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A Daughter is a Daughter for All of Their Lives: The Nick Cross Mysteries
A Daughter is a Daughter for All of Their Lives: The Nick Cross Mysteries
A Daughter is a Daughter for All of Their Lives: The Nick Cross Mysteries
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A Daughter is a Daughter for All of Their Lives: The Nick Cross Mysteries

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"Fans of Richard North Patterson and James Patterson - you're going to love this!"

Naked and alone, a young girl flees down a highway. Flagging down a passing car, she collapses before she's able to speak. The mystery deepens when an examination reveals she's recently given birth, and it falls to Detective Nick Cross to find the missing infant. But investigations rarely go in directions veteran detectives expect, and so when a K9 is brought in, an unmarked gravesite is discovered on the abandoned property the young mother ran. It alerts Cross to the fact that a prolific serial killer is in their midst--one who has flown under the radar for many years. With the girl he dubs "Molly" unable to tell the secrets locked in her head, it's going to be impossible to do much of anything, but the impossible is what Cross does best, and he's not giving up without a fight.

A DAUGHTER IS A DAUGHTER is a non-stop thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Matching wits with the psychologically twisted madman behind the rampage, this is the case that threatens Nick Cross' twelve-year career. Becoming personally involved, he'll let nothing stand in his way to help Molly, not even the re-emergence of a surly FBI Field Agent who has already made his life a living hell the last time they locked horns.

The second in the Nick Cross Mysteries, each entry is a standalone and may be read separately and not in chronological order. If you love Richard North Patterson or James Patterson, you'll love Nick Cross.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 7, 2018
ISBN9781986345637
A Daughter is a Daughter for All of Their Lives: The Nick Cross Mysteries

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    A Daughter is a Daughter for All of Their Lives - Ruth Bainbridge

    PROLOGUE

    Out of the pitch-black night, the sounds of panting and hard-fought breaths drifted up to the boughs of the trees and down the dirt path where the young girl ran.

    Naked and alone, her bare feet slapped the ground, the soles bleeding from the rocks encountered along the way. She cocked her head, trying to discern any noises coming from behind, but it was impossible to tell. The only way to know for certain was to stop and listen.

    There wasn’t a chance in hell that would happen.

    Life could spin around on a dime. She’d learned that the hard way, and it was that realization that made her plunge towards what she prayed was an end to the suffering.

    Heat and sweat rose off her body and mingled with the crisp night air, but there was no time to rest. Danger abounded on all sides, and the dark woods made clear how isolated she truly was. Blind faith fueled the relentless pace as labored breaths turned jagged, and then tortuous. She was out of condition, and her lungs burned from overexertion, but everything depended on her.

    Everything.

    She was their last hope.

    Thunder.

    A brilliant burst of lightning lit up the sky and illuminated the surroundings. The brief sputtering glimpse only amplified how lost she truly was. In the middle of nowhere, she was battling for her life.

    Run!

    A wind kicked up, whipping her long blonde hair into her face. Her fingers tore away at the tresses that covered her eyes and clung to the wet open mouth gasping for breath while her other hand remained clenched in a tight fist. The sharp edge of a rock sliced into her flesh as she whimpered in pain, but her will refused to falter and so she pushed on.

    Old ghosts revisited her, but she couldn’t allow herself to get caught up in the past. It was rife with land mines that threatened to explode and sabotage her in her tracks. The present was what she needed to deal with and so she focused on accomplishing the impossible.

    A skewed fork of lightning blazed across the sky and allowed another brief glimpse of the unfamiliar terrain, including the road ahead. The winding trail veered to the right and gave her no choice but to follow in that direction. Not slowing down, she leaned into the sharp curve, wondering what awaited on the other side.

    The seconds flew by.

    A highway.

    That’s what.

    Hope rose up from a dark place as defeated spirits caged within lifted and shouted, Amen and Hallelujah. An intrusive thought tried to drown out the elation by convincing her she was delusional and that this was only a mirage. The treasured prize seemed too good to be true, but it was there. The cement under her feet was enough to convince her of that, and if this were a road, it meant people ... and cars ... safety ... and ...

