"One second. Tell me about Detroit."
"There's not much to tell. I lived in a studio apartment about as big as a closet. I had a part-time job in a taco shop, and I was there for three months until I gave birth." She sucked in a deep breath, slowly letting it trickle out. "Giving up my daughter was the most difficult and painful thing I've ever done. I was in labor for hours, and I was all alone. I should have been used to it by then, but it was still so lonely and terrifying. And when she was born, I heard her cry, and then she was taken away."
A tear slid out of Bree's eye, and his heart ached for her.
She ruthlessly wiped it away with her fingers. "All I saw was a tiny bundle in a hospital blanket. I didn't even see the color of her hair or her eyes."
"Why not? Why didn't they let you hold her—say good-bye?"
"Before I went into labor, I had told them I didn't want to see her, but after she was gone, I really wished I hadn't said that. I thought it would be easier if she just disappeared, but it wasn't. I cried the whole night and most of the next few months."
"You shouldn't have been alone. I wish you had called me."
"I couldn't call anyone. I had to make a clean break from my old life."
"What happened after that? Did you stay in Detroit?"
"No. I left three weeks later. It was too painful to stay in the apartment where I'd been pregnant. For months, it had just been me and her. I didn't make any friends there. It was too risky. At night, I'd read to my baby, play her music, tell her she was going to have a great life. Once she was gone, I couldn't stand being there."
"You left Detroit and went where?"
"Colorado. I was given a bonus of five thousand dollars for delivering a healthy baby. I enrolled at a community college and got a part-time job and eventually made it to the University of Colorado Boulder, where I majored in criminal justice and psychology. I made a new life for myself, and several years after graduation, I got into the FBI. That's when I really came into my own. Now I'm trained in multiple weapons, I understand criminal behavior, and I can win at hand-to-hand combat. I don't need anyone to rescue me anymore. And I've been doing good work the last five years. I like who I am now."
"I like who you are, too," he admitted.
She flashed him a smile. "Really? I know I disappointed you a lot back in the day. You were pretty critical of my choices."
"Johnny was bad for you."
"I didn't find out how bad for a long time. I hate that we're going down this road into the past, Nathan."
"I think you're supposed to hate it."
"I still don't understand how the kidnapper knows my secrets. But it doesn't really matter. I just have to find him before he hurts Hayley or this other little girl. We only have a couple of days at most. The other girls didn't make it past the seventh day."
"Then we better get to it."
*
She couldn't believe she'd told Nathan about the night she'd given birth to her child. She'd never told anyone, and now she was feeling overwhelmed with emotion, remembering those first few minutes after the birth, when she'd yearned to see her baby's face, her eyes, her first look at the world.
For that entire first year, she'd thought about her child every single day, hoping she'd made the right choice. As time went on, she'd never forgotten, but she had found a way to move on, secure in the knowledge that she'd done the right thing. She'd imagined her child with loving parents, a beautiful home in a nice neighborhood, pretty clothes and good food and nothing but joy.
Had that been a fool's dream?
Had choosing total secrecy to protect the child from Johnny actually put her daughter in more danger because she'd used someone working outside of the law?
She needed to know. She needed to find her daughter. She'd told Nathan that her child was not the girl on the train and not Hayley, because none of the facts supported either scenario. He hadn't tried to argue with her, but she'd seen the doubt in his eyes.
She wanted to believe that her child was still living the dream life she'd given her away to get, but she needed to find out for sure. And the only way to do that was to keep playing the game, until she had a chance to make her own move.
A few moments later, Nathan parked under a streetlight, a block away from the shelter. She hoped the tires, the rims, and everything else would still be there when they were done, but in this neighborhood, you never knew.
Nathan took her hand again as they hit the sidewalk, and she didn't quite know what to think about that. She just knew that she liked it, probably a little too much. But she had enough to worry about right now, and her relationship with Nathan—whatever it was—would have to be dissected later.
When she saw the bright-blue door with the sign Open Heart Refuge, her heart sped up again. This particular shelter, housed in an old three-story hotel, was for single mothers with children, and instead of one or two big rooms filled with cots like most shelters, each of the eighteen hotel rooms could house one to four family members.
Having a room that she only had to share with her aunt had made her feel more normal. There had also been a large multi-media room downstairs with card tables, a big television, and plenty of games, as well as a smaller quieter room for reading and homework. Adults had their own computer center and private room for when they needed a break from the kids. There was also a kitchen and a dining room that actually provided decent meals.
They'd spent four months at the shelter before moving into an apartment. She'd been sad to leave, but the shelter was very good at helping their residents move into longer-term situations. Unfortunately, longer term for her and her aunt had been about seven months. Then her aunt had ended up in rehab, and she'd been put in foster care, the first of several homes, all of them disappointing.
As they drew nearer to the door, Nathan's steps began to slow, and his fingers tightened around hers.
She paused, giving him a curious look. "Everything okay?"
His lips tightened. "I never thought I'd be back here."
"Nothing bad happened at this place," she reminded him. "Right?"
"Right."
"The director—what was her name?"
"Lucy Harper."
"Yes. Miss Lucy, we called her. I wonder if she's still here. Although, she seemed like a hundred years old when I was twelve."
"She was probably fifty," he said with a tight smile.
"She was fierce. I remember her chasing off bad boyfriends and bad husbands and just anyone who seemed like a threat. It was the first time I'd really seen anyone do that."
"She had a baseball bat behind the desk. She threatened to use it on my stepfather when he showed up one night. I only wished she'd done it. It would have saved us all a lot more pain."
She didn't know all the ins and outs of Nathan's life, but she knew he'd had a lot of trouble with his stepfather, and that hadn't ended until his stepfather had died when they were in high school.
"How is your mother doing now?" she asked tentatively.
"She's in a good place, but we don't need to talk about her. Let's get this over with."
She nodded, and they headed toward the door.
As they stepped inside the building, she felt as if she were stepping back in time. She had to remind herself she wasn't a scared kid looking for shelter or a safe place anymore. She was an FBI agent trying to save a child's life. That was what mattered.
She walked up to the desk, which was manned by a woman with a nametag that read Christie. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and appeared to be in her late thirties.
"How can I help you?" Christie asked.
"My name is Bree Adams. I'm a special agent with the FBI." She showed her badge to Christie, whose expression immediately turned wary. "I'm working on a case involving a missing child."