Lullabies and Lies - By Mallory Kane Page 0,61

just had to find it.

A ghost of a smile played about Sunny’s lips. It was no wonder that people’s eyes were drawn to Marianne. She was like a dark-haired angel. A ray of sunlight caught the deep red highlights in her hair, giving the impression of a bright halo. It was a beautiful picture of a beautiful little girl.

Griff spoke. It sounded as if he was talking to the local police.

With one ear tuned to anything he might say about Emily, she concentrated on the people whose gazes seemed to be trained on Griff’s sister. She zoomed in on each of them in turn.

There was nothing unusual about any of them. They were just normal people. Unremarkable. She rolled the mouse wheel, studying a man whose gaze seemed to rest on Marianne. His body language suggested that he was more interested in the young woman whose hand he held than in a baby.

Sunny moved the mouse, panning the background. A young mother holding her child looked over her shoulder toward Marianne as she walked away.

Sunny skipped over a nondescript woman who stood alone, pushing her hair out of her eyes, and continued panning the scene. She zoomed out to look at the whole photo again.

Her eyes went back to the woman standing alone. There was nothing familiar about her, and yet… She zoomed in until the woman’s head and shoulders filled the screen.

Her gaze froze on the woman’s hand. All the horror of that night came back to her. The taste of leather, the empty fingers of the glove brushing her chin. Nausea twisted her gut.

“Griff!” she choked.

He held up a hand. “Right. Yes. If you’ll call the hospital. We’ll be there within the hour.” He disconnected. “Sunny, we need to go—”

“Griff! Look at this.” Sunny could barely breathe. Her pulse echoed in her head like a bass drum.

“Look at this woman.” She got up. “Don’t move the mouse,” she cautioned as he sat down in front of the laptop.

“Look at her left hand.”

“Yeah?”

“Is she missing two fingers?”

Griff zoomed in until the woman’s pixilated hand filled the screen, then backed out step by step. He squinted. “It’s possible. Why?”

Fear and hope collided inside her chest. “I didn’t say anything before. I wasn’t sure. And I was so scared.”

“Say anything about what?”

Sunny swallowed. “About the kidnapper’s hand.”

Griff’s gaze snapped to hers. “His hand?”

She nodded. “The kidnapper had on leather gloves. And when he stuffed the note into my mouth, his hand felt odd.” She took a long breath. “Like a finger of the glove, or maybe two fingers—were empty.” She held up her hand, fingers spread, then curved the last two fingers in toward her palm.

“Empty?” Griff stared at her hand. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“I wasn’t sure. And then everything happened—” Her breath caught on a sob. “Griff, do you think that woman could be the kidnapper?” The horrible certainty that had been growing inside her bloomed. “Do you think she took Marianne?”

Sunny’s words stabbed him. He stared at the photo. Missing fingers.

“Hold on.” Tension scraped his throat as he switched to his database. He scrolled downward, searching for a particular entry.

“Here it is. There was a case, back in ’98. A ten-month-old boy disappeared from a playpen in the green area of an apartment building in Missouri. Another mother reported noticing a slightly built brown-haired woman with a missing finger in the area.”

“I was working with Violent Crimes at that time, but I read up on the case. I think the witness worked with a sketch artist, but her description was too vague, except for the missing finger.”

“That has to be her!” Sunny’s voice was filled with hope.

A hope that broke his heart. He’d been where she was now. Time and time again. Certain each lead was the one that would reunite him with his sister.

He shook his head, not meeting her gaze. “Don’t get your hopes up, Sunny. It’s a long shot. These photos are fifteen years old. I can’t tell for sure that the woman’s fingers are missing. It could just be the angle of her hand. In fifteen years, there’s only been one case with that description.”

“Two.”

“All right. Two. If we count your sudden memory of the empty glove.”

She glared at him. “It wasn’t sudden. I just—” Her throat moved as she swallowed, and her eyes suddenly swam with tears. “I didn’t mention it that night because of the note.”

Griff opened his mouth to reprimand her for holding back information, but her wide sad eyes