Made to Be Broken (Nadia Stafford 2)

He studied me before moving his plate aside. "Go alone. Make sure she doesn't see me. Change my accent. Tell her I was sent by the boy's parents."

"The Draytons."

"Yeah. Get details before I go. Say they heard Destiny's gone. Want her back. Play it out a bit. Threats don't work? Draytons are offering to buy the baby."

"Skip the threats and head straight for the cash. Greed is the way to Janie's heart. Offer more than she would have gotten, then promise to stage it as a kidnapping, so her partner won't suspect anything and she'll get the whole wad."

He sipped his coffee. "You're good with that?"

I set my plate on his, then fiddled with a stray piece of broken wicker, sticking it back into the weave. "Re mem ber how we played it with Cooper in Kentucky? We didn't w

ant him seeing you, so you stayed offside, giving me backup while I took him down and interrogated him."

"You want to do that? You stay offside?"

I nodded.

"All right." Another sip. "She confesses? You want her gone? Have to go prepared."

I stared out at the lake, watching a loon bob on the waves. If Janie had Sammi killed, did I want her dead? No. That was too easy. I'd rather see her rot in jail and burn up in headlines as a woman who killed her own daughter for profit. That might not hurt right away - her hide was too thick - but maybe after she dried out, she'd feel something.

"If we get a confession, I'll figure out a way to set the cops on her," I said. "Knowing Janie, she's left a trail so wide even the local idiots shouldn't be able to screw up a conviction."

"If you change your mind..."

"I won't." I looked at him. "But let's not take any body-disposal supplies, in case I'm tempted."

I continued going through the motions, hosting the bonfire, closing the house for the night, staying up another half hour in case guests needed anything. Normally the extra wait is just a precaution in case of emergencies. Most guests respect my need to get to bed if I'm going to be up at six for the jog. Not so with the Previls, who needed towels, fresh pillows, glasses of water... I was just waiting for them to request a tuck-in and bedtime story.

Jack had moved the truck earlier. So at two, we snuck off in silence. Everything went fine until we reached Janie's house and found the windows dark and her truck gone.

We stood in the shadows, watching the house.

"Guess those bottles were a victory celebration for two," I said. "She must have gone into Bancroft to see her boyfriend."

"We shouldn't follow."

"I wasn't going to suggest it. But as long as the place is vacant, let's take a look."

Jack hesitated.

"We can check for evidence that she killed Sammi or sold Destiny. And, while we're at it, I'll see whether Sammi left anything about that photographer. Maybe a business card."

The last part tipped the balance. Proof that I wasn't single-mindedly focused on my Janie theory. Proof that I was still in control.

We took a quick look around, in case Janie was passed out on the sofa or bed, and somehow had remembered to turn out the lights first. Then we split up. Jack took Janie's room. I returned to Sammi's.

I meticulously searched the tiny bedroom, right down to unwrapping every gum wrapper in the trash, in hopes of finding a phone number or name scribbled inside. I was pulling Destiny's baby book off the shelf when a flurry of photos and paper scraps rained down. Two of the pictures landed face up. One was of a party for Destiny, with three candles in a cupcake, Sammi grinning as Kira held a homemade Happy 3 Months banner. In the other, Sammi sat in a Muskoka chair, holding a sleeping baby, scowling, clearly warning whoever was taking the photo that they'd better not wake Destiny. I stared at them both for a moment, then picked up the second - the Sammi I knew best - and gingerly pushed it into my pocket.

I scooped up the handful of scraps and flipped through them. Sammi's penmanship was atrocious, her spelling phonetic. On the first, she'd written "First dentist appointment 3-4 years." On another she'd scribbled "Chicken pox vaccine 12 months (safe?)."

I read through several more. Each held a tidbit of child-rearing information, a tip someone had told her or she'd heard on TV. Scraps tracing the path of a young woman's desperate desire to be a good mother.

Then I found what I'd been looking for. On one scrap Sammi had written four words. Jordan Fifer Model Agency.

I put that into my pocket and tidied up the book. As I did, my gaze fell on Sammi's treasure box. I reached for it, the sudden urge to take it, too, to bury it with her body. Ridiculous, of course. Sentimental tripe. Not like she'd be needing it anymore. And if Janie had her daughter killed, I had every intention of tipping off the police and making sure Sammi's body saw a real grave. Finding her treasures buried with her would suggest Janie regretted her decision, and I wasn't giving her that.

The box had to stay. But whatever happened, I'd make sure Tess got it out before the place was bulldozed.