“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” She leveled her gaze at him, surprising him with the depth of anger he saw reflected in her eyes. “That little girl is gone, Agent DeMarco. Her bed will be empty tonight.”
Grayson recognized and understood her frustration. So many children went missing every day, and not all of them would make it home. He knew that better than most. “Not because of you, Laney. Because of the kidnappers.”
“That’s no consolation to her parents.” Laney closed her eyes. “I wish I could have saved her.”
“You still might be able to. If you’re up to it, I’d like you to meet with a sketch arti—”
“I’m up to it. Let’s go.” Before the words were out of her mouth, she was up from bed, the white cotton sheet draped around her shoulders like a cape as she wobbled toward the door, the IV pole trailing along behind her.
“I didn’t mean now,” he said, taking three long strides to beat her to the door and slapping his palm against it so that she couldn’t open it. “And I didn’t mean you should walk out of here with an IV line attached to your arm, either.”
“Then bring the sketch artist here.” She turned to face him, swaying a little in the process. “The sooner you have an image of these guys, the sooner everyone can be on the lookout for them. If you really think Olivia can be saved, there’s no time to lose.”
She was right, of course. About all of it. There was only one problem with her plan, and it was a big one.
“We’re not bringing the sketch artist here,” he said, leading her back toward the bed. “You’d better lie down before you fall down.”
She dropped into the chair instead, her face ashen, her eyes a dark emerald green against the pallor. “Why not bring the sketch artist here?” Her voice had lost some of its strength, but she hadn’t lost any of her determination. “We’re wasting time talking when we could be—”
“As far as the kidnappers know, you’re dead, Laney,” he said, cutting her off.
“What?”
“Dead. Deceased. Gone.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know what you meant, Agent. I want to know why they think I’m dead.”
“You were shot. Murphy might have distracted the shooter, but you went down. You were bleeding enough to make anyone think you’d been mortally wounded. The joggers who found you were a couple of teenage girls. They panicked, called 911 and reported a body. No one knows who you are or that you survived except the first responders and the hospital staff treating you, and they’ve been asked to keep it quiet. As far as the media and the public are concerned, Jane Doe was shot and killed on Ashley Street at approximately seven-thirty this evening. I’d like to keep your identity quiet for as long as possible.”
Laney frowned. “Protecting my identity is the last thing we need to worry about.”
“I disagree.”
“Maybe you should explain why.”
Grayson hesitated. Andrews had assured him that Laney was as good as they came, loyal and trustworthy. Even so, Grayson was reluctant to divulge too much. He was used to working alone. Putting his trust in God and his own abilities above all else. He had this one perfect lead, and he didn’t want anything to keep it from panning out. “For now, I need you to trust that I’m making the best decisions I can for you and Olivia.”
“For now,” Laney agreed, struggling to her feet. “But you need to know that I’m not going to spend much time sitting around this hospital room while you make decisions for me. That’s not the way I work.”
She jabbed the call button on the bed railing, and he had visions of her walking out of the hospital in the mint-green hospital gown, the bandage on her forehead a glaring testimony to her injury. If the kidnappers were hanging around hoping to hear rumors confirming Jane Doe’s death, they might catch a glimpse of Laney and follow her home. That was the last thing Grayson wanted.
He was all too aware that his biggest hope just might lie on the slender shoulders of Laney Kensington. If she could identify the kidnappers, he would be one step closer to saving Olivia—and the other children. He needed her help. And to get it, he had to give her some measure of trust.
“Then tell me how you do work,” he offered. “And, let’s see what kind of a compromise we can reach.”
“I’m not looking for compromise. I need to know what’s going on. Let’s start with what you’ve got on these kidnappings.”
It went against his nature to give her the information. He’d been keeping everything close to the vest. The less media coverage about the kidnappings, the better, as far as he was concerned. He was closing in on the perps. He could feel it, and he didn’t want to risk scaring them off. He needed them to feel comfortable and confident. Their cockiness would be key to bringing them down.
On the other hand, he couldn’t risk having Laney go maverick on him. If what the police chief had said about her was true, she knew enough about search and rescue and about police work to be dangerous. He had no doubt that she understood she could walk out of the hospital and away from him altogether. He had nothing on her and no legal means to keep her where she was. And if the kidnappers caught even a glimpse of her, the damage would be done. She’d gotten a good look at the kidnappers. He could only assume they’d gotten a good look at her, too. Once they knew she was alive, how quickly could they find her if they put their minds to it?
“Okay,” he finally said. “Just have a seat and I’ll tell you as much as I can.”
She hesitated, her face drawn. Finally she complied, dropping back into the chair and fixing all of her attention on him.
“Well?” she prodded.
He pulled a chair over and sat.
They were knee to knee, the fabric of his pants brushing against the sheet she’d wrapped herself in, the IV pole just to the side of her chair. She looked young and vulnerable, her life way too easy to snuff out. That thought brought memories of another time, and for a moment, Grayson was in different hospital room, looking into another pale face. He hadn’t been able to save Andrea, but he was going to do everything in his power to make sure Laney survived.
“What I am about to tell you is sensitive,” Agent DeMarco said. “I need your word that you’ll keep it confidential.”
“Of course,” Laney agreed.
“Good, because you’re the only witness to a kidnapping that is connected to the abduction of two other children over the past six weeks.”
“That’s not a secret, Agent. It’s been in the news for a few weeks.” In fact, those abductions—one outside of DC and the other in Annapolis—had been nagging at her when she saw the van on Ashley Street.
“There have also been similar clusters of child abductions in two other states.”
She definitely hadn’t heard that before. “How many children are we talking about?”
“Thirteen others, so far. Not including the three from this area.”
“Sixteen kids missing? I’d think that would be all over the news.”
“It has been. Regional news only. The first seven disappeared from the Los Angeles area over a four-month period. The next six disappeared from the Boston vicinity in just under three months. In many cases, there were reports of a dark van in the area around the time of the abductions.”
“Just like the van tonight.”
He nodded. “Your description is the most detailed,