Читать книгу Gone In The Night - Anna J. Stewart - Страница 12
ОглавлениеIt was strange, Allie thought, how time possessed a vicious will of its own. It sped up when you wanted to stretch out the memories and slowed to an agonizing crawl when all she wanted to do was push forward.
The hours that had passed since she’d sat before three terrified little girls felt like days, days she’d do anything to pretend had been a dream. Now, as she stepped inside Hope Kellan’s second-floor bedroom, the reality of the little girl’s absence hit her like an anvil.
She watched as the last member of the Sac PD’s crime scene unit snapped a metal case shut and left. The tech offered a strained, understanding smile as he did so. Never before had Allie put so much faith in the department she’d worked closely with and in the detectives heading up the case. She trusted them, absolutely and without question.
And yet...
Allie, of all people, knew there were no absolutes in life. Not where children were concerned. Not twenty years ago and not today.
She’d needed solitude; she’d needed quiet. Watching Max Kellan occupy himself with pacing, sitting, standing, and then repeating the pattern, pressed in on her. She understood how he felt; all she wanted to do was go out the front door, breathe in the fresh air and walk until she couldn’t walk anymore.
His panic, his concern, tasted bitter in Allie’s mouth as she tried not to surrender to the logic of what statistics said about how Hope’s disappearance would play out. The first twenty-four hours were vital—forty-eight, if they were lucky—but Allie was a realist; she knew the odds didn’t favor a happy reunion. Chances increased by the second that she’d be standing in another field, over another little girl’s body.
“Stop it!” She had to say it out loud, so she could hear it through her own ears. It’s what Simone or Eden would tell her, but they weren’t here. What she wouldn’t give for her best friends to be standing beside her. They were her support system, had been from the moment they’d met on the kindergarten playground.
Allie had been trying to stand up for herself against a second grader who wanted the bright blue plastic ball she’d gotten for her birthday, but she soon found herself flat on her back on the cement.
Next thing she knew, Simone Armstrong and Eden St. Claire were standing over her, hands stretched out for her to take. They hauled her up, introduced themselves and then their friend Chloe Evans, who had been standing behind them. Chloe, with her excitement-tinged, wide-green-eyed uncertainty, crooked pigtails sticking out on either side of her head. Her clothes hadn’t matched, not even a little, Allie remembered.
That day Simone had helped Allie straighten her new pink dress and sweater while Eden retrieved Allie’s ball—before being sent to the principal’s office for kicking the second grader somewhere Allie later learned was vastly inappropriate.
They’d been picking each other up off the ground ever since.
Times like this, as she stared at the youthful optimism of Hope Kellan’s bedroom, Allie envied people like Max Kellan.
Where other people became jittery and restless when faced with a traumatic situation, Allie pulled into her tiny, tiny shell like a petrified, silent turtle.
Call it professional training or life experience, it was part of what had kept her sane all these years. Today, for the first time, the calmness seemed to be pushing her to the brink.
When her cell phone buzzed, Allie answered without thinking. “Dr. Hollister.”
“Well, there’s a surprise. I thought for sure I was going to get your voice mail.” Nicole Goodale’s cheery voice dropped Allie into the quicksand of her youth, exactly the last place she wanted to dwell. “I just wanted to thank you for coming last night to the soft opening of Lembranza. We really appreciate the family support.”
“It was my pleasure, Nicole.” Allie rubbed the space between her brows. If there was one talent her foster siblings, Nicole and her brother Patrick, had picked up during her three years as one of Allie’s parents’ “projects,” it was Allie’s mother’s bad sense of timing, unfortunately. “The meal was fabulous and it was great to see both of you again.” Funny how, after more than fifteen years and sporadic contact, Nicole seemed inordinately determined to make up for lost time. Not that Allie minded. Nicole and her brothers were among the few bright spots in her childhood.
“Glad to know we earned your seal of approval. I also wanted to check in and see if everything’s okay with you.” The concern in her foster sister’s voice dropped another weight of guilt onto Allie’s shoulders. She hadn’t wanted to go last night and had even contemplated cancelling at the last minute, but if she’d done that she never would have heard the end of it, especially from her mother.
“Everything’s fine,” Allie lied. “I’m just dealing with a problem with one of my patients at the moment. Sorry if I sound distracted.”
“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Nicole said.
