Loe raamatut: «Her Stolen Past»

To my wonderful, crazy family.

I love y’all so much. I couldn’t do this without you. Thank you for being willing to put up with my deadline frenzies and take-out food.

To my awesome editor, Emily Rodmell.

It’s been a while since I said thanks in a dedication, so here you go. Thank you for pulling me out of the slush pile back in 2007 and giving me a shot at my dreams. :-)

To my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

I love you more every day. Thank you for my gift of writing. Thank you for letting me do it for you. May you continue to bless me with stories and ideas so I can reach others for you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Sonya Daniels heard the sharp crack and saw the woman jogging four feet in front of her stumble. Then fall.

Another crack.

Another woman cried out and hit the ground.

“Shooter! Get down! Get down!”

With a burst of horror, Sonya caught on. Someone was shooting at the joggers on the path. Terror froze her for a brief second. A second that saved her life as the bullet whizzed past her head and planted itself in the wooden bench next to her. If she’d been moving forward, she would be dead.

Frantic, she registered the screams of those in the park as she ran full out, zigzagging her way to the concrete fountain just ahead.

Her only thought was shelter.

A bullet slammed into the dirt behind her and she dropped to roll next to the base of the fountain.

She looked up to find another young woman had beaten her there. Terrified brown eyes stared at Sonya and she knew the woman saw her fear reflected back at her. Panting, Sonya listened for more shots.

None came.

And still they waited. Seconds turned into minutes.

“Is it over?” the woman finally whispered. “Is he gone?”

“I don’t know,” Sonya responded. “Let’s just stay here for a while longer.”

Screams still echoed around them. Wails and petrified cries of disbelief.

Sonya lifted her head slightly and looked back at the two women who’d fallen. They still lay on the path behind her. Oh, Lord, help me help them. She reached for her cell phone. Had anyone called 911? Surely they had, but one more call wouldn’t hurt.

Her trembling fingers refused to hold the device and it fell to the ground in front of her. She curled her hands into fists, desperate to control the shaking. She’d done this before. She could manage the fear. But never before had she been caught by surprise like this.

Sirens sounded.

Sonya grabbed her phone and shoved it into the armband she wore when running. She took a deep breath and scanned the area across the street. She’d been in dangerous situations before, working the streets first as a paramedic, then as a trauma nurse on an air-ambulance helicopter.

Later, she’d shake her head at the irony. All those times she’d been in the midst of the flying bullets and had come out unscathed. Now she was a hospice nurse on her day off and she got shot at. Slowly, she calmed and gained control of her pounding pulse.

Her mind clicked through the shots fired. Two hit the women running in front of her. Her stomach cramped at the thought that she should have been the third victim. She glanced at the bench. The bullet hole stared back. It had dug a groove, slanted and angled. He was shooting down, which meant he was higher up.

She had no idea which building the shots came from, but if she had to guess, she would pick the one directly across the street. The office building? Or the clothing warehouse?

The police would figure it out. She checked her watch. No more shots had sounded in the few minutes she’d lain next to the cement fountain, her mind spinning. There were wounded people who needed her.

Heart in her throat, Sonya darted to the nearest woman, who lay about ten yards away from her. Expecting a bullet to slam into her at any moment, she felt for a pulse.

* * *

Brandon Hayes heard the gunfire through the open window of his third-floor part-time office at Finding the Lost and automatically reached for his weapon as he spun in his chair.

A police detective by profession and a Finding the Lost employee on his days off, he didn’t have a lot of downtime. Nor did he want any.

The Glock felt natural and comfortable in his right hand. He stepped to the side of the window and looked out.

Chaos reigned in the park below.

Two people lay on the ground and appeared to be injured.

Erica James, his sister and founder of Finding the Lost, bolted into the office. “What was that?”

“Bullets. There’s a shooter nearby and people are hurt.”

She pulled out her cell phone. “Someone’s probably already called, but—”

Brandon heard her reporting the incident to the 911 operator as he tried to pinpoint the location where the bullets originated from.

His gaze shifted from the horror below him to the building beside him. Nothing. Not a flash, no movement, nothing. He grabbed the phone from his desk. Rachel, his cousin and secretary for Finding the Lost, picked up. “Get this building locked down now.”

“I already did. I heard you say something about bullets fired and immediately called security.”

“Good.” Her office was just outside of his.

He returned to the window and watched the craziness unfold in the park, assessing the situation, planning the best way to help. Go after the shooter or help the victims?

Movement by the fountain caught his eye. A woman trying to pull one of the injured ones to safety.

Wait a minute.

“Hey, isn’t that Sonya Daniels? What’s she trying to do? Get herself killed?” He raced from the office, Erica’s protests ringing in his ears. “Stay here!”

Brandon hit the glass door, swiped his card that would allow him to exit, but would lock the door behind him. Then he was on the sidewalk. Within seconds he was at the park. Police officers who’d been nearby started to arrive on the scene. To the nearest one, Brandon flashed his badge and yelled, “I think the shooter was in the building next to the bank.”

Law enforcement now swarmed the area and he kept his badge in plain sight. He stuck his weapon back in the shoulder holster and headed for the fountain. Sonya Daniels had shown up at Finding the Lost a little over a week ago with a birth certificate for Heather Bradley. She’d hired him to find the person. And now she was rescuing joggers in the park. His heart thudded as he kept his attention tuned to the area around him.

No more shots sounded. He hoped that meant the shooter was on the run and not aiming at any more innocent people.

Brandon rounded the back of the fountain and found Sonya doing CPR on the woman she’d pulled out of harm’s way. He dropped beside her. “What can I do?”

