The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (Forensic Instincts 1)

“I don’t know!” Joe hollered. “I didn’t take that kid! Neither did Claudia. She resented the hell out of Judge Willis for firing her. But she’d never hurt a child. And even if I did do all the other things you just said—which I’m not admitting I did—I never touched a kid. Never. I swear it!”

“He’s telling the truth,” Casey murmured on the opposite side of the glass. “His entire body language is screaming it. Direct eye contact. Offensive posture. Whole body aligned with his words. He’s not clever enough to fake all that.”

“I agree.” Claire was eyeing Joe intently. “I’m picking up a fair amount of negative energy, so my guess is that the FBI is right about his ties to the mob. But I’m not sensing any real evil. He’s not a sociopath. And he didn’t kidnap Krissy.”

“Then who did?” Casey ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “I feel like we’re speeding down streets that look promising, but coming up against one dead end after another. We know the main road is close by, but we just can’t reach it. The past and the present are related. I know it—I just can’t get at how.”

Claire angled her head slowly until she faced Casey. “I don’t know what it means, or if it’s related to anything you just said. But I had the oddest dream the other night. It was about Krissy’s stuffed panda.”

The house is always packed with FBI agents, and the driveway is packed with cars.

Now there’s only one.

There’s never going to be a better time for what I have to do.

Another assignment I can’t refuse. It’s for Krissy. It’s necessary to fill the void until the feelings alone are enough.

Selfishly, it’s for me, as well. I’m afraid of the fate I’ll suffer if I change my mind and turn away.

Check the driveway one more time. Still just the one. It belongs to the agent inside monitoring the phones. Everyone else has left, except for the old woman and the nanny. Both their bedroom lights are off, which means they’ve gone to bed.

I’m taking a huge risk, I know. But to see Krissy’s face light up—it’ll be worth it. She’s still so traumatized.

> This close, even through the window, I can hear snippets of the agent’s conversation. It sounds pretty heated. Probably an argument with his superior, or a wife. Good. It’s the perfect distraction.

Back door. There’s nothing but wooded acreage back there, and nothing but a short hall to the backstairs inside. I can do this. I have to do this.

My hands have to stop shaking. Stop it. Stop it.

Key in the lock. A quiet click. No burglar alarm screaming through the halls. Good. Although I came prepared.

The agent’s still on the phone, he sounds more intense. Nonetheless, my time is limited.

Silently. Carefully. One carpeted step up at a time.

Safe. And I know just where to find what I came for. Krissy talks about it all the time. It makes her feel less scared. But she hurts so for Oreo.

This will fix the problem.

Top shelf beside her bed. Nestled in a makeshift nest of straw. Ruby the Robin and her nest. Oreo’s best friend.

Step one complete.

Down the hall to the master bedroom suite. The makeup table. In a simple, classy bottle. Joy. A lovely perfume, a memorable scent.

Now, something else. It will add to the mirage.

The jewelry box—on the dresser. The heart-shaped locket. Inside, a picture of Krissy on one side, and a picture of the woman who’d been her mother on the other. Nothing could be more perfect.

Everything back in place. Nothing looks disturbed.

Ashley was sure she’d heard a noise. A creaking sound. Footsteps? She was probably imagining things, but, after what had happened to Krissy, she wasn’t in the mood of letting anything slide.

She belted her bathrobe and left her room. First, she poked her nose into Krissy’s room, scanned the area. All was silent, dark and deserted. She flicked on the light. Nobody was there. She shut the door behind her, and headed down the hall, glancing into each upstairs guest room and study. Nothing. Mrs. Akerman’s door was shut. Ashley pressed her ear to the door. Silent. And no light shone from underneath. Not a surprise, given that the poor woman had retired hours ago.

Completing her tour, Ashley headed down to the other end of the hall and the master bedroom suite.

The door was ajar, the way Judge Willis often left it. Pushing it open, she stepped inside and glanced around.