CA 50.7 Little Girl Lost Read online

  LITTLE GIRL LOST

  Debra Webb

  Jenna Thompson is living every mother's nightmare—seven years ago, her daughter was stolen from her own backyard. Despite the time that has passed, Jenna knows her child is still alive. Even though all her leads have been dead ends. And even though her husband, Paul, begs her to move on to save their marriage.

  But then Jenna is tipped off to a private research organization running an experiment on children. Children around the age her precious Sophie would be now. Paul is suspicious of the entire thing—a mysterious informant, a shady organization, a director with secrets. To him, it sounds like a trap. But to Jenna, it's hope. And for the chance to hold her daughter again, she'll risk it all—her marriage, her reputation and her life.

  Chapter One

  Wallace Institute, Huntsville, Alabama May 3, 2:38 p.m.

  Jenna Thompson stared at the clock on the wall. Thirty-eight minutes she had waited. Every second thickened with mounting uncertainty. And the need for a cigarette. Didn't matter that she hadn't smoked in nearly two months. The craving was a living, breathing demand swelling inside her.

  She got up, hiked the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. Sitting in that infinitely uncomfortable plastic chair a minute longer was out of the question. Standing here waiting wasn't doable either, so she paced the sterile lobby, her steps stiff with the rising tension.

  What was going on here? This wasn't the sort of place where one expected to have to wait. The institute reeked of wealth and power. Only a dozen students were in residence; each one hand-chosen by a panel of brilliant forward-thinkers.

  Fury burned in her brain and in her belly. Don't think about it, Jen. Focus on the task at hand. She couldn't screw up.

  She'd had an appointment at two o'clock for the final test that stood between her and the first step of her plan. Had the administrator figured out the truth?

  Had Jenna so carefully laid the foundation for this deception only to get caught now?

  At this pivotal moment?

  Or had something happened here.. .to one of the students?

  Fear twisted more tightly inside her, followed by a shudder that shook her whole body. Nothing had happened. She was freaking out for no reason. Certainly her appointment would have been cancelled if anything had occurred.

  There was always the chance that waiting was another test.

  Truth was, this place gave her the creeps. On this floor there was no phone in the small waiting area. No receptionist. No windows. Just white walls and unpleasant chairs standing in formation on the white tile floors. Even the two doors didn't offer a chance at escape. One opened to a small corridor, where an elevator and a stairwell provided access up to the next floor or down to the main lobby and the institute's check-in station. The other door with its secured access panel stood between her and where she wanted to go.

  But what if she was wrong? What if she'd made another mistake? More of that fear started to quake inside her.

  What had she been thinking starting this thing? If she was wrong again. if she went a little over the edge, she'd end up back in that private sanitarium, where they had filled her veins with medications and forced her to forget for two solid weeks. A place not unlike this one, perhaps.

  She could never forget for long.

  Second thoughts raced around and around, plowing into her reflections, stirring up her fears, threatening to crash her composure. Mistake or not, there was no going back now. It was too late. She paused in her pacing, closed her eyes and massaged her aching neck. Hours and hours of poring over newspapers and the internet these past few weeks had given her permanent whiplash.

  Seven years was a long time. According to those around her she had lived every single one of those years in the deepest depths of denial. Her inability to face the truth had stolen her life and devastated anyone she cared about—especially him. But she couldn't allow herself to be distracted, even if her plan—this whole thing—was far-fetched.

  If the authorities, from local law enforcement all the way up to the Federal Bureau of Investigation and Homeland Security, hadn't been able to find the truth, how the hell did she think she could?

  Maybe her mother's brain wasn't the only one rotted by alcohol. Jenna had given that up, too.. .just a month ago, but who was counting? It was nothing but time, and according to everyone else she'd wasted plenty already. Besides, she couldn't possibly have given up smoking and drinking simultaneously. She regretted her detour into those particular bad habits but, at the time, the diversions had seemed necessary.

  Giving herself grace, she had dredged up the fortitude to quit one and then the other just as she'd managed to never give up her quest. That was more than she could say for the people who supposedly cared about her.

  The idea that he had stopped believing hurt more than all the others who'd done the same put together.

  She would show all of them. Refusing to give up had paid off. A sense of giddiness flitted along every nerve ending. The truth was close...so very close. She could feel it. This time, she wasn't wrong.

  "Miss Thomas."

  At first Jenna didn't acknowledge the greeting. It still took her by surprise when anyone referred to her by that name. Jane Thomas. For this, she was Jane Thomas. A whole new identity was required. Shoring up her determination, she turned to find the facility's administrator waiting, the door she needed to get past open, inviting her to the other side.. .to her. Jenna's heart fluttered and her stomach did one of those crazy flip -flops.

  She was here. This time was different from all the other failed attempts.

  Jenna produced a smile that was as counterfeit as the story she'd given the man who was now gifting her with the opportunity for which she had waited six long weeks. "I was beginning to think I'd gotten the time wrong, Dr. Hancock.”

  Inside, she cringed at the lame response. God, she was tired. And desperate for the truth and for things forbidden to her. Like booze and smokes and him—the man she'd once trusted and loved with all her heart. The same one who'd turned his back on her and this search.

