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  “No!” Damien answered a shade too emphatically. “Of course not. There would be no point in that. None at all.”

  She bit her lips together to keep them from trembling. So abandonment had occurred to him as a possibility, just as it had to her. The second worst possibility.

  The worst of all, Molly couldn’t voice. She wouldn’t even say or think the words again, but the dark fear hovered there in the back of her mind, waiting to destroy her sanity if she gave it any credence at all.

  “Let’s go now,” she ordered, knowing that if she didn’t get out of there, she was going to fly into so many pieces, not even Damien could put her back together. If she lost Sydney for good, nothing or no one could do that anyway.

  “We’ll see if maybe Winton or your guys have some ideas about where we should go from here. I have to be doing something if you want me to stay sane.”

  “Good thinking,” Damien said, nodding.

  Molly could feel his worried gaze on her as she climbed into her van.

  Even after she had followed his Explorer out the other side of the wooded area and they were well on the way to her house, she could sense that he watched his rearview mirror to see whether she was driving erratically.

  Molly didn’t resent Damien’s concern. He had a perfectly good reason to believe she might go haywire. She wouldn’t again. Not while there was hope. That hope might be a little frayed around the edges at the moment, but she kept a stranglehold on it, anyway.

  Jack obviously did not have Sydney with him in Atlanta. His parents didn’t have her at their house. That either meant strangers were keeping her somewhere, or she was alone. Molly might have to face the only other possibility sooner or later, but for now she fiercely held it at bay.

  As soon as they pulled into the driveway, Winton appeared, rushing out the front door, down the steps and across the yard to meet them. He must have been watching from the window.

  Molly jumped out of the van and hurried toward Damien, reaching him just as the detective did.

  “The baby wasn’t there,” Winton guessed, glancing past Damien into the open door of the Explorer and then toward Molly.

  “No, she wasn’t,” Damien admitted. “Something’s happened here?”

  Something, obviously, Molly thought. Winton wouldn’t be so glad to see them that he’d come galloping out of the house the way he had. Maybe he was upset because she had locked Thomas in the storeroom and sneaked out to join Damien. She didn’t care.

  “There was a phone call about half an hour ago. We got your mother to answer, so if it was a ransom demand, the caller would think it was you,” Winton explained to Molly.

  She grasped the front lapel of his jacket. “Who has my baby, detective? Who? What do they want?”

  Winton stared down at her hand and then glanced at Damien. “We don’t know yet. It was a woman on the line. She said to tell you she would call back later. We traced her to a pay phone over by Hillsdale Shopping Center. She was gone before we could get a unit there to check it out.”

  Damien slid his arm around Molly as though she needed his support. To tell the truth, she did. At the moment she couldn’t imagine how dreadful it would be to face all of this without him.

  “We’d better get in the house now in case she calls again,” Winton said.

  Molly practically ran for the front door. Could it be possible that it wasn’t Jack who’d taken Sydney, after all? Had some stranger with only greed for the Jensens’s money in mind broken in and stolen her child?

  She honestly couldn’t figure which would be worse for Sydney. Jack might be as dangerous as any unknown threat Molly could imagine.

  Bill Thomas, the agent she had tricked into her storeroom stood with her mother on the front steps. Mama was wringing her hands. “Molly, thank God you’re back! She wouldn’t talk to me—”

  Molly hurried past her toward the open door and then stopped and turned, struck by a thought. “Did you tell her who you are, Mama?”

  They walked inside together, hand in hand, approaching the phone, both staring at it as though it contained the answers inside it. “No, I just said hello. Then she demanded to speak to you, said it was critical. I told her you weren’t home and she said she’d call back. Then she hung up. She just seemed to know I wasn’t you.”

  “She didn’t mention Syd?”

  Her mother let go of her and began to pace. “No, not a word. But something told me—”

  “Then it’s someone who knows my voice,” Molly said, turning to Damien and the detective. “Whoever called knows me!”

  Winton sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Which eliminates only about half of the women in Nashville, right? How many people did you go to school with? Work with at the museum or meet somewhere else in town over the years?”

  Damien shook his head, disagreeing, and looked from her to her mother as though comparing them. “Their voices are similar, Winton. If Brenda didn’t identify herself when she answered, the caller would have to be well acquainted with both women to know which one was speaking. I think Molly’s right. This person probably knows her well. Brenda, too, if she could distinguish between them after only—”

  Winton interrupted. “Here, I’ll replay the conversation and see whether you can recognize the voice,” he said to Molly.

  She listened closely, but the woman on the phone spoke in a half whisper and sounded desperate. The accent was local, or at least Southern.

  “It sounds a little like Jack’s mother, but we know it can’t be her. Damien just saw her asleep.”

  “Does she have any family, sisters maybe?” Winton asked.

  Molly shook her head.

  It could have been anyone speaking, but something else on the recording had snagged Molly’s attention.

  She examined the box Winton had attached to her phone, punched Rewind and Play and listened again. This time she paid closer attention to the background noise.

  “Yes!” she cried when it was over. “Did you hear that noise? I think it’s Syd!”

