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  Bonnie.

  She was there in the darkness. Always before she had been the stranger, the one apart; but now she was close, as familiar to him as Eve, and much of the comfort was coming from her. Did she want him to stay in the darkness?

  But he could feel Eve’s terror and sadness.

  He had to stop them both and try to make Eve happy.

  As she made him happy …

  He had known from the first moment he had seen her all those years ago that he could not be happy if he was not with her.

  Strange … He had not believed that love could come out of nowhere and stay forever. He had been such a cynical son of a bitch. Smart, young FBI agent, sure of himself and everything around him, ready to take on the world.

  He’d been certain the Bonnie Duncan kidnapping wasn’t going to be a problem. The local Atlanta police were sure that she was the victim of a serial killer, and the little girl would never show up alive. Sad story, but Joe had worked on other serial killings and had experience in profiling as well. He was well qualified to take on the case. He’d go down to Atlanta and dive in and show the locals how the FBI could handle a case like Bonnie’s.

  But he wouldn’t get involved with the family of the victim no matter how sympathetic he was toward them. That was always a mistake. It was better to stand apart so that he could work without emotion. That would be far more efficient.

  Yes, after all, it was just one more case. A few months in Atlanta, and he’d be coming back to start another job. There was nothing about this Duncan case in Atlanta to interfere with his career, certainly nothing to interfere with his life …

  CHAPTER

  2

  The Past

  Federal Bureau of Investigation

  Quantico, Virginia

  “I HEAR PACKER GAVE you the Duncan case.” Jenny Rudler smiled as she stopped by Joe’s desk. “I was hoping to get it. There’s been a lot of media attention since the kid was taken. I could use a high-profile case. It would help me break through the glass ceiling. But, no, the fair-haired boy was the chosen one.”

  “Does the FBI have a glass ceiling?”

  “You’re damn right it does.” She perched on the corner of his desk. “Why not tell Packer you need a partner?”

  And Jenny would be stepping all over him trying to break that ceiling. He didn’t need that. “Maybe next time.”

  Her smile faded. “Bastard. Damn, you’re cocky. You have it all, don’t you? Rich kid, Harvard grad, hero in the SEALs. Then you decide you want to be an FBI agent. So everyone is supposed to bow down and give you anything you want.”

  He held on to his temper. “That’s right. But I’ll make an exception in your case. I’ll settle for you just staying out of my way. I worked for everything I’ve gotten here at the Bureau. Back off, Jenny.”

  She hesitated, and suddenly the belligerence was gone. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” Her smile was dazzling. “I was really upset. It seems as if I’m not getting anywhere, and I’m frustrated as hell. Forgive me?”

  He shrugged.

  “No, I mean it. Let me make it up to you. When do you leave for Atlanta?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Then come over tonight, and we’ll have a few drinks.”

  Which meant that they’d end up in bed as they had a few times before. For a moment, he was tempted. She wasn’t bad in bed, and he required sex often and varied.

  “You were real good,” Jenny murmured. “Maybe the best. We had a good time, didn’t we?”

  But he didn’t need the strings that Jenny would attach to any relationship, even the most casual. He didn’t mind paying for sex, but not in the workplace. That could be a big-time headache.

  “I’m busy. Sorry.”

  Her smile disappeared. “I’m not. Who needs you?” She turned on her heel. “There are a lot of people here who resent you and are just waiting to stab you in the back. You’d be smart to keep the friends you have. Have a good time in Atlanta.”

  Translated that meant go to hell, Joe thought, as he watched her walk away. She had a nice ass. Should he change his mind and go after her? He was always more attracted when there was a challenge involved. That was why he had come to work at the FBI. Life had been too flat after his service in the SEALs.

  No, curb that recklessness for once. He’d find enough of a challenge in Atlanta. Probably not physical, but definitely mental.

  He turned back to the folder on his desk and flipped it open.

  Bonnie Duncan.

