Authors: Vicki Hinze
“Misty’s not responding to the medication,” the doctor
said. “I desperately need to know what treatment has been successful for her in the past. We don’t have time to exper
iment with the various remedies.” Dr. Z. touched Caron’s arm. “You’ve got to reach her parents, Caron. Otherwise,
Misty is going to die.”
Chapter 10
Caron and Parker sat on opposite sides of Misty’s bed. It
was late, nearly dawn. The room was quiet. Misty was even
more so.
Caron met Parker’s gaze above Misty’s head, read the message in his eyes, and sent one back saying she’d try
again. She closed her eyes, focused, strained to see something, anything, that would steer her to Misty’s parents. But
no image came.
She was too tired, too emotionally drained. Helpless and
frustrated and worried sick that even though they’d found Misty she was still going to die, Caron cast Parker a bleak look and mouthed the words. “She’s fighting me, and I’m
too weak.”
The corner of Parker’s mouth twitched. He was having
to work at it not to frown. “Misty, honey, if you were my
daughter, I’d want to know you were safe. I’d be scared.
Don’t you think your dad is scared?”
The thought that he might be had Misty’s eyes clouding.
“Can you tell just him?”
Caron brushed her hand over Misty’s cheek, fearing she
already knew the answer to the question she was about to
ask. Were her suspicions about Misty’s mom valid? “Why
don’t you want your mom here, too?”
The clouded eyes shuttered, closing Caron out. “I was
bad. She’s mad at me.”
Caron softly stroked Misty’s hair. It’d take a week to get
the dirt and tangles out, but until Dr. Z. said it was okay,
Misty wouldn’t be getting a shampoo.
Her voice and expression deadly serious, Misty looked at
Parker. “I didn’t mean to be bad.”
“Of course you didn’t.” He lifted her hand in his. It
looked so tiny and pale and fragile against his huge palm.
“Caron’s right, though. Your mom will be too happy to see
you to be angry.”
Someone rapped on the door. Caron looked at Parker, then at the row of windows beside the door, which gave a
clear view into the hallway. They’d asked the staff to show
themselves at the windows before knocking, but Caron didn’t see anyone. The hairs on her neck lifted.
Parker cracked the door open, looked out, then stepped
aside. “Come on in, Sanders.”
Caron’s heart slowed to a canter. Logically, she knew
Misty was safe here. Emotionally, however, she knew nowhere was safe—not until everyone involved in her abduc
tion had been arrested.
“I don’t want to disturb the kid.” Sandy’s voice carried
into the room. “Have Caron come out.”
The moment Misty heard his voice, she tensed. Per
plexed, Caron looked down. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Her gaze glued to the door, Misty didn’t answer.
Sandy moved in the hall and Caron saw him through the
window, chewing on his stubby cigar.
Misty screamed. And, pointing a finger at Sandy through
the glass, she kept on screaming.
Taken by surprise, Caron tried to calm her. “Shh, it’s
okay. That’s Sandy. He’s my friend.”
Her eyes wild, Misty thrashed on the bed, trying to pull
away from Caron. “He’s bad! He’s bad!”
Caron tugged Misty into her arms and cuddled her close,
feeling the rapid beating of her heart. A scrap of an image,
quickly suppressed, flashed through her mind. Blood.
Horror. Misty’s horror…
Looking up over Misty’s head, Caron locked gazes with Sandy. The shield between them slid away, and in that
shattering moment he confirmed her fears. Sandy
had
done
something, something very bad.
And Misty had seen it.
It took a full half hour to calm Misty down. Seeing her that way had ripped Parker’s heart wide open.
Caron came back into the room, looking as frayed as
Parker felt. One glance at her and he knew that Sanders hadn’t explained a damn thing.
“Sandy told me it was mistaken identity,” she said.
“Right.” The look in her eyes held as much doubt and disbelief as his own. Parker dragged his hand through his hair, then sat down on the edge of Misty’s bed. “Okay,
sweet stuff, it’s time to talk straight.”
Misty shook her head. Dark circles smudged the skin
beneath her eyes.
He took Misty’s hand, cradled it in his own, and softened his voice to a whisper. “I know you’re scared, Misty. Caron and I have worked hard to help you, but we can’t help you anymore unless you let us. You’ve got to tell us
what you know, okay? Do you understand that?”
“Yes.”
The soft light from the wall lamp behind the bed pooled
amber on the stark white sheets and shadowed Misty’s face.
Parker hoped he was handling this right. The only little girl he’d ever been around was Megan. And they’d never been
through anything like this. How frank should he be?
He recalled a lesson he’d learned on his grandpa’s knee.
Kids have to learn to lie. They’re born honest, and they stay
honest—until somebody teaches them to lie.
Caron stepped away from the bed and walked to the
window overlooking the parking lot. When she pinched the
blinds and looked out, Parker looked back at Misty.
“Your folks are worried, honey. They need to know you’re okay. I think if you saw them, you’d feel better.”
A huge tear slipped down to her cheek. Parker caught it
on his finger. “Are you afraid of them?”
“No.”
Parker reached over and picked up the phone on the bedside table and passed it to Misty. “Call them, honey.”
