CA 50.7 Little Girl Lost (2 page)

Finally, the administrator entered the code and opened the door. "Five minutes," he reminded her.

Hancock didn't like being outmaneuvered. He'd made that clear when she'd first applied for the position after being recommended by a friend. During the initial interview Hancock had gone so far as to say she appeared to have come out of nowhere. New to the Huntsville area and with only one verifiable credential—Reginald Waters. She wasn't the administrator's preferred candidate, but the pressure from an influential and wealthy benefactor of the institute, her friend, had ensured Hancock's concession if not his approval.

Whatever it took.

Jenna breathed deeply and entered the secured space. The door closed behind her, making the classroom, which was just as stark-white as the rest of the place save for the colorful spines of books, feel cramped and suffocating though it was quite large. She noted the two small security cameras located near the ceiling at each end of the room. The table, flanked by twelve chairs, occupied most of the floor space. Jenna saved her scrutiny of the occupant of one of those chairs in particular for last.

The emotions that invaded her were impossible to define beyond the knee-weakening sort that threatened to stall her heart and steal her breath.

Ten-year-old Diamond had her head bowed like the other children. She stared at the book opened on the sleek white tabletop without so much as a glance up to see who had entered the room. Her long, dark hair fell thick and luxurious around her slender shoulders. A perfect pink bow held her hair securely away from her face and eyes. It was difficult to tell if she wore a blouse or a dress with her seated at the table. Whatever she wore, it, too, was pink. Her skin was smooth with the lightest olive coloring.

Her heart still thudding against her sternum, Jenna reached for some semblance of composure. She wanted to say exactly the right words or do exactly the right thing to ensure she passed this test. But it was difficult to know what that would be, and at the moment her head spun with emotions.

Do this right. Don't mess up now.
She had to find the truth. For weeks she had been living alone with this secret, with the threat of failure and the infinite possibilities of the unknown. The past seven years had been about her search. Her determination to find the truth. Now, maybe, her search was at an end.

Exhausted, Jenna stared at the little girl, and on some level, she wished this were over. That she knew one way or the other right now. Dead or alive?

Guilt assaulted her, stabbing clean through her like daggers. As long as the truth eluded her, this cruel journey that fate had launched seven years ago would never be over. No matter. It was her duty to find the truth no matter how long it took.no matter the cost.

Jenna sat down in the vacant chair closest to Diamond. God, she wanted to see her face more clearly. Seven years was a long time. So much would have changed. Jenna moistened her lips and cleared her throat of the strangling emotions.

"Diamond, I know you don't like to talk. And that's okay. I just wanted to stop by and say hello to you and the other children." The girl didn't move, much less speak. A couple of the others sent covert glances in Jenna's direction. "My name is Je—Jane. Miss Jane. I hope to start working here tomorrow. I'll be teaching art. Do you like to draw or paint, Diamond?"

Utterly still, the child continued to stare at the open pages of the book.

Was she medicated? Jenna had done her research, at least as best she could with what little she had to go on. A verbal answer was rare but any sort of reaction would be better than nothing. Seven years ago they had suspected —

Diamond looked up.

Jenna froze. Every cell in her body seemed to cease functioning. Eyes the color of the palest sky stared back at her. Big, blue eyes as familiar as Jenna's own were set in that gorgeous olive face. Her heart swelled, blocking her throat. This was her. The eyes. The curve of her cheek... Sweet Jesus, her nose.
It was her.

This little girl was Jenna's child—the baby girl she'd lost seven long years ago.

The urge to reach out—to touch her—was a palpable force. But any wrong move could derail Jenna's plan.

No matter what she believed—no matter what she felt in her heart—first she had to be able to prove this was her daughter.

As if fate once more intended to pull the rug out from under Jenna's feet, the little girl opened her mouth and screamed.

Chapter Two

Mill Village, 4:35 p.m.

Jenna slammed the door, closing herself inside her end of the run-down duplex. She clawed in her purse for the pack of cigarettes she'd bought days ago in a moment of weakness, then threw the purse on the tattered sofa she'd picked up at a thrift store.