  230 Morningside Drive

  Atlanta, Georgia

  IT WAS A NICE LITTLE HOUSE in a nice little neighborhood, Joe thought as he got out of the rental car. Inexpensive, but clean and freshly painted. It had a wide front porch, and red-orange geraniums were overflowing from a hanging straw basket.

  A car was in the driveway, a gray Ford at least seven or eight years old. It appeared as clean and well taken care of as the house. Every detail of the house and automobile spoke of meager funds but a determination by the occupants to make the best of what they had.

  But in Joe’s experience, the obvious didn’t always end up to be the truth.

  He rang the doorbell.

  No answer.

  He waited and rang it again.

  No answer.

  There were reasons why Eve Duncan would not answer the bell, but he still felt a little annoyed. How the hell could he help her if she shut herself away from him like this? Overcome it. Do your job, he told himself. He had to do the interview before he could dismiss Eve Duncan from his mind and get down to the business of finding her daughter’s killer.

  He went around the house to the steps leading to the kitchen screen door. Through the screen, he could see a woman at the stove with her back to him. He wanted to pound impatiently but instead knocked discreetly.

  “Ms. Duncan. FBI. I rang the front doorbell, but no one answered. May I come in?”

  She looked at him and turned back to the stove. “Yes, I suppose you may.”

  He opened the door and entered the kitchen. “I can understand why you wouldn’t want to answer the door. I hear the media has been harassing you. I’m Special Agent Joe Quinn. FBI. I wonder if I could have a few words with you.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Questions? I’ve answered millions of questions. It’s all in the ATLPD records. Go ask them.”

  He stiffened as he gazed at her. She wasn’t what he had expected. Eve Duncan was tall and slim, with shoulder-length red-brown hair and hazel eyes. The high cheekbones of her face made it more fascinating than pretty. His report said she was only twenty-three, but she could have been any age. She was … extraordinary.

  Usually when meeting a woman, his first impression was of beauty or ugliness, not intelligence and personality. That came later, along with an evaluation of whether he wanted to go to bed with her. But gazing at Eve Duncan, he couldn’t think of single aspects but the woman as a whole being. He was only aware of the tension, the painful restraint, the burning vitality of her. Why couldn’t he look away from her?

  Get a grip. What had she said? ATLPD. “I have to make my own report.”

  “Red tape. Procedures.” She scooped up the omelet and put it on a plate. “Why didn’t they send someone right after it happened?”

  It had only been two weeks, but it had probably seemed a lifetime to her. “We had to wait for a request from the local police.”

  “You should have been here. Everyone should have come right away.” Her hand was shaking as she picked up the plate and put it on a tray. “I suppose I’ll have to talk to you. But I have to take this omelet to my mother. She hasn’t gotten out of bed since Bonnie disappeared. I can’t get her to eat.”

  “I’ll take it,” he said impulsively as he reached out and took the tray. “Which room?”

  “First door at the top of the stairs.”

  What was he doing? Joe wondered as he started up the stairs. So much for his philosophy of noninvolvement. He had practic
ally jerked that tray out of her hands. Why?

  To help her, ease her, make all that pain go away.

  Crazy. He had seen Eve Duncan for only a few minutes. Sympathy, yes. That was natural and right. Not this urgent need to banish the torture she was experiencing in any way possible.

  Okay, deliver the omelet to her mother and go back down and interrogate Eve Duncan. No doubt that temporary aberration concerning the woman would have vanished by that time.

  He stopped short as he saw a framed sketch on the wall. It had to be a sketch of Bonnie Duncan, but it was extraordinary. The photograph he had in his file was good, but the little girl in this sketch was drawn with such love and skill that it made her come alive.

  Who had drawn it? Eve Duncan?

  Stop wondering about her and stick to his job.

  He knocked, then opened the door. “Mrs. Duncan? I’m Agent Joe Quinn. Your daughter sent you breakfast. May I come in?”

  “I suppose…” Sandra Duncan was lying propped up in bed, and her Southern accent was much heavier than her daughter’s. “But I’m not hungry, you know. I haven’t been hungry since Bonnie…” Her eyes filled with tears. “I miss her. Why can’t you find her?”