  Winton sighed and shook his head. “It’s only static, Ms. Jensen.”

  “No! No, it’s not. Listen!” Again she rewound the tape and played it. “Hear? She’s smacking!”

  Molly looked to Damien for confirmation. “She makes that sound when she’s eating something she really likes. I know it’s her! I know it! She’s there with that woman!”

  Damien took her hand, his doubt and regret apparent. Winton looked as if he was biting his tongue to keep from protesting again. She glanced at her mother who had her face covered with both hands.

  “It’s her,” Molly insisted, watching their faces as they tried to hide their disbelief. As a result, she was no longer quite so certain herself.

  The phone rang.

  Molly snatched up the receiver. “Hello! This is Molly. Do you have her?”

  “What? Molly? This is Josie McElmore. Please, is your mom there?”

  “Did you call here earlier?” Molly demanded.

  “What? No,” the voice said, sniffling. “Please let me talk to Brenda!”

  “Here, Mama,” Molly said, handing over the receiver, not attempting to hide her impatience or disappointment. “It’s Josie. Sounds like she’s got a bad cold. Please hurry, so we can keep the line free.”

  Her mother nodded as she greeted her friend. “Yes, Josie? What is it, hon?”

  Molly watched her mother’s face transform from businesslike to horror-struck in the space of two seconds as she spoke on the phone to Josie.

  “Was it accidental?” she asked. “Okay, I’ll be over there as soon as I can.” She hung up and clasped a hand to her forehead as she looked at Molly. “A fire,” she muttered. “There’s been a fire at the shop. Josie just got there and was calling me from her cell phone.”

  Molly held her arm as she sank down onto the chair.

  “Oh, Mama, I’m so sorry! Could they save anything?” Molly asked, and received only a shrug and a look of profound worry in answe
r.

  The shop was the most important thing in her mother’s life, other than the family. It was also her only source of income. The building was rented, of course, and she had the antiques insured, but no settlement would begin to compensate her for the travel and time spent acquiring her precious inventory one piece at a time.

  Damien crouched, one large hand on her mother’s arm. “Brenda, did she say the fire was set? Does it appear to be arson?”

  “They don’t know yet, Damien, but Josie did say I need to get over there as soon as I can. You’ll take care of Molly for me?”

  “I’ll take care of Molly!” Molly told her. “And we’ll let you know as soon as that woman phones us back about Syd. I hope you can save some of the things at the shop.”

  Winton pulled out his radio. “I’ll have a car here in a few minutes to take you over there, Mrs. Devereaux,” he assured her.

  “Why don’t you go with her?” Damien suggested to the detective. “There’s no need for both of us to stay here. We’ll record it if we get another call. The caller ID will tell us where it came from. Thomas can run it down.”

  He then said what they were all thinking. “This fire’s probably related, a diversion. If so, then he definitely has an accomplice. You believe in coincidence, Winton?”

  “Nope, never did,” Winton said. “I can get more info out of the firefighters than she can, anyway. I probably need to speak with the fire inspector about this if he’s there yet.”

  Within minutes, he and her mother were gone.

  “Where is the other agent?” Molly asked, curling up in the chair right beside the phone. “Will he be back?”

  Damien shook his head and relaxed on the sofa. “Watching that phone booth where the call was made in the event the woman comes back there. There’s nothing more we can do at the moment but wait. Or you can listen to the recorder again and try to think who it might be.”

  Molly opted for that. Repeatedly she listened. But she couldn’t place the voice. However, the more she heard the tape, the more she was convinced that Sydney was there when the call was made, close to the phone, smacking her little lips. There was one little half hum—a small grunt, really—near the end of the call.

  “They’ve given her something she likes,” Molly muttered, trying to console herself. “She’s being taken care of.”

  “Come over here,” Damien said softly, holding out his arms. “Come let me hold you.”

  Molly went. The haven of his arms simply tempted her too much to say no. This was not a thing she wanted to face alone. “Am I wrong?” she asked him as she settled on the sofa and he tucked her head beneath his chin. “It could be Syd, couldn’t it, Damien?”

  “Yes, it could be her,” he granted, sounding a little too encouraging for Molly to believe he meant it.

  She changed the subject. “You think Jack had that fire set, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said with no equivocation.

  Tightening his arms around her, he pressed his lips against the top of her head. “I think he took Sydney and is paying someone to keep her for him. I also believe he hired the arsonist to burn your mother out.”

  He spent a moment smoothing her hair with one hand and caressing her back with the other. When he stopped, he cupped her face in his hands and turned it up so that he could look into her eyes.

  While his voice was soft, the determination in it was fierce. “I’ll wait with you to see whether this woman calls again. But as soon as Brenda and Winton return in the morning, I’m leaving for Atlanta.”

  “You’re not going to do anything…”

  “Yes,” he answered seriously. “I am.” He raised one brow and sighed, looking down at her with regret. “I might not be back, Molly. But I promise that Sydney will be. And you’ll both be safe from him.”

