Mariah Stewart - Cry Mercy

A few minutes later, the first reply arrived.

Who else would be asking? I don't see the harm in contacting him.

Annoyed, he wrote back.

I think we should respect Belle's privacy. If she's hiding from this guy, she has a reason.

The response was almost immediate.

What makes you think she's hiding from him?

His fingers struck the keys like hammers on an anvil.

Maybe this guy's a perv. Maybe she's run away because he abused her. Maybe she's staying with a friend. Whatever. The bottom line is, if she wanted him to know where she was, she'd tell him.

Ewwww. I'd understand her not getting in touch with him if that's true, but what about us? Why hasn't she contacted one of us? I haven't heard from her in a really long time. No calls, no emails, no texts.

Her choice. No one is obligated to stay here.

He reminded her in terms more civil than he wanted to. It was all he could do to keep his fingers from flooding the post with obscenities.

We come and go as we please. Apparently right now it pleases Belle not to post or call anyone. Her choice, right? Maybe she's really busy doing other things. When she wants to contact us, she will. So I say we need to respect that. And without her okay, I say we shouldn't let him join the list. How do we know who this guy really is? Anyone?

He sat back and waited for the replies. When everyone had checked in, and the consensus was to ignore the post, he smiled and turned off his computer.

He went to his desk and unlocked the bottom drawer with a key from the chain he kept in his pocket. He opened a large manila envelope and slid his hand inside gently, his fingers stroking the silk within. He closed his eyes and wound the soft loveliness around his fingers. Removing his hand from the envelope, he raised it to his face. He breathed deeply, filling his nostrils with that singular scent of pine and lavender. He rubbed the silken strands across his cheek, his lips, and he remembered. He felt himself harden, and he moaned softly.

“Belle,” he whispered as he lowered the zipper of his jeans. “Oh, Belle…”

No one's responded.” Nick was on the phone to Emme by noon the next day. “No one's called any of my numbers, there's been no email…”

“Be patient. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since you posted.”

“Patience isn't my strong suit.”

“Clearly.”

“I want to post something again.”

“Go ahead.”

“I'll get back to you.” He hung up, and she shook her head.

“Impatient” might be an understatement.

Emme returned to her computer screen and continued her search. There was much more information on donor siblings than she'd realized. She was partway through a long magazine article on the subject when her phone rang again.

“Okay, this is what I said.” Nick began without bothering to identify himself. “Does anyone know what happened to Belle? Doesn't anyone care?”

“That's it? That's your post?”

“Yeah. Well, I put in my information again, phone, email-” He paused. “You think it's too curt?”

“No, I think it's probably just right. Just enough drama to catch the attention of a teenager.” She thought for a moment before adding, “Though I probably shouldn't assume everyone on that board is a teenager. We don't know how old these people are or how many of them there might be. I'm guessing at least as old as Belinda, since Dr. Drake did say this guy's goods were pretty popular, but there could be some much older. According to the information I've been reading, women have been using donated sperm to achieve conception for over a hundred years. Traditionally, the recipients were women married to infertile men, but more and more single women and lesbian couples are using sperm donors to conceive.”

“So Belinda's donor siblings could be anywhere from toddler to fifty- or sixty-year-olds?”

“Conceivably. No pun.”

“That could put a whole new spin on this,” he said. “Thinking of her getting involved with a bunch of kids her own age doesn't seem as odd as some of these people being middle-aged. Which to my suspicious mind seems a bit creepy somehow.”

“Kids can do creepy things, too, believe me.”

“I guess.” He was quiet for a moment. “What if I still don't hear from anyone? Where do we go from here?”

“I'm working on that.”

“What?”

“I'll get back to you.”

“Get back to me now. What are you working on?”

Persistent SOB , she thought. Aloud, she said, “I told you that Mallory Russo's boyfriend is a detective. We asked him to run a quick search of the phone numbers on Belinda's bill to see if any of the incoming calls are from landlines, and if so, to do a reverse search.”

“Enter the phone number in some sort of database to get the name and address?”

“Exactly. As soon as I hear from him, you'll hear from me.”

“How long do you think it will take?”

“Not long. He said he'll get to it as soon as he can. That's the best I can tell you.”

“But you'll get back to me…”

“The second I hear from him. Promise.”

She glanced at her watch. It was twelve thirty. She'd bet her first paycheck that Nick would call back by three and he'd more likely than not ask her to follow up with the detective, something she'd rather not do. Doing everything you needed to do on your own cases was hard enough for a cop without someone leaning on you for a favor.

Fortunately, it never came to that. Mallory buzzed her office phone just before two.

“Charlie just called. I sent you all the info in an email,” Mallory told her.

Emme swiveled back to her desk and opened her mail. Mallory's was the one on top.

“Got it,” Emme said. “Thanks. And thank Charlie for me. Please tell him I appreciate it.”

“Consider it done. I hope it helps.”

“Me, too. Right now, this is all we've got. Thanks, Mal.”

Emme read the email, then printed it out and read it again. One name. One address. She reached for the phone and dialed Nick's number.

“This is good news, right?” he said by way of a greeting.

“How'd you know?”

“You wouldn't be calling just to tell me you still hadn't heard anything. What have you got?”

“Almost all of the numbers on Belinda's cell-phone bill were other cell numbers. Which makes sense, since that's how most kids communicate. Other than the calls to your house and your office, a couple of calls to a dentist's office, a drugstore, and a bookstore near the college, there was only one number attached to a landline.”

She heard him sigh through the phone and could almost hear his silent thought. Get on with it .

“The number we're interested in is listed as Nash Children.”

“Where?”

“Princeton, New Jersey.”

He fell silent again, planning, no doubt, what he'd say when he called. Time to nip that in the bud.

“I'll let you know what I find out after I get in touch with someone there,” she told him.

“Well, actually, I'm thinking I should be the one to call. You know, since I'm Belinda's uncle, and the posts on the message board were from me.”

“Now might be a good time to remind you that you contacted us and asked us to take on this case for you.” Before he could protest, she added, “And the fact that you posted the messages on that board is one of the prime reasons I'm going to be making the phone call. If this kid saw your post and chose not to contact you, there has to be a reason why. I'm the investigator, Nick. Let me do my job.”

“You'll make the call and you'll let me know what you find out?”

“Of course. But I'm asking you not to make any attempts to contact these people on your own.”