She snatched at the cigarette packaging with trembling fingers until she had it open, then jammed a cigarette between her lips and searched for a way to light it. Anticipation roared like a wild beast in her veins.

Right now it was either a cigarette or a drink, and the latter was by far the worst of the two evils.

Jenna stamped into the kitchen and searched drawers and cabinets. No matches. No candle lighter.

An entire month she had lived in this dump. Why hadn't she bought a lighter and a candle in case the power went out—which it did every time a storm blew through this side of town? Why the hell hadn't she grabbed a lighter when she picked up the smokes?

Just when she thought she might have to scream or start banging on the doors of neighbors, her attention landed on the stove. She turned on the largest of the heating elements and waited for the coil to turn red.

Tension strummed through her muscles. Her foot tapped against the scarred linoleum. Hancock hadn't said one way or the other if she had the job. He'd rushed into the classroom and insisted she leave. Attendants and nurses hurried to calm the children, all of whom had started to scream.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out she had botched that part of the interview.

Jenna balled her hands into fists. If she didn't get the job, what would she do?

"Damn it!" Her whole body shook and she braced herself against the nearest counter. She had to get the job.

That little girl was her Sophie. Jenna could feel it deep inside, in the place only mothers knew.. .the place where she'd once carried her precious baby.

That was her child in that prestigious, one-of-a-kind prison.

Her knees buckled and she fell into a crouch, hugging her arms around her legs, and let the dam burst. Tears flowed down her cheeks as the emotions she had restrained for weeks now caught up to her.

Seven years her baby had been gone. Seven years. No one had been able to find her. There hadn't been a single lead. Not one. Until now. Jenna wasn't so far gone that she didn't realize her lead was somewhat sketchy and far too much of a coincidence to be acceptable. This whole set-up smelled to high heaven.

But it was all she'd had, so she'd taken it. Desperation did strange things to a person.

It would be so much easier if she could just call the cops. But after last summer's fiasco, that would be a major wrong move. There was no one she could call on for help.

Jenna braced her forehead on her knees and tried to slow the tears and the shaking. Admittedly, she couldn't be sure about anything. Her baby had been missing for seven long years. A lot changed between the ages of three and ten. The hair color and eye color were right; as were the curve of the cheek, the nose, the complexion.

But Jenna could be wrong. She'd been wrong before. Her body shook harder as memories filled her head with painful images and devastating words. The last time she'd thought she found her daughter she had taken a risk that had almost gotten her killed.

And she hadn't cared. The only thing that had mattered was the idea that she'd failed.

In light of that harsh reality, on some level Jenna had
wanted
to die.

A pounding on the door jerked her from the expanding agony. What if it were someone from the institute? She swiped her eyes and nose as she pushed to her feet. No one else knew she was here. She stared at the door. If Dr. Hancock wanted to talk to her he would call. A man like him wouldn't be caught dead in a neighborhood like this. Her mother sure as hell didn't know where Jenna was. It was probably some vagrant wanting to borrow a couple dollars or a smoke. It wouldn't be the first time someone had approached her to bum cash to get a cheap bottle of wine, though it usually happened on the street.

Or maybe someone at the Wallace Institute had figured her out and sent security to detain and interrogate her.

Her need for nicotine forgotten, Jenna tossed the cigarette on the counter and turned off the burner on the stove. She walked toward the door, anxiety building like gathering storm clouds. Another round of pounding startled her. There was no peephole to check and the window was too far to one side to get a look at anyone standing directly in front of the door. Besides, the glass was so old and layered with grime that seeing anything more than a nonspecific form would be impossible.

The date elbowed its way into her brain. Crap. Her rent was due two days ago. The landlord was likely here to collect. Perfect. She had totally forgotten. He was already suspicious of her. God only knew why, considering everyone on the block looked like an escapee from rehab or prison.

She scrubbed at her eyes again, and after shoving her hair behind her ears, she opened the door.

Six feet of frustrated and worried male glared down at her.

