that warmed some part of Danielle that had been cold for a long time. She looked away, remembering that her friends had been there for her while her husband had been working on the case that had demanded all his time and attention.
“Why were the kidnappers after the woman in the parking lot?” Kyle asked the detective.
“Well, it could have something to do with Angela’s first husband. He was killed in an auto accident, but there were bad feelings between him and his partner, who disappeared after that. The business went bankrupt and Angela was left nearly penniless. And pregnant.”
“Angela and Shane were recently wed,” Danielle told Kyle. “Just before Christmas.”
One dark eyebrow rose, but Kyle said nothing other than a congratulatory murmur to Shane, who nodded, a red tinge coming into his cheeks. Shane apparently had fallen hard and fast for the widow. Angela had had amnesia after the thugs had knocked her out. Upon recovering, she still hadn’t been able to give the police any information. But Shane had taken her under his protection—and into his heart.
Danielle’s eyes stung. Shane was gentle and protective with his wife. There had been a rash of marriages in Whitehorn recently. Dr. Winters, who had found Sara running down the road when she escaped, had married Leah Nighthawk shortly after the holidays. Lynn, Sara’s kindergarten teacher and Danielle’s good friend, had eloped with local attorney Ross Garrison after a whirlwind courtship.
Danielle brought her attention back to the discussion at hand. Kyle asked about the holly berries discovered in Sara’s hair when she was found.
“We tried to trace her tracks but couldn’t. The problem is, the hills where that particular holly grows are full of caves and old mining sites,” Shane continued. “We looked over the general area.”
“Did you take Sara there?” Kyle glanced at Danielle.
She shook her head. “Carey—she’s Sara’s pediatrician—didn’t think we should. The trauma was too recent.”
Kyle nodded, a dangerous expression in his eyes.
She realized he hated the men who had frightened their daughter as much as she did. If he ever got his hands on their hides, well, she could almost feel sorry for them.
Kyle sipped the coffee while he thought. “I’d like to explore the area myself. If you wouldn’t mind.” He glanced at Rafe, the senior lawman on the case.
Rafe nodded his agreement.
Shane spoke up. “You know who might be able to help? Homer Gilmore. He knows these hills better than anyone. He’s prospected them for years.”
“Where do I find him?” Kyle asked, sitting forward.
“That’s hard to say. His daughter is married to a doctor here in town and manages his office. You could stop by and ask if she’s seen Homer lately.”
“I’ll do that. What’s the doctor’s name?”
By the time the meeting broke up, Danielle felt they might be getting somewhere. Today was the first time anyone had mentioned the Gilmore person. After the two lawmen left, she turned to Kyle, excitement stirring inside so that she kept getting little odd pangs in her chest. “I want to go with you.”
He gave her a puzzled stare. “Where?”
“To search the woods. Sara’s pediatrician is married to Wayne Kincaid. They own part of the old Baxter ranch—”
Kyle held up a hand. “Slow down. What does the Baxter ranch have to do with anything?”
“It joins the Kincaid spread. That’s where Sara was held, where the holly berries came from. She’d stuck twigs in her hair like she does when she played dress-up with her dolls. I want to help you look for clues.”
“You used to do that,” he said slowly.
“What?” She tried to think what she had done.
“Get excited about planning activities together. Your words would rush all over each other and your cheeks would glow. Like now.”
He reached out and brushed his fingertips across her cheek. Heat rushed to the spot. His eyes darkened.
Memory and passion reawakened in her in an instant explosion of hunger and need. She had been alone so long, had been frightened and uncertain and helpless all the days Sara was gone. At times, while comforting Sara, she had longed for comforting, too.
She folded her arms and pulled herself inward where nothing could hurt her. “I needed you,” she whispered. “I was so afraid. Our baby…our little girl. I didn’t know if she was dead or alive. I didn’t know if they had hurt her…if she was crying in pain….”
Tears filled her throat and she couldn’t speak.
Arms enclosed her. His hands stroked her hair, and he spoke in a low soothing murmur. “I know.”
For a second, she let the warmth flow around her, almost let it reach her heart. But this was fantasy and she had learned, oh, yes, she had learned, to deal with reality. She jerked away.
“You don’t,” she accused, her eyes burning, her chest hurting. “You weren’t there. You didn’t know. You didn’t care—”
In one stride, he was in her face. “I cared,” he uttered in a menacing snarl. “Don’t ever say I didn’t care. Because you don’t know about that. You don’t know what I had to give up—” He stopped abruptly.
She didn’t flinch from the harsh stare. “What? What? Tell me. Did you spend scary nights in a strange town where you didn’t know a soul? Did days go by while you waited for some word, for a call, a postcard, anything, that says the person you love is alive and remembers he has a family? And did worry give way to despair as you tried to answer a little girl’s questions about her father and finally hear the child quit asking God to bless her daddy?”
“Dani,” he whispered hoarsely.
She shook her head, the tears close, so close. “Did you place frantic calls, only to be told nothing, except the person you needed with your whole heart and soul couldn’t be reached, not even for an emergency? Let’s compare notes. We can talk about the loneliness that tears the nights to shreds. We can discuss the fears that eat a person alive from the inside out. Then we’ll consider what was given up and what was lost and what was thrown away—”
She choked on the words, unable to go on.
Not a muscle moved as he stared into her eyes. They stood as if frozen for all time.
Finally, a ripple passed over his face. “I can’t,” he said softly, sadly. “Talk is pointless. There’s no going back, is there?” He walked out of the kitchen, put on his coat and boots in the mudroom and left the house.
Part of her wanted to apologize. She wanted to wipe out the blackness that had permeated his gaze while he listened to the torrent of accusations. She wanted him to explain the sadness she had seen for a terrible second before he turned from her. She wanted to know if he really had suffered or if he’d just forgotten about them until it was convenient to come back.
She
