Forbidden Territory & Forbidden Temptation: Forbidden Territory / Forbidden Temptation. Paula Graves

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      LILY FELT AS if she’d gone mad. “You watched her?”

      The little girl nodded. “I know you can’t always be here, so I check on her sometimes to make sure she’s okay.”

      Lily’s mind reeled, threatening to suck her back to reality. She forced herself to stay calm, let the vision hold her in its gossamer web. “Who are you?”

      “Mama calls me Gina, but I don’t think that’s my name. She’s not really my mama, you know. My real mama’s dead.”

      Lily noticed the little girl was almost transparent, unlike Abby. She wasn’t actually in the same room, Lily realized. She was somewhere else.

      But where?

      “I can’t stay much longer.” The girl began to fade.

      Lily reached out, wondering if she could touch her. “Wait, Gina! Are you sure Abby’s okay?”

      The girl’s image rippled. “Yes.”

      Before Lily could move, the dark-haired girl was gone.

      Lily slowly turned back to Abby. The child’s eyelids had stopped fluttering and her soft, snuffling breath was even and deep. Relief trickled through Lily as she watched the child’s peaceful slumber, until the fog began to swirl around her, drawing her back to the doorway.

      She reached out to stroke Abby’s cheek again before the door in her mind closed, hiding the child from her sight.

      Emerging from the fog, Lily sat upright in the bed, hugging herself with trembling arms. The face of the dark-haired child remained etched in her mind, pale, heart-shaped, and so, so sad.

      She shivered. Who was this solemn little girl?

      * * *

      BLUE MOONLIGHT BATHED the bedroom. The little girl blinked as she emerged from the haze to find herself huddled in bed.

      She looked around quickly, just to reassure herself that she was back in her own room. She clutched Mr. Green more tightly to her, rubbing her cheek against his threadbare fur. Straining her ears, she listened for Mama. But the house was silent.

      She pulled the covers more tightly around herself and stared at the cracked ceiling. She knew something was wrong with her mother. In her little-girl wisdom, she also knew Mama’s trouble had something to do with her.

      Mama called her Gina, but that wasn’t her name. She was Casey. She had vague memories of someone calling her name. “Casey, baby, come here.” The voice was deep. A man’s voice. She liked the way it sounded, a little gruff but tender.

      She knew the voice belonged to her daddy, but she barely remembered him. Only Mama, for just about as long as she recalled. The fuzzy memories that came at night, memories of being held in Daddy’s strong arms, were little more than dreams.

      Sweet dreams.

      Nestled under the covers, Casey felt sleep creeping up on her. She closed her eyes, picturing Lily, the nice lady who was taking care of Abby. Casey smiled in the dark.

      That smile carried her softly into sleep.

      * * *

      LILY OVERSLEPT, WAKING with bright morning sunlight slanting through her bedroom window. The digital alarm clock read seven twenty-five. She was going to be late for work.

      She sat up quickly, gasping as pain rocketed through her entire body before settling in a hot ache in the back of her neck. Okay, work was out.

      She reached for her phone and called Carmen Herrera’s office number. “Carmen, it’s Lily. I’m so sorry, I overslept and I haven’t even had a chance—”

      “Lily, thank God you’re okay!” Carmen interrupted. “Lieutenant McBride called me this morning to let me know about the accident so I could arrange for a substitute for your classes. He said you were a little banged up.”

      Lily glanced at her reflection in the dresser mirror. Shadows circled her eyes, almost as dark as the vivid bruises slanting across her shoulder and chest where the shoulder belt had left its mark. “I’m a little bruised and sore, but I should be fine by Monday. Thanks for getting someone to fill in.”

      She hung up the phone and eased her sore legs over the edge of the bed. Jezebel glided in from the hall and wrapped herself around Lily’s ankles, meowing.

      “I bet you’re hungry, aren’t you, Jezzy?” She put on a bathrobe and hobbled down the hall to the kitchen, wondering if McBride had already left for the office.

      But he was waiting in her kitchen, the morning paper spread out in front of him, a mug of steaming coffee sitting to one side. He looked up when she entered. “The nice cat has been fed. The psycho one refused to eat anything I gave her.”

      Lily glanced at the four open cans of cat food on the counter, her lips curving with amusement.

      She picked up the tuna, Jezebel’s favorite, and emptied it in one of the cat bowls. Jezebel went straight to it and started eating.

      “Spoiled brat,” McBride murmured.

      “Thank you for calling in for me.” Lily poured herself a cup of coffee and joined McBride at the table before taking a sip. Strong and hot, the coffee burned going down, making her eyes water.

      “I figured you’d be too sore from the accident to deal with a bunch of eight-year-olds.” His gaze dropped to her throat. “Do those bruises hurt much?”

      “Not too much.” She lifted a hand to her neck. He was being too nice to her. It made her feel self-conscious.

      “I hope you don’t mind, but I found your sisters’ phone number in your address book and called to let them know you’d been in an accident. I talked to the one named Rose.”

      Lily bit back a smile at the look on his face. Two minutes on the phone with Rose had probably confused the hell out of him. Her ebullient sister was Lily’s polar opposite.

      Her smile faded. It hadn’t always been that way.

      “She said she would be here before noon.”

      Lily frowned. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

      His expression became shuttered. “She insisted. Besides, I’ve got to get out of here soon—I have a meeting at nine. I’ve called for a patrol to come by your house every thirty minutes, just in case there’s any trouble.”

      She set her coffee cup down, her stomach clenching. “Are you expecting trouble?”

      He gave her a considering look. “You tell me.”

      Ah, there was the McBride she knew. Suspicious by nature. “I didn’t imagine the phone call from the kidnapper. You heard him. You also saw that car run me off the road. Unless you think I arranged that, too?”

      His only answer was a slight narrowing of his eyes.

      “Because it makes so much sense to risk life and limb on the off chance that you left Andrew Walters’s hotel room right after I did, and took the same detour I took.”

      “Well, you do claim to be a psychic,” he pointed out.

      “I don’t claim to be anything.” She picked up her coffee cup and took it to the sink, emptying