  "We had an unexpected staff meeting. I apologize for the delay, Miss Thomas. Follow me, please."

  "Thank you." A new kind of anticipation fired through her. The moment she had waited for was at hand. But what if the unexpected staff meeting was about her? What if they were on to her and.?

  Stop, Jenna. Just stop.

  A smile that hurt her heart tugged at her lips. She sounded like him. Some tiny part of her wondered where he was today. She hadn't seen or spoken to him in nearly a year. Not since the last time.

  Focus, Jenna. You have to focus.

  Settling her attention on the man in front of her, she considered what she had learned about him and this secretive institute. Dr. Stuart Hancock was well north of retirement age and ruled this facility as if it were his kingdom and the residents his subjects. There was nothing about his frame or face that could be called powerful or distinguished. He looked like someone's chubby uncle or older brother. A round, jolly sort of fellow who dressed up like Santa Claus each year to entertain the kiddies.

  Except there was nothing soft or jovial about the man, according to Reginald Waters, the person who had given her hope and, more importantly, help. Hancock was reportedly stern and stubborn, especially when it came to protecting those under his dominion. Jenna had learned a great deal from Waters. She hoped she could trust what he'd shared with her. And though Hancock might not be the monster who stole Jenna's life all those years ago, he was the gatekeeper now. He had been for several years. The idea tore at her soul. All these years and she hadn't known.

  She drew in a steadying breath and directed her interest to her surroundings. All she had to do wa
s get this job and she was in. If she proved herself worthy and gained Hancock's trust, she would have full access.

  Like the waiting room, the corridor beyond the secured door was a blank slate of white walls, ceiling and floor. At the far end another security access area waited. A blue-uniformed guard stood by. He nodded to the administrator, pressed the necessary button, and the bulletproof glass wall parted, allowing passage.

  "You'll need to leave your personal belongings here," Hancock said.

  "Of course.” Jenna handed her purse to the guard. She raised her arms while he moved the security wand over her body. Prepared for this step, she'd worn no earrings or jewelry, not even a watch. Not that time really mattered much to her anymore.

  The guard nodded to the administrator and Jenna followed Dr. Hancock beyond the final security point, where the corridor widened then divided to detour around the attendants' desk. A hush teeming with secrets permeated the air on this floor. The students resided in small private rooms designed for their own protection.

  It wasn't that a single resident of this facility was dangerous in a sinister way. Not at all. But the residents were unpredictable. An explosion of violence could follow too much of the most ordinary stimuli. At least that was what she'd been told, and she had corroborated the information as best she could with research of her own.

  Hancock acknowledged the attendants—some teachers, some nurses—on duty. Each eyed Jenna as she breached their territory. Based on what Hancock had told her, she would be the first new hire at this facility in half a decade. Guess that made her special.

  One thing was certain: it made her lucky as hell.

  But then, she'd had help. Another secret that had to be kept.

  Outside a door marked Classroom One, Hancock paused.

  "This is one of six classrooms. At this time in the afternoon, students are encouraged to let their imaginations guide them. As you can see, some read while others draw. We've decided to expand our curriculum and include a more structured fine arts endeavor."

  Her knees shaking, Jenna managed a nod. For the first time she dared to allow her gaze to rove over the wall of windows that separated the classroom from the corridor. Books lined the walls except for one end where the shelves were stocked with games and drawing supplies. In the center of the room a long table flanked by chairs held court. At the table, students, heads bowed, focused on their choice of entertainment.

  Jenna's barely restrained interest settled lastly on the girl at one end of the table. Her breath caught before she could stop it. It would have been impossible for Hancock to miss the sound. A new kind of fear mushroomed in her chest.

  "That one is a very special little girl," Hancock noted, his attention settling on the darkhaired child as well. "Her name is Diamond. If she responds to you, all the others will follow suit."

  Nerves jangling, Jenna nodded her understanding. She felt certain she should say something brilliant, but for the life of her she couldn't summon a word.

  "I have reservations about your ability to fit in here, Miss Thomas.” Hancock scrutinized her. "Ultimately, it's not me you need to impress. The Wallace Institute exists for these students. If they accept you, then the job is yours."

  Her heart pounding, Jenna managed a stiff smile. Don't blow it. Stay cool. "I understand." Reading him was easy now. He wanted her to see that he wasn't happy about how she got a foot in the door. There was a smug arrogance about his expression. He expected her to fail; maybe he even wanted her to. Then he would have the last laugh. His attitude wasn't really surprising. No one liked it when someone higher up on the food chain got involved with personnel matters.

  "Five minutes, Miss Thomas. That's all the time I can give you to prove yourself." He gestured to the plaque on the wall by the door that reminded those who entered that the room was monitored by security. "I'll be watching from right here so the children don't see me watching and become agitated. These students are very special and they are our responsibility. There are some who don't agree with what we do and would want to thwart our program."

  She was the last person on the planet he should worry about. She wouldn't do anything that might hurt or upset a child.

  As if he'd read her thoughts, he added, "Even the most careful background check can sometimes fail. Friends often see what they want to see."