“Serious enough,” Allie said. “And I hope I wasn’t too much of a downer last night at dinner. There’s just been a lot going on.” Being stalked by the monster responsible for murdering your best friend didn’t make for emotional stability. “But it was great to reconnect.”
“Seeing you again made us realize how much we’ve missed you,” Nicole said. “And you’re right, things have been...” Her voice trailed off and Allie flinched. “It’s been a rough few years trying to get Mom settled and, well, the rest of what happened.”
She did know. Of the three Goodale kids who had stayed with Allie’s family while their mother underwent in-patient treatment for severe psychosis, Tyler had been the youngest and, even to Allie’s young eyes, the most fragile. She hadn’t been surprised to hear years later that he’d eventually developed the same issues as his mother and been committed to a long-term psychiatric facility. “Tyler was always very nice to me.”
Allie shivered and looked down at the pale pink carpet. Tyler had been so considerate, so attentive. Especially after Chloe’s death. He’d followed Allie around, offering to help, to talk. He’d paid attention to her, listened to her, which was more than her own parents had done. Sitara and Giles Hollister had been wrapped up in their own lives, their own ideas, and had chalked Chloe’s death up to “one of those things the universe gives us as a test of character.”
It was only now, years later as a practicing therapist, that she realized the damage they’d done; but walking away completely would have felt hypocritical given her professional dedication to healing families. Besides, no one could work guilt like Sitara Hollister. But Tyler? He’d been her savior.
Whenever Allie recalled the quiet times she and Tyler spent in the ramshackle tree house her father had built, eating peanut butter sandwiches and playing board games, she smiled. A little.
“Well, we all have to move on, don’t we,” Nicole said. “I’ll check in with you again soon. If only to remind you to bring your famous potato salad on Sunday.”
Allie sighed. “Ma called you, didn’t she?”
“She thinks you’re ignoring her texts.”
That’s because she was. “Yeah, well, I’ll answer the next time she calls.” Like Allie had the wherewithal to deal with her mother today. “Thanks for checking in on me, Nicole. I’ll see you soon.”
Allie called on every ounce of courage that had abandoned her the second she’d stepped foot in the makeshift campground at the Vandermonts’. This wasn’t her. She didn’t flounder. Yet here she was, spinning out of control as if someone had pulled the floor out from under her. Adding her wacky and emotionally scarred family to the mix only made her rotate faster.
Where was the control she’d based her entire life on? Control that had been slipping away from her for months? Ever since Eden had begun receiving her “reminder” gifts. As if any of them had gone a day without remembering Chloe’s murder.
Never had it occurred to Allie that Chloe’s killer would target someone Allie cared about, other than Simone and Eden. Why would she, given a motive for Chloe’s murder had never been uncovered? Chloe’s case had simply been designated cold, attributed to an individual passing through who had taken advantage of a young girl out on her own in the middle of the night.
For decades the police and even Chloe’s family, who had moved away long ago, had assumed it was a random act.
Except it hadn’t been.
Allie should have been more aware as far as Hope was concerned. The physical similarities between Hope and Chloe were part of the reason Allie had been so determined to help the little girl. She didn’t need another therapist telling her the dangers of transference. Chloe hadn’t been given a long, happy, stable life. Allie wanted that—maybe too much—for Hope Kellan.
And by doing so, she had inadvertently put the little girl in danger.
When was Allie going to learn that whenever she let feelings get involved in any decision, trouble followed? All the more reason to take the offer of a new job, a new start, seriously. Allie’s stomach clenched. Moving on would mean leaving Simone and Eden behind—her real family. But they didn’t need her as much. Eden was happily married and Simone was practically on her way down the aisle.
Starting over, doing something that scared her both professionally and personally—that was a good idea, wasn’t it?
Once Hope is home, she told herself. Then she’d talk about it with them. Besides, they were going to have enough to deal with once the press found out Chloe’s case had been reopened recently when Chloe’s missing tennis shoe had been delivered to the police. Now, here they were, with another missing girl in frighteningly similar circumstances. Allie could only imagine the resulting spin accusing the police department of endangering valley residents by keeping the information quiet.
Allie shivered. She didn’t want to think about how the public—especially Hope’s uncle Max—would react to that.
She recognized a time bomb when she saw one and Max Kellan was tick-tick-ticking his way through life.
