was being held in the arms of a young woman, and she was crying. “That woman is taking my baby!”
The male guard grabbed the phone and punched in some numbers. “I’m calling the police,” he said. Inclining his head toward the female guard, he said, “Alert everyone. Be on the lookout for a female, teens or twenties, wearing a short jacket and jeans, spiked hairdo, probably streaked blond, carrying a female youngster. Give them a description of Mrs. March’s little girl. Tell them not to try to apprehend, just to watch and follow. The doors are all locked now, so she can’t leave. Call me the minute you see them.”
His eyes met Glynnis’s and, unknowingly, he parroted almost the exact words she’d used to reassure Michael. “We’ll find her, ma’am. Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”
Please God, Glynnis prayed, please let him be right. Please let them find her. Don’t let her be hurt. Just bring her back to me, and I’ll never ask you for anything again.
Dan O’Neill’s shift began at three, but he’d been bored at home and decided to come in to the station early. Although you’d think the opposite would be true—that perps would take a break during the Christmas holidays—crime seemed to increase at this time of year.
Even Ivy, Ohio, with its population of less than 35,000, wasn’t immune. Of course, instead of non-stop homicides, drug deals gone bad and armed robbery—which had been the menu in Chicago—the majority of crime in Ivy was confined to domestic disputes and vandalism, with a few drunk drivers thrown in.
Not exactly exciting, he thought wryly.
But then he hadn’t moved to Ivy for excitement. In his years with the Chicago PD, he’d had enough excitement to last him a lifetime.
Remembering Chicago and the reasons behind his leaving, he felt a familiar mantle of depression settling onto his shoulders. Quickly, before it could gain a firm hold, he shook it off. He was tired of feeling bad. Tired of feeling guilty. Tired of the old Dan.
Soon it would be a new year.
A new year.
He repeated the phrase mentally several times. New years meant changes. Resolutions. Getting rid of bad habits and adopting new ones.
“It’s a new life,” he muttered.
“You say something?”
Dan looked up. Romeo Navarro, aptly named because he considered himself God’s gift to women, was looking at him curiously.
“Just talking to myself,” Dan said.
“Gotta watch that. That’s what old people do.”
Dan shrugged.
Romeo started to say something else when the phone rang. Both men turned to look at Elena, the dispatcher. “Oh, that’s awful!” she said, her dark eyes getting big as she listened. “Someone will be right there.” She disconnected the call and then knocked on the glass window of the chief’s office. “Chief Crandall!”
Gabe Crandall—short, bald, paunchy, and counting the months until retirement—looked up.
“A little kid disappeared from one of the stores at the mall,” Elena said.
Dan and Romeo were on their feet before Chief Crandall barked out their names. Dan reached for his suit coat. Putting it on, he checked to make sure it didn’t catch on his .40 caliber Glock, holstered on his belt. The change from a shoulder holster was a welcome one, although he knew some police departments were still debating its merits, mainly because old-timers were resistant to any kind of change, no matter how much proof there was that a cop’s range of motion was too limited with the shoulder holster.
By the time Dan had put on his overcoat, Romeo was ready.
Chief Crandall stood in the doorway of his office. “O’Neill, you’re in charge.”
Dan nodded. He wondered what Romeo was thinking. Until Dan joined the department three months earlier, Romeo had been the senior officer on the force.
“You need more backup, call Elena. She’ll round up everyone she can find,” the chief added.
Elena gave them the particulars and five minutes later they were on their way in a department Malibu, with Romeo driving. As they sped toward the mall, which was located on the west side of town, they went over the meager information they’d been provided.
The victim was a three-year-old girl. She’d been picked up and carried off by an unknown woman. Dan swore under his breath.
Three years old.
Luckily, the snatch had been caught on the store’s security tape. Maybe they’d keep being lucky. Maybe by the time they reached the mall, the little girl would be found, and there’d be nothing for him and Romeo to do but go back to the station. Holding on to that thought, he tried to not to think about the alternative.
When they arrived at the Ivy Mall, Dan was glad to see the outside doors had been secured. He just hoped they’d been secured in time.
He and Romeo showed their badges, and a tall, dark-haired civilian unlocked the doors to let them in.
“I’m Jack Robertson,” he said, “the mall manager.” His gray eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses reflected his concern. “Thanks for getting here so fast.”
Dan and Romeo introduced themselves and then followed Robertson through the crowded mall to a spot near the center, where the mall’s Santa was enthroned. Dan didn’t have to be told that the shop labeled Corinne’s Closet was the scene of the snatch, not just because there were so many people congregated outside the store, but because the air fairly hummed with excitement. The tension was a dead giveaway that here was the unusual, here something had happened that was outside the norm.
Inside, the crowd parted, and he and Romeo were taken to the back of the store where there was a small office. Dan immediately knew the pretty redhead seated in the corner was the mother of the three-year-old. Her haunted eyes and strained, pale face told the whole story. Standing beside her was a small, dark-haired boy who looked tired and frightened. Dan nodded to the woman, and their eyes met briefly. He could feel the weight of her fear. He wished he could tell her there was no reason to worry, but experience had taught him the opposite.
Also crowded into the office was a middle-aged male security guard with a name tag that read Harold Fury, and two women who wore name tags identifying them as store personnel.
Dan held out his hand to the security guard. “Lieutenant Dan O’Neill. Ivy Police Department.”
Romeo stepped forward. “Sergeant Romeo Navarro.”
The security guard introduced himself, then gestured toward the woman. “This here is Mrs. March, the missing child’s mother.”
Dan looked at the mother again. “We’ll talk in a minute.”
She bit her lip and drew the boy—Dan imagined it was her son—closer to her.
Addressing the guard again, Dan said, “I understand there’s a security tape.”
“Yes.”
“May
