Forbidden Territory Read online

  She unlocked her car and opened the driver’s door, putting its solid bulk between her and McBride. “I know you don’t think she’s still alive.”

  His only visible reaction was a tightening of his lips.

  “But I know she is, and I’m not going to wait around for you to get over your knee-jerk skepticism before I do something about it.”

  She started to get into the vehicle, but he grabbed the door before she could pull it shut behind her. Looking down at her over the top, he narrowed his eyes. “If you really know Abby’s alive, answer me this—why have four days passed without anyone calling with a ransom demand?”

  Lily’s stomach knotted. She had no explanation for that.

  “Think about it.” He let go of the door and stepped away.

  HE WATCHED FROM THE gravesite, his heart pounding. Who was this woman with the knowing eyes? What could she know about what had happened to Abby?

  He’d planned so carefully. Worked out all the details, figured the odds. He’d visualized just what would happen, down to the lightly traveled shortcut Debra took every weekday morning on her way to Abby’s school. He knew where to stage the surprise attack, and how quickly Debbie would be scared into compliance.

  It was supposed to be fast. Grab the girl and go, leaving Debra to sound the alarm and put the rest of the plan in motion.

  But she had fought back.

  He hadn’t thought she’d fight back. She’d always been such a marshmallow.

  Everything had gone terribly wrong. And now there was Lily Browning, with her strange gold eyes and her knowing look, claiming she’d seen a vision of Abby.

  His heart twisted with growing panic.

  What if she really had?

  A PHOTO OF LILY, Andrew Walters and Gerald Blackledge made the front page of Wednesday’s Borland Courier. The teacher’s lounge was abuzz when she arrived at school that morning.

  “At least it’s a good picture. And they spelled your name correctly,” Carmen Herrera pointed out when Lily groaned at the sight of her face above the fold.

  “I didn’t give anyone my name.” There was no mention of her in the body text, at least. “I guess Mr. Walters told them.”

  “Or the senator,” Carmen suggested.

  That was also possible—a jab at Mr. Family Values, consorting with a new woman right there at his ex-wife’s funeral. What would voters think?

  Worse, what would Lieutenant McBride think when he got a look at her name and face plastered across the front page?

  She half expected to find him waiting on her doorstep when she arrived home that afternoon, storm clouds gathering in his eyes, so she was almost disappointed to find no one waiting. But when she entered her house to find her phone ringing, she wasn’t surprised. She was listed in the directory; any reporter with a taste for a trumped-up scandal could look her up.

  Lily grabbed the phone and took a deep breath, steeling herself for unpleasantness. “Hello?”

  “Lily Browning?”

  She knew that voice. The kidnapper’s harsh drawl was unmistakable. Lily’s heart slammed into her ribs. “You have Abby Walters.”

  There was a long pause over the phone. When the man spoke, he sounded wary. “How’d you know that?”

  “Is she okay?” Lily’s mind raced, wondering what to do next. Nobody was expecting the kidnappers to call here; all the recording equipment was no doubt set up at Andrew Walters’s hotel, waiting for a ransom demand. As she scrabbled for something to write with, her gaze fell on the answering machine attached to her phone.

  The kind that allowed her to record incoming conversations.

  She jabbed the record button with a shaking finger.

  “She’s fine, for now,” the kidnapper said.

  “You hit her, you son of a bitch!”

  There was a brief silence on the other end before the man spoke in a hushed tone. “What the hell are you?”

  Lily ignored the question. “Let me talk to her.”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  Shivers raced up her spine, followed by the first hint of gray mist clouding the edges of her vision. Gripping the phone harder, she fought off the sensation. “Why are you calling me instead of Mr. Walters?”

  “You think we don’t know the cops have his phone tapped? We’ve been looking for a way to contact him away from his hotel.” The caller laughed. “Then we seen your picture in the paper. Lucky break, ain’t it?”

  Lily sank down on the floor, tucking her knees close to her body. “You want me to pass along your demands to Mr. Walters?”

