Chapter Three

Atlanta , Monday, January 29, 8:45 a.m.

Alex paused outside the office for the Investigative Division of the GBI and prayed Agent Daniel Vartanian would be more helpful than Dutton’s Sheriff Loomis. “Check Peachtree and Pine,” Loomis had snapped when she’d called his office for the fifth time on Sunday morning, trying to get someone to give her information on Bailey. She’d googled and found Peachtree and Pine was the location of several homeless shelters in Atlanta. If she was wrong… God, please let me be wrong… and this victim wasn’t Bailey, Peachtree and Pine would be her next stop.

But the years had made Alex a realist and she knew the chances were good that the woman found in Arcadia was Bailey. That she’d been found the same way as Alicia… A shiver of apprehension ran down her back and she took a moment to compose herself before opening the office door. Focus on the quiet. Be assertive.

At least she was confident in her clothes. She’d dressed in the black suit she’d brought in case she needed to appear in court to get custody of Hope. Or if Bailey was found. She’d worn the suit to more than a few funerals over the years. Praying she wouldn’t be attending another, she steeled herself for the worst and opened the door.

The counter held a nameplate that said Leigh Smithson, Clerk. The blonde behind the counter looked up from her computer with a friendly smile. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Agent Vartanian.” Alex lifted her chin, daring the woman to refuse.

The blonde’s smile dimmed. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No. But it’s important. It’s about a newspaper article.” She’d pulled the Dutton Review from her satchel when the woman’s eyes flashed fire.

“Agent Vartanian has no comment for your paper. You reporters…” she muttered.

“I’m not a reporter and I don’t want information on Agent Vartanian,” Alex snapped back. “I want information on this investigation.” She swallowed hard, appalled when her voice broke. She controlled it, lifting her chin. “I think this victim is my stepsister.”

The woman’s expression instantly changed and she lurched from her chair. “I’m so sorry. I assumed that you… What is your name, ma’am?”

“Alex Fallon. My stepsister is Bailey Crighton. She disappeared two days ago.”

“I’ll tell Agent Vartanian you’re here, Ms. Fallon. Please have a seat.” She pointed to a row of plastic chairs and picked up a phone. “He should be with you any moment.”

Alex was too nervous to sit. She paced, looking at the wall covered with childish renderings of cops, robbers, and jails drawn by schoolchildren. Alex thought of Hope and her red crayons. What had that baby seen? Could you even handle it if you knew?

She stopped midstep, the taunt catching her off-guard. Could she handle it? She’d have to, for Hope’s sake. The child had no one. So you have to handle it this time, Alex. Although in the quiet of her mind she knew she hadn’t handled it well so far.

She’d dreamed the dream last night. Dark and pierced with a scream so long and loud that she’d woken in a cold sweat, trembling so hard she thought she’d wake Hope. But the child never stirred. Alex had wondered if Hope dreamed, and what she saw.

“Miss Fallon? I’m Special Agent Vartanian.” The voice was rich and deep and calm. Still her heart raced. This is it. He’ll tell you it’s Bailey. You have to handle this.

She slowly turned and had a split second to stare up into a ruggedly handsome face with a broad forehead, unsmiling lips, and eyes so piercingly blue she caught her breath. Then those eyes widened and Alex watched them flicker wildly for just a moment before his unsmiling lips fell open, and the color drained from his face.

It was Bailey, then. Alex pursed her lips hard, willing her legs to hold her up. She’d known what the answer would be. Still, she’d hoped… “Agent Vartanian?” she whispered. “Is that woman my stepsister?”

He stared at her face, his color returning. “Please,” he said, his voice now low and taut. He held out his arm, gesturing for her to go in front of him. Forcing one foot in front of the other, Alex complied. “My office is through this door,” he said, “on the left.”

It was a stark office. Government-issue desk and chairs. Maps on the wall, along with a few plaques. No pictures, anywhere. She sat in the chair he pulled out for her, then he took his seat behind his desk. “I have to apologize, Miss Fallon. You look like someone else. I was… startled. Please, tell me about your stepsister. Miss Smithson said her name is Bailey Crighton and she’s been missing for two days.”

He was staring at her with an intensity that left her unnerved. So she stared back, finding it helped keep her focused. “I got a call from Social Services on Friday afternoon. Bailey hadn’t come to work and a coworker found her daughter alone in her house.”

“So you came to take care of the daughter?”

Alex nodded. “Yes. Her name is Hope. She’s four. I tried to talk to the sheriff down in Dutton, but he said Bailey had probably just taken off.”

His jaw tightened, so infinitesimally that she might have missed it had she not been staring at him as hard as he was staring at her. “So she lived in Dutton?”

“All her life.”

“I see. Can you describe her, Miss Fallon?”

Alex clenched her fingers in her lap. “I haven’t seen her in five years. She was using then and she looked hard and old. But I’ve heard she’s been sober since her daughter was born. I don’t know exactly what she looks like now and I don’t have any pictures of her.” She’d left them all behind when Kim and Steve took her away thirteen years ago, and later… Alex hadn’t wanted any pictures of the drugged-out Bailey. It was too painful to watch, much less capture on film. “She’s about my height, five-six. Last time I saw her she was very thin, maybe one-twenty. Her eyes are gray. Then, her hair was blond, but she’s a hairdresser, so it could be any color.”

Vartanian was taking notes. He looked up. “What color blond? Dark, golden?”

“Well, not as blond as yours.” Vartanian’s hair was the color of cornsilk, and so thick it still held the ridges from where he’d shoved his fingers through it. He looked up, his lips bending in a small smile, and she felt her cheeks heat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said kindly. Even though he still stared at her with that same intensity, something had changed in his demeanor and for the first time Alex let herself hope.

“Was the victim blond, Agent Vartanian?”

He shook his head. “No. Did your cousin have any identifying marks?”

“She has a tattoo on her right ankle. A sheep.”

Vartanian looked surprised. “A sheep?”

Alex’s cheeks heated again. “A lamb actually. It was a joke between us. Bailey and my sister and me. We all got them…” She cut herself off. She was rambling.

His eyes flickered once more, just barely. “Your sister?”

“Yes.” Alex glanced at Vartanian’s desk and saw a copy of the headline from this morning’s Dutton Review. Suddenly his extreme reaction on meeting her made sense and she wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or annoyed. “You’ve already read the paper, so you know about the similarities between my sister’s death and the woman you found yesterday.” He said nothing and Alex decided she was annoyed. “Please, Agent Vartanian. I’m tired and scared to death. Don’t play games with me.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Fallon. I don’t mean to play games with you. Tell me about your sister. What was her name?”

Alex sucked in her cheeks. “Alicia Tremaine. For God’s sake, you must have seen her picture. You looked at me like you’d seen a damn ghost.”

Again his eyes flickered, this time in an annoyance of his own. “There is a strong resemblance,” he said mildly.