  Eve Duncan’s mother was in her late thirties and prettier than her daughter, but she had none of her strength or that riveting vitality.

  “That’s why I’m here.” He carried the tray over to her and put it on her lap. “That’s my job. But you have a job, too. You have to keep up your strength and help your daughter.”

  “Eve’s so strong,” she whispered. “I’ve never been strong. Except for Bonnie. I took care of her when Eve worked, and I did a fine job. Eve told me that all the time. But then somebody took her away.”

  “But your daughter is still here. She needs you.”

  She frowned. “Does she?”

  “Yes. I want you to eat that omelet and take a shower, then go downstairs and help her. Will you do that?”

  “I’d rather go to sleep.”

  “It doesn’t matter. She needs you.” He handed her the fork. “We all have our jobs.” He turned and headed for the door. “It’s time that you did yours, Mrs. Duncan.”

  “Sandra. Everyone calls me Sandra.”

  He smiled at her over his shoulder. “Pretty name for a pretty lady. My name is Joe. I hope to see you downstairs next time I visit here.”

  Sandra smiled tentatively. “You’re strong. I like a strong man. But are you strong enough to help Eve to find our Bonnie?”

  “If you’ll all help me.” He closed the door and paused a moment before he went downstairs. Involvement. He should have let Eve Duncan handle her own personal problems. His only duty was to find her daughter’s killer. Yet he hadn’t been able to resist pushing Sandra Duncan to help her. According to his report, Eve Duncan’s mother was a former drug addict who had been rehabilitated at the time of her grandchild’s birth. It wouldn’t take much for Sandra Duncan to slip back into addiction at a traumatic period like this, and that burden would be all Eve Duncan would need on her shoulders.

  Protecting Eve Duncan again. What the hell? The woman hadn’t even said a kind word to him.

  It didn’t matter.

  And that was more disturbing than anything about this encounter.

  Go down and face her, talk to her, and that weird fascination would probably disappear.

  He paused in the kitchen doorway. She was standing at the sink, washing the pan. He inhaled sharply. Impact. Strong. Stronger than before.

  Ignore it. It will go away.

  “She started to eat,” he said as he came back into the room. “Maybe it was the shock of seeing a stranger.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And how are you eating, Ms. Duncan?”

  “I eat enough. I know I can’t afford to lose strength.” She started drying the pan. “What do you want to know, Agent Quinn?”

  Yes, she was strong. He could see it, feel it. Like a fragile tree that would bend but never break. It hurt him, somehow. He quickly looked down at his notes. “Your daughter, Bonnie, disappeared at the park over two weeks ago. She went to the refreshment stand to get an ice cream and didn’t return. She was wearing a Bugs Bunny T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t see anyone suspicious loitering anywhere nearby?”

  “No one. It was crowded. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be—” She drew a deep breath. “No one suspicious. I told the police that I wondered if maybe someone had seen what a sweet kid my Bonnie was and taken her away.” She stared at his face. “And they only looked at me the way you’re doing and made soothing noises. It could have happened that way.”

  “Yes, it could.” He paused. “But the odds are against it. I’m not going to lie to you.”

  “I knew that. I’m not a fool. I grew up on the streets, and I know all about the scum who are out there.” She looked wonderingly up at him. “But I have to hope. She’s my baby. I have to bring her home. How can I live if I don’t hope?”

  He felt as if he were breaking apart inside. He could feel her pain, and it was becoming his pain. “Then hope.” His voice was hoarse. “And I’ll hope with you. We’ll explore every way we can to find her safe and alive. There’s nothing I won’t do. Just stick with me and give me a little help.”

  She hesitated, gazing up at him.

  Believe me, he urged her silently. Put your hand in mine, trust me, let me guide you. Something strange is happening here, but it’s not anything bad. I won’t let it hurt you.

  She moistened her lips. “Of course I’ll help.” She stood staring at him for a moment. She could feel it, sense what he couldn’t say, he realized. In her pain, she couldn’t define the nature of what she was sensing, but perhaps it would become clear to her later.