    Freedom.

    The bubble of joy dissipated as quickly as it came. There were no cars or people. There were only miles of paved road for as far as the eye could see.

    Where was everyone? Where?

    Death stared her in the face, taunting her the way it’d done all these years. It asked why she thought she could win. She had no answer. Why had she thought she stood a chance against insurmountable odds? She’d die here ... on this road she ran down. It was her fate.

    The fate of a victim.

    Headlights.

    Twin streams of blinding light blasted in her eyes and splashed across her frail body, breaking the stream of negativity clouding her mind. She could win if she tried, and so she waved her arms, frantically trying to flag the driver down.

    Please, dear God! Make him stop!

    The oncoming car slowed, but was it a trap?

    No! The startled male face behind the wheel was one she didn’t recognize. The woman next to him was a stranger too.

    It was going to be all right.

    The car doors slammed shut—one after the other.

    All she had to do was speak and tell the couple approaching what was wrong and the nightmare would be over. Her lips parted, trying to make a sound, but a debilitating numbness spread, making it impossible for her to do anything but stare.

    Are you okay? the driver asked. Concern etched the face that was starting to blur.

    Child, are you hurt? the woman with him echoed, but her face was dissipating and bleeding into a fog.

    Voices.

    They were still talking, but she couldn’t answer. Why couldn’t she answer? She had so much to say, but her thoughts scattered like a flock of birds frightened by a shotgun’s blast.

    She was shutting down.

    Can you tell us your name? the man asked as he covered her naked body with his coat.

    No, but I want to!

    It was her last cogent thought. In the blink of an eye, everything she fought for was lost. Her memory wiped clean, there was only the directive beating inside her head and rallying to keep her going, but she weakened anyway. Her strength drained as an incapacitating dizziness caused her to waver and stagger to the side.

    Her legs gave way, her emaciated form collapsing into the good Samaritan’s arms. The pale chapped lips twitched as her heart screamed out for justice.

    H-h—elp ... she whispered.

    Sinking the rest of the way into the hole dug for her so long ago, her blue eyes closed and shut out the world that had caused her so much pain.

    CHAPTER 1

    She was in the middle of the road?

    Yes. Fenview Turnpike. Mona ... my wife ... saw her running ... she was coming right at us ...

    Detective Nick Cross jotted it all down so he wouldn’t forget. Even without the notes, he doubted he’d have trouble remembering David Sadowski’s story about how he and his wife found a naked girl running down the highway at ten at night.

    He shot Detective Mitchell Parker a glance before continuing. Mitch had also been called in, and Nick decided to keep him around. The two had been partnered before, and Cross had a funny feeling this wasn’t going to be a straightforward case. He’d gotten used to following his gut, and this was one of those times intuition played a part in reaching a decision.

    Is that right, Mrs. Sadowski? he queried, turning his attention to the mother of four. The forty-five-year-old nodded rapidly. A gentle expression, her face could best be described as cherubic.

    Y-yes, yes. What Dave said is correct. But what he’s leaving out is how fast she was going, she added, touching her husband’s arm.

    How fast was she?

    As if her life depended on it.

    A firm resonance in her response, another look was exchanged between the detectives.

    Did either of you see anyone else? Nick’s counterpart followed up. Someone who might have been chasing her? Or a car lingering behind?

    No, we did not, David answered. We took a look around, but as far as we could tell, she was alone.

    The two hundred and forty pounds carried on the five-feet-nine inch frame would be considered excessive by most physicians, but it wasn’t Nick’s job to judge. However, figuring out the identity of the girl admitted to Hillside General did fall under his purview as lead detective for the Mt. Pleasant Police.

    My wife is right, though, the heavy-set man elaborated. The girl was hysterical. I’m a vet and I’ve seen the signs on the battlefield.

    I see, Nick replied, scribbling more notes. And did she say anything to either you or your wife?

    "Yes, ‘Help’."

    "And that was it? Just, ‘Help’?"

