"The one on the news?" Christie asked.
"Yes, but there's another little girl that we're concerned about at the moment, and I have a lead that she might be staying here at the shelter. This is a photo of her. It's obviously taken from the back, but maybe you recognize her?" She handed her phone to Christie.
Christie looked at the picture. "I'm sure you know that I can't give out any personal information on our residents. It's for their safety." She gave Bree back her phone. "I'm sorry."
Judging by the uncomfortable gleam in Christie's eyes, she had recognized the girl.
"I completely understand," Bree said. "But this is a matter of life or death. And I know you would want to help us."
"This little girl is in danger?"
"Yes."
"I can ask the director…" Christie began, stopping as the door to the office behind her opened.
Bree was shocked to see the older woman with white hair and piercing blue eyes that she and Nathan had just been talking about. "Miss Lucy," she muttered. "You're still here."
Lucy Harper's gaze swept across her face and then moved on to Nathan. "Well, well. You two look familiar. Let me think." She gave Bree a long look. "Bree Larson."
"I can't believe you remember me."
"Brown hair, beautiful green eyes that were always hopeful," Lucy said, then turned to Nathan. "And you are Nathan…oh, what was your last name?"
"Bishop."
"Of course. Nathan Bishop, the very protective big brother and devoted son."
"You have an excellent memory," Nathan said. "I was thirteen years old when I was here. That was a long time ago."
"I like to think of the people who stay here as family. And I have to admit your mother's face still haunts me, Nathan. When she left, I was very worried about her. She never came back. I didn't know if that was good or bad," Lucy said with concern in her gaze. "Dare I ask?"
"She's okay now," Nathan said tightly.
As Bree heard the words, she wanted to feel relieved. But she felt like there was something Nathan wasn't saying. Now, however, was not the time to get into it.
"Oh, I am so happy to hear that," Lucy said. "Now what brings you two back to our shelter? You don't look like you need help anymore."
"They're with the FBI," Christie put in.
"Actually, I'm with the FBI," Bree corrected. "I'm looking for a little girl. She's in danger, and I need to find her. I know you can't give out confidential information, but this is really important. I have a picture of her. I just showed it to Christie."
Lucy gave Christie a nod of encouragement. "Go ahead."
"The girl's name is Emma Lowell," Christie said. "She came in two nights ago with her sister Tasha. Tasha showed me her ID. She's eighteen years old. Emma said she was ten. They told me that their mother was sick and couldn't pay the rent and they needed a place to stay until she got out of the hospital."
"You didn't call DCFS?" Bree asked.
"Since Emma was with her adult sibling, we did not," Christie said, a defensive note in her voice. "We try to help families stay together, not get ripped apart."
"She knows that," Lucy said, giving her a pointed look. "Don't you?"
"I do. And I'm not here to make trouble. I just want to find Emma. Is she here now?"
Christie shook her head. "She and her sister checked out a few hours ago. They said they'd found a better place to stay. They seemed quite happy, as if things had turned around in an unexpected way."
"Did they say anything else? Like where they were going?"
Christie thought for a moment. "Emma said something about getting a part in a play. That's all I know."
A part in a play or a part in a con?
"Have the cleaners gone through their suite?" she asked, wondering if Emma had left anything behind. It seemed unbelievable that the flyer would bring them to the shelter and then there would be nothing. "Did they leave anything behind?"
"The cleaners won't be in there until morning. We don't have a full house right now, so there wasn't a rush."
"Can I see where they were staying?"
"Well, I suppose there's no harm in that," Lucy said. "But you'll have to wait here, Nathan. As you might recall, no adult men are allowed upstairs."
"I understand," he said.
She gave Nathan an apologetic look. "I won't be long."
"Take your time. I'll be here."
As Bree walked up the stairs with Lucy, she noticed that the shelter had definitely been updated. There was fresh paint on the walls and tiled floors instead of the old, stained carpet that had always smelled bad.
"How does it feel to be back?" Lucy asked, giving her a sharp look.
"Weird. But this place was good for me and my aunt for the time we were here."
"What happened to your aunt?"
"I'm not sure."
"You don't keep in touch?"
"No. I haven't seen her in years. She fell apart after we left here. Like my mother, she was toxic. She just couldn't get herself together, and she certainly couldn't take care of me. I ended up in the system. I kept thinking she would get better and come looking for me, but that never happened."
"Well, I'm glad you're doing well now. How do you like working for the FBI?"
"I love my job. I spend most of my time looking for missing kids, and while it's difficult at times, it's also rewarding."
Lucy smiled. "I'm sure they are all very lucky to have someone like you on their side. You were always a stubborn girl. I bet that works well for you now."
"I'd like to think so."
"And Nathan. You two are together? I remember you were very close when you were here."
"How do you remember us? So many people come through here. It seems unbelievable."
"I look at people. I listen to them. I almost always remember their names and at least some part of their story. It's actually much harder to forget some of the things I see and hear than to remember."
She saw a sadness in Lucy's eyes and could only imagine some of the horror stories she'd had to hear, to live through. "The people who come here are lucky to have you."
"I was on the streets when I was a little girl. I understand the needs, the despair, the dreams of the people who come here. I do what I can to make life a little better for a short while."
"You do a great job. This is the best place I ever stayed." She paused. "Do you know any more of Emma's story than what Christie told us?"
"Unfortunately, I don't. I didn't meet Emma or her sister. I've been in and out the last couple of days." Lucy paused in front of Suite 2102. "This is it."
Bree sucked in a quick breath. "This is it? But this—this was my suite."
"Is it? I didn't realize. That's odd."
She didn't think it was odd or a coincidence. "Did they ask to be in this suite?"
"I don't know. I can check with Christie. I don't know why they would have. They'd never been here before. It's not like they wanted to go back to a favorite room." Lucy opened the door and waved her inside.
As she stepped into the room with two double beds, it felt much smaller than she remembered. Both beds were unmade, covers tossed about. There was a pizza box on the dresser and a couple of empty soda cans.
There was also something on one of the pillows—a large white envelope.
She walked across the room with a growing sense of trepidation that worsened when she saw her name scrawled across the front of the envelope. She'd just found her clue. Inside, she found two newspaper clippings. It took her a moment to realize the clippings were actually of one photograph that had been ripped down the middle. And that photograph was of her. After high school, she'd done some modeling to make some cash, and she'd made it into the newspaper while walking the runway at a charity fashion show.
She couldn't believe someone had dug up this old clipping, ripped it in two and left it for her.
"Can I ask what's going on?" Lucy enquired.
She saw the concern in the older woman's eyes. "Someone is trying to drive me mad."
Lucy frowned as she showed her the ripped photo.