Amanda Stevens - The Tempted

Tess had once heard someone on TV, another grieving mother, describe the disappearance of her child as a slow, torturous death. But it was worse than death to Tess because there was no finality, no acceptance. No goodbye. Just a nagging hole inside her heart that grew larger and larger with each passing day.

And now the next step had arrived. The search and investigation were being cut back.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Tess,” Sheriff Mooney was saying. “There’s not a man or woman in this department who won’t remain dedicated to finding Emily. But we have to be realistic. The volunteers have families and jobs they have to get back to, and we have other cases. We just don’t have the manpower or the resources to continue an all-out search.”

Tess closed her eyes, mustering her courage, clinging with every ounce of her strength to the belief that her daughter was still alive. “You can’t give up,” she said hoarsely. “She’s still alive! I know she is. I can feel it.” Her gaze shot to the photographs of Sheriff Mooney’s grandchildren mounted on the wall behind his desk. “What if it was one of them? Would you give up then?”

The sheriff flinched, as if her words cut a little too close to the quick. “We’re not giving up, Tess. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It sure sounds like it to me,” she said bitterly. “What about the FBI?”

“They’ll continue to advise and offer technical support on the case, just as they have been. That won’t change.”

“But they won’t be a presence in the investigation, will they? They won’t leave an agent in Eden, because they’re giving up, too.” Tess leaned forward, her fists clenched so tightly her nails cut into her skin. But she welcomed the pain. It kept her focused. It kept her angry, and that was exactly what she needed at the moment.

She couldn’t afford to give in to her grief, to the bone-chilling terror that had racked her since Emily disappeared from that playground ten years to the day Naomi Cross’s child had gone missing from the same schoolyard.

No trace of Sadie Cross had ever been found, and the date of the abductions, along with the physical resemblance of the two girls and the similarities in their backgrounds, had prompted the police to theorize that the same kidnapper had taken both children.

But then two days after Tess’s daughter disappeared, Sara Beth Brodie, one of Emily’s kindergarten classmates, had been abducted from a nearby drugstore. She’d been found safe and sound a few days later, and as it turned out, her kidnapping was unrelated to the other two. But her rescue had buoyed Tess’s hopes just the same. Didn’t the police understand that Sara Beth’s safe return meant that Emily could still be found, too?

Or were they more convinced than ever that Emily had met the same fate as Sadie Cross? That ten years from now, no trace of Tess’s daughter would have turned up, either?

But there was a difference in the two cases. A week after Emily’s disappearance, a note had been discovered on the windshield of a vehicle parked in Tess’s driveway. The message, apparently written by a child, read: I come home soon mama.

Those words tore at Tess’s heart, gave her yet another faint ray of hope to cling to. Emily was still alive. She was still out there somewhere. The police couldn’t stop looking for her now. They couldn’t.

“What about the note?” She forced herself to speak in a rational tone, even though her mind raged against the terrible images of her daughter, alone and hurt, crying out for her mother. “It has to mean something.”

Lieutenant Dave Conyers, the lead detective on Emily’s case had been standing across the room staring out the window ever since Tess arrived. He was a tall man, thin, good-looking, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He turned now and faced her.

Like everyone else present, he looked exhausted, haggard and guilt-ridden, his face revealing all too plainly that he wished he were anywhere in the world but here in the same room with Tess. “I told you what the results were from the crime lab. They ran all kinds of tests on the paper, including electrostatic detection. A partial fingerprint was detected under ultraviolet, but when we scanned the print and ran it through the database, we didn’t get a hit. Nor was it Emily’s.”

Emily had been fingerprinted and issued a photo ID containing all her vital statistics her first year in pre-school. The program had been conducted by Naomi Cross’s group, the Children’s Rescue Network, to aid the police in just such a contingency. Tess had readily agreed to participate in the effort, but she’d never thought she would actually need the card. No parent did.

“We also had a handwriting expert compare the note with some of Emily’s school papers,” Lieutenant Conyers continued. “But his analysis was inconclusive. I hate like hell to say this, but the note could be a hoax.”

“No!” Tess said stubbornly. “I don’t believe that. It was from Emily. I know it was.”

“That’s what you want to believe. That’s what we all want to believe, but the expert couldn’t make that determination. Evidently, printing, especially by a child as young as Emily, is a lot harder to analyze than cursive writing.” He glanced at Tess. “You’re Emily’s mother, and you weren’t so certain at first the note was from her.”

“I know, but maybe that’s because she had to write it under duress. She was scared. Even an adult’s handwriting would be affected under similar circumstances.”

“That’s true enough,” Conyers agreed. “But the note itself doesn’t make much sense when you think about it. A message from a kidnapper is usually either a ransom demand or a taunt to the police or to the child’s parents. Why would the kidnapper allow Emily to write such a note, and then risk being caught by delivering it?”

“I don’t know,” Tess said numbly. “To let me know that she’s alive?”

No one said anything, but Tess could sense their doubt. And on some level, she knew Lieutenant Conyers was right. The note didn’t make sense. For one thing, it had been placed on the windshield of Naomi Cross’s Jeep Cherokee instead of Tess’s Ford Explorer. Naomi had been to see Tess that day, and her vehicle had been the only one in the driveway because Tess’s was parked in the garage. The SUVs were so similar in color that the initial assumption was that the kidnapper had mistaken Naomi’s vehicle for Tess’s, even though Tess’s was a much older model.

But maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe someone had deliberately put the note on Naomi’s car to torment her as well as Tess.

Could anyone really be that cruel or that sick?

A day ago, Tess wouldn’t have believed it possible to plunge any deeper into despair. But now that the search for Emily was being scaled down, now that everyone else was going back to their normal lives, she knew what it felt like to be truly alone and helpless. This, the final step, was perhaps the most agonizing of all.

Something of her anguish must have shown on her face because Sergeant Abby Cross, a detective in the Criminal Investigations Unit and Naomi’s sister, said gently, “I know how all this must sound to you, Tess, but in spite of the setbacks, the search will continue. Calls are still trickling in on the hotline, and we’ll follow them up. We won’t give up on Emily. We won’t forget about her.”

Abby shoved back a lock of dark, glossy hair as she stared at Tess. She wasn’t as beautiful as her sister, Naomi, nor as tall and willowy, but there was compassion in her brown eyes. A softness in her smile in spite of her years in law enforcement.

Tess had liked Abby at once, and she wanted to believe her now. Wanted to take solace in Abby’s assurances. She was a good cop. With the help of an ex-FBI profiler, she’d cracked the Sara Beth Brodie case. She was working on Emily’s case now, and Tess wished that she was in charge instead of Dave Conyers. Abby had found Sara Beth. Maybe she could find Emily, too.