Nights she’d taken for granted. How could this happen? She pressed her lips together as the hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d seen it happen to other people. But, like the rest of the world, she’d never imagined it would happen to her. When she’d been at the Bureau she’d worked cases so unthinkable, so heinous that she’d carefully locked away the images in some rarely visited recess of her mind. She was a professor of law now. Had put her Bureau days behind her. She couldn’t even remember the names of the victims anymore.
It was one of the most important tools an agent could possess. The ability to separate the facts from the emotions. Don’t look at them as people…they’re cases. Just cases. Ryan had taught her that. But now it was her name…her case file.
Her child missing…presumed dead.
A breath shuddered out. Her gaze settled on the frilly yellow coverlet in her daughter’s crib. She’d sat in this rocker and watched her baby girl sleep the night before…the accident.
What she would give to be able to do that now.
Mel stood, wiped the tears from her eyes and stiffened her spine. She had to do something constructive. Make plans. Clean house. Something. Her gaze rested on the crib once more. She should have taken down the crib months ago. Katlin had climbed out a dozen times already. She was too old for a crib. There were youth beds available for that in-between age when a toddler was too old for a crib, but not quite old enough for a regular twin-size bed. The local super-store had them, she recalled.
She went in search of the sale catalog she’d gotten in the mail the other day. She may as well pick one out right now. She could have it ready and waiting when Katlin came home.
She flipped on the living room light and rummaged through the basket that held her magazines and catalogs. Katlin would love a pretty pink bed. Mel was relatively certain she’d seen a sort of storybook or princess style youth bed in here somewhere. Her little girl would be so excited when she came home and found it in her own room.
Melany paused, catalog in hand. If she came home. That damned trembling started again. Katlin was coming home. She was alive. Melany knew it. She felt it as strongly as she felt her own heart beating beneath her breast.
She sat down on the sofa and flipped through the pages. Other people just didn’t understand. She and Katlin had a special connection. She sighed, thinking of the baby-sweet scent and pale silky hair of her child. Well, maybe all mothers and daughters had a special connection, but theirs was different. Mel always, always knew when Katlin needed her or when something wasn’t quite right where her child was concerned. She could sense it, no matter how many miles stood between them.
If Katlin was…dead, surely that feeling wouldn’t be so strong. Melany could feel the pull even now. Her daughter needed her. Every time she closed her eyes she could hear her cries. She shook her head. She didn’t care if people thought she was crazy. She knew what she felt. All she’d needed was for Bill to believe her, and he had.
Ryan was another story. He was far too analytical to simply believe any old thing he was told. He would require evidence, solid proof that there had been some sort of foul play involved in the case.
And Melany had none. Just her intuition and an empty coffin. The authorities, including Ryan, had to admit that at least one law had been broken. A body was missing and that was a felony in itself. She’d been charged for a vault and a proper interment, which she hadn’t received—that was also a criminal offense. Even if the funeral director claimed the body was merely misplaced, he still had the latter charge to explain. He’d taken the easy way out and blamed an employee, Garland Hanes. An employee who was suddenly missing and known for his bouts of alcohol abuse.
Melany shivered. Had that man touched her child? She closed her eyes and banished that thought. She would not allow herself to believe Katlin had been harmed in any way until someone proved it to her beyond a shadow of a doubt. She just couldn’t bear the thought of it. She would search until she found the truth. Her child was out there somewhere and needed her. She would do whatever she had to in order to keep Ryan Braxton on the case.
Anything—except tell him the truth.
She couldn’t do that. Couldn’t take the chance. Bill wasn’t going to like it when he found out. If he found out. He was one of those people who was honest to a fault. Tell it like it is, was his motto. But Melany couldn’t do that this time, for more reasons than one.
She would face the consequences when the time came, if Ryan somehow discovered the truth—and he most likely would. When he’d had a chance to really look at the facts, he’d do the math and then he’d ask her. If he asked, she’d never be able to lie to him…not straight-faced, anyway. Katlin was his child. She could only pray that he wouldn’t discover he was Katlin’s father anytime soon. She needed that ruthless detachment for which he was known. The truth would only muddy the waters.
Melany set the catalog aside and drew her knees up to her chest and hugged her arms around them. She had to sort through all these leftover feelings where Ryan was concerned. She couldn’t work with him day in and day out without getting her head on straight first.
He read her too easily. She had to get her emotions in check. She rested her chin atop her knees. If she focused, she could deal with it. She was tougher than she looked, always had been. Her mother had been a single parent, and only sixteen when Mel was born. Sixteen and an alcoholic. She didn’t even know who Mel’s father was.
Mel had sworn she would never do that to a child. And here she was hiding the truth, giving her child her own name, just like her mother had done to her.
But this was different. She laughed, a dry, grating sound. Yeah, right. This was different, all right. She hadn’t had the guts to tell him the truth two years ago, how would she ever muster up the courage, now?
Enough, Jackson, she chastised. She had to have some sleep. Mel dropped her feet to the floor and stood. The kind of sleep where dreams didn’t come. She glanced longingly at the catalog. She’d pick out the new bed tomorrow. It was late. Ryan would expect her to be on her toes come morning. He didn’t like slackers and had absolutely no patience for excuses. She wasn’t about to give him any reason to say she couldn’t pull her weight.
She padded into the kitchen and turned on the light over the sink. The worst was behind her now. The investigation was under way, and she actually had people on her side. She could relax just a little. Exhaling a weary breath, she searched for the prescription Dr. Wilcox had given her. After checking the label, she opened the bottle and removed two of the little pills. She popped them into her mouth, then held her hair out of the way while she washed them down with a drink of water straight from the tap. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she flipped off the light. Twenty minutes tops and she’d be asleep.
Though she hated drugs, for the time being they were a necessary evil. A first for Mel. If her mother were around she’d get a good laugh out of that one. She’d accused Mel of being too uptight for her own good. You’ll see one of these days, her mother had taunted. You’ll need help sometime. Just like me, she added as she popped another Valium. Hitting thirty had been tough on Carla Jackson and her chosen profession. She’d taken up popping the pills along with her booze to ease the pain and block the image of her last steady John.
Mel pushed away those unpleasant memories. She hadn’t thought of her mother in years. She supposed that if she really wanted to, that in some twisted way she could blame her mother for the accident. After all, if Carla hadn’t made Mel want so badly to be the exact opposite of her, she probably would never have lent her SUV to a friend. God knew her mother had certainly never helped her own daughter, much less a friend. If Mel hadn’t lent Rita the SUV, then she and Katlin wouldn’t have been in a tiny compact vehicle when the accident occurred. Then maybe none of this would—
“Stop it,” she ordered. She pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead and forced the tormenting thoughts away. Rest, she needed rest.
All she had to do, she reasoned as she made her way to her room, was find something unrelated to the accident