  “Tell him it’s time to pay up. We’ll be in touch.”

  She heard a soft clicking noise. “Wait!”

  But the man had already disconnected.

  She slammed down the phone and covered her face with shaking hands. The door in her mind bulged, trying to force its way open, but she continued to fight the vision.

  She had to call McBride.

  With pain lancing behind her eyes, she checked the tape in the answering machine, terrified she’d pushed a wrong button and failed to record the kidnapper’s message. But the harsh drawl was there. “Tell him it’s time to pay up.”

  She shut off the recorder and dialed McBride’s cell phone number. He answered on the second ring. “McBride.”

  She released a pent-up breath. “It’s Lily Browning. The kidnappers just phoned me.”

  “What?” He sounded wary.

  She told him about the call. “I managed to record most of it on my answering machine. Do you want me to play it for you?”

  “No, I’m on my way.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

  By the time he arrived ten minutes later, her head was pounding with pain, the vision clawing at her brain. She didn’t bother with a greeting, just flung the door open and groped her way back to the sofa, concentrating on surviving the onslaught of pain in her head. She wished she could escape to her room and let the vision come, but she had to stay focused.

  McBride went straight to the answering machine. “What time did the call come in?”

  She altered her expression, trying to hide the pain. “The phone was ringing when I got home—maybe three-forty?”

  He listened to the tape twice before he pulled it from the machine. “I’ll get this to the feds on the task force, see if they can clean it up a little, pick up some background noises. Maybe we can pinpoint where he was calling from. And I’ll take a copy to Mr. Walters, see if he recognizes the voice.”

  “I recognized it,” she said, keeping her voice low out of self-defense as the pounding in her skull grew excruciating. She tried to say something more, but the merciless grip of the impending vision tightened. Helpless against it, she sank into a whirlwind of dark, cold mist.

  Chapter Five

  The mist parted to reveal a small, blue-clad figure. Lily’s heart quickened at the sight of dirty red curls. “Abby?”

  The child didn’t respond.

  The mist dissipated, revealing a tiny room with mottled faux oak paneling and faded yellow curtains splotched with sunflowers. A tiny bed occupied the entire wall under the metal-frame window. A prefab house, or maybe a mobile home.

  “Abby?” she whispered again.

  The child sat on the cot, huddling in a ball against the wall, tears sparkling on her grimy cheeks. With horror, Lily realized one of the smudges there was a bruise.

  Abby stirred, her blue eyes darting around the room.

  “Abby, it’s me. Lily. I talked to you the other day. Remember? In the car?”

  The little girl’s eyes widened. Her pink rosebud mouth opened, making words without sound. But Lily heard her thoughts, as clearly as if the child had spoken. “Are you a ghost?”

  “No, I’m not. I’m not scary at all.” Lily touched her. “Can you feel that?”

  “Yes.” Abby whispered back in her mind.

  “Good. See, I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  Abby shook her head.

  “My name is Lily. I te
ach at your school. Maybe you remember me from there?”

  “I can’t see you,” Abby replied.

  Lily wondered if she could make herself visible to Abby. Was it even possible? She concentrated on seeing herself in the vision. She looked down at Abby’s arm and visualized her own hand gently squeezing the soft flesh. But nothing happened.

  Abby’s eyes welled up. “I can’t see you!” she whimpered.

  Aloud.

  “Shh, baby, don’t say it out loud.” Lily held her breath, fearing the arrival of Abby’s captors. After a few seconds passed and no one came, she exhaled. “Remember, Abby, you have to think everything. We don’t want the mean men to hear you.”

  “Why can’t I see you?” Abby’s thoughts were a frantic whisper. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at my house, but I’m thinking real hard about you, and my mind is touching your mind.” Lily didn’t know how to make Abby understand. She didn’t really understand it herself.

  “Like a psychic?” Abby asked. “Like on TV?”

  Close enough, Lily thought. “Yes.”