    Yup, after that, she went out like a light. The snapping of his fingers emphasized the rapidity.

    Tipped right over, Mona agreed.

    Luckily, I was near enough to catch her. Carried her to the shoulder of the road.

    And you say she was nude? No clothes at all? No identification? Nick queried.

    No, nothing ... not even shoes, Mrs. Sadowski elaborated. Feet were cut up pretty bad. My husband used his coat to cover her.

    I did. It’s chilly out there, the husband said, taking back over. Mona and I comforted her as best we could until the ambulance arrived.

    Dr. Warner. Report to intensive care. Bay C. Stat. Code Blue.

    It was a busy night at Hillside, but Cross cut out the peripheral noises and homed in on the two good Samaritans who apparently did the right thing and nothing more. The tax consultant and the stay-at-home mom didn’t seem involved in any of what happened to the patient undergoing a preliminary examination.

    What about injuries? Parker asked.

    "Injuries? Mona repeated. Well, her feet were a mess ... but I already mentioned that. No telling how far she ran, she added in a whisper.

    Nothing else?

    Bruising. Lots of bruising. I did notice that ... couldn’t help it, but really, I don’t know much else. My husband and I were in shock. I mean, we’d just gone out for dinner and never expected to see a child in the middle of nowhere flagging us down.

    She flagged you down? Nick queried. It was the first time he was hearing this.

    Y-yes ... sh-she was waving her arms like this. She demonstrated. But then ... like my husband said, she just shut down, the five-foot-three inch woman responded.

    So no talking? Didn’t tell you what was wrong ... what she was running away from ... her name? Nick prodded. He had to make sure.

    No, came David’s emphatic reply. The family man leaned in. But I’ll tell you one thing, I’m glad she got away from whatever it was that spooked her. I have a feeling she wouldn’t have lasted long out there on her own.

    We’re both sure, his wife interjected.

    Dr. Natalya Ophranes, the patient’s attending physician, appeared around the corner, making eye contact with Nick.

    We’re glad you got involved, Cross responded, wrapping up the interview. There’s no way of predicting what you prevented, but you both did the right thing.

    It was our duty, David replied, a solemn look settling over his features. No way could we live with ourselves if we left her on that road. Poor kid.

    With a heavy sigh, the Sadowskis pushed to their feet; Nick and Mitch did the same. Nodding goodbyes, the husband looped his arm over his wife’s shoulder, pulling her tightly to him as they made their way down the polished hallway tile. It was fine. They’d done enough for one night, and Cross had the couple’s info if he needed more.

    Nick and Mitch switched their focus onto Ophranes, hoping she could fill in some gaps. The duo approached, the pad still in Nick’s hand.

    What’s the verdict? Can we speak with Molly? Cross asked.

    "Molly? You found out her name?" the thirtyish physician answered.

    No, but we can’t keep calling her Jane Doe.

    Her mouth twisted downward, her head nodding as she scratched an unlined cheek.

    Molly, it is, she allowed. As for asking questions, she’s in shock.

    Which means? he probed.

    Which means it’s not advised. Nothing would be gained, and you might compromise her health.

    Okay, he drawled. What can you tell us?

    Was she sexually assaulted? Mitch cut in.

    No, the no-nonsense physician retorted. But she has been sexually active in the past.

    And you know this how? Nick queried.

    Because she delivered a baby.

    "A baby? Nick met his partner’s eyes. Recently?"

    Yes, she’s lactating.

    A twelve-year-old? Mitch muttered.

    About her age— the five-foot-seven-inch woman in the lab coat qualified, adopting a defensive combative stance. It wasn’t often she was wrong.

    I erred in my original estimate, she explained. I based it on her physical appearance, but it wasn’t an accurate gauge.

    Why? Cross shot.

    Because her size has been compromised. She’s severely malnourished and has been for some time. There’s also muscle atrophy that comes from inactivity. Initially, there was no way to ascertain these conditions stunted her growth. The retarding of development gives her body a much younger appearance. After conducting a more thorough exam, I’d now estimate her age closer to sixteen or seventeen.

