A Hero for All Seasons Read online

  She was babbling, Savannah thought. She could feel the tears welling up in her throat and pushed them back. She wasn’t going to cry. She didn’t want this man to think of her as some fragile woman, on the cusp of shattering. He’d use that as an excuse, and she would give him no excuses to use as a roadblock. He had to let her do what she wanted to do. He had to.

  Savannah focused on steadying her pulse, on being coherent.

  “My back was turned for a minute. Maybe ninety seconds,” Savannah amended, trying very hard to be as specific as was humanly possible. It hadn’t felt that long, but maybe it had been. She wasn’t sure any longer. “It was just long enough to read the sizes on three tags—no more.”

  Just long enough to make the difference. The accusation beat a heavy tattoo in her brain.

  “When I looked down to ask Aimee what she thought of the color—she loves being consulted—” A half smile played on her lips as she thought of the way Aimee tried so very hard to behave like a grownup. And then the smile vanished. Just the way Aimee had. “When I looked down,” Savannah repeated with effort, “Aimee wasn’t there.”

  Sam saw the glint then, the almost imperceptible shimmer of tears gathering. He wanted to say something, to comfort her. But he knew that there was nothing to be said. All the words would sound empty to her. She must have heard them all before. So instead, he waited in silence for her to continue.

  Savannah shifted in her seat, knowing there was no way she was going to get comfortable. Not until the ordeal was finally over.

  “I didn’t think anything of it at first. Aimee has a weakness for climbing into circular racks of clothes and popping up in the middle, giggling. Drives the saleswomen crazy. I’ve told her not to, but...” Her voice trailed off.

  And then, raising her chin, Savannah rallied right in front of his eyes.

  Sam had the distinct impression that he was watching Joan of Arc trying not to think of the straw pyre standing just outside her cell door.

  Savannah concentrated on reciting the series of events in the order they occurred. Whether her heart was breaking ultimately made no difference in finding Aimee.

  “I looked everywhere for her. The two saleswomen in the department helped me search. One of them called security. We couldn’t find her.” She’d felt so brittle, so fragile, calling Aimee’s name over and over again, trying not to even remotely entertain the thought that someone had purposely taken her little girl.

  But in the end, there was nothing else she could think.

  Her voice deadened. “The police were called in half an hour later.”

  Half an hour. The difference between finding a child and not. Sam closed the spiral pad. Every second counted against them And now it was five long days later.

  Sam kept his thoughts from his face as he nodded. “Do you have a photograph of Aimee with you?” It was a rhetorical question to keep things moving. She’d stopped talking.

  Savannah wanted to snap at him. To ask him what kind of a mother he thought she was—not to have a photograph of her child with her.

  But there was an answer for that. She was the kind of mother who lost her child in a department store. She had no right to snap at anyone.

  Savannah’s hand shook as she took out her wallet. She was consumed with a rage, with a desire to hit something, to vent and scream. It wouldn’t do any good, but at least she could discharge some of these feelings that were bouncing around inside her, clawing away at every inch of her.

  Sam pretended not to notice the slight tremor in her hand as he accepted the photograph from her. There had been a photograph flashed on the screen along with the broadcast, but he wanted to study the child’s features himself.

  She was a beautiful child. A blond like her mother, the little girl’s lively smile immediately jumped out at him. She was a child to notice, not to overlook. The kind that modeling agencies catering to television commercials prayed for. That all worked in their favor, he thought.

  He placed the photograph on his desk beside the tape recorder. “May I keep this?” Savannah nodded stiffly. “Would you like something to drink? It’s kind of hot today.”

  The air-conditioning was doing more than an adequate job of keeping the office cool, but he thought she needed to have something to do with her hands. To steady them. Sam moved toward the door, opening it.

  No, I don’t want anything to drink. I want my daughter back. I want my life back. Savannah bit back the edgy retort, and just shook her head.

  “No, I’m fine.” The irony of the words struck her instantly, and she laughed. It was a hollow, raspy sound. When he turned to look at her quizzically, she merely shook her head at the unwitting phrasing. “No, I’m not,” she amended firmly. Her voice grew more steady, steely, even as she opened up this tiny window into the chaos her world had turned into. “I am not fine. I’m going out of my mind, Mr. Walters.” She couldn’t remain seated any longer. She rose and began pacing through the sunny office, but she saw only darkness. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I keep going around in circles, forgetting what I’m supposed to be doing.”

  Of the three of them in the agency—if he didn’t count Alex, who worked part-time—Sam was the best at putting people at their ease. But he felt as if he was out of his element here. Still, he had to say something. He had the feeling that he was at a missile site three minutes before liftoff. A disastrous liftoff.

  “That’s perfectly normal, Mrs. King—” he began to assure her.

  Fairly or unfairly, Savannah lashed out at the patience she heard in his voice. She didn’t want patience, or sympathy or any one of a myriad of emotions she’d been accosted with and tendered in the last one hundred twenty-one endless hours.

  She wanted action.

  Results.

