tried to pretend that some kind family had found and raised him. A couple who had been desperate because they couldn’t have a child of their own. But that wasn’t likely. She didn’t need an FBI profiler to tell her the score. She was all too well aware of what happened to most children who vanished into thin air.
She closed her eyes and forced away the thought of Leberman. Both she and James had been certain he had had something to do with Jimmy’s disappearance, but they’d never been able to find any proof. And as the years had dragged on that possibility had diminished. Leberman wanted to hurt them. If he’d been the one to take their child, wouldn’t he have used him to wield the ultimate pain? Another part of her was utterly convinced that Leberman was indeed the culprit. But she would never be certain.
They’d searched the lake for weeks. James had hired special diving teams even after the authorities had given up. He and Lucas had worked personally with those men. If he’d somehow ended up in the water, surely they would have found something...anything. But there was always the possibility that he was out there...beneath the glassy surface of that lake near the house she’d once called home. She shuddered at the thought.
She hadn’t been able to stay in that house after James had died. It was a splendid home. They’d planned its design together, had enjoyed every moment of the work involved in bringing it to life. The place was beautiful still...but she couldn’t go back there. Too many memories. Yet she hadn’t been able to part with the property, either. Too much of James was there, and then one of the FBI agents working her son’s case had told her that sometimes when stolen children grew older, assuming they survived, they found their way back home...to the last home they’d known with their families. So she’d kept the house. The agency used it as a safe house or for the occasional VIP since it wasn’t that far outside the city. But she never went there...never.
She didn’t like thinking about it. The memories were too painful.
Victoria threw the covers back and climbed from the bed that had felt like heaven on earth a few minutes ago but now closed in on her like a prison. She padded to the kitchen and peered into the refrigerator to see what looked good. She wasn’t really hungry, but she’d do anything to take her mind off the past. Lucas crossed her mind briefly, but she dismissed the idea. Too late for coffee and conversation...too soon for anything else. Food would have to suffice. Carrots, salad fixings. She made a face. Not in the mood. Yogurt. Not tonight.
Ice cream. Now that was more like it.
She pulled the freezer door open and reached inside, spotting her favorite flavor right off the bat. Her hand stalled halfway to its destination. A box of chocolate ice cream sat next to her vanilla. The bright yellow smiley faces drawing and holding her attention.
Why would there be chocolate?
She never ate chocolate. It gave her hives.
She frowned, but then remembered that her housekeeper sometimes brought along snacks on cleaning day...but she was on a diet. The carrots and celery in the vegetable bin were hers.
Victoria picked up the full quart of forbidden indulgence and studied it. The cold from the open freezer door, from the package, leeched through her skin, settling deep inside her. She shivered...tried to think why this carton’s presence should disturb her. She hadn’t seen those smiley faces for years....
Jimmy had loved chocolate anything...ice cream...milk. Especially the kind that came in this carton.
Just as Beethoven’s sonata reached a crescendo the box slipped from her limp fingers.
She backed away from the refrigerator.
Her head moving from side to side, she told herself it couldn’t have anything to do with him.
She should call Freda and see if she had brought it...if she’d gone off her diet—
The security alarm wailed, jerking Victoria from the unsettling thoughts.
Confusion pulled her in different directions before she gathered her wits. She should turn the music off. Pick up the box of ice cream that lay on the floor. Needed her robe...
Shaking off the confusion, she rushed to the keypad near the front door. She’d set the alarm before her bath. It was habit...she scarcely remembered the act. The display flashed a warning that a failure had occurred in area fifteen.
The den. Grabbing the closest object for protection, which turned out to be a long-handled umbrella from its stand, she moved quietly toward the den, the siren wailing in the background, drowning out Beethoven. She wasn’t really afraid. The community security guard would arrive almost immediately. As if to punctuate that thought the telephone rang. She ignored it. If she didn’t answer, the authorities would arrive post haste, as well. Any burglar worth his salt would know that and run like hell. She huffed under her breath, any burglar worth his salt wouldn’t have tripped the alarm in the first place.
The den stood in complete darkness. It was past midnight and any moonlight there might be was blocked by the trees shading this side of the house. She stood very still, listening, watching, but sensed no movement...no presence. Holding her breath, she reached for the wall switch by the door and flipped on the lights.
The problem wasn’t immediately evident. All looked as it should be. The sheer panel hanging between her drapes suddenly shifted. A new kind of tension climbed up Victoria’s spine. Moving cautiously, listening for any sound besides the insistent alarm and the rushing piano notes, she edged toward the window. Another slight shift of the sheer fabric. Every muscle tensed for battle, she jerked the panel back. The window was open only four or five inches. Just enough to allow a breeze to drift into the room. Just enough to break the connection of the security contact.
She exhaled the breath she’d been holding and peered down at the open sash. How had that happened? It had to have been closed when she set the alarm, otherwise she’d have gotten a default message. When she would have reached to push the sash down she saw a small black, mangled object, not much larger than a quarter on the sill. She leaned closer and visually inspected the object. Knowing better than to touch it and contaminate any evidence it might offer, she stood back and considered the possibilities.
She always kept the windows locked. Always. Unlocking it from the outside without breaking the glass would be impossible. Plus, this was a gated community, it wasn’t as if vandalism or burglaries were commonplace. Had someone intended to open her window earlier, before she came home, and somehow failed? That didn’t make sense. How would they have gotten in with the alarm set?
Pounding on the front door startled her from her thoughts. Surprised that security had arrived even more quickly than she’d anticipated, Victoria disarmed the security system as she passed the keypad on the way to her front door. Perhaps the police had arrived, as well.
“Mrs. Colby!”
She hurried to the door and peered through the peephole. Better to be safe than sorry. She drew back at what she saw. “Identify yourself, sir,” she demanded. This was no policeman. At least, not one in uniform. Nor was it the grounds security who donned clearly marked blue uniforms.
“Mrs. Colby, my name is John Logan. I work for Lucas. I need to know that you’re all right.”
He worked for Lucas? She remembered the name John Logan from that nightmare on St. Gabriel. She looked again. Her breath caught as she recognized the young man this time. What was he doing here?
She unlocked the door and jerked it open. “Is Lucas here? Has something happened?”
