href="#ulink_06aac79a-3595-5bc7-a598-302782f1aa0d">TWO
“Calm down,” a man said, his warm fingers curved around Laney’s wrist. She tried to pull away but couldn’t quite find the strength. Her head throbbed, the pungent smell of antiseptic filled her nose, and she couldn’t manage to do more than stare into the stranger’s dark-lashed blue eyes.
Not the kidnapper’s eyes. Not the eyes of his accomplice. She wasn’t lying on the pavement in the dark. There was no Jeep. No van. No struggling young girl with terror in her eyes. Nothing but cream-colored walls and white sheets and a man who could have been anyone looking at her expectantly.
“What happened? How did I get here?” she asked, levering up on her elbows, the hospital room too bright, her heart beating an erratic cadence in her chest.
“A couple of joggers found you lying on the sidewalk,” the man responded. “Do you remember anything about tonight?”
Anything?
She remembered everything—heading home from Murphy’s training session, seeing the girl and the van, struggling and fighting and failing. Again.
“Yes,” she mumbled, willing away nausea and the deep pain of failure.
“Good.” He smiled, his expression changing from harsh and implacable to something that looked like triumph. “That’s going to help a lot.”
“Help who?” Because her actions tonight certainly hadn’t helped the girl or her family. Overwhelming sadness welled up within her, but Laney forced it back. She had to get a grip on herself. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, what had happened to Murphy, or most importantly, if the police even knew a child had been taken.
“I’m Special Agent Grayson DeMarco with the FBI,” the man explained. “I’m hoping you can help with a case I’m working on.”
“I’m not worried about your case, Agent DeMarco. I’m worried about the girl who was kidnapped tonight.” She shoved the sheets off her legs and sat up. Her head swam, the pain behind her eyes nearly blinding her, but she had to get to a phone. She needed to tell Police Chief Kent Andrews what had happened. They needed to start searching immediately if there was any chance to save the child. And there had to be a chance.
“The girl is my case—and several other children like her,” Agent DeMarco responded. “The local police are at the scene of the kidnapping. They’re gathering evidence and doing everything they can to locate her, but she’s not the only victim. If you’ve been watching the local news, you know that.”
Because he seemed to expect a response, Laney nodded, realizing immediately that was a mistake as pain exploded through her temple. Her stomach churned.
“Lie down.” Somehow Agent DeMarco was standing, his hands on her shoulders as he urged her back onto the pillows. “You’re not going to do anyone any good if you’re unconscious again.” The words were harsh, but his touch was light.
Laney eyed him critically. She’d been working around law enforcement—local as well as Secret Service and DEA—for much of her adult life. She knew how the agencies operated. The FBI wouldn’t be called in on an isolated, random child abduction.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, pushing the button on the bed railing until the mattress raised her to a sitting position.
“You came within an inch of dying, Laney. I wouldn’t call that fine.” He settled back into the chair, his black tactical pants, T-shirt and jacket making him look more like a mercenary than an officer of the law.
She gingerly fingered a thick bandage that covered her temple and knew Agent DeMarco was right. “Murphy must have thrown his aim off.”
“Murphy is the dog that was found at the scene?”
“Yes, I need to—”
“The local police have him. I was told he was being brought back to the kennel.”
“Told by whom?” she asked. Agent DeMarco was saying all the right things, but she didn’t know him, hadn’t seen any identification, still wasn’t a hundred percent convinced he was who he said he was.
“Chief Kent Andrews. He’ll probably be here shortly. He’s still overseeing the scene.”
“I’d like to speak with him.” She and Kent went back a couple of years. She often worked with the Maryland State Police K-9 team, correcting training issues with both the dogs and their handlers in an unofficial capacity.
“You will, but I need to ask you a few questions first.”
“How about you show me some ID? Then you can ask your questions.”
* * *
The request didn’t surprise Grayson. He’d been told that Laney knew her way around law enforcement and that she wasn’t someone who’d blindly follow orders. While working with the state K-9 team as a dog trainer, her skills with animals and the trainees alike had garnered the respect of the police chief and his men. More than that, Grayson got the distinct impression that Kent Andrews really liked Laney as a person and wasn’t surprised at all that she would put herself in danger to help another.
“Sure.” Grayson fished his ID out of his pocket, handed it to her.
She studied it, her wavy hair sliding across her cheeks and hiding her expression. She didn’t trust him. That much was obvious, but she finally handed the ID back. “What do you want to know?” she asked.
“Everything,” he responded, taking a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “All the details of what happened tonight. What you saw. Who you saw. Don’t leave anything out. Even the smallest detail could be important.”
“I was on my way back from Davidsonville Park with Murphy when I saw her.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes. She was walking by herself. I always hate seeing that. I can’t even count the number of kids my team and I have searched for who were out by themselves when they disappeared.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and frowned. “Sorry, I’m getting off track. This headache...” She shook her head slightly and winced.
“Want me to call the nurse and get you something for the pain?” He would, but he didn’t want to. He needed her as clear-headed as she could be.
She must have sensed that. She rested her head on the pillow. “That would be nice, but I’m not sure I’ll be any good to anyone filled with a bunch of painkillers.”
“Don’t suffer for your cause, Laney. If you need pain medication, take it.”
She smiled at that, a real smile that brightened her eyes and somehow made the smattering of freckles on her cheeks and nose more noticeable. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way. He tried to imagine her taking on a guy with a gun. Couldn’t quite do it. “I hate taking narcotics,” she muttered. “I’ll ask for Tylenol later.”
He wasn’t going to argue with her. “You saw the girl walking alone,” he prompted her.
“Yes. I was headed home. A van was coming toward me in the