  "Believe me, Dr. Hancock, these children have nothing to fear from me. As you say, they're very special. The Wallace Institute's program is one of a kind. You can count on me." At least until I have what I need.

  Finally, the administrator entered the code and opened the door. "Five minutes," he reminded her.

  Hancock didn't like being outmaneuvered. He'd made that clear when she'd first applied for the position after being recommended by a friend. During the initial interview Hancock had gone so far as to say she appeared to have come out of nowhere. New to the Huntsville area and with only one verifiable credential—Reginald Waters. She wasn't the administrator's preferred candidate, but the pressure from an influential and wealthy benefactor of the institute, her friend, had ensured Hancock's concession if not his approval.

  Whatever it took.

  Jenna breathed deeply and entered the secured space. The door closed behind her, making the classroom, which was just as stark-white as the rest of the place save for the colorful spines of books, feel cramped and suffocating though it was quite large. She noted the two small security cameras located near the ceiling at each end of the room. The table, flanked by twelve chairs, occupied most of the floor space. Jenna saved her scrutiny of the occupant of one of those chairs in particular for last.

  The emotions that invaded her were impossible to define beyond the knee-weakening sort that threatened to stall her heart and steal her breath.

  Ten-year-old Diamond had her head bowed like the other children. She stared at the book opened on the sleek white tabletop without so much as a glance up to see who had entered the room. Her long, dark hair fell thick and luxurious around her slender shoulders. A perfect pink bow held her hair securely away from her face and eyes. It was difficult to tell if she wore a blouse or a dress with her seated at the table. Whatever she wore, it, too, was pink. Her skin was smooth with the lightest olive coloring.

  Her heart still thudding against her sternum, Jenna reached for some semblance of composure. She wanted to say exactly the right words or do exactly the right thing to ensure she passed this test. But it was difficult to know what that would be, and at the moment her head spun with emotions.

  Do this right. Don't mess up now. She had to find the truth. For weeks she had been living alone with this secret, with the threat of failure and the infinite possibilities of the unknown. The past seven years had been about her search. Her determination to find the truth. Now, maybe, her search was at an end.

  Exhausted, Jenna stared at the little girl, and on some level, she wished this were over. That she knew one way or the other right now. Dead or alive?

  Guilt assaulted her, stabbing clean through her like daggers. As long as the truth eluded her, this cruel journey that fate had launched seven years ago would never be over. No matter. It was her duty to find the truth no matter how long it took.no matter the cost.

  Jenna sat down in the vacant chair closest to Diamond. God, she wanted to see her face more clearly. Seven years was a long time. So much would have changed. Jenna moistened her lips and cleared her throat of the strangling emotions.

  "Diamond, I know you don't like to talk. And that's okay. I just wanted to stop by and say hello to you and the other children." The girl didn't move, much less speak. A couple of the others sent covert glances in Jenna's direction. "My name is Je—Jane. Miss Jane. I hope to start working here tomorrow. I'll be teaching art. Do you like to draw or paint, Diamond?"

  Utterly still, the child continued to stare at the open pages of the book.

  Was she medicated? Jenna had done her research, at least as best she could with what little she had to go on. A verbal answer was rar
e but any sort of reaction would be better than nothing. Seven years ago they had suspected —

  Diamond looked up.

  Jenna froze. Every cell in her body seemed to cease functioning. Eyes the color of the palest sky stared back at her. Big, blue eyes as familiar as Jenna's own were set in that gorgeous olive face. Her heart swelled, blocking her throat. This was her. The eyes. The curve of her cheek... Sweet Jesus, her nose. It was her.

  This little girl was Jenna's child—the baby girl she'd lost seven long years ago.

  The urge to reach out—to touch her—was a palpable force. But any wrong move could derail Jenna's plan.

  No matter what she believed—no matter what she felt in her heart—first she had to be able to prove this was her daughter.

  As if fate once more intended to pull the rug out from under Jenna's feet, the little girl opened her mouth and screamed.

  Chapter Two

  Mill Village, 4:35 p.m.

  Jenna slammed the door, closing herself inside her end of the run-down duplex. She clawed in her purse for the pack of cigarettes she'd bought days ago in a moment of weakness, then threw the purse on the tattered sofa she'd picked up at a thrift store.

  She snatched at the cigarette packaging with trembling fingers until she had it open, then jammed a cigarette between her lips and searched for a way to light it. Anticipation roared like a wild beast in her veins.

  Right now it was either a cigarette or a drink, and the latter was by far the worst of the two evils.

  Jenna stamped into the kitchen and searched drawers and cabinets. No matches. No candle lighter.

  An entire month she had lived in this dump. Why hadn't she bought a lighter and a candle in case the power went out—which it did every time a storm blew through this side of town? Why the hell hadn't she grabbed a lighter when she picked up the smokes?

  Just when she thought she might have to scream or start banging on the doors of neighbors, her attention landed on the stove. She turned on the largest of the heating elements and waited for the coil to turn red.

  Tension strummed through her muscles. Her foot tapped against the scarred linoleum. Hancock hadn't said one way or the other if she had the job. He'd rushed into the classroom and insisted she leave. Attendants and nurses hurried to calm the children, all of whom had started to scream.