  As, God help him, it was becoming clear to him.

  She glanced away from him as she put the pan in the cupboard. “I’m afraid, you know,” she said unevenly. “I’m afraid all the time. My mother gave up and just went to bed, but I can’t do that. I have to keep fighting. As long as I’m fighting, I have a chance to find Bonnie.”

  Tentative trust. It was the first step. Come closer. Let me hold you safe from the storm.

  But he could only nod, and say, “Then we’ll fight together. I’ll stay with you until we get through this.” He paused. “If you’ll let me.”

  Together. The concept was strange on his lips. He had always been a loner, totally self-ruled, shunning the dependence implied in the word. But he offered it to her.

  And Eve didn’t even realize how much it meant.

  Or maybe she did. There was something in her expression …

  She slowly nodded. “I think that would be very kind.” Her words were oddly formal. “Thank you, Agent Quinn.”

  * * *

  AFTER HE’D LEFT THE HOUSE, Joe sat in the driver’s seat of his car, staring at the sunny front porch of Eve Duncan’s home. There was nothing sunny about anything inside that house, he thought. There was pain and trouble and a woman who was battling just to stay alive after her reason for living had been taken from her. The short time he’d spent with Eve had been full of disturbing images and emotions. Emotions he hadn’t expected and had wanted to reject. His responses had been completely foreign to who he thought himself to be.

  What the hell had happened to him?

  He had felt like Sir Galahad wanting to fight dragons and lay them at her feet. She had moved him, possessed him, and made him see himself in a different light.

  It was insane. She was only a woman and one who would bring him only trouble. Dammit, he couldn’t even think of sex in connection with her. She was wounded and might remain that way for a long time. Sir Galahad? There was nothing pure about Joe. He was earthy and sexual, and he had always leaned toward being more like wicked Mordred, or maybe Lancelot, who enjoyed toying with a married Guinevere.

  Okay, it was temporary insanity. If he couldn’t have her, then what he was feeling would
surely pass. That was his nature where women were concerned.

  But sex hadn’t been the force that drove him toward Eve Duncan. It might have been a light shimmering in the background, but he hadn’t been aware of wanting her sexually. And that was a first for him. Maybe it had been there, and he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

  No, it was something else, powerful, protective, completely without precedent in his experience.

  And he wouldn’t put a name to it.

  If he didn’t recognize it, then it might go away. Much better for him. Much better for her. Because he wasn’t a man who could let go. Even now he was thinking, planning, how he would keep his promise to her. Yeah, try to walk away from her. Find her kid’s killer. Help her to come to terms with reality when she learned her little girl was never coming back.

  But don’t put a name to this strange feeling that was beginning to disturb him.

  Time to stop thinking about Eve Duncan on this level and begin working constructively on her daughter’s case.

  He drove to the nearest drugstore and placed a call to his contact with the ATLPD, Detective Ralph Slindak. He was glad they’d given him Slindak. He was a good man, and he and Joe had a history. They’d been in the SEALs together though Slindak had left the service two years earlier than Joe. “Joe Quinn. I’m in Atlanta.”

  “I heard they were sending a hotshot down to shape us up,” Slindak said. “The other detectives in the squad were a little pissed. But I told them they had nothing to worry about. Nothing hot about Joe Quinn I told them. He’s cold as ice unless he gets annoyed. They didn’t like that either.”

  “I can always count on your support,” he said dryly. “I’ve just interviewed Eve Duncan. You’ve been handling the case?”

  “Or it’s been handling us,” Slindak said sourly. “The media thinks that we’re blowing it. That’s why the captain asked for help. We need to share the blame.”

  “Great attitude,” Joe said. “Suppose we forget the media and just try to find the kid’s killer?” He paused. “If there is a killer. You’re sure that she won’t be found alive?”

  “I wish I didn’t think that Bonnie Duncan was a victim. Sweet kid. Did you see her photo?”