  Most of all, she wanted this to be over, and Aimee to be in her arms again.

  “No, it’s not normal,” she contradicted vehemently. “It’s hell. My own personal hell, and I want out of it.” Her eyes leveled on his. She knew she was taking out her frustrations on him and he didn’t deserve it, but she couldn’t help herself. Once started, she couldn’t stop herself. “I want my daughter and I will do anything, anything, to find her. Do you understand?”

  Maybe he’d been wrong, Sam thought. Maybe she was going to break down. He wondered if Megan had returned. Sometimes the sympathy of another woman helped. Or maybe Alex could come in....

  “I understand—”

  No, he didn’t. She turned on her heel. She’d heard so many platitudes and pat phrases these last five days. People who meant well, people who told her to hang in there and then went on with their undisturbed lives while she was looking at the shattered, jagged edges of her own. She’d had it with platitudes.

  “Do you? Do you really? Forgive me, but until you’ve been through it, you can’t possibly understand.” She looked toward the door, as if expecting someone to materialize. “I asked for Mr. Townsend—”

  Everybody did when they first called the agency. Cade was the one who’d started the agency, the one the story was built around. But even Cade couldn’t be everywhere at once. That was why he and Megan Andreini were around.

  “I’m afraid he’s not available right now. He’s working on a case at the moment.” Sam’s eyes met hers. “I don’t think you want to wait.”

  No, she didn’t want to wait. She couldn’t wait. Not if she was to remain in her own skin Not if she was going to find Aimee.

  Savannah dragged a shaky hand through her hair. Straight, long blond strands rained back into place on either side of her drawn face. She was taking it out on Walters, and he was only trying to help. Embarrassed, Savannah flushed, although she still couldn’t quite muster a smile.

  “I’m sorry.”

  A slight movement of his fingers waved the apology away.

  “It’s all right. No one expects you to be at your best at a time like this.” Crossing to the door, Sam opened the door and signaled to Alex.

  Looking up, the secretary
nodded in response. Over the last few months, they’d worked out a code. She knew what Sam wanted.

  Alex had a glass of lemonade in Sam’s hand in less than three minutes.

  “You’re a treasure, Alex,” he told her as she went back to her desk. Alex flashed him a smile, her fingers already flying over the keyboard.

  Sam eased the door shut again, then crossed back to Savannah. “What do you expect us to do that the police haven’t?”

  It was always best to have things up front and clear. People came to them because ChildFinders had a perfect recovery record—save for one. But with that reputation came the burden of waiting for the record to stop spinning, for the streak to be broken. He and Cade and Megan weren’t magicians; they were only people. Dedicated people, but people nonetheless. People failed sometimes.

  Gently, he slipped the glass between her hands, then closed her fingers around it.

  Savannah accepted the lemonade. Moving on automatic pilot, she brought the rim of the glass to her lips and sipped, then looked at him pointedly.

  A miracle.

  That was what she wanted from them, pure and simple. She wanted them to perform a miracle, to do whatever it took to bring Aimee back to her.

  Savannah set the glass down on the edge of the desk and looked up at Sam. Her voice was low, her demand urgent, unshakable.

  “I want you to find Aimee.”

  Simple enough words, he thought. It was the responsibility that was enormous. He prodded her a little further. He’d been a policeman, and he knew how sensitive toes could be.

  “You don’t think the police are handling it correctly?”

  It was a routine question that Sam asked at the beginning of each investigation. He needed to know the kind of person Savannah King was—the kind of person he was dealing with—before he undertook the case and all that it would entail. Not only her response, but her tone was important here. Everything provided input for him—clues, which in turn were all pieces of the puzzle he needed to put together before he made his first phone call.

  There were times—more times than he cared to think about—when parents were responsible for their own children’s disappearance. They put on a show to divert suspicion away from themselves. He had to be sure that he wasn’t being duped, although if he were any judge of character, Sam had a gut feeling that Savannah King was on the level.

  Either that, or one hell of an actress.

  “It’s not a matter of the police not doing their job correctly,” she told him. She knew the odds. “Aimee’s not the only child who’s missing, not the only case they have to go on. This happened in Newport Beach.” And the city was a large one, not quite as removed from crime as the city she lived in. Bedford was located only seven miles away, yet it was still young, still innocent. Still untouched by the kinds of things that ate away at older cities. “I want someone . working for me. Exclusively. Someone whose only concern is finding Aimee, not half a dozen ongoing investigations and currently unsolved crimes.”

  She’d worded it diplomatically, he thought, a smile rising to his lips. That meant devastation hadn’t won out over her control. He’d been right in his initial assessment.

  She’d also given him the right reason, without hysteria. It was a good sign.

  Sam nodded. “All right.”

  He made a judgment call..He accepted the case for the agency without first consulting Cade. If he were being honest with himself, he’d accepted the case—at least in theory—the moment he’d seen Savannah on the news yesterday. Her impassioned plea to the kidnapper had gotten to him, despite the fact that he’d tried over the months to anesthetize himself to a degree when it came to his cases.