  “Can you tell my future?”

  “I know you’re going to be okay. I’m going to help you.”

  “I want to go home.” Abby started to cry. Lily put her arms around her, surprised by the strength of the mental connection. She felt the child’s body shaking against hers, heard the soft snuffling sound. Warm, wet tears trickled down Lily’s neck where the little girl’s face lay.

  “Soon, baby—” Lily stopped short.

  Something began to form at the edge of her vision.

  Her eyes shifted to the emerging image, her grip on Abby loosening. She drew her attention back to Abby, but not before she saw a shape begin to take form in the mists.

  Another little girl.

  “Lily? Where are you?” Abby jerked away, her body going rigid. “They’re coming!”

  Suddenly she was gone, and Lily was alone in the fog.

  But not completely alone.

  In the distance, she still saw the hazy shape of the unknown little girl. But as she approached the child, the image shimmered and faded into gray.

  The mists began to clear, and Lily found herself in her living room, slumped on the sofa. The afternoon sunlight had begun to wane, shadows swallowing most of the room. Maybe ten minutes had passed since the vision started.

  Real time. I was really there.

  But who was the other little girl?

  “Ms. Browning?” The sound of Lieutenant McBride’s voice made her jump.

  He sat on her coffee table, his expression shuttered. He’d shed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt to his forearms. “Back among the living?” he asked dryly.

  Her head pounded from the fight she’d put up to hold off the vision until she could tell McBride about the call. Staggering to her feet, she headed to the kitchen for her pills.

  The detective followed. “Another headache?”

  She swallowed a pill and washed it down with water from the tap. “If you’re just going to mock me for the rest of the afternoon, go away. Don’t you have a tape to analyze?”

  “The feds are on the way to pick it up. They’ll give Sergeant Baker in my office a copy to take over to Mr. Walters.”

  At least Mr. Walters would know why she didn’t make their meeting tonight, she thought.

  McBride sat down at her kitchen table and waved toward the chair next to him. “I’m all yours for the evening. So why don’t you tell me what the hell just happened in there?”

  “I need to lie down.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Fine. I’m not going anywhere.”

  She ignored the threat and staggered to her room, wincing as sunlight sliced through the parted curtains, shooting agony through her skull. Too ill to draw the blinds, she groped her way to her bed and lay down, covering her eyes with her forearm.

  She heard quiet footsteps approaching on the hardwood floor. She could feel McBride’s gaze on her. “You okay?”

  “I just need to sleep.”

  “Do the headaches usually come when you have visions?”

  “Only when I fight them,” she murmured through gritted teeth.

  “Why would you fight them?”

  Couldn’t he just leave her alone? “They scare me. I don’t usually like what I see.”

  His footsteps sounded again, this time accompanied by the sound of drawing drapes. The thoughtfulness of the action surprised her.

  His expression was hard to read in the darkness, but she thought she detected a hint of gentleness in his craggy features. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  His expression hardened. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  He turned and left her alone in the dark.

  “THE FEDS WILL BE bringing you a copy of the tape,” McBride told Theo Baker over the phone. “Get it to Andrew Walters ASAP.” Maybe Walters would recognize the voice.

  And maybe pigs would fly.

  McBride hung up and slumped on the sofa, tension banding across his shoulders. His gut churned like a whirlpool, but his antacids were at the office.

  How convenient that a day after he’d mentioned the fact that the kidnappers hadn’t yet called, Lily Browning should be the one contacted. Surely she saw how guilty it made her look. Yet she’d phoned him instead of Andrew Walters, who’d be far less skeptical about her motives.

  What kind of game was she playing? And why had the caller sounded so spooked when she’d accused him of hitting Abby? “What the hell are you?” he’d asked. Either the guy was a heck of an actor or he didn’t know Lily or what she claimed to be.

  There could be an explanation for that, of course. Maybe the kidnappers were hired thugs, and Lily’s connection was to whoever had hired them to grab the girl. Paul Leonardi? McBride had watched Leonardi closely at the funeral home. When he’d approached Lily, it had seemed like a first-time meeting.

