Debra Webb - Cries In The Night

“Melany, wake up! It’s only a dream.”

Her eyes flew open and she looked straight into the worried blue eyes of the only man she’d ever loved. He was so close to her that she could see the worry etched across the landscape of his face. She let the tears flow, didn’t bother trying to stop them.

Where was her baby?

Ryan pulled her close to his chest. Closed those warm, powerful and comfortingly familiar arms around her. Words weren’t necessary.

Her gaze tangled with Ryan’s. She hadn’t had this much uninterrupted sleep since this whole nightmare began, and it was because of him. She knew she was safe with Ryan. She glanced at him again and wished she could read his mind. Wished she could risk telling him the truth. Maybe she wasn’t being fair to him or her child.

But for now, she had to keep her secret….

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Debra Webb was born in Scottsboro, Alabama, to parents who taught her that anything is possible if you want it badly enough. She met and married the man of her dreams, and tried some other occupations, including selling vacuum cleaners and working in a factory. When her husband joined the military, they moved to Berlin, Germany, and Debra became a secretary in the commanding general’s office. By 1985 they were back in the States, and moved to a small town where everyone knows everyone else. With the support of her husband and two beautiful daughters, Debra took up writing full-time and in 1998 her dream of writing for Harlequin came true. You can write to Debra with your comments at P.O. Box 64, Huntland, Tennessee 37345 or visit her Web site at http://www.debrawebb.com to find out exciting news about her next book.

Melany Jackson—Her daughter is missing… presumed dead. Is this simply a case of a missing body or is something more sinister at play?

Ryan Braxton—Can he find the truth for Melany without losing his mind…or his heart?

Bill Collins—A close friend of both Melany and Ryan. Bill will do everything he can to help solve this mystery.

Rita Grider—Melany’s closest friend. She blames herself for all that has happened to Melany.

Dr. Wilcox—The E.R. physician on duty at the time of Melany’s accident. Is he afraid of a malpractice suit?

Dr. Letson—The chief of pediatrics, who claims he did all he could to save Melany’s child.

Nurse Peterson—She assisted Dr. Letson, but can she help Melany find the truth?

Clyde Desmond—He operates the funeral home where Melany’s child was prepared for burial.

Garland Hanes—He screwed up the interment, burying an empty coffin in a shallow grave. Was he acting on his own?

Dr. Rodale—She offers counseling at the free clinic where Dr. Wilcox volunteers. She only wants to help.

Rodney Mason—The attorney connected to Wilcox. He only wants his money.

Greg Carter—The Memphis P.D. rookie who can’t wait to support anyone connected to the FBI in any capacity.

Victoria Colby—The head of the Colby Agency.

This book is dedicated to a very dear friend of mine,

Melany Gardner. She is everything that a good teacher

should be. Her love of children, of people in general,

is something to behold in this day and time.

Huntland School is very fortunate to have on their staff

not only a phenomenal teacher, but also one of the

finest people I have ever had the privilege of knowing.

This one’s for you, Mel.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

She dreamed of the cemetery again.

A cold, steady drizzle fell in the dark October night. The full hunter’s moon seeped through the thick gray clouds, casting an eerie glow over the deserted graveyard. Acres of headstones protruded from the lush green grass like ugly yard ornaments.

Positioned around the newest of the graves were a dozen wreaths of varying sizes and shapes, forming a sort of temporary barrier from the harsh reality that lay beyond it. The carnations of one heart-shaped arrangement drooped with the weight of the rain and the passage of seven days since their cutting.

Melany pushed between the wreaths and dropped to her knees before the freshly turned soil. Her icy fingers tightened around the wooden handle of the shovel she held. Droplets of the unseasonably cold rain trickled down her cheeks. Her clothes were soaked through, but she no longer cared.

Nothing mattered to her anymore.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to silence the cries inside her head. Uncertainty shuddered through her, making her hesitate. The sound of her child crying echoed in the deepest recesses of her soul. Melany’s eyes opened abruptly and she jerked with renewed determination.

“I’m coming, baby,” she murmured. Her heart thudded in her chest. “Mommy’s coming.”

She plunged the shovel into the loose, damp soil with a vengeance. The sound of the metal sliding into the soggy earth made her flinch. Gritting her teeth, she flung the scoopful of soil to the side, then sank her shovel into the ground once more. She prayed for God’s forgiveness as she worked harder, faster.

She had to do this.

She had to know.

The shovel struck something solid. Melany sat back on her heels, the shallow, muddy walls of the grave on either side of her. A frown etched her forehead, rivulets of water slipping down the worrisome creases. This wasn’t right. How could this be right?

It couldn’t be.

She tossed the shovel aside, a new surge of hot tears blurring her vision as she summoned her waning resolve. A dozen questions flitted briefly through her mind despite her newly gathered determination. Why was the grave so shallow? Why was there no vault?

Melany almost laughed at the absurdity of it. This was just a dream, she reminded herself. She would wake up at any moment to the agony of not knowing for sure.

“No,” she said aloud, as if saying it out loud would make it so. “This has to be real.” She lifted her face to the rain for one fleeting instant and realized that she couldn’t stop now, even if it was only a dream.

She had to know.

Melany dug furiously with her hands then, pushing aside the shallow, remaining layer of earth. Her breath caught. The small, white casket felt smooth beneath her palms. All of her questions instantly flew from her mind. There was only the reality that she would soon know. A wounded moan tore from her throat as she leaned forward and pressed her cheek to the cold, slick surface. A wave of pain so overpowering she couldn’t breathe for a long moment washed over her.