The breath left his lungs. “You’re Molly’s mother?”
She paled. “You know who Molly is?”
“Of course I do. I’ve been following the story since I saw Lydia’s face on the news.”
“So who is she to you?”
Max blew out a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his head. “My sister.”
* * *
Erica rolled with the shock wave. Of course. Lydia Powell, Max Powell. “Your sister?” she said. Anger swelled inside her. “Your sister had something to do with my daughter’s kidnapping.”
His eyes flashed. “She wasn’t involved. She wouldn’t do something like that. When I saw her face on the news, it floored me. To hear that she was wanted for questioning about kidnapping a three-year-old?” He shook his head. “She wouldn’t. There’s got to be some explanation.”
Erica tucked her purse back behind her seat, thankful the car was exactly as she’d left it. She supposed having several police vehicles next to it had helped. “Well, I’d sure like to hear that explanation. And so would the cops.”
His lips tightened and he narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
Erica lifted her chin, struggling a little to keep it together. “This is the house where my daughter was kept right after she was taken. When they did the raid last week, they found the clothes she was wearing when she disappeared. Along with the hair clip that had your sister’s fingerprint on it. I couldn’t believe that stuff was still here after three years. So I came to see... I hoped...” Tears clogged her throat as her failure hit home.
Max swiped a hand across his eyes but not before she saw the brief flash of sorrow in them. He sighed. “Let’s get this wrapped up here, and we’ll talk. I want to know what you know about Lydia.”
“And I want to know what you know.” She slid into the driver’s seat.
He spoke to the officers, and she focused on slowing her rapidly beating heart. Her emotions were on overload. She had accomplished nothing with her impulsive trip to the crack house.
No, that wasn’t completely true. She’d found Lydia’s brother. Maybe that was the first step in finding Lydia. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the headrest. Oh, baby girl, where are you? Please Lord, help me find her.
Sobs threatened once again as the helplessness overwhelmed her. With an effort, she focused on what she had to do next. The next step in the plan.
“I’ll follow you home.” She recognized Max’s voice and opened her eyes.
She sighed. “It’s all right. I can manage.”
His jaw firmed. “It’s late and you’re in the toughest neighborhood in Spartanburg. Plus, I promised your brother I’d make sure you got home safe.”
“I thought we were going to talk.”
“We are.” He tapped the hood of her car. “But you need some rest and I’m not through with my search for Lydia tonight.” He paused and glanced at his watch. “Would you be able to meet for breakfast?”
Erica mentally went through her calendar. She had two appointments she could delegate. “What time?”
“Eight thirty?”
“Sure.” She cranked her car.
Max pointed to the weapon that had been returned to her. “What made you feel the need to carry that?”
Erica felt a wry smile cross her lips. “A job that brings me into neighborhoods like this.”
Curiosity lifted his brow. “What kind of job is that?”
“I find missing people. Children mostly.” Sadness filled her. “I have a great track record, too. Mostly.”
“Then why the sad eyes?”
She started, surprised he’d noticed. “It seems I can find everyone’s child but my own.”
He looked away for a brief moment, but not before she caught another flash of raw grief in his blue eyes. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
“Lydia?”
He nodded.
“She ran from you,” she said softly. Even though she thought Lydia had something to do with Molly’s disappearance, Max didn’t. He obviously believed in his sister, and Erica’s heart hurt for him. “I’m sorry.”
He swallowed hard. “At least I know she’s still alive. As of tonight anyway.”
“Who was the guy attacking her?” Erica asked.
He frowned. “He’s a punk who preys on young girls.”
“A pimp?”
“That, and more.”
She shuddered. “I’m sorry.”
With another shake of his dark head, he straightened and gripped the door, ready to close it. “Which is why we need to talk. Tomorrow.”
“Right.” She let him shut the door and waited for him to get into his vehicle.
Relief that she’d survived this night swirled as her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. Jordan. She frowned. “Hey, is everything all right? Did Brandon get home okay?”
“Yeah. He told me what you’d been up to. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine.” She was really tired of that phrase.
“Glad to hear it, but you’re not home yet. I’ve been sitting on your front porch for the last few minutes and Mrs. Griffin is giving me the evil eye from her window across the street.”
Mrs. Griffin. The street busybody who kept her nose in everyone’s business, but was a sweet woman. “Why are you on my porch?”
Max flashed his lights to tell Erica he was ready, and she pulled away from the curb and made her way out of the neighborhood. She lived about ten minutes away, on the opposite side of town, and right now, all she wanted to do was get home, crawl into bed and sleep for a week.
But she couldn’t. Not if Jordan was there.
Jordan was saying, “Because I care about you, Erica. Brandon does, too. He shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“I’m not alone.” She grimaced. A sigh slipped out. “Look, go home.” Those words were getting old, too.
Jordan paused. “All right. I’ll just wait until you get here. Make sure you get inside safely.”
“A P.I. is following me home. I’ll be—” She refused to say it again. “All the drama is over.” Please don’t
