Debra Webb - Missing

Unlike Jonathan, William’s shoulders were slumped, his usually handsome face lined with fatigue. He turned his hands, palms up. “Believe what you choose, Foley. I had nothing to do with my baby’s disappearance.” His voice cracked with the last. “My only guilt is in not being there like I should have been.”

Melissa took his hand in hers. His felt limp and cold. “You don’t have to convince anyone,” she soothed. “He just doesn’t know you, that’s all.” She glared at the man she’d called to help. “Thank you for making that call.” She squared her shoulders. “Right now William and I should get down to the command post and see what we can do to help.” Melissa didn’t care what the chief said, she wasn’t going to sit here and do nothing.

She absolutely was not going to put William through another interrogation.

Jonathan stood. “I’m glad I could help.”

Every fiber of her being screamed at her to say something, to stop him from leaving. But she wanted him to go, didn’t she? He’d made the call. William didn’t have to leave until Polly was found. Melissa didn’t need anything else from Jonathan. He should go.

William pushed to his feet, letting go of Melissa’s hand and reaching for Jonathan’s. “Sir, you don’t know how much I appreciate what you’ve done.” He shook Jonathan’s hand with a firmness that Melissa would have thought him too weary to generate at this point. “I have no qualms about serving my country.” His hand fell back to his side. “I just couldn’t go…yet.”

Jonathan nodded. “When this is resolved, let me know and I’ll make the necessary calls.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jonathan strode toward the door.

Melissa’s feet remained glued to the floor all the way up until the moment he opened the door.

She was across the room and calling after him before her brain caught up with her actions. “Jonathan.” What the hell was she doing? She should let him go!

He stopped, nearly to the steps, and turned, that ice blue gaze colliding with hers.

“We’re scared.” She pressed her lips together a moment and fought to hold back the tears. “We…we’ve never been in a situation like this. We don’t know if the police are doing everything they can do.” She shrugged, tried to hold back some of the truth spilling out of her, but that wasn’t happening. “We ask questions and get answers we don’t understand. We try to help but they…”

Jonathan was coming back toward her, one steady step at a time, his gaze never leaving hers, not even to blink.

“They don’t know anything…” A sob halted her words. “They can’t tell us anything except to be patient and to pray.” Frankly, she was beginning to doubt her link to the Almighty. She’d about prayed herself out, about lost hope.

Jonathan stopped toe-to-toe with her. “It’s possible that what the police are telling you is all there is to tell.” He shook his head slowly, somberly. “These cases can go unsolved for years.” A shadow moved across his face. “I have to tell you, after five days, if there’s been no ransom demand, the chances of the child being found alive are slim to none.”

“Polly.” The name trembled on Melissa’s lips.

A frown line formed between his eyebrows.

“That’s her name,” Melissa said. “She’s three years old and the most precious child.” She smiled even as a hot tear slid down her cheek. “She has to be alive. I’m not willing to accept anything else. If—” Another of those halting sobs caught her words. “If you can help us, it would mean a great deal to me if you would stay.”

The morning breeze whispered across her skin, sending goose bumps scattering up her arms. She waited for his answer, prayed some more in spite of herself. Maybe he couldn’t help, but somehow, deep in her heart, she knew that his presence would make a difference. She had denied that knowledge, had told herself she’d called him just for the military connection, but that had been a lie.

She needed him right now. Melissa didn’t want to admit any such thing, but it was true.

Damn it, it was true.

“Make no mistake,” he said quietly, “I can’t promise you anything.”

She shook her head adamantly. “You don’t have to promise anything. It’s enough that you try.” Her lungs dragged in a deep, much needed breath.

Their gazes held for one, two, three beats. “All right then. I’ll try.”

11:05 a.m.

Jonathan stayed on the front porch of William Shepherd’s modest home while he and Melissa argued with his apparently uncooperative wife. The windows were raised, allowing the breeze to drift inside and also permitting the raised voices to carry right out to where Jonathan waited on the ancient wooden swing.

Presley’s argument was simple. She’d been interviewed by the police twice, the family half a dozen times and she had no desire to answer questions from some friend of Melissa’s. The way she said her sister-in-law’s name suggested a serious dislike. In sharp contrast, Melissa patiently and gently urged Presley to reconsider.

Melissa.

Jonathan drew in a breath, the heaviness in his chest fighting the effort. What the hell was he doing here? He’d made the call. That was all she’d asked him to do when they’d spoken on the phone. Her brother now had whatever time he needed to resolve this terrible state of affairs. The local police seemed competent; the FBI had been consulted. There was little else Jonathan could do other than retrace already taken steps. He nudged the porch floorboards with the toe of his boot, setting the swing in motion.

And yet he had agreed to stay when she’d asked.

Because he had to.

Jonathan closed his eyes and let the memories he’d dammed years ago flood his mind. Their meeting had been nothing more than a chance encounter. He’d been on the final plummet of a serious downhill slide. Walking away from his military career under the circumstances at the time of his official exodus had plunged him into a thirty-month descent of self-pity and denial. Denial of who he was and what he’d done.

Until a midnight brawl in a bar in Birmingham had landed him under arrest and with a nasty gash as a souvenir. He rubbed at his forehead where the scar still ached whenever he thought of his former stupidity.

Registered Nurse Melissa Shepherd had been on duty at the ER that night. She’d patched him up and, after he’d made bail, she’d said yes to his offer of dinner as a way of showing his gratitude for her extraordinary patience with a less than amiable patient.

The ability to draw in a deep breath deserted him once more as the memories poured through him. No one had ever pulled him in so deeply. He hadn’t been able to get enough of touching her, of looking at her. He would have done anything for her—except put the past behind him and make a real commitment. The dreams—no, the nightmares—he’d suffered since that last military mission had prevented any possibility of moving on with his life. Jonathan Foley existed in the moment.

Even Melissa’s unconditional love hadn’t been enough at the time to help him move beyond the past. The facts listed in his official military jacket that explained the decisions—decisions he had made that protected the mission but ultimately cost the lives of good men. The same facts that still allowed him to call up a top-ranking official at the Pentagon and make things happen.

Jonathan surveyed the small yard that flanked the little house Melissa’s brother called home. The picket fence needed a fresh coat of paint. The house could use one, too, but it was a home. Maybe not such a happy home, but a home where a man and woman had made a commitment to give life together a shot. A home where a child played. The colorful sand-box beneath the oak tree, along with the big plastic, equally colorful building blocks made for climbing marked this as a home where a child lived.