ONE
Searching for a crack house had not been in Erica James’s plans for the evening. However, Detective Katie Randall had uttered the one sentence that could send her into one of the worst neighborhoods in the city.
“We’ve found new evidence in Molly’s disappearance.”
Erica let the words ring through her mind as she drove, looking for the address of the crack house that had been raided two days ago.
New evidence. New evidence.
“It’s been three years,” Erica exclaimed. “What possibly could have come to light now?” she’d asked, hating the shakiness in her voice, the desperate hope that she knew was carved on her face.
Detective Katie Randall had shown her a photograph of a crime scene. Even now, Erica’s fingers curled around the steering wheel as she remembered the little outfit clearly pictured amidst the trash and rubble.
The outfit three-year-old Molly had been wearing when she’d disappeared from the day-care field trip to the zoo. Erica touched the picture with a shaking finger.
“That’s her hair bow.”
“We got a fingerprint from it. A girl by the name of Lydia Powell. Her prints are in the system for a shoplifting charge two years ago.”
“So what does she say? Did you ask her about Molly?”
“We haven’t been able to find her,” Katie admitted.
“Then I will.”
Now, two days later, on a cold Tuesday evening, Erica glanced at the sky. The sun would set in about ten minutes and she still hadn’t found the address.
In this dark, dank part of town.
Drug deals on one corner, the selling of bodies and souls on the other. Her heart shuddered at the thought of her child being in the middle of all of this. And yet at the same time, her heart ached for the innocents trapped in this cycle of crime and abuse. For those who wanted out, but didn’t know how to accomplish that. Or were too young to try.
Narrowed, suspicious eyes followed her progress down the trash-strewn street. The sun crept lower and her pulse picked up a notch.
As daylight disappeared so did the people on the street. One by one, everyone in a yard or on a porch made their way behind a closed, locked door.
She hadn’t counted on it being dark by the time she got here. Then again, she hadn’t counted on the place being so hard to find, either. Her GPS had led her down one street and up another until she was so twisted around she’d never find her way back out.
For the first time since Katie had told her the news, fear started to replace the hope she’d allowed herself to feel. She’d taken the information and run with it. Straight into one of the most dangerous parts of town.
What was she doing? Was she crazy?
After another hesitant second, she picked up the phone and dialed her brother, Brandon. Nerves on edge, she watched the street as she waited for him to answer. Finally, she heard, “Hello?”
“I think I’ve gone and done something stupid.”
“Who, you? You’re kidding.” He didn’t sound concerned—or surprised.
With good reason, she had to silently admit. She bit her lip. “No, Brandon, this time I’m serious.”
That got his attention. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
The mechanical voice from the GPS told her, “Turn left and your destination will be on the right.” Erica rolled to a stop and looked to her left.
Brandon said, “Where are you?”
“Five sixty-seven Patton Street.”
“Patton Street! Are you crazy?”
Now she heard the concern. “Yes, I think so. If I stay in my car and wait, will you meet me here?” Uneasy and on alert, she glanced around, felt unseen eyes watching her every movement. “Because while I’m not comfortable here, I’m not leaving yet, either.”
She heard him muttering and thought she heard the words “crazy woman” in there somewhere. “I’m getting you home and then you’re going into a safe occupation like accounting or—”
As Brandon continued his tirade, Erica chewed her bottom lip and tuned him out. Brandon worked with her at Finding the Lost, an organization dedicated to finding missing children she’d started after Molly disappeared. Erica, Brandon and Jordan—Brandon’s best friend who’d needed a job and came highly recommended—worked together to find children who disappeared either through criminal activity such as kidnapping, or because they ran away.
Erica glanced in the rearview mirror and saw two rough-looking characters headed her way. Her stomach flipped. She whispered, “Oh, yeah, bad idea. Bad, bad idea.” She had her self-defense training and her weapon, but—
“Bad idea is right. What made you decide to go there?” he demanded.
“New information about Molly’s disappearance,” she said with her eyes still on the rearview mirror.
Brandon paused then sighed, a small breath of understanding. “Ah.”
Erica had to admit having a good working relationship with several police officers afforded her information she’d otherwise have trouble getting. Katie was her friend and Erica had proved herself trustworthy over the past couple of years. Which was why she now found herself in a possibly very bad situation.
A police cruiser rolled past on the street perpendicular to hers and the two figures behind her took off. She blew out a relieved breath, looked at her GPS one more time and turned left. And there it was.
“Give me about fifteen minutes,” Brandon said. “Stay put.”
The house she wanted loomed ahead on her right. She pulled to the curb two houses down and cut her engine, then her lights. The street lay empty, quiet as a tomb. She had a perfect view of the front of the house.
Night approached, sneaking in as though even it was reluctant to be found in this area of town.
“Erica? Did you hear me?”
“I heard you. I’ll be waiting. A cop drove by and scared away the riffraff.”
“If you’re determined to stay, stay in the car with the doors locked. I mean it.”
“Okay.”
She had every intention of staying hunkered down in the front seat and waiting for Brandon to get there.
Until she caught a glimpse of a slim figure in a hoodie, hunched over and slinking down the street toward the deserted house.
Erica’s stomach twisted. She reached for the weapon she’d earned the right to carry in a concealed holster, but on second glance, the person didn’t look to be a threat. Male or female? She couldn’t tell.
Erica glanced at the clock, then back. The figure shot a look over a thin shoulder every so often. Finally, under one of the few working streetlights, Erica caught a glimpse of a pale face and scared eyes that flicked in every direction, watchful and jumpy. She looked to be about fifteen or sixteen and walked with quick jerky steps, shoulders bowed, arms crossed protectively across her stomach as though she wanted to make herself as small as possible.
Excitement spun inside Erica. This girl looked familiar. Could it be Lydia?
Did she need help? She kept looking over her shoulder.
Was someone behind her? Following her?
Erica watched for a few minutes until the girl disappeared around the side of the house. She put her hand on the door handle. If that was Lydia, she couldn’t let her get