Faith, Hope and Love. BEVERLY BARTON

on her hip. “This is Faith Sheridan. If anyone has seen her or has information about her, please contact the Whitewood police department. Faith’s friends are collecting reward money for anyone with information.” Jody removed the blanket from the baby’s head and the camera zoomed in on the child.

      Worth’s heart stopped beating for a split second. Fat, pink cheeks, button nose, rosebud lips. A thick fluff of dark-red hair curled atop the child’s head and a set of dark-brown eyes stared into the camera.

      She was his! He knew it the moment he looked at her. Faith’s baby was his daughter.

      “This is Faith’s little girl. Hope needs her mother, so please, if you know anything, anything at all, about Faith’s disappearance, we need your help.” Tears spilled from Jody’s eyes.

      “Thank you, Ms. Crenson.” The reporter caressed the baby’s rosy cheek, then turned back to the camera, which focused on her. “It is feared that Faith Sheridan is the fifth victim of the Greenville Slayer. This man murdered one woman and left two for dead in the Greenville area, all within the past two months. Only three weeks ago, his fourth victim was found dead in an abandoned warehouse in Sparkman, twenty miles south of here.”

      Worth shot up from his chair and bounded out of Sawyer McNamara’s office. He had to get to Whitewood as quickly as possible. Every instinct he possessed urged him to find out what had happened to Faith and to see the child he knew had to be his.

      Sawyer came out in the hallway and called to Worth, “What’s wrong with you? Where are you going in such a hurry?”

      Worth slowed for a moment, glanced over his shoulder and replied, “I’m going to Whitewood to find out what happened to Faith.”

      “I knew she had a major crush on you after you rescued her last year, but I didn’t think you reciprocated her feelings.”

      Worth didn’t explain himself to anyone, didn’t justify his actions to anyone, not even his boss—not unless those actions directly related to a current case. But he did owe Sawyer some sort of explanation. “I’ll need some time off. I don’t know how long.”

      Sawyer eyed Worth suspiciously. “Sure. Take however long you need. And call me if there’s anything I or the agency can do to help you.”

      “Thanks.”

      Worth hurried into his office, tossed his overcoat across his arm, then went by Daisy’s desk on his way out.

      “Call the airlines and get me the first available flight to Whitewood, South Carolina. And arrange for a rental car.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Call me on my cell phone to let me know about my reservations.”

      “I’ll take care of the arrangements for you, Mr. Cordell.”

      Ten minutes later, Worth found himself stuck in downtown traffic. Twenty minutes later just as he entered his one-bedroom apartment, his cell phone rang. Daisy rattled off details of his flight and he registered the information mentally, then set about packing. His plane left Atlanta in less than three hours.

      

      Margaret Tompkins and Lindsey and George Dawson sat around the table in Jody Crenson’s kitchen. Half-eaten sandwiches and empty coffee cups littered the table, along with piles of money.

      Margaret punched the final numbers into her adding machine, then announced, “We have collected two thousand, six hundred and forty-two dollars and twenty cents.”

      “George and I want to add a thousand dollars to that,” Lindsey said as she bounced a wide-eyed Hope on her knee.

      “With my thousand, that will bring our total to nearly five thousand.” Margaret wiped away a tear. “I feel as if we should be doing something more. I want to go out and search this town, house by house.”

      “The police have pretty much already done that,” Jody said. “Everyone in Whitewood knows Faith and if anyone has seen anything, this reward money—” Jody eyed the stack of bills and rolled coins in the middle of her kitchen table “—should entice even the most reluctant to come forward.”

      “I simply can’t believe that anyone would harm a sweet child like Faith.” A portly, fifty-something George Dawson had been little Hope’s substitute grandfather since the day she was born and both Lindsey and Margaret shared the grandmother role, while Jody was simply Aunt Jody.

      “If—and I’m only saying if—the Greenville Slayer—” Jody’s voice cracked with emotion.

      She could not—would not—allow herself to believe Faith was dead. Her dearest friend had been through so much in the past year. Surely God wouldn’t be so cruel as to take her away from little Hope when the child didn’t have a father. Well, she did have a father, but the heartless bastard had taken advantage of Faith and hadn’t even bothered to call to say he was sorry. Jody would never forgive the man for standing up Faith a year ago on Christmas Eve. The poor kid had sat on a bench in the town square and waited for four hours—in the snow. When Jody had found Faith at midnight, she’d been suffering from hypothermia and had been practically delirious. A week’s stay in the hospital battling pneumonia and nearly a month’s recuperation at home had come at the same time evil bouts of morning sickness had hit Faith.

      Jody had wanted to call Worth Cordell and demand he take responsibility for his child, but Faith had told her she wouldn’t ask Worth for anything.

      “Obviously he doesn’t love me,” Faith had said. “If he did, he would have shown up at the square on Christmas Eve as we’d planned. I don’t want him to feel obligated to me just because I’m pregnant. If he doesn’t love me, my baby and I are better off without him in our lives.”

      “Don’t you worry, Faithie, you’ve got people who care about you. We’ll help you,” Jody had told Faith, and the people gathered here tonight in her kitchen had made Jody’s prediction come true. Jody, Margaret and the Dawsons had stood by Faith through her pregnancy and rallied around her and little Hope like the family they had become.

      Margaret stood and placed her arm around Jody’s shoulders. “It’s all right, dear, we know exactly how you feel. Faith is like a daughter to me. I refuse to believe that she’s dead.”

      “So do I,” Lindsey added. “We can’t give in to our fears. We have to believe in a miracle. For Hope’s sake, if for no other reason.”

      “I’ll take the money to the bank in the morning,” George said. “And open an account for the Faith Sheridan Reward Fund. And Lindsey will contact the newspapers and the local radio and television stations first thing tomorrow.”

      “Thanks.” Jody offered George a fragile smile. “I don’t know what else we can do. We’ve circulated flyers in Whitewood and all the neighboring towns and the local police have been more than cooperative.”