His life wasn’t any of her business. But given his rather shaggy appearance; the long, sun-tipped, dark blond hair that seemed to be in a race to his shoulders; the permanent five-o’clock shadow; his open hostility upon learning of her profession? Allie felt safe in assuming he’d had a difficult go of things lately. Still, there was something oddly appealing about him. Maybe it was the chiseled features of a man who could have stepped out of an action movie. She caught herself imagining how her fingers would get lost in the thick length of his hair. Her reaction to him was curious. Unusual. Which only increased her fascination.
When she looked into those swirling brown eyes of his, she found something familiar, something unsettling that she found in the mirror every morning: the man was haunted.
She also saw a man in need of care and compassion, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
Add all those elements together and sharing her suppositions with Max about Hope’s kidnapping could very well set up a reaction of furious proportions.
For now, as far as the connected cases were concerned—as far as Max was concerned—she’d keep her mouth shut.
If she’d expected to find some peace in Hope’s bedroom, it was keeping its distance. Allie saw hints of designer elegance, Hope’s mother’s influence given her penchant for materialistic show-woman-ship. But Gemma’s taste extended only as far as the deep layers of pink-and-white striped wallpaper and detailed crown molding decorating the high ceiling.
Hope wasn’t a girlie-girl, not completely, anyway. She was a kid who threw herself into all different things, from science experiments to hip-hop dance classes, to horseback riding lessons that had been her mother’s idea. She liked playing dress up as much as baseball. She could catch and throw as well as she could decimate the makeup counter at the local store. Despite the sadness and withdrawn behavior that had brought Hope to Allie’s office, she’d maintained her spark, however dim; but enough for Allie to gently blow on and reignite.
Allie wasn’t so egotistical to believe Hope’s transformation was all on her. Max Kellan had played a significant role in pulling Hope out of the darkness surrounding her parents’ divorce.
Allie’s toes scrunched in her flat thin-soled shoes as if afraid of taking a step farther inside. She pushed past her reservations and forced herself to scan the walls lined with kitten and puppy posters and a boy band Allie had only heard of in some of her other patients’ sessions. Like the Vandermont home, Hope’s bedroom contained several photographs of the four young girls, all with the biggest, happiest, brightest smiles possible.
Allie could only hope they’d be able to smile like that again.
She wasn’t sure she ever had.
Allie walked over to the bay window, sat on the padded cushion stacked high with books ranging from classic children’s stories to the latest young adult novels.
“Let me guess.” Jack MacTavish’s voice had Allie glancing to the bedroom door. “Uncle Max drive you out of your comfort zone?”
Allie managed a slight smile. “Not really. I thought maybe being in her space would help me somehow.”
“How do you think he’s doing?” Jack strode in and scanned the room in that seemingly casual way he had of absorbing every detail.
“I’d say he’s hanging on by his fingernails.” Allie got to her feet, realized there wasn’t anywhere else to go. She sat down again. “Have you heard anything from Cole yet?” As much as she liked Jack, she’d known Cole Delaney, Jack’s partner and Eden’s new husband, for most of her life. She missed his solid presence despite acknowledging he was needed elsewhere.
“He’s still up at the Vandermont house with the lieutenant, bringing Agent Quinn up to speed. Quinn, I kid you not, arrived by helicopter like some movie superhero. Cole did say the girls are asking for you. They want to know if there’s anything they can be doing.”
“There isn’t.” All they could do was wait. Which was, of course, the most difficult thing anyone could do in this situation. “It makes more sense for Cole to talk to them, see if they noticed anyone strange in the last few weeks. Or if Hope told them something she’s been keeping to herself.” As if Allie could admit out loud that being around the girls felt like a physical knife to her heart.
Jack lowered his voice. “You think this has been in the works that long?”
“This took planning, Jack.” Far longer than Allie liked to consider. The idea that Hope was the one who suggested the campout niggled at the back of her mind.
“You’re still convinced this is connected to Chloe’s case.”
“You saw the flowers.” Allie had yet to erase the image out of her mind. “If it isn’t connected, why leave it at all? Hope and Chloe could be twins. The red hair, the quirky personality, the friends.” Allie felt her breath catch. Only now did she realize how being around Hope eased some of the pain she’d carried most of her life. And now? She scrubbed her hands down her arms. Now it was as if she was stuck in a horrific rerun of the worst episode of her childhood. “I know I’m supposed to try to keep an emotional distance, but I don’t think that’s possible. We’re all out on the ledge on this one, Jack. I’m not entirely sure what to do.” And that was her greatest fear: that she’d do something wrong and cost a young girl her life.
