Читать книгу The Missing Twin - Rita Herron - Страница 10

Sara’s words haunted Madelyn as Caleb coaxed her into his office.

“Cissy’s not dead, Mommy. She gots another mommy, and she likes to play dolls and read stories just like me.” Then Sara had started to cry. “But her mommy’s in trouble and this mean man’s gonna hurt her and Cissy.”

Only she had buried Cissy five years ago.

Caleb propped himself against the desk edge while she sank onto a chair.

“If you’re so sure Sara is wrong, why did you come to GAI?” Caleb asked.

Madelyn desperately tried to decipher the intensity in his deep brown eyes. The man scared the hell out of her.

He was huge, broad-shouldered, muscular, dark-skinned, with shoulder-length thick, black hair, and had the gruffest voice she’d ever heard. His Native American roots ran deep and infused him with a quiet strength that radiated from his every pore but also made him appear dangerous, like a warrior from the past.

Yet he had been gentle with Sara and obviously the head of GAI trusted him.

“My mother phoned. She heard a news story about GAI uncovering some illegal adoptions associated with Dr. Emery, babies he delivered at Sanctuary Hospital.”

“You delivered the twins there?”

“Yes.”

“What about the father?” Caleb asked.

Madelyn chewed her bottom lip. “He left us when Sara started calling her dead sister’s name. I haven’t seen him or heard from him since.”

Caleb frowned. “He doesn’t send child support?”

“I didn’t want it,” Madelyn said. “Not that he would have come through. He was having financial problems back then, his business failing.”

Caleb sighed. “I’m sorry. Tell me about the delivery.”

Grief welled inside Madelyn. “The night I went into labor, I had a car accident,” Madelyn began. “I was going to the store when a car sideswiped me. I lost control and careened into a ditch.” She knotted her hands. “My water broke and I went into labor.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes. “What happened to the driver?”

Anger surged through Madelyn at the reminder. “He left the scene.”

Caleb’s big body tensed. “He didn’t stop to see if you were okay or call an ambulance?”

“No.” Madelyn rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “And the police never caught him.” Not that they’d looked very hard. And she hadn’t seen the vehicle so she hadn’t been able to give them a description of it or the driver.

Caleb’s expression darkened. “So the accident triggered your labor?”

Madelyn nodded.

“Were you injured anywhere else?”

She shrugged. “Some bruises and contusions. I lost consciousness and the doctor said I was hemorrhaging, so he did an emergency C-section and took the babies.”

Caleb’s jaw clenched. “You weren’t awake during the delivery?”

“No,” Madelyn said, fidgeting.

“But you held the babies when you regained conscious ness?”

“I was out for a couple of hours. When I came to, I got to hold Sara for a minute. She’d been in ICU, being monitored.” Madelyn ran a hand through her hair. “But Cissy… No, I never held her. Dr. Emery said…she was deformed, stillborn, that it was better that I not remember her that way.”

Caleb arched a thick, black brow. “So you never actually saw your other baby?”

“No…” Emotions welled in her throat. She tried to steel herself against them, but memories of that night crashed around her. The fear, the disorientation, the joy, the loss… “I…was so distraught, so grief-stricken that the doctor sedated me.” She wiped at a tear slipping down her cheek. “Besides I…I believed Dr. Emery. Then there was Sara, and she was so beautiful and tiny, and I was so glad she’d survived. And she needed me….”

Caleb’s silence made her rethink that night, and questions nagged at her. If she hadn’t seen Cissy, maybe she hadn’t died or been deformed at all.

“Did the medical examiner perform an autopsy on the baby?” Caleb asked.

“No.” Tears burned the backs of her eyelids. “I…didn’t want it. Didn’t want to put her through it.”

Although maybe she should have insisted. Then she’d have proof that her baby hadn’t survived, and she’d know exactly what had been wrong with her.

Sara’s insistence that she saw Cissy in her visions taunted her. If Dr. Emery had lied to other people, perhaps he’d lied to her. “We have to talk to Dr. Emery and force him to tell me the truth about Cissy.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Caleb said quietly. “Dr. Emery hanged himself the day after he was arrested.”

A desolate feeling engulfed Madelyn. “If he’s dead, how will we ever learn the truth?”

Caleb’s intense gaze settled on her. “Trust me. We’ll find the truth.”

“Then you’ll investigate?”

“Yes.” He gestured toward the conference room and pushed open the door to where Sara was drawing.

