all the control he had mustered.
TWO
Day one, 10:00 p.m.: Ashley missing three and a half hours
“Madison,” J.T. whispered in his entry hall, his voice a weak thread. Seeing the FBI agent jacket cemented in his mind that his daughter wasn’t likely to waltz into his house, wanting to eat dinner, anytime soon.
Madison stepped through the doorway. “I’m sorry we’re meeting again under lousy circumstances.”
Kim looked from Madison to him then back to the agent, her gaze glued to the yellow letters on the navy-blue jacket. “Dad?”
J.T. shook his head at Madison, hoping his brief expression transmitted the need to be careful with what was said. “Honey, the FBI is routinely called in when a child’s missing.”
But as usual his daughter was smart and observant. “Ashley isn’t just missing. Someone took her.” Kim’s voice and lower lip quivered.
Although it wasn’t a question, J.T. answered, “We don’t know for sure—” he stalled, wishing more than anything he didn’t have to say the next part of the sentence “—but yes, I think she has been kidnapped.”
His daughter bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling. Tears glistened again in her eyes. “Why? Who? We don’t have much money.”
No words came to mind as he stared at the pain in Kim’s expression. Her observation about their financial situation made the fear he’d kept suppressed in order to function effectively bubble to the surface. Financial gain could be handled. The other reasons a child was kidnapped were so much harder as a cop and a parent to deal with. He shuddered. He realized his daughter needed some kind of answer, but he didn’t know anything to say that would make the situation better for Kim.
Thankfully Madison stepped forward. “That’s what we’re going to determine.” She steered his daughter toward the couch in the living room. “I can’t believe how much you’ve grown since last summer.”
Alone in the foyer, J.T. dropped his head and stared at the ceramic tile. Visions of those other reasons swam around in his numb mind: someone who thrived on sexual exploitation, a person from his past while he was a detective in Chicago, or human traffickers. Another shudder passed through him.
Lord, please bring Ashley home. Protect her. I’m begging You. Help me! I can’t lose her. Where do I begin?
The sound of Kim and Madison talking in lowered voices drew him forward. If he was going to do a thorough job of finding his daughter, he had to shut down the thoughts that kept popping into his head. He couldn’t waste any more time on them.
“But there hasn’t been a ransom demand,” Kim said as J.T. entered the room. “There hasn’t, has there, Daddy?”
His daughter’s big blue gaze fixed upon him chipped away at the composure he had just shored up. “No. Nothing.” He instilled strength into his voice, a strength he had to maintain.
“Then, see, she’s probably just missing.”
“That’s a possibility, Kim, but we’re covering all the bases until we know something for sure.” Madison looked toward the kitchen. “I smell coffee, and I’ve been driving for a couple of hours. I could use a cup. Do you think you could get me one, Kim?”
“I guess so.” His daughter pushed to her feet and trudged across the room, her shoulders hunched.
When she was gone, J.T. came closer to Madison and sat in the chair next to the couch. For some reason her presence helped him feel as though he wasn’t totally alone in this. They had worked well last year on the murder case and she was very good at her job. That thought comforted him. “So you left the state police to join the FBI. Where’s the rest of the team?”
“They’re coming. Probably twenty minutes behind me. I think I broke a few speed limits getting here.” She tossed a wry half grin then sobered. “I know what you must—”
“Who’s the agent in charge?” He couldn’t take her pity and sympathy at the moment. He wasn’t that strong.
“Matthew Hendricks. He’s good at finding people. That’s why the Chicago office is handling this instead of the small one in Central City.”
Susan came into the living room with a mug. “I talked Kim into eating the ham sandwich I had for her earlier.” She handed the coffee to Madison. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thanks.” Madison sipped her coffee. “This is just what I needed.”
“J.T., we’ve almost got everything packed up to move down to the station. We should be ready to leave in a few minutes.” His secretary started back toward the kitchen. “Glad you’re here, Madison.”
Madison flipped open her cell phone. “I’ll call Matthew and let him know to meet us at the sheriff’s office on Lake Shore Drive.”
While J.T. listened to her talk to the agent in charge, a restless energy hummed through him. He shot to his feet and began to pace. When she finished her call, he stopped in front of her, hands stuffed into his pants’ pockets. He remembered her efficiency and professionalism and was glad to see a familiar face.
She took several more sips of her coffee, then placed it on the coaster on the table in front of her. “Okay. That should keep me going. Show me where Ashley was last seen.”
“Kim saw her on the swing last, probably right before she was—kidnapped.” The word stuck in his throat. Thinking about that shook him to his core. He could have lost both daughters today. Kim had been so close—an unlocked door away. He couldn’t get that realization out of his mind.
“What time was that?”
“Kim saw her at about five-thirty. I came home at six-thirty.” He recited the facts he’d learned earlier from his daughter as though this was just another case. If he let his emotions rule him, he would fall apart. He couldn’t afford that. Not when Ashley’s life depended on him keeping a level head.
“So she disappeared some time between five-thirty and six-thirty. We can start building a time frame.”
J.T. headed for the front door. “Let’s go around to the back this way. If Susan has finally managed to get Kim to eat something, I don’t want us to interfere by going through the kitchen.”
Madison stepped out onto the small porch first. “Any evidence at the scene?”
“We found one of Ashley’s shoes in the grass under a swing.” When he followed her, he saw a news crew from Central City setting up in the street behind the barricade his deputies had erected to keep people away from the scene. He had been to hundreds of crime scenes in his career as a law enforcement officer, but never at his own home.
“A tennis shoe? They don’t come off easily.” Madison strode toward the wooden gate at the side of the house and pushed aside the yellow tape slashed across it.
“No, a slip-on, so in a struggle it could have come off.”
“But Kim didn’t hear anything?”
“No.
