Page 8 of Christmas Past
If playing along was the only way to get what he needed – to get that little girl back – he’d play for all he was worth.
Pulling another stool over so that he could sit right next to her, he let go of her arm. But was careful to position himself in a way that blocked her from fleeing. Without caging her in.
He unzipped his jacket. Pulled it open.
Leaning an arm on his leg, he bent to her, looking her right in the eye. “Tell me what you felt,” he said. “Don’t leave anything out.”
“It was just feelings, Chad. I get them all the time.”
“You don’t call me all the time.”
“You want me to call you next time I start to feel like a woman is about to get kissed?”
His gaze went immediately to her lips. Which, he instantly realized, was exactly what she’d wanted. She was trying to distract him.
With a memory that, though two years old, still played itself out sometimes when he went to sleep at night.
Bella before he knew what she was. And a kiss that was unlike any other he’d ever known.
She’d been taught since birth to fool people. To play with their minds. She wasn’t going to play with his. A life was at stake.
“Tell me exactly what you felt.”
“Why? You know there’s no…”
Chad put a finger to her lips. Two could play her game. With his nose almost touching hers he looked her right in the eye. “I’m trying to understand, Bella,” he said softly.
He knew something about her situation. Her separation from her family because she’d blamed herself for a woman’s suicide.
“Please?” he said, while his heartbeat seemed to tick seconds off Camille Posey’s life.
He prayed the FBI investigation was going better than his own attempt to find the girl. They knew where he was. And had asked him to follow up on the call from Bella. He figured because they didn’t put enough stock in it to warrant one of their own men.
He’d called Elias Adams at the newspaper on his way out to Bella’s. The man in the fancy blue coat was his son, Connor. Just graduating with a master’s degree in journalism from someplace in New York, the younger Adams was going to be moving back home and going to work in the family business.
He still hadn’t reached Stan at the movie theater. But he’d only been going to talk to the kid because he’d had no other leads. Stan’s parents were Chad’s closest friends. He knew the boy. And knew he had absolutely no interest in either little girls or screwing his life up with a kidnapping rap.
Not for anything.
He knew Stan wasn't involved just ashe’d known, as soon as Bella Potter had mentioned the little girl in pain, that he’d found the live lead he’d needed to bring this one home.
Bella’s face was flushed. He could see beads of sweat popping up on her forehead.
“Bella?”
She was caught. He had her.
He willed the little girl to still be alive.
And then hoped that Bella wouldn’t be in too much trouble. Hoped he could help her, too.
“The fear was first,” she said, her voice sounding odd. Far away. And as though her throat was dry. She was facing him, her eyes trained toward his, but her gaze was almost vacant.
“And then it was panic.”
If she was seeing something in her mind’s eye, remembering what she’d done, he had to see it, too. “What’s the difference between fear and panic?” he asked softly. Trying to find a way in.
She blinked. Seemed to focus on him. Closed her eyes.
