expletive escape. He couldn’t be mistaken. He couldn’t.
But this woman’s name wasn’t Maddie or anything like it. Nell Smith. He closed his eyes and saw her, smile warming as she wrapped her arms around the girl, eyes momentarily closing and her expression softening into something achingly gentle.
How could this Nell Smith be his Maddie Dubeau? It made no sense; this hadn’t been a case of a parent abducting a child and raising her under a different identity. Maddie had been fifteen, not five. You couldn’t persuade a fifteen-year-old that all her memories of who she’d been were false. And Maddie hadn’t been a runaway. If she was alive, why wouldn’t she have gotten help, called her parents? Found her way home?
The local news had segued into national, making him remember that he had to leave—now—or he’d be late getting together with his sister. Who hadn’t sounded that excited about seeing him.
He didn’t know why he kept trying, and was no longer in the mood. It had been two years since he’d seen her, and that time they’d had lunch. She’d been rushed, claiming she had to get back to work. His brilliant, pretty sister. Maybe he should let Cait go, along with his mother.
But he considered her his only family, and he was a stubborn man. He turned off the television reluctantly, wishing he had a way to replay that short clip. He reminded himself there wasn’t anything he could do about locating Nell Smith tonight, and he’d been looking forward to seeing Cait. One thing at a time, he told himself. He already knew that he wouldn’t be attending day two of the technology symposium tomorrow. He’d be visiting a runaway shelter.
Taking the elevator down to the parking garage below the hotel, Colin thought about coming right out and asking why Cait was so uninterested in having any meaningful relationship with him, her only sibling. But he knew he wouldn’t do it. Her answer might be too honest. Too final.
* * *
NELL CAST AN uneasy glance around the library. Nothing seemed to be out of order. A mother and several children were straggling from the children’s area, all carrying their selections. A couple of teenagers whispered at the end of an aisle of shelves, a group studied at a long table, and a number of adults sat throughout the library reading. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to her.
So why did she keep having the creepy feeling that someone was watching her?
Well, duh. Despite her request not to be filmed, she had appeared on TV. She’d worked last night but had known the spot was being aired and had set her TiVo. Watching it, all she could think was, No, no, no. She’d grabbed the remote and rewound, praying her face hadn’t been visible enough to be recognizable. But there she was. Two patrons had already commented today on how excited they were to see her on KING-5. She kept expecting to find people staring at her.
The definition of paranoia.
She smiled at a mother, then the stair-step array of children as they checked out their books. Perhaps she’d shelve some of the materials she’d just checked in, since things were so quiet.
Once again, she felt that peculiar prickling on the back of her neck, and she swung around quickly. This time, a man was looking at her. He’d been hidden previously by a newspaper held open before him. Now he was closing and folding it, his gaze resting on her.
Because she happened to be in his sight line? Her pulse was jumping despite her determination not to let herself become alarmed about nothing. So what if a guy was looking at her? Maybe he was thinking about asking a question. Maybe he’d seen her on TV. Maybe he would come on to her. That did occasionally happen, although she was good at squelching men.
She sent a vague smile his way and pushed a rolling cart of books out from behind the counter. She could reshelve new books while keeping an eye on the front desk.
He was still watching her. As if his gaze had a weight, she felt it even when her back was turned. Nell couldn’t decide why it bothered her so much. He certainly wasn’t one of the mentally ill homeless people who wandered in here; she’d only peripherally noticed what he wore, but thought he could be a businessman.
Maneuvering the cart, she sneaked another glance. Yes, slacks and a white shirt, open at the neck, but it was after five, which probably meant he was off work and had left his suit jacket and tie in the car. Dark hair cut rather short. Not exactly handsome, his face was still compelling. Hard. And though his posture was relaxed, with his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed, she doubted, although she couldn’t have said why, that he was relaxed at all.
Ignore him.
It wasn’t as if she was alone in the library. If he was still watching her an hour from now when she got off work, she’d have someone walk her to her car, which she’d driven today because it was her night to go to SafeHold.
She shelved in reasonable peace, pausing only a couple of times to talk to patrons and answer questions. A lively discussion with a regular about Alice Hoffman’s latest distracted her enough that she almost forgot the man. At some point, he picked up another section of the newspaper and read it, although he never lifted it high enough to disappear the way he had earlier. He might not be paying any attention to her at all, or he might still be keeping an eye on her. She couldn’t tell.
He hadn’t moved from his chair when her replacement arrived and she slipped away to get her coat and a couple of books she’d plucked off the new-title shelf for herself. But he was nowhere to be seen when she headed for the front doors.
She was almost to her car, keys in hand, wishing it didn’t get dark so early at this time of year, when a man said quietly, “Ms. Smith?”
With a sharp gasp, Nell spun around.
It was him, of course. She couldn’t imagine where he’d come from, how he’d gotten so near without making a sound. The lighting was good in the parking lot, but still cast odd shadows. He loomed over her.
The books fell from her hand, thudding to the pavement, and she backed up until she pressed against the fender of her Ford.
Seeing her fear, he lifted both hands and retreated a step. “Hey! It’s okay. I’m sorry if I frightened you. I won’t hurt you. I meant to catch you inside before you left.”
She didn’t take her eyes off him or bend to pick up the books she’d dropped. “What do you want?”
“I recognized you,” he said simply.
“I don’t know you.” Nell was certain of that.
“No. No, you wouldn’t. I’m a police officer, Ms. Smith. I recognize you from pictures taken before you disappeared.”
She had to swallow before she could get a word out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His eyes were colorless in this stark, artificial light. Not brown, she thought; something pale gray or blue. They were keen on her face, as if he were drinking in the sight of her. No one had ever looked at her so intensely.
“I saw the news clip last night. I knew you right away.”
She prayed he couldn’t tell that she was trembling all over. Thank God the car was at her back, supporting her. She summoned a cool voice that sounded barely interested. “Just who is it that you think I am?”
“Madeline Dubeau.” He paused. “Madeline Noelle Dubeau. Maddie.”
Maddie. Oh, God, oh, God. She had called herself Mary in Portland. And she’d liked the name Eleanor, when she found it, because Nell sounded right to her. Like somebody she could be.
“My name is Eleanor Smith. I don’t know a Maddie...what did you say the last name is? Dew...?”
“Dubeau.”
Nell shook her head. “I’ve heard we all have twins.”
“I don’t believe it. I’ve searched for you for what seems half my life. I know you.”
Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt. She should say, I’m