    But the birth ... when did this occur?

    As mentioned, she’s lactating, and there are also perineal lacerations.

    Tearing? he asked.

    Yes, to the vaginal area; it’s quite common in childbirth. The tears most often heal on their own in a few weeks’ time. Assessing the degree of healing that’s occurred, I’d say the delivery occurred approximately four weeks ago.

    "A baby," he murmured to no one in particular as he rubbed his brow. Christ! This changes everything. She might have had the child with her. That infant might be out there—

    Or kidnapped. We can’t take any chances, Mitch concurred. I’ll call it in. Unclipping his radio, he moved outside to make the call.

    Speaking to her is no longer an option, Dr. Ophranes, Nick stated, confronting the doctor putting up a wall of resistance. She’s the only one who knows where her child is.

    Ophranes shoved her hands deeply into her coat pockets, exhaling sharply through the nostrils that were slightly flared and indicative of the war waged in her head.

    There’s no time to waste.

    The prodding worked.

    Okay, I’ll permit it—but only for a few minutes. She’s in an extremely fragile state, and I won’t tolerate worsening her condition. Is that understood?

    Understood, he replied as Mitch returned.

    They’re sending out some men, he reported. And borrowing a scent dog from Exeter if needed.

    Great, was the one-word response.

    The two men kept up with the brisk pace set by the slim woman cloaked in white. The trio loaded themselves into one of many roomy elevators and exited on the fifth floor.

    The composite in the tile deadened their footsteps as they strode down the hall. Entering the room as quietly as possible, they formed a circle around the young girl’s bed. Dr. Ophranes was right. The teen did look younger than she was. The blonde hair washed and brushed, the photos taken upon arrival showed a tangled mess atop the gaunt face. There were other signs of neglect, and this close, the picture they painted was disturbing.

    She didn’t get that way on her own.

    I should point out that she’s suffered trauma around one of her ankles, Dr. Ophranes whispered, lifting the blanket and baring the girl’s right leg.

    The good doctor was right. Ugly bruises ringed the ankle. The broken skin above her foot was rubbed raw.

    What would cause that sort of braceleting? he asked.

    I’d surmise a restraint was used.

    Restraint? Mitch repeated.

    Yes. I used to volunteer at a prison outside of Buffalo. Some of the inmates suffered from these types of trauma when the cuffing was too tight or used for prolonged periods of time. I haven’t seen it outside of those circumstances. It was similar to this, but not as severe.

    Double Christ!

    Who the hell would put a leg iron on a sixteen-year-old mother?

    With nothing to confirm or deny the educated opinion, it stayed in his memory bank for later use. The doctor covered up the pale leg and moved towards the headboard.

    The bruising wasn’t confined to that area. You can see for yourself.

    Using her fingers to trace the two spindly arms resting on top of the covers, she was right. Ugly discolorations dotted and marred both the insides and outsides of both. The doctor was careful not to disturb the needle taped in position in the crook of the girl’s left arm. It was the conduit for the IV’s life-giving fluids to enter the girl’s body.

    Ophranes leaned over, stroking the top of the patient’s head in a soothing manner.

    Hello, there. Her tone was muted; there wasn’t the gruffness exhibited with the two detectives. It’s Dr. Ophranes ... the doctor who examined you. The eyes of the patient remained focused straight ahead. Someone’s here to see you.

    There were zero signs of recognition or curiosity as to who was visiting. The baby blues fixed, whatever secrets the girl held were locked inside. It was where Cross needed to be. Inside her mind and privy to the mystery of who she was and why she’d been running. He closed in, displacing Ophranes from her spot at the head of the bed. Memories of when his son Logan and daughter Jessie were babies came rushing back. He’d had to be so gentle.

    It was what was needed with Molly.

    She was that fragile.

    Hello, he greeted softly. My name is Nick and this is my partner Mitch. Can you see this? he said, holding up his ID. It’s my badge. We’re both detectives and here to help you, but we need to know your name. Can you tell us your name?

    The same frozen gaze. The seconds ticked by as they waited for a response.

