15 hours missing

"The case is in Nashville?" Special Agent Griffin Stone took the file from his boss and opened it.

Nashville. Just the name of his hometown started a hollow ache in his chest. He'd never intended to go back there.

"I'd rather not —" he started, but Mitch Decker was still talking.

"It's a missing child, a six-month-old infant. The mother was assaulted and the infant grabbed about eight thirty last night outside a grocery store near her home."

The ache in Griff's chest intensified. "Why isn't the local agent handling it? Or CAC?"

"The local agent is a rookie. And the Head of the Crimes Against Children Division asked specifically for you, and I agreed," Decker said quietly, his tone carrying both authority and compassion. "He knows your history with Nashville, and your experience with missing children."

In Griff's mind, those two facts made him unsuitable for the job. "I'd have figured that after the Senator's son —" The bitterness in his voice scraped his throat.

"That wasn't your fault."

Not your fault.

He'd known those words would come back to haunt him someday. He'd been fourteen the first time he'd heard them. He hadn't believed the FBI agent then, and he didn't believe Decker now.

"I was too slow. Waiting for backup was a mistake."

"Waiting for backup was your only option. The kidnappers could have still been in there."

Self-disgust wormed its way through him. "No, it wasn't my only option. If I'd gone on in — if I'd gotten to him five minutes earlier — Senator Chapman's son would be alive."

Decker stood and came around the desk. He placed a hand on Griff's shoulder. "You did everything right. And as always, you went far beyond the call of duty."

Everything right. Yeah. Griff was sure that gave a lot of comfort to the Senator when he walked past his son's empty bedroom night after night.

"Look, Griff. I wouldn't send you if I wasn't sure you can handle it."

Decker's belief in him was the only thing that kept Griff from begging him to send someone else.

He cleared his throat. "So what's the interest of the Division of Unsolved Mysteries in this case?"

"A little over a month ago, someone broke into Sunny Loveless's home, sabotaged her computer and took her case files. Since then —"

"Case files?" Griff interrupted. Despite his aversion to anything connected with Nashville, the words piqued his interest. He looked down at a faxed copy of a newspaper article, catching Decker's nod out of the corner of his eye.

"Ms. Loveless is a private investigator."

"Loveless, Inc.," Griff read. "We specialize in —" Decker's mouth turned up in a wry smile. "Happy endings. I saw that."

No such thing. The response sprang automatically into Griff's head, surprising him. When had he become that cynical? Cynicism implied a loss of hope. The ache in his chest intensified.

Who'd have thought he had any hope left to lose? "Apparently her specialty is reuniting families, friends who have lost touch, that kind of thing. She's only had her license for two years."

"Two years. Still, she could have racked up a few disgruntled customers."

"Yeah. All the information we have on her previous cases is there." Decker crossed his arms and propped a hip on the corner of his desk. "Anyhow, as I was saying, since the break-in, there have been several seemingly unrelated threats and incidents. There are notations about them in the file."

"Phone calls, vague threats." Griff turned a page.

"Some mild vandalism that may or may not be related." He looked up. "Sounds like whoever took her case files has been using the information in the files to harass her — or maybe to blackmail her."

Decker nodded. "Now, her child has been kidnapped. Nashville PD is asking for the FBI's help."

"So they believe the abduction is related to one of Ms. Loveless's cases? What about her family? The baby's father?" Griff flipped pages. "Here it is. Ms. Loveless adopted the infant at birth. Biological mother is a teenager." He turned another page, and scanned the information. "Is she married? Divorced? Other children?"

"No. Ms. Loveless has never been married. She was a foundling herself. Adopted by an older couple who have since died. I suspect that explains her happy endings business. The baby she adopted is the child of a runaway teen she located — one of her cases."

"Which one?"

"June of last year. Elliott."

"Here it is, Brittany Elliott, a fifteen-year-old, ran away with her twenty-year-old boyfriend. Loveless's testimony put the boyfriend in prison." The missing child's biological father. Definitely a suspect.

"Any contact from the kidnapper? A demand for ransom?"

"Nothing — that we know of."

Griff raised his eyebrows at the tone in his boss's voice.

"The local police lieutenant isn't convinced Ms. Loveless is telling the whole truth."

"He thinks the kidnapper has contacted her." Griff stood, preparing to leave Decker's office. "I shouldn't waste any time. I'll fly out this afternoon."

Decker rounded his desk and sat down as Griff turned toward the door.

"Griff."

He looked back over his shoulder.

"Good luck."

Back at his desk, Griff pulled his laptop toward him and opened his personal database of missing children cases. He'd started it fifteen years ago, using a spiral notebook and a pencil. Now it was computerized in a spreadsheet.

He filled in the fields. Name — Emily Rose Loveless. Age — six months. Date of disappearance — June 20. Location — Nashville, Tennessee.