The childlike sketch showed Sara and her twin sister displaying their birthmarks. A second picture revealed a greenhouse full of sunflowers, and a tire swing hanging from a big tree in the yard.

Sara had also drawn an ugly, hairy, monsterlike man with jagged teeth and pawlike hands. “That’s the meanie gonna hurt Cissy and her mommy,” Sara said.

She turned her big, green eyes toward Caleb. “Will you stop him, Mister?”

ANXIETY KNOTTED CALEB’S shoulders. How could he say no to this innocent little girl? She seemed so terrified….

But if he promised to save her sister and this woman and failed, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Not after failing Mara and his own son.

Hell, he was getting way ahead of himself. First, he had to determine if Cissy Andrews was actually alive.

The fact that Sara truly believed that she was real was obvious. But he couldn’t dismiss the shrinks’ theories, either. Not yet.

Gage glanced at the sketch, then at him as if silently asking his opinion.

He gave him a noncommittal look. “We need access to Emery’s records.”

“Afraid that’s not going to happen,” Gage said. “He destroyed them before he killed himself.”

Damn. So they had no records, and he couldn’t push a dead man for answers. His visions didn’t work that way.

“What about the lawyer who handled the adoptions?” Caleb asked. “Wasn’t his name Mansfield?”

“Yeah. The sheriff brought him in for questioning. He’s facing charges, but his case is still pending, so he was released on bail.”

“Then we look at his records,” Caleb said.

“D.A. already confiscated them,” Gage said. “And she’s not sharing. Not with privacy issues and the legal and moral rights regarding adoptions.”

Caleb stewed over that problem. They didn’t work for the cops or have to follow the rules. If he knew where those records were, he’d find a way to search them.

But talking to Mansfield would be faster.

First, there was something else that had to be done. Something that would be painful for Madelyn. But a task that was necessary in order to verify whether or not that grave held a baby.

“Madelyn,” he said in a voice low enough not to reach Sara’s ears. “We need to exhume the casket you buried.”

Grief flickered in her eyes as she glanced at Sara who was madly coloring another picture of her and Cissy. This time they were holding hands, dancing in the middle of a sea of sunflowers.

“All right,” Madelyn said firmly. “If it’ll help us learn the truth, then let’s do it as soon as possible.”

MADELYN PICTURED THE Lost Angels section at Sanctuary Gardens where they’d held Cissy’s memorial service in her mind and nausea flooded her. Still, with the questions Caleb had raised, Sara’s nightmares, and the revelations about Dr. Emery, she wouldn’t rest until she knew if Cissy was really buried in that grave.

Compassion darkened Caleb’s eyes. “Okay. We’ll get the ball rolling.”

Madelyn nodded, gripping her emotions with a firm hand. For so long she had accepted that Cissy was dead that it was hard for her to wrap her mind around the fact that she might have survived. That she might be living somewhere with another family. That a physician would actually deceive his patients and sell their babies.

But the doctor’s arrest was proof of the possibility, creating doubts, and she had to investigate or she would always wonder.

Sara ran to her, waving her drawing, her ponytail bobbing. “Look, Mommy, Cissy’s gonna be so happy when we brings her home with us. She loves sunflowers. They’re all around her.”

“The sunflowers are beautiful,” Madelyn said, her heart aching as worry knotted her insides. Was it true that twins were only half of a whole? What if they didn’t find out Cissy was alive and bring her home? How would Sara take the news?

Would she be able to move on and finally be happy?

Sara tugged at Madelyn’s hand. “We gots to hurry, Mommy.”

Madelyn stroked Sara’s hair away from her forehead. “Sweetheart, that’s why we’re here. Caleb—Mr. Walker—is going to investigate and find out why you’re seeing these scary things.”

Sara angled her face toward Caleb. “Thank you for ’vestigatin’, Mister.”

Madelyn smiled in spite of her turmoil because, after all, Sara was a charmer. Caleb knelt and extended his hand to Sara, and Madelyn couldn’t help but notice how strong and calloused and tanned his fingers were, how masculine.

“I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you, Sara.”

An odd look crossed Sara’s face, then she took Caleb’s hand and turned it over in her own small one and studied his palm as if she could see inside the man through his fingers. Madelyn noted the breadth of his palm against Sara’s tiny one and thought that Sara might be frightened of him, but she seemed to immediately trust him.

In fact, neither one spoke for a moment. They simply stared at each other, silent, assessing, as if sharing some private moment.

