where she fit in.
She’d suffered so much abuse at such a young age. That kind of trauma affected most people for life. Add to that trauma the fact that she’d given birth to a baby alone, a baby born from a rape. And then she’d given that child away.
A certain amount of guilt might plague her for that decision, although she had no reason to feel guilty. She’d made the most unselfish choice she could make—she’d put her baby’s future before her own.
Had Carina been able to overcome the emotional trauma and focus on making a future for herself?
Unable to keep her eyes open any longer, she finally fell into a deep sleep, a sleep filled with nightmares that made her wrestle with the hard pillow on the cot.
She and Izzy were at the beach. The warm sunshine played off her daughter’s dark hair as she raced along the edge of the water. Mila chased after her, laughing as Izzy darted back and forth to dodge the waves. She loved the water and the sand and the creatures they found on the beach.
They watched a baby crab disappear into his home underground, then used plastic sand toys to dig and create a castle complete with a moat. Izzy laughed as she spilled water from the bucket all over her feet, then squealed when Mila picked her up and swung her around.
She dropped her onto the middle of a whale-shaped float, and Izzy laughed in delight as she bounced on a wave.
The next minute, Izzy was screaming in terror. The sun and ocean had disappeared, and a big man was hauling her daughter from their house. Izzy kicked and cried, but the man clamped his hand over her mouth, then tossed her in the back of a van.
Tires squealed and the van screeched away.
A gunshot sounded and Roberta ran after the van. Then Roberta was gone, and the van lurched to a stop at a dark, rotting shed somewhere in the desert. It had to be a million degrees during the day.
And frigid at night.
Desperate to find her daughter, Mila combed the desert, walking miles and miles until she fell face-first into the scorching sand. A storm surfaced, and sand swirled and swirled around her in a blur. She couldn’t see anything, not even her own hand in front of her.
Another scream. Izzy. She was lost out there in the sandstorm.
Izzy screamed again, and Mila pushed herself to her hands and knees and crawled forward.
What was that man doing to her daughter?
She had to get to her, to save her...
She was walking again, then running, her feet miring down into the sand...
Then Izzy was in front of her, her little body unmoving, the sand covering her as it raged through the air. She dug with her hands, determined to reach her, but the sand was burying her like quicksand...
Mila jerked awake, shaking and crying, her heart sinking as Izzy disappeared into the ground.
* * *
BRAYDEN LOVED THE RANCH, but he and his brothers needed privacy now they were older and busy. Still, his mother had kept rooms for them to use when they visited. Recently, Harrison and Lucas had both built houses on Hawk’s Landing for them and their wives.
Brayden and Dex also had offices in Austin. Brayden had rented an apartment above his law office, and Dex found a cabin on the edge of town that he could work out of, as well.
Brayden drove to Dexter’s, knowing he couldn’t go home and sleep right away, not when Mila Manchester’s sad eyes haunted him.
Dexter greeted him with a cold beer. His brother had a state-of-the-art computer system and was a whiz at finding information on the web. Sometimes he sensed Dex didn’t follow the rules; then again, that was the reason he’d formed his own PI agency instead of studying law.
If he crossed the line, Brayden didn’t want to know about it. So far, Lucas and Harrison hadn’t asked questions either. As sheriff, Harrison had called on Dex for help a few times. He was pretty sure Lucas had, too, but Lucas only shared information on a need-to-know basis.
Dex pressed a few keys and a photo of the doctor appeared along with articles on her services for the needy.
“Look at this,” Dexter said. “Judging from the awards and press Mila’s received, she’s everything Charlotte claims. She practically runs her own clinic and offers services pro bono for families and children in need across the country. Hell, across the world.”
Brayden’s gaze skated over the dozens of articles featuring Mila’s mother, Andrea Manchester, and had to agree.
“She’s following in her mother’s footsteps.” Dexter accessed a photo of Mila’s mother receiving an award for her Doctors Without Borders work, just a month before she died in a shooting in Syria. She’d operated on a child born with a cleft lip and cleft palate.
“I suppose it’s possible Mila became overwhelmed with the vast needs for her services and the cost, and accepted money to fund her efforts,” Dexter said. “But my preliminary search into her financials didn’t reveal anything suspicious. No large deposits, no offshore accounts.” He gestured toward another computer screen showing the doctor’s personal account then her business one. “There is an account for donations that has around a hundred grand, but it’ll take me time to sort through the ins and outs of the accounting to see if all the donations are legit.”
Brayden scrubbed a hand through his hair. Money could be one motive. But if she’d been coerced, there had to be a more personal reason. “How about family? Does she have parents, a sister or brother, anyone DiSanti might threaten to persuade her to do his dirty work?”
“Wait, this is interesting,” Dexter said.
Brayden shifted, hoping his brother had found something he could use to convince Mila to talk to him. “What?”
“Mila was adopted, although both of her adopted parents have passed,” Dexter said.
Brayden’s brows shot up. “Any information on her birth mother or father?”
Dexter shook his head. “Apparently she was abandoned as a baby. No father listed anywhere. Dr. Andrea Manchester was working at the hospital where Mila was brought in by paramedics. She and her husband adopted Mila.”
No wonder she’d wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps. “Anything on her coworkers?” Brayden asked.
Dexter shrugged. “The head nurse is a single mother named Rhoda Zimmerman. She has a ten-year-old son and lives close to the clinic.” He pressed the print button and the printer spit out a page of names and addresses. “Other employees include a receptionist, another nurse and a PA.”
Brayden checked his watch. “It’s too late tonight to talk to any of them. But first thing in the morning, I’ll get on it.”
“It’ll go faster if we divide the list,” Dexter said.
“Thanks. I’ll take the head nurse and receptionist.”
“I’ll talk to the others,” Dexter offered.
Brayden noticed a file on the desk, one that was labeled Hawk. His gaze shot to his brother, then he gestured to the folder. “What’s that about?”
A wary look flashed across Dexter’s chiseled face. “A file on Chrissy.”
“You were looking for her all these years?”
Dex nodded. “Glad that’s settled.”
Unfortunately, she was dead and had been since the day she’d gone missing.
“Guess I can put it away now.” His brother swept the folder off the desk and jammed it in the drawer.
Something about how quickly he removed it made Brayden suspicious. He could usually read his brother like a book. But not tonight.
Was Dexter keeping something from him?