He stared at the screen for a couple of seconds, then dropped his head between his hands. He wasn't sure he could handle another missing child case.

Ever since that day fifteen years ago when his baby sister had been kidnapped, he'd aimed toward one goal — to save as many children as he could. And, in all honesty, to atone. But few as his failures had been, each one had taken something from him, something the successes never quite replenished. Then, the death of the Senator's son had eaten away too much.

No matter how many children he saved, the hole inside him never got any smaller. Lately, he felt like an empty shell.

Just a few weeks ago, after the Senator's case, he'd talked with Decker about transferring to a specialty that was less emotionally draining, like white-collar crime. With his master's degree in criminal justice, and his eight years' experience, he could work in just about any area.

Now Decker, one of the few people in the world who knew Griff's history, was sending him back to Nashville. To his hometown, where failure and guilt lurked, ready to ambush him at every familiar fork in the road.

The imprint of Decker's hand burned his shoulder, sending a clear message. His boss was depending on him.

Shoving aside his feelings, he booked the next flight out and started preparing himself mentally. This wasn't a personal mission, he reminded himself. It was an assignment.

An important part of his job was to present a calm, comforting exterior to the missing child's frightened mother.

He called the Division's computer expert. "Natasha, hi. Did Decker ask you to run a background check on Sunny Loveless?" He spelled her last name.

"I was just about to call you. I'll e-mail the intel to you so you'll have it on your laptop."

"Good. Thanks."

He saw the icon appear that told him he had new mail. "Okay, got the e-mail. Thanks, Nat."

He hung up, then opened the file labeled LOVELESS and began to read.

But he couldn't banish the question that echoed in his brain and pounded into his chest with each heartbeat.

Why did it have to be Nashville?

18 hours missing

BABY POWDER and the sour smell of spit-up milk. Ugh. Janie Gross nearly gagged as she lit a cigarette and took a deep puff. Her brand new Lexus stunk of baby. She'd have to get it detailed to get rid of the disgusting stench.

At least Bess hadn't balked at keeping the kid.

Her old nanny had not been happy about Janie showing up with another kid, over three years after they'd agreed to quit the adoption business.

Bess was such a sucker for a baby. The brat would have the best of care. And after fifteen years of Bess keeping kids while Janie made arrangements for their adoption, Janie knew for a fact that she could trust the old woman.

She grinned at her own brilliance. Handing over the first kid she'd ever snatched to Bess to rear as her own was the best investment Janie had ever made. Lucky for Janie, Bess's own little boy hadn't been dead six months when Janie had shown up at her door that long-ago day with a screaming toddler in tow.

She shuddered. Thank goodness Bess loved kids, because Janie hated them. Maybe they should have gone into dog snatching, she thought with a smile as she merged onto the New Jersey Turnpike and headed back toward New York. Dogs were a lot quieter, and a whole lot less trouble.

But nothing she'd ever done in her life gave her the rush she got from snatching a kid from under its mother's nose. And she was good at it. Her nondescript features and colorless appearance made her nearly invisible.

She'd never even come close to being caught.

Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the ID, sighed and pressed the speaker phone. "Hi, Eddie."

"Janie, where are you? I thought you'd be back by now." Eddie's voice was tight and high with tension.

"I'm on the road. I'll be home in a couple of hours."

"How was your mom?"

Janie almost laughed.As if she'd ever visit her mother. Eddie was so gullible. He knew how much she hated the woman who had given birth to her but never wanted her, and still he bought her lies about visiting the old hag.

"She's fine. Said to say hi." No way was she telling her husband where she'd really been, or what she'd done. He'd panic again, and screw things up even worse than he already had.

He'd just wanted to help, he'd said.

Janie took a long drag and let smoke drift out through her nostrils. Eddie's help was what had set all this in motion in the first place. If he helped any more, they'd be in jail.

He needed to focus on getting elected. Which reminded her — she glanced at the time. "Shouldn't you be filming those new campaign ads?"

"We're on a break. I'm sick of saying 'I'm Edward A. Gross, and I approved this message.'"

"Well, you just keep saying it, and come November you can say 'I'm Congressman Edward A. Gross, from the great state of New York.'"

"Janie? I can't stop thinking about that private investigator and the client she was representing. Maybe we should meet with the girl. Admit she's our biological child. Maybe it could be a positive thing — you know, reaching out to our long-lost daughter —"

"No!" Janie angrily whipped the Lexus into the next lane, and a car swerved, its horn blaring.

Why couldn't Eddie just stick to what he was good at — glad-handing and pandering — and leave the thinking to her? She lowered the window a crack and tossed out the cigarette butt, then lit up another one and took a deep drag while Eddie named all the politicians who had gone on to success after admitting an early indiscretion.

"But Janie, if she is one of our babies —"

"Eddie, shut up!You never know who's listening. We don't have any kids. Never change the story, remember?"