“You’ll do what you always do. You’ll keep us from falling.” Jack squeezed her arm. “You’ve got a good support system with Eden and Simone. Speaking of which, Cole called Eden and filled her in. She’s driving back from Portland. She should be in Sacramento by tonight.”
“More like this afternoon given the way she drives. I should call Simone,” Allie murmured. “I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to break her cone of happiness.”
“I’d say break away, but then I’d be the one emotionally invested.” It was Jack’s turn to offer a thin smile.
Allie inclined her head. Jack’s ego had taken a healthy bashing a few weeks ago when Simone reunited with her ex-husband, something none of them saw coming, least of all Jack, Simone’s on-again, off-again Friday-night date. That Jack rolled with the punches and, in some odd way, had become friends with said ex, Vince Sutton, proved just how nice a guy the detective was. “You need to stop looking so hard, Jack. Your someone is out there. She’ll pop up when you least expect it.” Or, as was the case for Eden and Simone, when it was incredibly inconvenient.
“Yeah, don’t know about that. I’m running out of options.” He came over and sat on the window seat beside her. He turned that charming, eye-twinkling grin on her. “Unless you’re open to—”
“You really don’t need me to remind you that you’re like my big brother, right?” Allie said, appreciating the lighthearted banter.
“Ugh.” He fell against the wall and clutched his heart as if she’d shot him. “And here I was finally recovering from Simone’s ‘you’re a great guy’ and ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech. I guess taking you for a weekend ride in my new car is out of the question.”
Allie chuckled.
“I don’t mean to interrupt.” Max Kellan’s shotgun voice made Allie jump, her face flushing for no reason other than he’d caught her being hit on, however ineffectively. “Your fellow detectives were able to track my brother down. Joe took an early flight and should land at Sac Metro in the next fifteen minutes. They have officers waiting at the gate to bring him home.” His amber-specked brown eyes shot disapproval, first in Jack’s direction, then in hers. “As you were.”
“Now, hang on—” Jack got slowly to his feet. Allie grabbed hold of his arm and shook her head.
“He needs to be angry at something,” she murmured. “It gives him focus.” On something other than fear.
“Then let it be me. You don’t deserve it.”
Didn’t she?
“Max, I could use your help going through some of Hope’s belongings.” Allie leaned around Jack. “Are you up for that?” She didn’t really need his help, but he needed a distraction and she needed to know more about this man who could prove vital when it came to finding Hope.
“You serious?” Jack’s brow furrowed.
“Go back downstairs. Check in with Cole. And see if you can track down Simone and Vince. I’m guessing we might need their input on this.”
“More detectives?” Max asked.
“More help,” Allie explained and hoped it would suffice.
“While you’re at it, see where we are with tracking down my sister-in-law,” Max added. With his arms folded across his torso, he resembled one of those Roman statues declaring battle, this time with the well-meaning detective.
“I’ll check.” Jack glared at Max. “Ease up, hose monkey. Allie’s one of the best assets you’ve got in this.”
“Hose monkey?” Allie asked Max once Jack was gone.
“One of the nicer things cops call firefighters.” It wasn’t until Max looked at her that she saw the reluctant respect glistening in his eyes. “What is it you’re hoping to find in here?”
Just like Allie, Max didn’t seem in a rush to step into Hope’s room; he’d probably feel more comfortable if the room was on fire. “You know her better than anyone. Is there anything that seems off to you? Things that aren’t familiar?”
Maybe little gifts she’d been sent like the mementos Allie, Eden and Simone had received over the past few months. Notes. Pictures. Flowers. Every one of them a stark reminder of when they’d lost Chloe and that her killer hadn’t been forgotten.
Or that he hadn’t forgotten them.
“Hope’s a pretty open kid.” Max finally moved inside and peered behind the door at the filled-to-the-brim bookshelf. “She’s a terrible secret keeper. I don’t like the idea of snooping through her stuff.”
“If it helps us get a handle on exactly what’s going on, I doubt she’d mind.”
“What about her laptop?” Max gestured to his niece’s desk.
“Tammy, the head lab tech, will go over that. Hope doesn’t maintain any social media presence that I know of.”