    Silence.

    How about what happened? Can you tell us that?

    Another pause.

    You remember the couple that helped you? They said you were running. Why? Was someone chasing you?

    Nothing.

    Is talking too much? You can nod if you want. Would that be easier for you?

    The expression didn’t change.

    Nick met his partner’s eyes before drawing a chair to the bedside and trying again to elicit answers.

    You’re safe, you know, he reassured as he took her hand. You can say anything you want to us, and no one will know. Your family ... they have to be worried. If we had your name, we could tell them where you are.

    He second-guessed himself. Maybe her family was the problem. Her condition didn’t come on overnight and her family might be behind the abuse.

    And the pregnancy ...

    But if you don’t want us to contact your family, we won’t. It’s your call. Just know that we won’t let anyone hurt you anymore. I promise we won’t. Whatever you suffered is over. You just need to tell us what went on.

    Natalya crossed her arms, glancing down at her watch. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He didn’t have much longer.

    What about your baby?

    Still no response.

    We know you had a baby. We want to make sure your child is safe. I know you want that. Can you tell us if your baby is safe? Just squeeze my hand. Once for yes and twice for no.

    It remained limp ... lifeless. His frustration mounted, but he couldn’t allow it to seep through.

    Please, just tell us if your child is out there.

    The seconds ticked away.

    We have men searching, but you’re the only one who knows. Is your baby outside?

    More silence. The sound of deep breaths and nothing more.

    We need information. Please ... just squeeze my hand ... once for yes and twice for no. Was your child with you?

    A vacant expression. Was she cognizant of what was said? He surveyed her face.

    Glistening ... in the corner of one eye.

    A solitary tear spilled over and trickled down one sunken cheek. Followed by more, Nick sat helplessly by as the girl dubbed Molly began to cry.

    CHAPTER 2

    A baby.

    The game-changing news about the missing baby was reflected in Captain Brunheimer’s face. The consternation said it all.

    Nick squirmed, pressing his back into one of Brunie’s uncomfortable chairs. Rumor was that Brunheimer selected them to inflict as much discomfort as possible so that visitors wouldn’t linger. But the plan contained a perk: a loophole that allowed for purchasing an ergonomically correct one for himself.

    Whatever.

    He could take whatever Brunie doled out and this morning. There were more urgent priorities than back pain. The cup in Cross’ hand called out for draining. He guzzled several gulps of bold roast before his brain kicked in.

    Good call on keeping Parker on as a partner. You’ll need him, the dark-haired forty-seven-year-old addressed to Nick. As for your request, K-9 Ginny and her handler will be arriving tomorrow.

    The captain’s statements were clear enough—at least to Nick. The news about the scent dog coupled with the lavishing of praise were meant to nip Nick being upset about the lack of results from last night’s search in the bud.

    Too bad the tactic didn’t work.

    It had been one hell of a night. To say he hadn’t slept well was putting it mildly. There were all those unanswered questions swirling. Although he tried to keep a distance, there was no way he could with the girl he met. Like it or not, he was emotionally vested, and it was the one thing all recruits were warned about, but he couldn’t help caring too much.

    Mitch took a hit of coffee, throwing Nick a commiserating glance. It was a shame that Parker’s thirty-six-year-old face wore the same signs of weariness that Nick’s did.

    Police work will age you every time.

    Jesus! Nick blurted. Brunie ripped off his glasses and glared at him with that hawkish face.

    What? I gave you what you wanted.

    No, it’s not that, Captain. It just occurred to me that the dog won’t work.

    Why not? the captain fired back.

    The dog ... the dog doesn’t have the baby’s scent. No one does, Nick responded.

    Ah, that, Brunie answered, sliding the glasses back in place. "The dog will have Molly’s scent. The hospital provided us with bed clothing she wore. The baby would have to be carrying its mother’s scent, no?"

    Molly.

    The captain had been receptive to using the pseudonym. Hence him referring to the patient as Molly all during the early morning briefing.

    There’s that. It was Nick’s begrudging way of admitting he couldn’t think of everything. But what about the volunteers?