  He didn’t want to get too close. Being too close, Cade had told him when he joined the agency, robbed you of your edge and your objectivity. Cade was right on the money with that one.

  But then, Sam had already learned that lesson a long time ago, on a more personal basis.

  The smile he gave her was encouraging. “We’ll take your case, Mrs. King ”

  “It’s Miss King,” she corrected flatly.

  There were no feelings behind the words. Whatever she had felt for Jarred had died a long time ago. There were, however, feelings behind the next thing she said. A wealth of feelings.

  “Thank you. And there is one more thing...” Savannah added.

  Sam waited, wondering where this addendum was going. “Yes?”

  “I want to be part of the investigation.”

  Chapter 2

  The request hung between them, framed in silence, as Sam looked at Savannah. He had an uneasy feeling that there was a great deal more to it than appeared on the surface.

  Maybe it was just paranoia, catching up to him.

  After all, the request was a perfectly logical one. He could understand her need to know what he was doing on her behalf at all times. If he knew the police, they had undoubtedly shut her out. There was neither time nor energy to hold a victim’s hand. Everything was focused on solving the crime.

  While understandable, it was frustrating to the victim, especially with a crime like this. He’d come to realize that this past year.

  Sam laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Of course we’ll keep you apprised as much as possible.”

  Savannah shrugged his hand away before she could think better of it. She hadn’t meant to be rude; it was just that right now everything made her feel so boxed in.

  “Not apprised,” she corrected. “Abreast.”

  She had absolutely no intention of being shut out or pushed to the sidelines. Not again. Especially not if she was paying for the investigation. She needed to know, to be doing something to help find her daughter. The endless minutes that crammed themselves into this agonizing business of waiting were driving her crazy.

  She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant. “Excuse me?”

  Savannah struggled not to make her words sound like a demand. He didn’t look like a man who responded well to demands. But she felt like demanding. Everyone was treating her like a fragile cut-glass vase—unable to think, to function. Unable to contribute. She desperately needed to contribute, to feel useful. If she didn’t do something soon, she was afraid she was going to fall apart.

  “I want to be there with you.” Her eyes met his. “Every step of the way.”

  She meant it, too, he realized.

  Just what he needed: having her second-guess him and create twice as much work. He didn’t want to put her off, but he certainly didn’t want her glued to his side during the investigation, either.

  Sam tried to word his refusal as tactfully as possible. The lady had been through a lot. “I’m afraid that’s not the way we work,”

  And even if it were, it wasn’t the way he worked. Without his consciously making an effort or planning it, there was a distinct separation between the personality Sam turned toward the public, and the one he assumed with the people he interacted with when he was on the job. On an investigation, the amiable, friendly demeanor most of the world saw was sublimated. His actions and thoughts became exceedingly focused, exceedingly streamlined. His manner was sharp, at times abrupt. And at all times, he was in control and forceful. Someone coming along would only get in his way.

  And a distraught mother—no matter how easy on the eye she was—would definitely get in his way.

  He’d always moved better alone. Which was probably why, at the age of thirty-one, aside from his siblings’ families, he still was alone.

  Sam’s answer was unacceptable. Savannah’s eyes narrowed.

  “One of the reasons I came here was because I need someone looking for Aimee who isn’t bound up by rules and protocol. I need someone who can get dirty, if that’s what’s necessary.” She looked at his eyes They understood each other, at least about that. Whatever it took, that’s what she wanted. The only rights that concerned her were Aimee’s. “I need to have someone in my corner, working for me.”

  So far, they were in sync, and he
meant to keep it that way.

  “I understand that, and I will be working for you. That doesn’t necessarily mean doing everything you ask,” he emphasized. She didn’t like what he was saying—he could see it. Sam tried to clarify his position. “What you are buying, Ms. King, is our combined expertise. You’re paying us to do the job the best way we see fit—not the way you tell us to. There is a difference,” he said pointedly. “If there’s a conflict there, we’ll go with the proven way every time. We want to find your daughter,” he stressed.

  “But—”

  “Now I know this is hard for you, but just let me do my job the way I work best. All right?” He looked into her eyes, and moved out on that limb he knew he had no business being on. But the look, the sadness, in her eyes gave him no choice. “I promise I’ll find your little girl for you.”

  He had nothing concrete to base his promise on. She knew that. But reason and common sense took a back seat to emotional neediness. She was desperate to find something to cling to.

  She clung to his words.

  For now, because he seemed unmovable, she withdrew her plea. They’d try it his way. Maybe it would work better in the long run.

  Maybe, Savannah prayed, if she was very, very good, and cooperated, Aimee would be in her arms by tomorrow.

  She took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving his. If he didn’t believe what he had just said to her, she felt confident that she would have sensed it. He believed he could find Aimee. So she believed, too.

  “All right.”

  Sam smiled at her. She was going to be reasonable. They weren’t going to waste time with that. He got down to business.

  “What’s the name of the police detective who’s handling your case?”