“Yeah, Joe doesn’t allow it. One of the benefits of being in on the expansion of the internet. He keeps it as far away from Hope as possible.” He ran his fingers along the spines of her books. “I suppose you think that’s too restrictive, too controlling.” He glanced at her, the accusation clear on his face.
“I can see both sides of that argument, but, as I don’t have children, it’s not necessarily my place to say.” Except in the confines of her office.
“Of course not,” Max sneered. “Fixing the messes people make of their kids keeps you employed.”
Allie’s chest tightened. “Forgive me for dropping all the psychology on you, but that’s what we in the business call projecting. And Hope isn’t a mess.”
“No, but her parents are.”
Allie couldn’t argue that point. Joe Kellan, Hope’s father, avoided conflict at all costs, especially when it came to his wife. Whereas Gemma Kellan knew precisely what buttons to push to get what she wanted. The two were a seriously toxic combination and it adversely affected their only child.
Allie prided herself on being able to read people. It was, after all, a big part of her job. She could walk into a situation and assess the people involved from the start; give her a file and some background and she could, if necessary, get exactly what she needed from them, either child or adult. At the very least she could find a clue as to how to help.
But Max Kellan? Oh, boy. Allie brushed her fingers against the space just over her heart. For whatever reason, she couldn’t get a good read on him, and Allie didn’t do well in uncharted territory. The only thing she could be certain of was that he cared about Hope and he’d do whatever it took to bring his niece home.
And that might just be the most attractive thing about him.
As much as she hated keeping a family member in the dark, openly connecting Hope’s disappearance to any previous crime, especially a case as contentious as Chloe Evans’s unsolved murder, would only make finding Hope more difficult.
Allie and her friends had lost to this monster once already. She wasn’t going to lose again.
If that meant sticking close to an unknown entity like Max Kellan, so be it. She had enough psychological weaponry in her wheelhouse to keep both of them occupied.
“You don’t have any affinity for psychologists, do you, Max?” Turning the conversation into something productive could work to her benefit.
“Affinity?” Max pulled out a stack of books and peered behind it before he moved to the next shelf. “In my experience they enjoy putting people on edge. Like the way some of them use big words they think their patients might not understand.”
“Nice to know you’ve painted us all with the same tainted brush.” She did some more wandering and zeroed in on the small table behind the closet door where Hope kept a mix of little-girl and big-girl makeup. “Calling me a shrink was my first clue, in case you’re wondering. I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist.”
He snorted. “Like there’s a difference. They both mess with people’s heads.”
She arched a brow, locked her jaw. “Only one is a medical doctor with prescription privileges.”
“Noted. I won’t come to you for pharmaceutical assistance. You’re here to help find Hope,” Max said, his tone dismissive when she started to respond. “Not to go rattling around in the empty space between my ears.”
“And you seem determined to convince me you’re not exactly the sharpest tool in the box.” She found his self-deprecating attitude offensive. “Whatever issues you have with your previous shri—um, doctors,” she said, almost choking on the unfinished word, “it would be helpful if you set them aside for the time being. We don’t need anything else getting in our way.”
“Whatever you say, Doc.” He stooped down and pushed open the bay window seat Allie had been occupying a few minutes before.
She really should write a book on people’s passive-aggressive tendencies. Some used them when making excuses for the paths their lives had taken, blaming everyone other than themselves for their choices. Normally she could ignore this behavior when it was aimed at her. With Max Kellan, however, she found his sarcastic dismissal irritating. “Guess I’ll need to find a way to embrace that nickname. What’s yours, by the way, Max?” She picked up a beaded necklace off one of the pushpins on Hope’s wall.
“My what?”
“Your nickname, call sign, whatever it is you fire boys call it. You all get one, right? Or do you choose your own?”
“We do not choose our own. And we certainly aren’t boys.”
“Clearly I need to be educated in the ways of the firefighter.” She watched the dazed expression vanish from his eyes as he narrowed his gaze at her. “Let me guess. Einstein? Hawking? Hmm.” She flicked open the square jewelry box on the dresser. Inside she found a collection of rainbow-colored perfume and makeup bottles. Huh. This one reminded her of one she’d had as a little girl. She picked up the pink vial. “Come on, Max, help a doctor out. What do your fellow firefighters call you? If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to keep guessing.”