    They’ll continue to search until the scent dog arrives. We’ll decide what to do then.

    That damn rain. It’s going to make things tougher. Cross vented about the light rain that fell in the wee hours of the morning. He helped himself to more caffeine and tore off a chunk of a whole wheat bagel. Spread with cream cheese, it was still hot from the kiln.

    It will, but ... it’s strange that no one reported Molly missing, Mitch remarked.

    Agreed. Especially considering she has an infant, Nick elaborated. If the baby were with her, two people would be missing ... and if the baby were with someone else—

    They’d still be babysitting and wondering where the mother was, Brunie filled in. More lines in his forehead appeared. A product of critical thinking, he was deep in thought.

    But we don’t know the circumstances, Mitch added. If we knew the how and why of her was running down that highway, the question of why no one filed a missing person’s report might answer itself.

    You think it would matter? She’s sixteen— Brunie queried.

    Correction: Dr. Ophranes approximated her age as sixteen. Even if the approximation is accurate, being a minor doesn’t amount to a hill of beans these days. Kids run away ... and families throw them out. She could have been on her own since twelve for all we know.

    True, Cross commented. She could have been living with someone that dumped her on the highway ... someone that didn’t want her in his life anymore.

    That might point to human trafficking, Mitch threw in. Could be her pimp/handler took his pound of flesh and threw the rest away.

    They’re all possibilities, Brunie sighed, rubbing his mouth. And they’d all be reasons why no one made a call.

    Nick’s tender heart got the better of him. The very suggestion of the fragile girl being a disposable commodity got his blood boiling.

    What the hell is around Fenview Turnpike, anyway? he blurted, jumping to his feet. Using the emotion, he channeled his anger into solving this mystery and getting Molly home. Taking a belt of coffee, he strode over to the map spread out on the conference table so he could check what roads intersected the area she was found.

    Orchard Avenue, Clifton, Towers, he ticked off as his finger traced the route. Cypress, Metgate ... damn! Didn’t realize there were so many roads that branch off from Fenview. I was hoping we could at least determine which way she came.

    It’s going to be tough to nail down, the captain remarked. Not without K-9 Ginny. Farming community is out that way—or was.

    "Definitely, was, Mitch responded. Very few working farms left. Hey, you think she could have been living out there? Squatting in one of the abandoned homes?"

    Nick tapped his lips with his finger.

    You’re talking someone finding her and taking advantage of the situation? Maybe, he mused. Captain, we should let the searchers know to check inside any abandoned structures. If she were squatting, her baby could still be in there.

    I’ll let them know, Brunheimer answered as he wrote it down.

    Another possibility is that Molly might have psychological problems, Mitch theorized. It would explain her running around in the nude.

    No! Nick barked. That doesn’t make any sense, given that there were signs of restraint.

    But the restraints wouldn’t rule out the scenario, Mitch continued. Her parents could have used them. I know, I know. It’s barbaric, but a lot of families don’t understand mental illness. They think it’s a behavioral issue and try to handle it on their own rather than seek treatment ... and sometimes that includes locking them up.

    "Yeah, ‘for their own good’, Nick responded. Doesn’t matter that it’s completely illegal."

    They think of it as discipline and keeping the person safe.

    Until this happens, Brunie shot back.

    Not condoning it, Mitch added. I’m mentioning it as a reason why nobody reported her missing. There’d be too many questions, and the answers might land them in prison.

    Well, as long as we’re brainstorming, another possibility is that she’s not from around here, Nick tossed out.

    The picture the papers are running should help there, Brunheimer responded.

    Not if she’s from out of state, Nick quipped. What about tips? Who’s handling them? he asked, switching gears

    Boz, Brunie answered. We’re devoting a line to them. Anything that comes in, she’ll check out before bringing it to your attention. I trust that meets with your approval?

    The captain was humoring him. Brunie never cared what anybody thought of his decisions, but he was aware of the important role Cullie Bozman played in Nick’s last case. Without her, the Only One Will Fall serial killer would still be out there—and he might be dead.

