"I just don't understand how you can think about work right now."
The doorbell rang, interrupting their tense conversation. "Why don't I get that?" he suggested, sensing that the two of them had more to say to each other. He jogged out of the kitchen and down the hall. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Josie on the porch. "Josie—what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to check on Lindsay and Mark. What about you?"
"The same."
"Is Bree here, too?"
"No."
She gave him an assessing look. "But you've been talking to her, haven't you? Is she still going after Kyle? He told me what happened in his office. He said his attorneys are on it, and I shouldn't worry. Should I believe him?"
"You should."
"Good, because I can't believe anyone could think that Kyle would take Hayley. I really hope no one suggested that to Mark or Lindsay."
"They did not mention that to me, so I don't think they did."
Relief filled her eyes. "Thank goodness. Are they here? Are they busy?"
"They're here. Actually, Mark has to run into work for a brief time, and Lindsay isn't happy about it. Maybe you can stay with her."
"Of course. Are you going to work?"
He hesitated. "Eventually."
His sister gave him a knowing look. "It's Bree, isn't it? You're getting tangled up with her again. You took one look at her and you were right back where you were before."
"Bree is focused on finding Hayley. And so am I."
"I don't want to see you get hurt again, Nathan. You have Adrienne now."
"You don't have to worry about me. I know what I'm doing."
"You always say that, and most of the time I believe you. But when it came to Bree, you never knew what you were doing. You were blinded by love or lust or something very, very strong."
He let Josie have the last word, because there was a big part of him that knew she was right. He'd made a lot of mistakes when it came to Bree. And there was a good chance he'd already made one more by kissing her the night before. "I'll see you later."
As he walked across the street to his truck, he was surprised to see Bree get out of a car a few doors down. He walked down to meet her. "I thought you were benched."
"I need to talk to the Jansens."
"Has something happened?" he asked quickly.
"Yes. I received two texts this morning." She turned her phone, so he could see a photo.
The picture was of a baby about a year old. The child was sitting in front of a Christmas tree. She was dressed in a pink dress with a pink bow on her head, and a happy smile on her face. Across the photo, someone had scrawled the letter I in black marker.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"I don't know. There's one more." She swiped the screen.
He found himself staring at a toddler, probably about three. Her back was to the camera, but she was blowing soap bubbles in the middle of a playground. Her hair was brown, but he couldn't see her face. Across this photo was the word am.
"What does this mean?"
"I think he's going to tell me who my daughter is, starting with the words I and am," she replied. "I'm pretty sure the next word is going to be your. The texts came in thirty minutes apart. I was waiting for the next one, but it's been sixty minutes. What I need to know is if this is Hayley. All the photos in her FBI file are of her at age ten. I know Lindsay had a baby photo she showed me the first time we spoke, but I didn't look at it closely enough to know if that child is the same as this one. I need to see it again, and I need Lindsay or Mark to tell me if these photos are of Hayley."
"Who else could it be?"
"Emma," she said, giving him a helpless shrug. "I know you don't agree, but I can't ignore what happened on the train."
"It's possible. But I still lean toward the idea that Emma is more of a little con artist, and that she and her big sister are just pawns in the game. Her sister could even be involved with the kidnapper."
"I have considered that. Frankly, it's not a huge leap to think my daughter could be a con artist. When I was ten, I would have taken money and told some woman she was my mother without thinking twice about it. I just hate the idea that my child might be living my horrible childhood."
He felt a wave of compassion at the pain that filled her eyes. "This is what the kidnapper wants—to get in your head, to make you second-guess your decision, to drive you crazy with guilt."
"Unfortunately, it's working. But I am trying not to focus on myself and my feelings. This is about Hayley."
"Have you showed your fellow FBI agents these texts?"
"I forwarded them to Agent Cox. Tracy is my main contact within the Chicago team. I told her I was going to stop by the Jansens and verify that the photos are of Hayley."
"What did she say?"
"She hasn't answered yet. I didn't want to wait."
So, Bree had decided to take things into her own hands. He couldn't blame her. These photos were the biggest clues they'd had so far.
"Are the Jansens home?" she asked. "Is there a big crowd at the house?"
"Actually, no. My sister Josie just arrived, and she's with Lindsay now. Mark got a phone call when I was inside the house, and he told Lindsay he needs to go down to his office for some quick hand-off of files or something. Lindsay is not happy about it. But then they're both exhausted and stressed out. I think Mark is probably looking for an excuse to get a little air. He said Lindsay sat up all night crying."
"This situation is awful."
"It is. But I did find out a little information. I was actually going to call you when I saw you."
"What did they tell you?"
Before he could reply, the front door opened, and Mark walked quickly out of the house. Instead of heading straight to his car, which was parked in the short driveway, he walked around to the other side of the house and grabbed a backpack from the ground.
"What's he doing?" Nathan muttered.
"Nothing good," Bree said, a frown on her lips.
Mark jogged toward his car, threw the backpack onto the passenger seat and peeled off down the street.
"What the hell was that about?" he wondered aloud.
"We have to follow him," Bree said, running toward his truck. "Give me your keys, Nathan. I want to drive."
"I can drive," he protested.
"You don't know how to follow someone; I do." She held out her hand.
He tossed her his keys and got into the passenger seat as she slid behind the wheel.
He winced as she crunched the gears, then braced his hand on the door as she sped down the street and around the corner.
Eleven
"There he is," Nathan said a moment later, spotting Mark's car up ahead. "He's turning on Crawford."
"I see him."
"Why are we chasing him?"
"Because he's acting suspiciously."
She maneuvered her way through traffic with confident speed, but his truck wasn't built for a car chase.
"He could just be going to work," he suggested.
"With a backpack he hid in the side yard?" she challenged. "I don't think so."
He didn't think so, either. "Then what?"
"I think he lied to me the other day when he said he hadn't heard from the kidnapper. Or he was contacted after our conversation. I'm betting there's a lot of cash in that backpack."
"He's delivering ransom?" That idea seemed incredible to him.
"That's my guess. He told you and Lindsay he was going to work?"
"Yes. He got a call when we were together in the kitchen, but he took it in the other room. He was gone about fifteen minutes. When he came back, he had changed, and he looked like he was energized."
Had Mark gotten a call from the kidnapper? But why wouldn't he have said anything? Why wouldn't he have told the police or the FBI or his wife?
He pressed his hand against the door as Bree took another turn on two wheels. "You might want to slow down."
"I've got this. Trust me."
"Hard to do that when I'm the one who taught you how to drive."
"I'm a lot better now."