But in her heart, she understood. She knew that every time she brought up Molly’s name, the old pain surfaced. She needed proof—something that would convince Ben McKenzie there was at least a chance his daughter was still alive.
She went to bed that night, her mind still churning. She dreamed the kitchen dream again, saw the pain in Molly’s face. By morning, she knew what she had to do.
Ben cancelled his late-night date with Delores Delgato, an exotic, Hispanic fashion model with the Allure Vreeland made any sort of statement?” Agency who had just finished a photo shoot down at the wharf. He had met Dee through a mutual friend when he was in L.A. on business and they had gone out a few times.
This week Delores was here in Seattle and tonight was the last night of her magazine shoot. She had called wanting to celebrate. At the time it had sounded like a good idea.
But after his encounter with Autumn Sommers, Ben wasn’t in the mood to be sociable. He wasn’t even in the mood to get laid.
He walked the few blocks to his penthouse apartment on the top floor of the Bay Towers in the trendy Belltown neighborhood. He had purchased the luxury condo last year. He could afford it and as he grew more and more successful the extra security the building provided had become a necessity.
He used his passcard to access his private elevator and rode to the twentieth floor. As he walked into the marble-floored entry, the lights of the city shone through the wall of windows in the living room. Down the hall to the left, there was a powder room and two bedrooms, each with a private marble bath. The master suite and bath and his home office were down the opposite hall.
Ben headed that way. As soon as he walked into the office, he picked up the phone on his desk. All the way home, he told himself the call could wait until morning, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep if he left this business unfinished.
His mind strayed to the woman who had accosted him on the sidewalk. It was her tears that had gotten to him. Either the woman was a hell of an actress, a magnificent con, or she really believed the crap she was spewing about Molly.
He dialed Pete Rossi’s cell number and heard the man’s gruff voice on the other end. “Yeah?”
“I’ve got a job for you, Pete.”
“Must be important for you to call this time of night.”
“I want you to find out everything you can about a woman named Autumn Sommers. She says she’s a fifth grade teacher at Lewis and Clark Elementary. She also teaches a rock-climbing class at Pike’s Gym.”
“Not exactly your usual type.”
“Hardly. I have no idea if any of what she’s told me is true. I’d appreciate knowing as much as you can by tomorrow.”
“Not in a hurry, are you?” Pete said sarcastically.
“Can you handle it?”
“I’ll talk to you before the end of the day.”
Ben hung up the phone and ran a hand through his thick dark hair. There was no use stewing over Autumn Sommers, at least not until he had more information. Walking to the wet bar, he poured himself a snifter of Courvoisier and sat down in the deep leather chair behind his desk.
He swirled the brandy in his glass and took a drink, then felt the liquid burn down his throat and the slight relaxation of his muscles. He tried not to think of Autumn Sommers, but her heart-shaped face and deep green eyes popped into his head.
Who the hell are you? he thought, his mind beginning to churn with questions again.
And what the hell do you want?
“You have got to be kidding.” Terri eyed her across the small round table at Starbucks.
“I’m not kidding. I called the prison directly. They told me Gerald Meeks was recently moved to the Federal Correctional Institution in Sheridan, Oregon. Apparently, the guy’s been a model prisoner. Sheridan is just south of Portland, so it’s not all that far. I spoke to a man named Deavers and he submitted my name to Meeks requesting a visit. Apparently, Meeks agreed to see me.”
“I can’t believe this. You’re telling me this guy Meeks agreed to meet with Seattle’s resident psychic?”
“I’m not a psychic. I’m not anything except a woman stuck with a dream that won’t go away. And Meeks thinks he’s meeting with a friend of the McKenzie family who’s trying to help them gain some kind of closure. That’s what I told Mr. Deavers.”
“Cute…like you’re the family’s personal shrink or something. You’d better hope Ben McKenzie doesn’t get wind of this.”
Autumn swallowed, remembering the dark rage on McKenzie’s face when she had mentioned his daughter’s name.
“I guess Meeks doesn’t get many visitors. Mr. Deavers thinks that’s the reason he agreed to see me.”
“When are you going?”
“I’m driving down to Sheridan early Saturday morning. It’s about sixty miles south of Portland. I’m meeting with Meeks late in the afternoon.”
“I thought you and Josh were supposed to go climbing.”
“I had to cancel. I think Josh found someone else to go with him.”
Terri pinned her with a disbelieving stare. “So you’re actually going into a federal prison to see this guy.”
Autumn nodded. “On the way back, I’m spending the night in Portland with Sandy Harrison. You remember—my roommate in college? I’ll be driving back to Seattle on Sunday.”
Terri sipped her latte through the hole in the plastic lid of her cup. “I’ve heard those places are pretty awful.”
Autumn suppressed a shiver. “I don’t even want to know.” Going into a federal penitentiary wasn’t going to be any picnic but Autumn was determined to find out if Meeks knew anything about the McKenzie girl. “I have to do this, Terri. If I come up empty-handed, I’ll let the whole thing drop.”
Terri cast her a look that said what a crock of bull. She knew Autumn could be a real bloodhound when she was set on something. This was a major something.
“Call me when you get back,” Terri said, rising from her chair. “I’ll worry until you do.”
“I’ll let you know how it goes.” Autumn grabbed her paper cup in one hand and slung her small brown leather purse over her shoulder with the other. “Wish me luck.”
Terri nodded. “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”
Six
According to plan, very early Saturday morning, Autumn pulled her red Ford Escape out of its narrow space in the garage beneath her apartment building and drove the small SUV toward the Freeway 5 on-ramp, heading for Portland. The traffic wasn’t that bad. Most people left the city on Friday night and she was getting out of town long before the Saturday shoppers hit the road.
It was a four-hour drive to Portland. Once she got there, she turned onto Highway 18 for the sixty-mile drive to the Sheridan correctional facility. On the seat beside her sat four pages—single-spaced—of visitor regulations.
Autumn had read them thoroughly, making sure not to wear anything khaki—expressively forbidden since the prisoners wore khaki pants and shirts—or anything metal on her person.
Her nerves began to build as she drove into the lot in front of the tile-roofed main building, parked in a visitor’s space, got out and locked her SUV. Then she took a deep breath and headed for the entrance marked Visitors. Inside the lobby, security cameras were everywhere, watching every inch of the building.
Autumn walked to the information counter and a woman in a white uniform shirt and