  Gerald Blackledge? He’d made a point to talk to Lily at the funeral. And what kind of man would commandeer a solemn occasion to score political points? A man who thought abducting a little girl would drive her father out of the senatorial race?

  McBride’s belly burned like fire.

  WHEN LILY WOKE, the clock on her dresser read 7:45 p.m. Around her, all was so quiet she wondered if McBride had given up and gone for the night. But when she padded barefoot to the kitchen, she found him sitting in one of the chairs facing the counter, where Jezebel perched like a stone statue, her blue eyes crossed in a baleful glare.

  “I don’t think she’d want you on the counter,” McBride was telling the cat. “In fact, why don’t you come over here and see me?”

  Jezebel’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t budge.

  “Come on, kitty. Come see McBride. Come on,” he crooned.

  Lily bit back a chuckle of sympathy as Jezebel turned and started grooming herself.

  McBride’s voice dropped to a sexy rumble. “Got a big ol’ lap here, puss. And I’ve been told I have talented hands. You don’t know what you’re missing.”

  A quiver rippled down Lily’s spine.

  “Oh, I see, you like playin’ hard to get. You must be a female.” McBride sat back and propped one ankle on the opposite knee. “That’s okay. I’m a patient man. I can wear you down.”

  Lily decided to end the standoff before his sexy drawl melted her into a puddle in the kitchen doorway. “You’re trying to seduce the wrong woman.”

  The detective’s head whipped around in surprise.

  “Jezzy hates everyone but me. It drives my sister Rose crazy.” Lily picked up the cat and cuddled her a moment, smiling at his flummoxed expression when Jezebel melted in her arms, butting her face against Lily’s chin.

  She set her on the floor. “Delilah’s the pushover.”

  As if Lily had spoken a command, Delilah entered the kitchen, tail twitching, and wound herself around McBride’s ankle. He reached down and scratched the cat’s ears. Delilah rewarded him with a rumbling purr of pleasure.
/>   “Better?” Lily sat across from him, glancing at the loose sheets of notepaper littering her kitchen table.

  He gave her a considering look, gathering up the papers. His short hair was mussed and spiky, softening the hard lines of his face. His presence filled her kitchen, branding every inch of space he occupied as his own.

  And a traitorous part of her liked the idea that he belonged here. With her.

  The corded muscles of his forearms rippled as he stacked the sheets in a neat pile in front of him. When he spoke, his voice was gruff. “Headache better?”

  “Yeah.” Awareness shuddered through her, a magnet drawing her toward him. She’d already leaned his way when she caught herself. She rose from the table, wishing she hadn’t closed the distance between them. “Have you eaten dinner?”

  “No. Didn’t realize what time it was.”

  She pulled sliced turkey, cheese and a jar of mayonnaise from the refrigerator. “I can make you a sandwich.”

  The legs of his chair scraped against the tile floor. She felt his body heat flow over her a second before he put his hand on her shoulder. “Sit down. I’ll fix it.”

  She turned toward him, caught off guard when he didn’t step back. Her gaze settled on the full lower lip that kept his mouth from looking unapproachably stern. His square jaw was dark with a day’s growth of beard. If he bent his head now and touched his cheek to hers, how would it feel?

  Her legs shook as if she’d run for miles, and her skin felt itchy and tight. She wished she could blame her shivers on the events of the afternoon, but she knew better.

  Unlike Jezebel, she was beginning to find McBride nearly irresistible. Much to her alarm.

  His grip on her shoulder loosened, though he didn’t drop his hand away. His thumb brushed across her clavicle, sending tremors pulsing along her nerves. The moment stretched taut, the tension between them exquisite. Her breath caught in her throat, her lips trembling in anticipation of the moment when he’d finally bend his head and end the torture.

  McBride’s expression shifted and he stepped back from her, looking away. “Where’s the bread?”