All-American Baby. Peg Sutherland

      

      TOM SOMERSET STARED out the window of the room his daughter had vanished from sometime during the night. Mid-morning sun was burning the mist off the Golden Gate Bridge. The bay glistened a glorious blue. It was going to be a beautiful day in the city by the bay.

      Tom fought dry heaves.

      His daughter was gone. The only thing left in the world that mattered to him had vanished. He’d been through this before. He wasn’t sure he could survive it again. That’s why he’d insisted on bringing her to the United States with him. She hadn’t been out of his sight since his men picked her up in London three months ago. He’d been in hell the entire time they’d searched for her. Because each time she disappeared—and it had happened three times before this—Tom was convinced it was a replay of that day fourteen years ago.

      No, he told himself. Not that. She’s run away. That’s all. You know that’s all.

      He knew that was all because she’d warned him. The day before, in no uncertain terms, she’d told him he had to allow her to lead a normal life or she would find a way to escape.

      This was his fault. The result of his excessive fear. He knew it. And he hated himself for what he’d done to her. But he didn’t know what else to do.

      Yes, she’d run away again. That was all.

      He turned and looked around the room. Tom didn’t know anything about decor, but he knew it was the kind of room that should have delighted any young woman. The high iron bed was covered with a fluffy rose-colored comforter and ruffled pillows. He could almost see his daughter at the dressing table, her long, dark hair shining in the sunlight that streamed through the bank of wall-to-wall windows. To him, the room looked like something from a fairy tale.

      It’s just another prison! Another in a long line of prisons!

      Tom closed his eyes against the memory of Melina’s angry accusation the afternoon before. She hadn’t wanted to be here. She’d wanted to go to some museum, had wanted to wander around Haight-Ashbury, for God’s sake. Her eyes had communicated her frustration.

      And, as he had done for half her life, Tom Somerset had insisted that he knew what she needed far better than she knew herself.