Lullabies and Lies - By Mallory Kane Page 0,21
in the police sooner—”
“No. The child’s safety was my responsibility.”
“But if you’d been called in earlier you’d have had a better chance.”
“Most of the time it’s the best course of action.” He leveled his gaze on her. “The most difficult infant abduction cases are the ones where the person wants the baby for themselves. Often those children are never found.”
Emotion roughened his voice. “The most dangerous are the cases where the baby is used as leverage or for revenge.”
He paused, and Sunny’s breath stuck in her throat.
“That’s what I think this is.”
“Leverage?” she croaked.
He nodded. “You have something they want. And they’re desperate to get it. You can’t deal with these people alone. You have to trust someone to help you.” Griff’s eyes probed hers. “Trust me.”
Tears filled her eyes and overflowed. His words, his eyes, called to her. Share the burden. Let me help you.
“They said they would kill her.”
Griff nodded solemnly. “I know.”
“But you might be too late.” She didn’t say again but she knew he heard it in her voice.
He winced and closed his eyes briefly. He touched her hand. “I promise you, I will die if that’s what it takes to save your daughter.”
The absolute conviction in his voice stunned her. I will die.
She couldn’t move. All she could do was stare at his hand, so large against her smaller, paler one.
Finally she made a fist, then pulled away and pressed her knuckles against her lips.
“Why?”
He looked up at her, startled. “Why what?”
“Why would you die to save her?”
He swallowed and his jaw clenched. “I told you, it’s my job.”
She shook her head in denial. He wasn’t just a man doing his job. For whatever reason, this was personal.
“I’m so afraid.”
“I know.”
“They said they would kill her. How can I just ignore that?”
“I swear I will get your daughter back.”
The determination in his face was unmistakable. His violet eyes burned with fervor.
“I would, too.”
His brow furrowed. “Would what?”
“I would die if it meant Emily would be safe.”
A wry smile tilted one corner of his mouth. “Then we agree on that.”
Finally she stood on legs that threatened to give way, and retrieved her purse, her hands unsteady as she pulled out the two notes she’d tucked safely inside a pair of Ziploc plastic bags.
Griff blew out his breath in a sigh of relief as he rose and stepped over next to her. His hand brushed her shoulder in silent reassurance.
By the time he laid the bags on the table to study them, his pulse was already hammering.
“Torn from a cheap spiral notebook, just like the blank sheets on the other cars,” he muttered. “Block printing. Hard to analyze.”
The first note was crinkled and stained, a testament to Sunny’s attack, and the pencil marks were faint in places, but he could read it.
“You’ve messed with the wrong person this time Loveless. Tell the police anything about me and your kid will die.”
He looked up. “He knows your name.” So it was about revenge. A sliver of worry embedded itself under his skin. He’d hoped he was wrong.
“Where was this?”
“He stuffed it into my mouth, when he was on top of me. He whispered Chew on this, Loveless.”
“The leather gloves.” He pictured her struggling, injured, lying on the asphalt in the rain, while the attacker held her down, wadded up the note and pushed it between her teeth.
She nodded, her tension palpable, her green eyes burning his skin. She’d been through more than he’d imagined. As irritated as he’d been by her stubborn attempts to handle this herself, he had to admire her bravery.
He’d asked her to trust him, and she had finally agreed. He’d made her a promise. Now he had to live up to it. The hollow ache in his chest flared.
He scanned the second note as she sat back down across from him.
You’re spending too much time with the police.
Someone you know will be hurt.
Someone already had. He raised his gaze.
“What is it?” Sunny frowned, two tiny lines appearing between her eyebrows. She glanced down at the second note, and gasped. “Something’s happened. That’s why you came here.”
Her voice rose in volume and pitch. She stood so abruptly that the kitchen chair nearly tipped over.
“Ms. Loveless—”
“What’s happened? It’s not Emily, is it?” She covered her mouth, her eyes widening until white showed all the way around her emerald-colored irises. “Please—tell me she’s okay.”
“It’s not Emily,” he said, rounding the table and wrapping her ice-cold fingers in his, to warm them, he told himself. “But it is