Gone In The Night. Anna J. Stewart
and had chalked Chloe’s death up to “one of those things the universe gives us as a test of character.”
It was only now, years later as a practicing therapist, that she realized the damage they’d done; but walking away completely would have felt hypocritical given her professional dedication to healing families. Besides, no one could work guilt like Sitara Hollister. But Tyler? He’d been her savior.
Whenever Allie recalled the quiet times she and Tyler spent in the ramshackle tree house her father had built, eating peanut butter sandwiches and playing board games, she smiled. A little.
“Well, we all have to move on, don’t we,” Nicole said. “I’ll check in with you again soon. If only to remind you to bring your famous potato salad on Sunday.”
Allie sighed. “Ma called you, didn’t she?”
“She thinks you’re ignoring her texts.”
That’s because she was. “Yeah, well, I’ll answer the next time she calls.” Like Allie had the wherewithal to deal with her mother today. “Thanks for checking in on me, Nicole. I’ll see you soon.”
Allie called on every ounce of courage that had abandoned her the second she’d stepped foot in the makeshift campground at the Vandermonts’. This wasn’t her. She didn’t flounder. Yet here she was, spinning out of control as if someone had pulled the floor out from under her. Adding her wacky and emotionally scarred family to the mix only made her rotate faster.
Where was the control she’d based her entire life on? Control that had been slipping away from her for months? Ever since Eden had begun receiving her “reminder” gifts. As if any of them had gone a day without remembering Chloe’s murder.
Never had it occurred to Allie that Chloe’s killer would target someone Allie cared about, other than Simone and Eden. Why would she, given a motive for Chloe’s murder had never been uncovered? Chloe’s case had simply been designated cold, attributed to an individual passing through who had taken advantage of a young girl out on her own in the middle of the night.
For decades the police and even Chloe’s family, who had moved away long ago, had assumed it was a random act.
Except it hadn’t been.
Allie should have been more aware as far as Hope was concerned. The physical similarities between Hope and Chloe were part of the reason Allie had been so determined to help the little girl. She didn’t need another therapist telling her the dangers of transference. Chloe hadn’t been given a long, happy, stable life. Allie wanted that—maybe too much—for Hope Kellan.
And by doing so, she had inadvertently put the little girl in danger.
When was Allie going to learn that whenever she let feelings get involved in any decision, trouble followed? All the more reason to take the offer of a new job, a new start, seriously. Allie’s stomach clenched. Moving on would mean leaving Simone and Eden behind—her real family. But they didn’t need her as much. Eden was happily married and Simone was practically on her way down the aisle.
Starting over, doing something that scared her both professionally and personally—that was a good idea, wasn’t it?
Once Hope is home, she told herself. Then she’d talk about it with them. Besides, they were going to have enough to deal with once the press found out Chloe’s case had been reopened recently when Chloe’s missing tennis shoe had been delivered to the police. Now, here they were, with another missing girl in frighteningly similar circumstances. Allie could only imagine the resulting spin accusing the police department of endangering valley residents by keeping the information quiet.
Allie shivered. She didn’t want to think about how the public—especially Hope’s uncle Max—would react to that.
She recognized a time bomb when she saw one and Max Kellan was tick-tick-ticking his way through life.
His life wasn’t any of her business. But given his rather shaggy appearance; the long, sun-tipped, dark blond hair that seemed to be in a race to his shoulders; the permanent five-o’clock shadow; his open hostility upon learning of her profession? Allie felt safe in assuming he’d had a difficult go of things lately. Still, there was something oddly appealing about him. Maybe it was the chiseled features of a man who could have stepped out of an action movie. She caught herself imagining how her fingers would get lost in the thick length of his hair. Her reaction to him was curious. Unusual. Which only increased her fascination.
When she looked into those swirling brown eyes of his, she found something familiar, something unsettling that she found in the mirror every morning: the man was haunted.
She also saw a man in need of care and compassion, whether he wanted to admit it or not.
Add all those elements together and sharing her suppositions with Max about Hope’s kidnapping could very well set up a reaction of furious proportions.
For now, as far as the connected cases were concerned—as far as Max was concerned—she’d keep her mouth shut.
If she’d expected to find some peace in Hope’s bedroom, it was keeping its distance. Allie saw hints of designer elegance, Hope’s mother’s influence given her penchant for materialistic show-woman-ship. But Gemma’s taste extended only as far as the deep layers of pink-and-white striped wallpaper and detailed crown molding decorating the high ceiling.
Hope wasn’t a girlie-girl, not completely, anyway. She was a kid who threw herself into all different things, from science experiments to hip-hop dance classes, to horseback riding lessons that had been her mother’s idea. She liked playing dress up as much as baseball. She could catch and throw as well as she could decimate the makeup counter at the local store. Despite the sadness and withdrawn behavior that had brought Hope to Allie’s office, she’d maintained her spark, however dim; but enough for Allie to gently blow on and reignite.
Allie wasn’t so egotistical to believe Hope’s transformation was all on her. Max Kellan had played a significant role in pulling Hope out of the darkness surrounding her parents’ divorce.
Allie’s toes scrunched in her flat thin-soled shoes as if afraid of taking a step farther inside. She pushed past her reservations and forced herself to scan the walls lined with kitten and puppy posters and a boy band Allie had only heard of in some of her other patients’ sessions. Like the Vandermont home, Hope’s bedroom contained several photographs of the four young girls, all with the biggest, happiest, brightest smiles possible.
Allie could only hope they’d be able to smile like that again.
She wasn’t sure she ever had.
Allie walked over to the bay window, sat on the padded cushion stacked high with books ranging from classic children’s stories to the latest young adult novels.
“Let me guess.” Jack MacTavish’s voice had Allie glancing to the bedroom door. “Uncle Max drive you out of your comfort zone?”
Allie managed a slight smile. “Not really. I thought maybe being in her space would help me somehow.”
“How do you think he’s doing?” Jack strode in and scanned the room in that seemingly casual way he had of absorbing every detail.
“I’d say he’s hanging on by his fingernails.” Allie got to her feet, realized there wasn’t anywhere else to go. She sat down again. “Have you heard anything from Cole yet?” As much as she liked Jack, she’d known Cole Delaney, Jack’s partner and Eden’s new husband, for most of her life. She missed his solid presence despite acknowledging he was needed elsewhere.
“He’s still up at the Vandermont house with the lieutenant, bringing Agent Quinn up to speed. Quinn, I kid you not, arrived by helicopter like some movie superhero. Cole did say the girls are asking for you. They want to know if there’s anything they can be doing.”
“There isn’t.” All they could do was wait. Which was, of course, the most difficult thing anyone could do in this situation. “It makes more sense for Cole to talk to them, see