Lullabies and Lies - By Mallory Kane Page 0,42
glared at him. “Time me,” she snapped.
“It’s okay. I need to check my e-mail and take a quick look at the news wires and the FBI alerts.”
“Are you going to call Lieutenant Carver? Tell him where we are?”
“He’ll be calling me soon enough. And you.”
“What are we going to tell him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please, tell me the truth.”
Griff shrugged. “That is the truth. I’m going to call my boss first.”
“Is that a good idea? I mean, you’re not exactly following protocol, are you?”
“I think I can convince Decker to let me have a day or so, see what we find in Philadelphia.”
Sunny wanted to beg Griff not to disclose their whereabouts to anyone, but she knew she couldn’t push her luck.
Sunny went into the bathroom, which was still warm and humid from Griff’s shower. She doffed her clothes and stepped under the shower’s spray, letting the hot water sluice over her, washing grime and dust down the drain. She wished she could wash away the coating of fear and guilt that enveloped her. Fear that she would never see Emily again. Guilt that what her baby was going through was her fault.
Someone hated her so much that they would hurt her daughter to punish her.
As she quickly washed, she thought about Griff’s computer, and whatever he had rushed to hide from her. As the hot, cleansing water sluiced over her, she prayed it wasn’t bad news about Emily.
When she came out of the bathroom, Griff was on his cell phone.
Sunny’s breath caught. Had Carver called? Had something happened?
“Great, Natasha. That’s a big help. What about the other phone number?”
Sunny eavesdropped without shame as she squeezed water out of her hair with a towel.
He looked up, his gaze taking in her towel-draped hair, her jeans, and the little red top she’d pulled on.
Her skin was still damp from the shower and when his eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts, she felt them tighten.
“All right,” Griff said. “So it’ll take a while. You’ve got my number. Call me as soon as you have something.”
To hide her blush, Sunny patted her face with the towel for a few seconds. She tossed it back toward the bathroom then spoke. “That was your computer person?”
“Natasha.” He nodded. “She has the location of the pay phone the woman used to call you. It’s in a little town called Oak Grove, about half an hour east of Philadelphia. My boss has talked with Carver, who’s coordinating with the locals there to check the phone booth.”
“I thought it was going to be just you and me.” She felt panic beginning to rise in her throat. “What if she’s watching the phone booth?”
“She won’t be. She’ll be at home waiting for your call.” Griff stood. “It is just you and me. But you knew I was calling about the phone numbers. Our best strategy is to locate the woman and talk to her in person.”
“You mean don’t warn her we’re coming. She promised she’d give me Emily, and I promised to come alone.”
Griff saw Sunny’s eyes grow wider and darker as her fear spiraled out of control. He stepped over and put his arm around her.
Her shoulders felt thin and fragile under his larger, stronger arm. A fine trembling gripped her, underlying a rigidity that he knew was grown from fear.
“Calm down, Sunny,” he whispered. When had he started calling her Sunny? He’d vowed to keep his distance. And her name brought him too close. “Natasha has contacts. The number the woman gave you is for a prepaid cell phone.”
Her voice was muffled. “If she can find out who sold it, the seller can give us the woman’s name and address.”
“That’s right.”
“But if the woman sees the police—” her breath hitched “—she’ll run.”
Griff tightened his embrace. “You’ve got to trust me.”
Then for the first time, Sunny slipped her arms around his waist and buried her face in the curve of his neck. “Just please get Emily back for me.”
He touched her hair, its damp coolness a shock to his heated skin. Bending his head until his lips brushed her hair, he whispered, “I promise you I will. I promise.”
Dear God, he hoped the woman wasn’t leading them into a trap.
HIRAM SWITCHED ON his windshield wipers again. The wiper motor struggled to life. The blades dragged noisily over the wet glass. Damn summer rain. On again, off again. If his wipers quit working once more, he’d be blind.
It had been a long night, watching the motel room’s door, to