  Molly didn’t know what she could do to dissuade Damien from a direct attack on Jack, or even whether she wanted to talk him out of it. She would like nothing better than to attack him herself. However, she didn’t want Damien to endanger himself or his job with the Bureau. She doubted the FBI would sanction what he must have in mind.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling as if he’d read her mind. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  The phone rang again. Molly leaped for it, almost dropping the receiver in her haste. Damien hit the Record button. Thomas appeared out of the kitchen like magic.

  “Hello? I’m here! It’s Molly! Do you have her?”

  “The baby is well,” the voice grated.

  “Bring her back!” Molly cried. “Oh, please bring her—”

  “Tomorrow.” It was almost inaudible. Barely a whisper. Then, click.

  “Wait!” Molly cried, clutching the receiver with both hands. “Don’t hang up! No!” She fell against Damien and wept. “She hung up.”

  Damien held her while he played back the short recording. “Did you recognize her voice this time?”

  Molly shook her head, unable to answer verbally. She thought she might choke on the tears and the fear.

  “You heard her, Molly,” Damien said soothingly. “Sydney is all right.” He released her. “Hang on.”

  He scribbled down the number on the caller ID. Molly watched him punch the buttons on the phone. A distant part of her mind listened to his curt demands and questions as he did what was necessary to determine the location where the call had been placed. Bill Thomas left, she supposed to visit the phone where the call had been made.

  But her mind could not focus on anything other than the fact that the woman on the phone had her baby. A woman who cared enough to let her know Sydney was okay.

  There could have been no other purpose for that phone call. No ransom had been demanded. No threats had been issued. No taunts made. The voice had held compassion and empathy from one mother to another. Or had she read that into it? No way she could have misinterpreted, Molly thought as she cried with pure relief.

  Tomorrow, the woman had said. Had she meant she would bring Syd back tomorrow?

  Damien watched Molly sleep, curled on the end of the sofa, one hand resting only inches from the phone that he’d moved there for her convenience.

  He glanced at his watch—10:00 a.m. She had slept since around five o’clock, and he’d caught a couple of hours himself. Time now to make some kind of move.

  Perhaps take off for Atlanta and beat the truth out of Jack Jensen when he got there, or he could wait here for a while and see what happened if the woman called again.

  Normally, he was a very patient man, but the past few days had worn his patience thin. Every muscle in his body clamored for action. He badly needed to act.

  However, before he made a decision, Damien knew he needed to speak with Winton. It only made good sense to find out all he could about the fire at Brenda’s antique shop last night. He also should get Winton’s take on the second phone call from the woman who had Sydney. He’d called him with the information, but they needed to discuss it again, now that they’d both had time to think about it.

  The more information Damien had when he confronted Jensen, the better the likelihood of making him crack.

  Molly stirred, mumbling something unintelligible before finally opening her eyes. Frantically she looked around as though she had trouble placing herself on awakening. Damien hated this. He wanted Molly back, not this frightened shadow of a girl.

  If Jensen had set out to destroy her, he had chosen exactly the right tool this time. With every hour that passed without her child, Molly retreated deeper into the fear. Her natural confidence had eroded to nearly nothing.

  Instinctively, Damien knew that she could have met any other crisis with her usual strength and energy. She had done that and he had seen her do it. But not the loss of her baby. Last night she had given it her best shot. His lack of success at the Jensens had thrown her completely off stride and still she had made an effort.

  But the phone call, so unexpected, had confused the issue of the kidnapping. Somewhere in the back of her m
ind, she had been counting on Jensen’s mother to provide safety for Sydney.

  Now they had no idea who had the child, though Damien was firmly convinced Jack Jensen knew very well who had her. This was no kidnap for ransom. It was meant to instill the worst kind of terror in Molly, and it had certainly done that.

  Unless Sydney was returned unharmed—and soon—Damien hated to think what would happen to Molly. She had not eaten or drank anything since they had found out the child was missing.

  She reached out and touched the phone. “Did I dream it? Did she call again?”

  Damien crouched beside her and ran his palms over her arms, wishing he could soothe away that awful tension he felt in her. “The second message was that she was well. Did you dream she called again?”

  She shook her head and ran a hand over her face. “It couldn’t have been Mildred, could it? The woman who phoned? The voice sort of sounded like hers, but it couldn’t have been. You’re sure you did see her last night. She was asleep, right?”

  “They were both there in bed,” he admitted with a sigh.

  Molly’s lovely brow furrowed with anxiety. “Tomorrow, she said. Something will happen today, won’t it?” she whispered, her tone distant. “I wonder what.”

  She excused herself as politely as if they were strangers and went down the hallway to her bedroom. Damien waited, forming plans in his mind for his meeting later with Jensen. Somehow, he would erase Molly’s desolation if he had to erase the man himself. But first he must find Sydney. Only that would make Molly whole again.

  When she returned a bit later, she had showered and changed. Her face looked free of makeup, the faint sprinkle of freckles across her nose, endearingly childlike. Damp auburn tendrils clung to her temples while the rest of her curls were caught up in a mass at the nape of her slender neck.