style="font-size:15px;"> He’d kissed her. Not a gentle, comforting peck on the cheek to reassure her that she was safe, either. No, he’d gone for long, wet and greedy.
Worse still, she’d tasted just as he’d expected—sweet with a tangy edge, like wild honey. The curves and planes of her body had fit perfectly against his, soft and hot despite the cold rain drenching them both.
How had he let this happen? Even now he felt the tug of her calling to him, just beyond the closed door at the end of the hall. If he went to her bed, would she turn him away?
He rubbed the heels of his palms against his bleary eyes. He was insane. She was a suspect, for God’s sake! The attack on her tonight didn’t change the fact that she had information only the kidnappers and cops should have. How did she know what Abby had been wearing the day she disappeared?
Maybe she really did see Abby in her mind, a treacherous voice inside him whispered.
No. He knew better than that. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. But could the trembling woman who’d returned his kiss with a sweet passion that made his head spin really be involved with murder and kidnapping?
He sat forward, burying his head in his hands. The idea seemed almost as insane as the alternative.
But those didn’t have to be the only choices, did they?
Maybe the truth lay somewhere in between.
* * *
LILY CURLED UP in bed with her cats, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Though sleep had done wonders for her, she felt sore all over from her nerve-wracking ordeal. And below the twinges and aches lay a relentless hum of awareness, a disturbing reminder of how her world had tilted upside down again with one shattering kiss.
Why in the world had she let herself lose control that way? She couldn’t trust McBride; he still thought she was involved in Abby Walters’s kidnapping. Lily had seen it in his eyes the day before in Andrew’s hotel suite. And even if his doubts hadn’t built an impenetrable wall between them, the man himself posed a grave danger to her heart.
The more she learned about the detective, the less she knew. He was a man steeped in secrets. Terrible ones, if the darkness she’d felt from him that night in her kitchen meant anything. What if being around him opened her mind to whatever horrors lurked within him? Could she bear it?
She shivered, cold despite the blankets piled atop her. Delilah nestled closer, a hot little knot against her side, but the shivers grew stronger. The darkness of the bedroom had already begun changing color and texture before Lily realized that she was having another vision.
She opened the door in her mind, both eager and afraid to see what lay beyond. As she pushed forward through the thick fog, she felt a warning pain behind her eyes and forced herself to let the vision flow around her, carrying her at its own pace.
Eventually the mists cleared to reveal Abby Walters lying on the lumpy bed where Lily had found her in her last vision. The child slept fitfully, her pale eyelids twitching with a dream. She looked cleaner than before. Lily took a deep breath through her nose and smelled soap.
Somebody had given Abby a bath, she thought with faint relief. Maybe that meant they were trying to take care of her.
Unless…
A darker thought forced her mind to a horrible place. Abby, naked and vulnerable in the hands of the man—men?—who had brutally killed her mother. Nausea rose in Lily’s throat, making her eyes sting with acrid tears.
“What did they do to you, baby?” She stroked Abby’s cheek, her fingers tracing damp tear tracks.
“It’s okay,” a child’s voice whispered, very close.
Lily whirled around.
The dark-haired girl from her earlier vision stood behind her, clad in yellow-striped pajamas a size too small for her. She clutched a ragged stuffed toy against her chest, something round and tattered, its furry green body worn and thin.
She smiled tentatively at Lily. “I watched her for you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
LILY FELT AS if she’d gone mad. “You watched her?”
The little girl nodded. “I know you can’t always be here, so I check on her sometimes to make sure she’s okay.”
Lily’s mind reeled, threatening to suck her back to reality. She forced herself to stay calm, let the vision hold her in its gossamer web. “Who are you?”
“Mama calls me Gina, but I don’t think that’s my name. She’s not really my mama, you know. My real mama’s dead.”
Lily noticed the little girl was almost transparent, unlike Abby. She wasn’t actually in the same room, Lily realized. She was somewhere else.
But where?
“I can’t stay much longer.” The girl began to fade.
Lily reached out, wondering if she could touch her. “Wait, Gina! Are you sure Abby’s okay?”
The girl’s image rippled. “Yes.”
Before Lily could move, the dark-haired girl was gone.
Lily slowly turned back to Abby. The child’s eyelids had stopped fluttering and her soft, snuffling breath was even and deep. Relief trickled through Lily as she watched the child’s peaceful slumber, until the fog began to swirl around her, drawing her back to the doorway.
She reached out to stroke Abby’s cheek again before the door in her mind closed, hiding the child from her sight.
Emerging from the fog, Lily sat upright in the bed, hugging herself with trembling arms. The face of the dark-haired child remained etched in her mind, pale, heart-shaped, and so, so sad.
She shivered. Who was this solemn little girl?
* * *
BLUE MOONLIGHT BATHED the bedroom. The little girl blinked as she emerged from the haze to find herself huddled in bed.
She looked around quickly, just to reassure herself that she was back in her own room. She clutched Mr. Green more tightly to her, rubbing her cheek against his threadbare fur. Straining her ears, she listened for Mama. But the house was silent.
She pulled the covers more tightly around herself and stared at the cracked ceiling. She knew something was wrong with her mother. In her little-girl wisdom, she also knew Mama’s trouble had something to do with her.
Mama called her Gina, but that wasn’t her name. She was Casey. She had vague memories of someone calling her name. “Casey, baby, come here.” The voice was deep. A man’s voice. She liked the way it sounded, a little gruff but tender.
She knew the voice belonged to her daddy, but she barely remembered him. Only Mama, for just about as long as she recalled. The fuzzy memories that came at night, memories of being held in Daddy’s strong arms, were little more than dreams.
Sweet
