Bone Cold. Erica Spindler
the door, then slipped her apron on. “Her foster mother’s starting to get annoyed with my calls. Today she very firmly told me that Jaye would call when she was ready to talk to me. Then she hung up.”
He frowned. “Charming. I take it she’s not your ally in this?”
“Hardly.” Anna made her way to the register. “It seems everyone thinks I’m the enemy.”
“Jaye’ll come around. If you’re missing her this much, think how much she’s missing you.”
Anna thought more about how she had unintentionally hurt her friend. She changed the subject. “My agent called this morning, that’s why I’m a little late.”
“Finally! Are they taking the new book?”
“They want it—” she held up a hand to stop his congratulations “—but only on their terms.”
“Their terms? What does that mean?”
“It means, they want it only if I’ll let them publicize it and me as they see fit. It seems they think Harlow Grail has the ability to sell a lot more books than Anna North.”
“I don’t understand.” He drew his eyebrows together. “Your new story doesn’t have anything to do with your kidnapping experience.”
“Apparently, my past is a hook that’ll get me a mother lode of media coverage.” A bitter edge crept into her voice. “As my agent explained, my book’s just another suspense novel. What makes it special is that Harlow Grail, kidnapped Hollywood princess, wrote it.”
“I’m sorry, Anna. That really sucks.”
“It gets worse. If I won’t go along with their promotion plans, they’re dropping me. I’m not profitable enough for them.”
“They want a home run or nothing.”
“Apparently so.” She began counting the cash in the bank bag, grateful to have something to do with her hands. “My agent wants me to agree. He doesn’t understand my hesitation. Most authors, he said, would kill for the offer of a big push and lots of promotion. Besides, the cat’s out of the bag now and the world hasn’t come to an end.”
“Nice guy. Understanding.”
“I used to think he was on my side. Now I see he’s on whichever side the money’s on.”
Dalton gave her a quick hug. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet. I want to take the offer. I worked so hard to get published. You know how hard I worked. You know how much…how much writing means to me.” Tears stung her eyes and she fought them back. “But I can’t imagine going on TV and radio and…talking about what happened to me. I can’t imagine opening my personal life to strangers. I know what kind of people are out there, Dalton. I know.” She pressed her fist to her chest. “And I can’t expose myself that way, I know I can’t.”
“And if you don’t—”
“I lose everything I’ve worked for.” A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed past it. “It’s so unfair.”
He kissed her on the cheek. “I’m here for you if you need me.”
“I know.” She leaned into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “And believe me, I appreciate it.”
The bell above the shop door jingled and Bill strode in. In his navy, double-breasted suit and crisp white shirt he looked like a banker.
“Caught in the act,” he teased. “And to think I trusted you both.”
Anna stepped out of Dalton’s arms and smiled affectionately at her friend. “I’d steal him from you in a heartbeat, if I thought I had a chance.”
Bill brought a hand to his chest in mock heartbreak. “And here I thought you wanted me.”
She laughed and shook her head, grateful for her friends. “What are you doing here so early this morning? And looking so—”
“Boring?” he filled in, glancing down at himself in disgust. “I’m meeting with the group financing our new Art in the Park event. For some reason they’re more comfortable giving money to men wearing blue suits. Go figure.” He crossed to the counter. He shifted his gaze to Dalton. “Did you give her the letter yet?”
Anna looked over her shoulder at Dalton—and caught him signaling Bill to shut up. She frowned. “What letter, Dalton?”
“Don’t be mad. It came yesterday, while you were at lunch.”
“It’s from your little fan,” Bill offered, rubbing his hands together. “The saga continues.”
Dalton sent Bill an annoyed glance, then pulled an envelope out of his front apron pocket. He held it out to her. “I know how her last letter troubled you. And you were so down yesterday…I didn’t want to make your day worse. I was going to give it to you first thing this morning, but—”
“I didn’t give you the chance. It’s okay, Dalton.” She took the letter, feeling both hopeful and apprehensive. She had been thinking a lot about Minnie, she had reread her letters a dozen times. She had come to believe that the girl was an abductee.
Anna had grown so concerned she had called a friend who worked for Social Services. She had explained the situation and read her friend the letters. Although the other woman had thought the situation suspicious and had been sympathetic to Anna’s concern, without something concrete to go on, a witness or even the girl’s written claim of abuse, her hands were tied.
Anna swallowed hard and lowered her gaze to the envelope. She hoped this correspondence proved her wrong. She hoped that after she read it she’d feel like a reactionary idiot. She feared she wouldn’t. “Are you going to open it?” Bill asked. She nodded and ripped open the envelope. The letter began in much the same way as the others had, with a greeting and a sentence or two of chitchat about Tabitha, Anna’s books and small occurrences in Minnie’s days. But this time, it took a frightening turn:
He’s planning something bad. I don’t know what, but I’m afraid. For you. And another one. Another girl. I’ll try to find out more.
Anna reread those few lines, her heart in her throat. “Dear God.” She lifted her gaze to her friend’s. “He’s going to do it again.”
The two men exchanged concerned glances. “Do what, Anna? “
“Another girl.” She handed Dalton the letter, her hand shaking. “I think he’s planning to abduct another girl.”
Bill peered over Dalton’s shoulder so that he, too, could read the letter. He whistled when he finished. “I don’t like the way that sounds.”
“Neither do I.” Dalton frowned. “What are you going to do?”
Anna was silent a moment, considering her options. There were few. She came to a decision, the only one that made any sense. She slipped off her apron and crossed to the workroom to retrieve her jacket. She pulled it on, then met her friends’ concerned gazes. “You’ll have to hold down the fort for a while. I’m going to the police.”
Forty minutes later, Anna was shaking hands with Detective Quentin Malone. “Have a seat.” He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “I apologize for the wait. We’re short-staffed today. Half the force is down with the flu.”
She slipped out of her coat and sat. “So the desk officer explained. He also informed me that you would take my statement but another detective would follow up later.”
“I’m usually assigned to the Seventh.” He sat and folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “My partner and I are filling in here today.”
“And you just happened to be the lucky one who got me.”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s me.” He slid his