have been someone here when the house was broken into who ran with the child to hide him. If that’s the case, then that woman would be in danger, as well.”
A soft sigh of regret came through the phone. “A shame about Diana. She was an art teacher at the elementary school last year. I’ll go talk to the medical examiner and notify her next of kin. What’s Elise St. Clair’s condition?”
“Unsure, sir. She was out when the ambulance left. Jackson and I are finishing here at the scene. We have to finish checking the rest of the house and the garage. Then we’ll proceed to the hospital. We need to talk to her as soon as she wakes up.”
“Understood.”
Ryan hung up the phone and replaced it in his pocket. He couldn’t quite stem the feeling that Elise was not out of danger. He let his eyes follow the trail of destruction in the room where they’d found her. Not a thing had been touched except for the dozens of pictures that had lined the mantel and hung on the walls. Even the couple of pictures sitting on top of the bookcase in the corner had been shattered. No, this was not some random attack by a stranger. This was personal. A deliberate attack against the pretty young woman that no one seemed to know much about.
That needed to change. He needed to get to her and find out everything he could about the elusive dispatcher. Her life—and possibly the lives of two others, including a small child—depended on it.
Twenty minutes later, a second cruiser arrived. Two officers emerged from it.
“Hey, Parker,” the young officer said, toting a large camera. “We’re here to assist.”
When the officers had everything under control, he grabbed Jackson. He needed to talk with Elise and get whatever information she could provide.
Ryan dropped Jackson off at the police station to get a head start on the paperwork before continuing to the hospital. He parked his cruiser in the visitor lot, leaving the spaces nearest the building free for those who were patients or family members. It was still light out, but just barely. A few fat droplets hit his windshield, signaling the start of a new rain shower. Light and wet. He grimaced. He left his vehicle and ducked his head to keep the water out of his face as he strode to the awning-covered entrance. The sliding-glass doors hissed as they opened.
The nurse at the ER desk directed him to the room where Elise had been moved to for observation. Relief flooded him. Her injuries had not been severe enough to require surgery. After thanking the woman politely, he headed down the hall to the room she’d indicated.
The door opened as he approached. A nurse walked out. He flashed his badge, even though his uniform clearly identified him as a police officer. She pursed her lips.
“I know you have to question her, but please remember she’s been injured and traumatized. She needs rest.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching Elise as she lay there, her eyes closed. He was reluctant to disturb her even while knowing that he would. Her golden-brown hair flowed back from a small widow’s peak, moving into a rambling mass of corkscrew curls. Hair that would have been the envy of his sisters, who had used any number of curlers and curling irons through the years to style their naturally stick-straight hair. Her skin was bruised and cut in various places. The rest of her skin had a faint golden tan. The freckles he’d noticed earlier stood out against the bridge of her nose.
She stirred.
Ryan stepped fully into the room, clearing his throat gently.
Her eyes flared open, alarm flashing in their dusky hazel depths.
“Hey, hey! It’s okay.” He laid a calming hand on her shoulder, praying she wouldn’t tear out the IV in her panic. When she calmed, he removed his hand. “I’m Sergeant Ryan Parker. Remember me? I found you at your house today.”
“Parker...” she breathed. Her voice had a gentle rasp to it. She stopped struggling but didn’t relax. He could see her trying to put the pieces together in her mind. “Yes, I remember you. We’ve met a few times.” Her eyes closed briefly. A tear slipped out from beneath her lashes. “I came home. He was there. Mikey—”
Her breathing hitched. He touched her shoulder again.
“Easy, Elise. I need to know what happened, but I want you to stay as calm as possible while you tell me. Start at the beginning. I know it’s hard, but you have to give me everything you can.” He kept his voice soft, using what his youngest sister always called his “comfort voice.”
“I know. I know. I’m just so scared.” Elise’s voice cracked. Another tear slipped out the corner of her eye and slid into her hair. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, shuddering. “I can do this.”
Ryan stepped back from the bed and lowered himself into the chair at her side. Before he could start his questions, the door opened and a nurse entered. The woman frowned slightly when she saw Ryan, but she didn’t make a fuss as she checked Elise’s readings. He waited, beginning only after she had left.
“Who’s Mikey?”
“Mikey is my nephew. I have raised him since my sister was murdered. He’s three.”
He could see her emotions were rising to the surface again. And no wonder. A sister murdered and now her nephew missing. Sympathy filled him. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through, but right now he needed to know what had transpired.
“Tell me what happened this afternoon. Dispatch said there was a break-in.”
She was silent a moment. Her eyes were closed as she pulled herself together, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping. Her breath hitched as she struggled to control her emotions. “I was at work when I got a call at the 911 center. It was from my babysitter’s phone, but it wasn’t Diana. It was the girl who cleans my house. She was screaming. I couldn’t understand everything she said. She’s Amish and was talking in Pennsylvania Dutch at the beginning. Then she switched to English and said she thought that my babysitter was dead. Then she got quiet and said she thought she heard someone still in the house. I rushed out, told my coworker to notify the police and send an ambulance and then I headed home. When I got there, she was gone and so was my nephew.”
“Your cleaning girl?” He sat up. The image of the small footsteps flashed through his brain. It would make sense.
She nodded, her brow wrinkling as if she were in pain. “Leah Byler. She comes every week. I think she has Mikey. Please. We have to find them.”
Byler. Amish. He remembered the gray material stuck on the nail. Things were beginning to make sense. “I will make finding her and your nephew top priority, I promise. Right now, though, I need you to finish walking me through the events, okay?”
The sigh she released was impatient, but she nodded.
“So someone broke into your house—”
“No. Not someone. Him. My murdering brother-in-law.”
He blinked. That was some pretty unequivocal language. “When you say ‘murdering,’ are you saying that literally?”