Paul Thompson.

Her soon-to-be ex-husband.

Before she could stop it, need, familiar and fierce, roared through her veins. But he was the enemy.

"What do you want?" Jenna crossed her arms over her chest and tried to look strong and furious. She could not allow him to see how fragile she was. Or her surprise at him showing up here. She'd made it pretty clear last year that she never wanted to see him again and, after a while, he'd abided by her wishes.

Until now.

The better question was how did he find her? No one knew she was here. Not even her mother. Least of all her mother.

"We should talk about this in private," he suggested.

The sound of his voice made her shiver. She wanted to beat her head against the wall. How could he still have that effect on her? Remembered betrayal stung through her. Beyond him, a couple of her neighbors sat in their car, windows down, music thumping. On the other side of her duplex an old man swayed back and forth in an ancient-looking rocking chair.

"Say what you have to say and go." Jenna lifted her chin and dared him to argue. He had no right to tell her what to do anymore. Had no rights to her at all since he'd signed those divorce papers.

Funny, some part of her had felt even more betrayed that he hadn't fought the issue, even though she'd been the one to file for divorce. After what he'd done, why wouldn't she? Shaking off the past, she intensified her defiant glare. "What the hell do you want?"

He barged across the threshold, forcing her to step back. As he kicked the door shut behind him he planted his hands on his hips and did some fierce glaring himself. "I at least expected you to be civil if not reasonable."

"How did you find me?" She bit back the slew of curses she wanted to hurl at him. They'd done enough of that already. "Better yet, why did you find me?"

"Your mother called. She said you had found her again."

Fury blasted away any thread of composure Jenna had been clinging to. "First, my mother has no idea where I am, so that makes you a liar. Second, if you've got someone following me again, that's called stalking. What I do is none of your business."

He fished his cell phone from the front right pocket of his jeans. A few taps with his thumb and his call list was on the screen. "Six-thirty this morning. That's your mom's number, is it not?"

How could her mother have known? Jenna had told no one. She had packed a bag and driven away, leaving L.A. in her rearview mirror. Her utilities had been paid. She never stayed at any job for long anymore, so that shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone. Why would her mother care where she'd gone? The last exchange they'd had had been even uglier than Jenna's last exchange with this man. Anger tightened her lips. Her soon-to-be-ex.

"I decided it was time for a change of scenery." She bit her lips together and looked anywhere but at his face.

She and Paul had been married for twelve years. He knew her better than she knew herself. He could spot a lie in a heartbeat. There was little she could do about him being here, but the last thing she wanted was to spur his suspicions.

He glanced around the shabby living area. "And you just happened to pick here? From the looks of the neighborhood, you've decided to live on the edge."

Her SUV might not be rusty or beat-up but it was old enough to fit in with the junky rides dotting the street on this block. If he was still driving that fancy sports car, his definitely did not. The only people who drove high-end vehicles in this neighborhood were the pimps and the dealers. Her neighbors likely thought her visitor was one or both.

"As we've already established, how I live is none of your business." However, her mother had found out where Jenna was, and if she had any inkling as to what Jenna was doing and told Paul...there would be trouble. He had sworn that if she repeated last year's fiasco he and her mother would take drastic measures. Fourteen days in a private sanitarium apparently wasn't drastic enough.

Jenna hugged herself a little tighter. She was not crazy. Her daughter was alive and here in Huntsville, Alabama. This time Jenna was sure. All she had to do was get her hands on proof. A single hair for DNA testing would provide the official results, but that would take time. Prints wouldn't work because they had none for comparison.

Who takes their three-year-old's prints? Most parents didn't end up doing that until their child started preschool. But if Jenna could get close enough.. .she wouldn't need any DNA test. Sophie took a fall when she was two. It would've been harmless, but the drinking glass left on the patio had broken her fall. She had a scar on her upper thigh from more than half a dozen stitches. Jenna had berated herself a thousand times over about that accident. She had stared at the scar a million times. Seven years had likely changed the color and size to some degree, but there would be a scar.