He’d lied, told her they didn’t have any kids. But Janie knew how bad a liar he was. Then he’d gone and called that dork buddy of his from law school, Hiram Cogburn. Hiram had come in handy to handle any legal matters related to the baby-selling business, but Janie didn’t trust him, never had.
Spooked that Loveless had found them so easily, and worried about that fool Hiram’s bumbling attempts to throw suspicion elsewhere, Janie had headed for Nashville to assess and contain the damage Hiram had already done.
She’d had no clue what she was going to do about Sunny Loveless, until she’d seen her—with her six-month-old infant.
Even now, the thrill of that moment sent an addictive rush of adrenaline surging through her.
Sunny Loveless had a baby. And babies were Janie’s specialty.
34 hours missing
SUNNY LOVELESS paced the length of the interrogation room at the East Nashville Patrol Sector headquarters, her limbs twitching from tension, her head pounding, her empty stomach cramping from the reek of stale cigarette smoke and old coffee.
Nausea burned her throat. Momentarily dizzy, she grabbed the back of a chair and closed her eyes until the wave of sickness passed. It was exhaustion—she knew that. Combined with fear and grief and a terrible, suffocating guilt.
She shouldn’t be here, waiting to talk to the FBI agent that Lieutenant Carver had called in. She should be at the operations center the police had set up, reviewing the tips and photos that had come in since the AMBER alert was posted. Or at home, helping Lil recreate the stolen case files that the police had dismissed until two days ago.
She glanced at her watch. They were late.
Not that she was looking forward to going through the events of Tuesday night again, this time for the FBI. Having to remember everything she’d told the police—and everything she hadn’t.
She gripped the chair more tightly and shuddered. Not even the FBI could help her. Not with this.
The note that had been stuffed into her mouth by those wet, gloved fingers now rested like a lead weight in the pocket of her slacks. She hadn’t let it out of her possession for an instant. It was her only link with her baby.
Her baby. All the horror overwhelmed her again—the attack, the realization that Emily was gone, the sickening sound of that whisper echoing over and over in her ears.
Chew on this, Loveless.
The wooden door creaked open, startling her out of her thoughts. Lieutenant Harry Carver stepped in. “Thanks for coming down here again, Ms. Loveless.”
He moved farther into the room and Sunny spotted a taller man behind him.
The FBI agent.
Sunny gave him a quick once-over. He was a shade under six feet tall, lean and athletic, with dark hair and eyes. He carried himself with a loose-limbed grace that wasn’t hidden by the crisp shirt and summer-weight jacket he wore, although his face and the set of his mouth told her he was anything but loose.
His jaw was strong and square. His features were even, but a little too prominent to be considered handsome.
And those eyes were as piercing as an eagle’s. She felt an odd mixture of wariness and reassurance. She was going to have to watch her step around him.
“This is Special Agent Griffin Stone. He’s with the Division of Unsolved Mysteries.”
“Unsolved mysteries?” Fear congealed into a cold knot in her belly. “Is my daughter’s abduction connected with an unsolved case?”
“Nothing like that, Ms. Loveless,” Agent Stone said, stepping forward.
Sunny noticed his slight accent. He’d grown up in the South.
“I’m here because I’ve worked a number of missing child cases.”
A shadow crossed his face as he spoke. Her investigator’s instinct kicked in. He didn’t want to be here. Why?
“I see.” She held out her hand. “I’m Sunny Loveless. But then you know that, don’t you, Agent Stone?”
Griff lowered his gaze to Sunny Loveless’s outstretched hand, and accepted her intense scrutiny. Families of abducted children were initially wary of law enforcement, especially if they’d received a warning from the kidnappers.
For some reason, he was reluctant to touch her. Just seeing her straight slender silhouette, haloed by the faint light from the dingy window, had been enough to slam him in his solar plexus. It was always difficult to meet the family of a missing child for the first time. This time, maybe because he was back in Nashville, the intensity of his reaction surprised him.
But he didn’t want to be rude so he took her hand. Her trembling fingers telegraphed how hard she