    Tell me more about that talk you had with Molly, Brunie segued. What was your take on her?

    There’s not much to go on, Nick replied. She was non-communitive and non-responsive. The only reaction was tears.

    She cried?

    It’s my opinion she did, Nick replied.

    Mine also, Captain, Mitch agreed.

    Then why the qualification?

    Because, Nick exhaled, Dr. Ophranes insisted the reaction was due to shock and not emotion.

    Captain, she started crying when Nick was asking about her baby. No way the two aren’t connected, Mitch argued.

    The captain pressed his fingertips together before taking another sip of coffee and a bite of his croissant. Sounds like she’s missing her child and that tells us something. When’s your next talk?

    This afternoon, Nick replied. Already spoke with the good doctor. She assures us there’s no change, so I doubt we’ll be getting much.

    You never know, Mitch retorted.

    No, you never do, Nick mumbled.

    But those restraints discussed ... what if it wasn’t her family? Brunheimer asked.

    You’re thinking abduction? Nick responded. Some nutcase could have grabbed her—

    And kept her, Mitch elaborated.

    A lightbulb went on in Nick’s head.

    Then maybe a missing person’s report was already filed. Maybe that’s why nobody called it in. We need to get busy searching old reports.

    Brunie groaned.

    What a thought, he replied. Someone in Mt. Pleasant keeping a teenager prisoner. It’s enough to make you lose faith in humanity.

    You haven’t already? Nick retorted. Brunie paused, giving the remark consideration.

    Good question. But if she was abducted and taken across state lines, the FBI needs to be apprised. It is their province.

    Just not Weller, Nick cautioned.

    One beat. Two beats. Kapow!

    Thought you two reconciled your differences? Brunheimer queried.

    Nick had, but ...

    We did. I apologize for making it sound otherwise.

    Apology accepted, Brunie replied. What’s your first move?

    Expanding the search team. If that baby is out in the elements, it’s an exigent situation. Next comes checking missing person reports from Mt. Pleasant and surrounding areas. Let’s play it safe and go back to the beginning of this year. Mitch, how about checking hospitals? We have the delivery date to go by.

    Absolutely. It’s a solid lead, he agreed.

    About the only one we have, Nick lamented. And how about having Boz contact medical professionals ... obstetricians, clinics, hospitals .... circulate Molly’s photo to them. There might have been prenatal care and they might—crap!

    What? Mitch and Brunie asked in unison.

    Something else just occurred to me, Cross replied.

    Don’t leave us hanging, the captain prodded, his dark eyes peering over the rim of his glasses. His curly hair had received a recent clipping.

    We might want to get a cadaver dog out here ... in case ...

    Nick stopped, letting the rest of the thought speak for itself.

    With a nod from Brunie, the room went quiet as all three withdrew into their own private thoughts about the horror of finding the infant dead.

    Nick indulged in coffee, hoping to keep that possibility at bay and fuel the hope that the case would be solved with no harsher casualties than missing a good night’s sleep.

    CHAPTER 4

    Was that Weller? Cross asked.

    Yup ... said there’s nothing in the database, Parker replied.

    More great news.

    Cross had already received one rotten dose and now this. A bad day just got worse.

    Fucking check and fucking check, he responded, jamming his pen into a page of his pad where notes of his conversation with Ophranes stretched from margin to margin.

    Parker planted his butt down in an empty seat, sipping cola and shooting his partner a look.

    How did you know that call was from Weller? You only heard the ringtone. You getting psychic in your old age?

    Because when things go wrong, they stay that way. Like with that shrew Ophranes, Cross summed up.

    Mitch stared over the rim of aluminum.

    "Ophranes? A shrew? What’d she do to deserve that accolade, buddy?"

    She recommended Molly be moved to the psych ward.

    She’s doing that?

    It’s what she said, Cross hissed through clenched teeth. That’s what my call was about.

    Maybe it’s a good thing, Nick, a female voice interjected.

    It was Boz. Entering at the wrong time, she’d heard just enough to form the

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