“You gots an Indian name?” Sara asked in a whisper.

Caleb nodded. “Firewalker.”

Sara’s eyes widened. “You walks on fire? Does it hurt?”

Caleb shook his head then pressed a hand to his chest. “No. Not if you hone in on your inner strength and power. On peace and faith.”

Sara smiled. “I gots faith that you’re gonna find Cissy.”

A pained look crossed Caleb’s face. “I will do my best, Sara,” he said gruffly.

Madelyn’s heart melted. Sara had not only missed her twin sister, but she’d missed having a father, as well. And she had been so caught up in raising her little girl, on being a single mother, surviving the loss of her husband and Cissy and making ends meet, that Madelyn hadn’t once considered a personal relationship with a man.

Or finding a father for Sara.

She didn’t need a man, she’d decided long ago. Sara had her, and she would be enough.

Only she wasn’t enough. And now she needed this detective’s help.

Her breath fluttered as he swung his gaze up to her. His dark eyes sparkled with questions, yet she also sensed that she could trust him.

She hoped to hell that was true.

Sara dropped his hand and skipped to the door.

“Caleb, you’ll let me know what you find.” She didn’t know if she could bear to be at the exhumation.

He nodded, then extended his hand to her this time. Wariness filled Madelyn, but she slid her hand into his. An odd sensation rippled through her at the feel of his rough, leathery skin against her own. It had been so long since she’d touched a man that her belly fluttered with awareness.

She pulled away immediately. She couldn’t afford to indulge in a romantic flirtation. Finding out the truth about Cissy and ending these nightmares for Sara was all that mattered.

AS SOON AS MADELYN LEFT, Caleb set the wheels in motion for the exhumation.

“Sheriff Gray said he expects this won’t be the last request for one,” Gage said. “Damn Dr. Emery.”

“Damn him for killing himself,” Caleb said. “He should have to face every patient he deceived and make things right.” Although there was no restitution, nothing that could make up for the loss of a child.

“The sheriff said workers will be meeting at the cemetery early in the morning for the exhumation. They want to make sure it’s as private as possible,” Gage said.

Caleb nodded. “I’ll meet them there.”

Yanking on his rawhide jacket, he headed outside. Time to pay his respects to Mara.

Wind battered his Jeep as he plowed across the mountain toward the Native American burial grounds. As he parked and climbed out, the sounds of ancient war drums and echoes of fallen friends bombarded him. Stones and wooden markers etched with family names stood in honor of loved ones, while handmade Native American beads and baskets decorated others, holding treasures.

Gripping a bouquet of lilies in one hand, he crossed the graveyard, grateful he’d managed to bring Mara here where her own parents were also buried. He paused at their markers, then stopped in front of Mara’s, his heart heavy as he placed the flowers on her grave.

Today would have been Mara’s twenty-eighth birthday. If she had lived.

And his son, if he’d been born, would have been two.

That hollowness he’d lived with since Mara’s murder gnawed at him, and he traced a finger over Mara’s name. His throat tightened as an image of what his son might have looked like materialized in his mind.

A toddler with chubby cheeks, thick, black hair, dark skin, and brown eyes like Mara’s. His son would have been walking and climbing onto everything now.

But his little boy had never had a chance…

The icy cold of the winter wind seeped through him, adding to the chill he’d felt for the past three years. Three years of living alone. Of wondering why Mara and his unborn child had been taken instead of him.

Three years of living with the guilt.

Gritting his teeth, he stood, the vision of his son disappearing in the foggy haze. But Mara waited, an ethereal beauty in her traditional white wedding dress.

Although each day he sensed her fading. That her soul was preparing to move on. That she was waiting on something…something she needed from him…

For him to let her go? He wasn’t sure that was possible. The guilt alone kept him coming back, kept him praying, kept him…prisoner.

Why couldn’t it have been him instead of her?

Sara’s insistence that her sister was still alive echoed in his mind. He understood the draw Sara felt, the difficulty in letting a loved one go. Did Sara suffer from survivor guilt as he did?

The sound of a flute echoed in the wind, and he closed his eyes, remembering their marriage ceremony. The traditional Love Flute playing, the fire ceremony with the golden glow illuminating Mara’s beautiful face, the Rite of Seven Steps, the moment the traditional blue blanket had been removed from around them and the white one enfolded them, signifying their new ways of happiness and peace.