She didn’t take the receiver. She wanted to; her hand was
twitching. But, for some reason Parker didn’t understand,
she couldn’t do it. “I’ll dial it for you. Tell me the number, Misty.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?” Parker forced his voice to remain reasonable,
his tone gentle. It was difficult. Caron had spoken to Mary
Beth. Charles Nivens hadn’t found a scrap of information on Vanessa. The mystery woman Caron suspected was Misty’s mother was still at large…and a real threat to the
child.
“Because.”
“Misty, I don’t know what else to say, but we’ve got to
call. We need your medicine.”
Caron let go of the blinds. They snapped shut, and she turned. “Enough,” she said through pinched lips. “Now
look, Misty, I know you love your dad. I saw you two at the
park. You were happy. He was happy.” Caron stepped closer to the bed. “But right now, your father isn’t happy.
Right now, he’s scared to death you’re lying dead in a ditch
somewhere. He’s hurt and worried and he misses you. Now
you give Parker the number. And you do it right now!”
Her eyes wide, Misty gave Parker the number.
Parker dialed it. The authority in Caron’s tone had sur
prised him. It shouldn’t have; she was a teacher. But it did. And he suspected Misty’s compliance was more an instinc
tive reaction than a planned one.
“Misty, what’s your dad’s name?”
“Collin Phillips.”
“And your mom’s?”
“Don’t talk to her.” Misty frowned, and what little color she had left her face. “Talk to my dad.” Her voice was reed
thin.
Parker nodded and patted her hand. She was slipping
away; he could feel it. “All right.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.” Parker looked at Caron. She was shaking
and her eyes were uneasy.
A woman answered the phone. “Phillips residence.”
“May I speak to Collin Phillips?” Parker asked, a knot forming in his throat. “I’m calling about his daughter,
Misty.”
This Christmas Eve call was going to net one very
happy man…if Misty survived.
“Who is this?” She sounded panicked.
“Get Collin Phillips, please.”
After a pause, a man came on the line. “Hello.”
One word. Yet it conveyed so much. Caution. Wari
ness. Fear. Parker understood why. The man could hang up
elated or devastated, and he knew it. “Are you Collin
Phillips?”
“Yes. What do you know about Misty?” Terror joined
the other emotions in the man’s voice.
“Is that my dad?” Misty asked.
Parker winked at her. “My name is Parker Simms. My
partner and I have found your daughter.”
“Found her! You found Misty? Is she all right?”
Choosing his words carefully, Parker answered, then asked about Misty’s medication and passed the information along to Caron, who left the room to relay it to Dr. Z.
“We’re at the Zilinger Institute, Mr. Phillips,” Parker
said. He turned his back and closed his eyes, hating to have
to tell the man this. He whispered, to be sure Misty wouldn’t hear. “She’s critical.”
“Daddy.” Misty tried to reach for the phone, but she was
too weak to lift her hand.
Tears burning his eyes, and the back of his throat, Parker
propped the phone at her ear on the pillow.
“Misty? Misty, is that you?”
“Daddy,” she whispered. It was a faint breath sound.
“Oh, God! Oh, God! Are you all right, honey?”
“Don’t cry, Daddy.” Misty sniffled. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. “Please don’t cry.”
Parker turned away and swiped at his face. His chest felt
as if someone were standing on it. Caron was leaning
against the window, looking out. When had she come back
into the room?
The need to go to her, to touch her and be touched, ached
in him like a raw wound. He lifted a hand to touch her shoulder, then hesitated; she would see his tears.
Trust her.
Yes. Yes. He lowered his hand to her shoulder. She
turned and looked up; she was crying, too, but she gave him
a liquid smile. Parker smiled back and pulled her tight
against his chest in a hug. He wanted to tell her what he was
feeling, all of the things that were welling up in his heart, but he could only manage her name. “Caron.”
It was enough. She pressed hard against his chest and
held him tighter. They stayed that way for a long moment,
locked together in an embrace that no words could have
explained. Then he eased back, curled his arm around her waist, and felt her arm circle his. Together they turned to
ward Misty.
Dr. Z. was at the bed, injecting medicine into Misty’s IV.
The worry in her eyes was still there. They weren’t out of
the woods yet. But they were moving in the right direction.
A discreet tap sounded at the door.
Parker answered it, talked softly with someone for a moment, then motioned Caron into the hall. When she
stepped outside, she saw Sandy.
“Parker tells me you’re calling her folks.”
Caron nodded bitterly.
Sandy didn’t meet her gaze. “I thought you’d want to
know…” His voice faded, and he looked at Parker. “We’re
still groping in the dark on Vanessa.”
“I think she’s Misty’s mother,” Caron said. “We’ll
confirm that with her father as soon as he arrives.”
Sandy looked at Parker, and if Caron hadn’t been look
ing directly at him, she would have missed his nearly im
perceptible nod. “We can’t find a trace of Decker or Forrester, either, Caron.”
“What?” Caron gasped.
“We’ve checked the airport, train station, bus termin
als—they’ve vanished.”
“Credit card slips?” Parker asked in a level tone.
“We’re working on it.” Sandy took the cigar stub out of his mouth. “Lot of roads lead out of New Orleans. We’re
looking at a few days.”
Parker stiffened, opening a door he wasn’t sure wasn’t better off closed. “Your murder scene is the fishing camp
where you met with Linda.”