse reply and plastered on the smile she wore when she had to deal with frustrating customers at the diner. “My car is on its last legs, Chief Simpson. I try to put as little mileage on it as possible.”
“It’s about two miles from your place to the diner.” He glanced at his notepad as if it contained the information. She knew it didn’t. Like everyone else in town, he knew where she lived. Like everyone else, he knew she walked most days in most kinds of weather.
“That’s right, and as I’m sure you know, I almost always choose to walk,” she responded, the smile still plastered to her face.
“Even in the winter?” he asked.
“It’s winter now, and I was walking outside,” she pointed out.
“That’s not an answer,” he murmured.
“Walking to work is not a crime, Chief,” Kayla commented, crossing her arms over her chest. “I walk around after dark all the time. Provincetown has a low crime rate.”
“Point noted, officer,” the chief said, his focus still on the notebook. “But I believe I directed the question at Ms. Carlson.”
“As Officer Delphina pointed out, it’s a safe town. I walk to work all the time. You can ask my boss, Ernie Baylor. He owns the diner,” Tessa said.
“We all know who Ernie is, Ms. Carlson. We all know the diner,” the chief replied, finally meeting her eyes. “If I’m giving you the impression that you’ve done something wrong, I apologize. You saved a little girl’s life, and you deserve all the praise that’s coming to you. But I don’t like when these sorts of things happen in my town. The kidnapping of a child is something I take very seriously, and I want to get to the bottom of it as quickly as—”
Someone knocked on the door and it opened, a tall, sandy-haired man stepping into the room. He looked familiar, his hard face and lean muscular form reminding her of someone.
“Tessa,” he said, striding toward her and offering a hand. “I’m Henry Miller. Everly’s father.”
Of course!
“Special Agent Miller,” the chief said, before she could respond. “How is your daughter?”
“Call me Henry, and she’s still unconscious, but the doctor says she will make a full recovery.”
“I’m relieved to hear that, and I want to assure you that we plan to work in full cooperation with your team once it arrives.”
“My supervisor will appreciate that,” Henry replied, his gaze never leaving Tessa. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and his lashes were dark brown and tipped with gold.
“How are you feeling, Tessa?” he asked, and she knew it was only the first of many questions he planned to ask.
“Aside from a headache, fine,” she replied, wishing she had the courage to tell all of them to leave the room. She needed some time to think things through, to make decisions about how much of her past she wanted to reveal.
Any of it felt like too much, but she was afraid they would dig for answers if she avoided questions.
Then again, maybe they wouldn’t ask about anything except that night and the kidnapping.
“I’m glad. You risked a lot to help my daughter, and I want you to know how much I appreciate that.” He was studying her face, his gaze stopping for a moment too long on the narrow white line that cut from her ear to her temple.
She tensed, waiting for him to ask how she’d gotten it.
Instead, he met her eyes again. “I owe you a lot.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, and she meant it.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree.” He grabbed a chair that was sitting against the wall and placed it in front of her.
She knew he planned to sit there. Too close for her to avoid his eyes.
“I really do have a headache,” she murmured, hoping he would get the hint and leave.
“I won’t take much of your time.” He eyed the throbbing area on her temple. She’d seen herself in the mirror. What had felt like a glancing blow had left a huge knot and an ugly bruise. Apparently, that wasn’t enough to dissuade him from questioning her.
He dropped into the chair, leaning toward her, his elbows on his knees, his gaze direct. “Tell me what happened this morning.”
She repeated everything she’d told the police. She gave as many details as she could remember. The sunglasses. The pale skin. The dark hair. The gun.
He didn’t interrupt, didn’t cut in to ask for clarification. He didn’t take notes. He just stared into her eyes, judging—she thought—her honesty.
Fortunately, she’d learned a lot during her years living with her mother. She had watched uniformed officers ask questions and watched her mother shift and squirm, trying to hide that she was strung out on drugs or hiding a few ounces of cocaine in her sleeve, or blouse or pants pocket.
Tessa kept still, kept focused, refused to look away.
Because, everything she was saying was the truth.
Only her identity was a lie.
Four months before she’d left Napa Valley, she’d purchased a new identity from an old acquaintance. She had attended middle school with him, and she had known that her grandmother had offered him a place to stay when his stepfather had kicked him out. He had been happy to help Tessa. For a price. Eight months of saving every penny of the allowance Patrick gave her had made the purchase possible.
The day she’d left California, she had destroyed her driver’s license and become Tessa Carlson. From that day forward, she had tried to convince herself she had never been anyone else.
By the time she finished speaking, she felt exhausted, the pain in her head a throbbing ache that made her want to close her eyes and sleep for a while.
“How about the Jeep, Tessa?” he prodded. “Did you notice anything about the interior that might help us?”
“I was a little too busy trying to figure out how to save myself and Everly to worry about the color of the seats or the vehicle identification number, Agent Miller.”
“Call me Henry. Most people who save my daughter’s life do.”
“Do your daughters often need saving?” she asked, and he smiled.
“This is the first and, hopefully, last time.”
“I’m glad I was in the right place at the right time,” she murmured, still refusing to look away from his unwavering gaze.
He had blue-gray eyes that reminded her of the fog that had often rolled across the vineyards in Napa Valley. She had liked to sit and watch it as the sun rose, wishing and hoping for changes that never came. Sometimes praying the way Hester had taught her, but never believing that God would hear the cries of a woman who had wandered so far from His truth.
It had taken many years and thousands of miles for her to understand the truth of God’s love and forgiveness.
“We’re all glad you were,” the chief interjected, and she allowed herself to finally look away from Henry.
“You’re a newcomer to Provincetown,” the chief continued.
“I’ve been here for three years. That’s not so new.”
“You weren’t raised here, is what I mean,” he amended. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t think of you as part of the community. Your well-being during this investigation is paramount. Once you return home, I’ll have patrols ride past your house every few hours.”
“He wasn’t trying to kidnap me, Chief Simpson. He was after Everly.”
“Everly didn’t see his face. You did,” the chief responded, the words chilling. She hadn’t thought about what it meant to be the sole witness to a kidnapping attempt or to be the key witness in a crime that could put someone in jail for a very long time. She’d been too busy worrying about the past to think about the very clear and present danger she might be in.
“Do you really think he will come after me?” she asked.
“If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t. I’d leave Provincetown and never return.”
“You’re assuming he’s not from the area,” Kayla said.
The chief frowned. “I’m not assuming anything, officer. I’m saying that if I were in his shoes, I’d leave town and never return. I have no real idea what he might do. If I could figure out the minds of criminals, I’d be able to stop a lot of terrible things before they happened. I need to get back to town. The state police are bringing in their evidence team, and I’d like to be there when they arrive. Officer Delphina, you are to take station outside the door. Don’t let anyone in who isn’t on the list.”
He strode into the hall, and Kayla and Officer Mitchel followed close behind.
That left Tessa and Henry.
Which shouldn’t have bothered her, but did.
“Do you have more questions?” she asked, picking at the tape that held a bandage on her left knee in place. She had insisted on staying in her street clothes, and her black slacks were torn at both knees, the fabric ripped away to reveal pale skin. The chief had arrived with her purse and her cell phone. Both had survived their time in the street. Her coat had been taken for forensic testing. The police were hoping to find a hair from the kidnapper on it. Betty’s coat was lying across a table near the far wall.
Focusing on those things did not keep her from noticing how quiet Henry had become. How still and watchful he was.
He seemed to be waiting for something, and she had no idea what.
She tore at the tape again, and he pulled her hand away.
She winced, jerking back reflexively, her cheeks hot with embarrassment when she realized what she’d done.

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