Yet that happiness and peace had been shattered a month later with bullets that had been meant for him. Mara had been struck instead and died in his place.

Hell. A fat lot of good his vision or gift, whatever the hell it was, had done him.

He hadn’t foreseen Mara’s death or he might have been able to stop it.

“What should I do, Mara? I don’t want this gift, and I sure as hell don’t want that little girl to have it.”

But he had felt something kinetic pass between them when he’d touched Sara’s tiny hand. He’d seen the dark images in her mind. Felt the violence she felt.

And he’d witnessed a little girl identical to Sara running for her life, disappearing into the dark woods just as Sara had described….

What if Sara was right? What if her sister was alive and in trouble?

“I know I failed you,” Caleb said in a pained voice. “I just pray I do not fail this little girl.”

Madelyn’s big, green eyes and frail smile flashed in his head, and a twinge of guilt assaulted him. He had also experienced a faint flicker of awareness when he’d touched Madelyn, a current of desire he hadn’t felt since Mara.

But that was wrong. Mara had been his wife. He owed her his dedication. His life.

The wind suddenly whipped through the trees, hissing as it tossed dry leaves to the ground and sent them swirling across the cemetery. The scent of wilted roses filled the air, the sound of broken limbs snapping mingled with the echoes of the dead.

He waited, hoped, prayed he would hear Mara’s voice one more time, but a bleak silence followed.

He turned and hurried back to his Jeep, started the engine and peeled from the parking lot. Tomorrow was the exhumation. It wouldn’t be easy for Madelyn.

But nothing personal could or would happen between them.

Not ever.

NIGHTMARES OF MARA AND HIS son tormented Caleb all night. He woke drenched in sweat. No wonder he had connected with Madelyn and her daughter.

He and Madelyn had both lost a child.

A five-mile run and shower, then he grabbed a Thermos of coffee and jumped in his Jeep. But dread filled him as he drove across the mountain to Sanctuary Gardens. The sheriff’s car was parked in the cemetery parking lot, a crew of men a few feet away preparing to exhume the body.

Anxiety needled him as he swerved in beside the patrol car, jammed his hands in the pockets of his jacket and strode toward the sheriff.

Sheriff Gray extended his hand. “You must be Caleb Walker?”

Caleb nodded. “Thanks for arranging this so quickly. You have the paperwork in order?”

Gray indicated the envelope in his hand. “Signature from Madelyn Andrews giving us permission. The license. And—” he gestured toward a tall, white-haired man with glasses wearing a lab coat “—Environmental Health Officer present, as required by law.”

Caleb glanced at the E.H. Officer as he met up with the men designated to dig the grave. The transport service with the second coffin arrived and the driver stepped out, then crossed the graveyard to speak to the sheriff while two men from the funeral home erected a tent around the grave for privacy and to show respect for the grave while the exhumation took place.

Sheriff Gray introduced him to the medical examiner, Dr. Hal Rollo, who seemed pensive as he waited to do his job.

Caleb had witnessed a couple of exhumations before, but none for a child.

The thought made his stomach knot.

“You really believe there’s truth to the woman’s story?” Sheriff Gray asked. “I heard her kid is the one stirring things up, that she claims she sees her dead twin.”

So much for keeping that part of the story under wraps to avoid skepticism. “I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

He followed Gray over to the Lost Angels corner of the cemetery, noting the wrought-iron gate protecting the resting place for the little souls. Ivory doves were perched above a bubbling fountain, and a statue of Jesus, hands folded in prayer as he looked toward the heavens, sat at the head of the plots as if guarding the angels below. Bright flowers, toy trucks, teddy bears, dolls and various other toys had been left as if to keep the children company, marking birthdays and holidays. His throat tightened at the sight. Two rows back, he spotted the marker for Cissy Andrews.

The plot had been well maintained, her marker adorned with plastic sunflowers. A small photo of Madelyn and Sara also sat at the head as if to reassure Cissy she wasn’t forgotten or alone.

Drawn to the spot, he walked over and knelt beside it, his vision blurring as he studied Cissy’s name and birth date. Sometimes touching objects, items of clothing, people triggered his visions.

His hands shook as he reached out to press them over the small grave. Behind him the other men’s voices faded to a distant hum. He hesitated, a sliver of apprehension needling him. He might see nothing.

Or he might see the child’s small body in the ground.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he told himself he had to do this.

Reality slipped away and the wind screamed through the trees as he laid his hand on the mound.