“Entertain yourself all you like, if puzzling me out is going to keep that smile on your lips.” He walked around the bed and stood in front of her. Allie lifted her chin high enough that her neck ached. My goodness, but he is... Allie swallowed hard. Tall. And big. So very, very big. She smelled the freshness of the shower he’d taken, the ever-so-subtle hint of sandalwood and spice from his soap or aftershave. Even fully clothed in something as simple as jeans and a dark T-shirt, she could see there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t toned, controlled. Given what she’d learned about him so far—early-morning runner, tightly wound, protective, judgmental bordering on accusatory—she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to herself she considered the man incredibly attractive and intriguing.
She blinked, her hand tightening around the bottle. Now she was the one who needed distracting. “Tell you what. If I guess your nickname, you have to tell me something about yourself absolutely no one else knows.”
He moved closer, lowered his voice. “And what do you give me when you guess wrong?”
Allie shrugged, refusing to be put off. “Name it.” Her eyes went wide as she realized her mistake. “I mean, um.”
He grinned. Not in a flirtatious or playful way as she might have expected or wanted. Instead she suddenly felt trapped in one of those crime novels she was so fond of—caught by someone with a nefarious if not alluring agenda.
“I wouldn’t have thought a smart woman like you would be into dangerous games, Doc. Making an offer like that? It’s asking for trouble.”
Allie cleared her throat. Was it just her or was it hot in this room? “Maybe I like trouble.”
“Or maybe you’re just looking for any means to distract me from what’s really going on.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at her intently. “I’ll settle for you answering any question I ask you honestly.” He stressed the last word. “You were right. I don’t trust doctors. Even pretty ones with big brown eyes and a tough attitude. But I do appreciate your efforts, Doc.”
Darn. Was that a smirk on his face as he stepped away? She couldn’t tell. Allie pressed her lips tight and took a long breath. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She shrugged and played the “aw shucks” card. She twisted the lid on the bottle, lifted it to her nose and breathed deeply. She gagged and covered her mouth.
“What?” Max was at her side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”
Allie shook her head, her eyes watering as she tried to breathe around the suffocating, familiar aroma. “Just that smell.” The perfume she, Eden and Simone had given Chloe for her birthday a few weeks before Chloe disappeared. What was it doing here? Allie’s hand trembled. How had Hope gotten it? “I’ve always hated it.” Her head spun and she swayed, her knuckles turning white around the bottle.
Max moved in, his hands poised to catch her. She held out her arms, shifted her stance as if preparing to defend herself.
He looked startled for a moment, whether at his own instinctual reaction or at her immediate defensive posture, she couldn’t tell. Then his expression hardened and he glared, examining her as if she was now the one pinned under a microscope—what Max had accused Allie of doing to him earlier.
“I don’t believe you.”
That Max spoke so succinctly, so firmly, left Allie even more determined not to let too much slip about the possible connection between Hope and Chloe. “That’s not my fau—”
“I don’t believe a lot of what’s been going on today. There’s too much whispering, too much secrecy. You and MacTavish know a lot more than you’re saying and I’m betting the FBI isn’t too far behind on the information train. Everyone I’ve run into so far is walking around like they’re about to break something and I refuse to let that something be Hope. What’s going on, Doc?”
Allie couldn’t find the words.
“This is my niece’s life we’re talking about.”
The desperate plea in his voice had her swallowing a softball-sized lump of guilt. He was right. This was his niece’s life. Who was she to blame him for reacting like this? Why would he believe her when she said she was going to do whatever it took to bring Hope home? Why would he trust her? Why would he trust anyone? But she needed him to. “For the record, I’m well aware of what’s at stake, Max. Don’t believe for one second that I’m not.”
“Something else is happening here, Doc. Something you’re not telling me. Are you going to come clean or not?”
“There’s nothing to come clean about,” she lied. Would there come a time when she could be honest with him? Why did it matter? “Have you seen this perfume before?” She recapped the bottle and wished she hadn’t handled it so much.
“No. But I don’t keep up on my nine-year-old niece’s perfume habits.”
Maybe someone should have. Allie picked up the jewelry box. “I need to get an update from Jack. He should have spoken to his partner by now. Keep searching for anything you think might help.”
“I meant what I said before, Doc.” Max’s voice had her stopping at the door, but she didn’t face him. Not again. Not when she wasn’t sure she could continue the façade. “I don’t trust you. Whatever it is you’re hiding, I promise you, I’m going to find out. And I always keep my promises.”