Surprise and relief flickered across her face when she saw him. “She needs an ambulance. Her heart’s stopped.” Sonya did more compressions. “Feel for a pulse.”

Brandon did as ordered. He looked up and shook his head.

Sonya gave a growl of frustration and slammed a fist onto the woman’s chest. “Beat!” She pressed and released, pressed and released, unrelenting and breathless, with determination etched on her features.

Brandon felt a faint flutter under his fingers. “Keep going. I think I felt something.”

Hope blazed in her eyes as she continued her efforts. “Come on, please. Please.” An ambulance pulled up next to the fountain and two paramedics rushed over. Sonya looked up. “I think she has a pulse now. She coded about thirty seconds ago.”

“You have medical training?” the first paramedic asked as she dropped beside Sonya.

“Yes. One semester short of being a doctor.”

Brandon shot her a look. He hadn’t known that.

He moved aside as the other paramedic joined them. Sonya fell back out of the way and let them take over. He grasped her arm. More medical help surrounded the other woman. “She’s dead,” Sonya whispered to him. “The bullet went straight through her head.” Grief coated her words. “The one I was helping was shot in the back. Please let her make it, God.” Brandon wondered if she even realized she’d whispered her prayer aloud. He hoped God listened to her more than He seemed to hear Brandon’s prayers.

He watched the officers doing their job and knew Sonya needed to give a statement, but for now, he needed to get her someplace where she could sit and let the adrenaline ebb. He cupped her elbow and started to lead her away. She resisted. “No, I want to watch them.”

Finally, one of the EMTs looked up, caught Sonya’s eye and nodded. They moved the woman to the gurney and slid her in the back of the ambulance. The female paramedic looked back and gave a thumbs-up.

Sonya blew out a breath and leaned back against the bench.

An officer approached them. “Has anyone talked to you two yet?”

“No,” Brandon said. “I heard the shots from my office window across the street and ran over to see if I could help.”

Sonya looked up, then pointed to the hole in the bench. “That’s the bullet that had my name on it.”

* * *

Two hours later, after giving her statement and reliving the nightmare, Sonya was exhausted. Brandon had disappeared about an hour ago to offer his services to the investigation even though she knew he wasn’t officially on the clock.

The officer next to her flicked a glance behind her and she turned to see Brandon approaching. He touched her arm and she shivered. “Are you all finished?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“Why don’t we go over to my office so you—we—can decompress?”

She nodded, noticing the sparks his touch set off. In spite of the terrifying situation they’d just lived through, she was still aware of everything about him. From the moment she’d walked into Finding the Lost last week, every time she was in his presence, her attraction meter spiked. So far she’d been able to ignore it, telling herself she didn’t have the time or energy for a relationship.

Especially not with someone she couldn’t read.

Brandon’s green eyes hadn’t revealed anything to her and she hadn’t figured out how to discern his moods or thoughts. That threw her off kilter. Of course, she’d known the man only a week. “Are you finished helping here?”

“For now.”

They walked across the park toward the office buildings. Sonya averted her gaze from the blood still staining the jogging path. “How long will they keep the park closed?”

“Until a crime-scene cleanup crew gets here and removes all traces of the tragedy.”

She nodded, grateful for his easy manner and unhurried gait. “You hear about these kinds of things on the news almost every day, it seems,” she said. “But you never really expect it to happen to you, to find yourself fighting to survive in the midst of something so awful.”

She wondered if the shooter was gone. Or if he’d managed to avoid detection so he could linger and watch. She wondered if he was reveling in the chaos he’d created. A shiver slithered up her spine and she offered up a silent prayer that he’d be found and unable to hurt anyone else.

Brandon put an arm around her shoulders and she looked up, startled. He dropped his arm. “Sorry. You looked like you needed a friend.”

His gruff voice and averted gaze grabbed her. She touched his arm and gave him a smile. “I do need a friend. Thank you.”

He nodded but kept his distance. Regret filled her and she wished she’d just leaned into him and accepted the comfort he’d been offering. She had a feeling he didn’t do that very often.

“How’s the job going?” he asked as he opened the glass door for her.

She stepped inside the cool interior of the lobby. “It’s going fine.” She’d been at Spartanburg Regional for only three weeks.

“And your mother’s house?”

“Coming along.” Her mother had died a month ago. Sonya had moved to South Carolina to settle her mother’s affairs. She took a seat. She understood what he was doing. Talking about nothing to get her mind off the shooting. She wished it would work. “Did you find anything about the birth certificate?”

In the process of cleaning out her mother’s house, she’d come across a box of baby items. Including a birth certificate for a Heather Bradley.

He nodded. “I did. Interesting enough, Heather Bradley, daughter to Don and Ann Bradley, was kidnapped from a church nursery twenty-eight years ago.”

Sonya processed that bit of information and swallowed hard. “Why would my mother have the birth certificate of a kidnapped baby?”

Brandon leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “That’s a very good question. What do you think?”

She reached up and rubbed her forehead, trying to hold the headache at bay. “I don’t know. Maybe she found it. She was a yard-sale junkie and something of a hoarder. What if she bought the box, stashed it and never thought about it again?” It had been known to happen. Hadn’t it?

“It’s possible.” He looked doubtful.

“Are you saying you think my parents kidnapped a child?” she scoffed. She pictured her gentle father. A pastor with compassionate eyes and warm bear hugs. Before cancer had stolen his physical body. Cancer had robbed her of both of her parents. A lump formed in her throat. The illness may have taken his body, but his spirit had stayed strong to the end. “No way.”

“I’m not saying that at all, but it does raise questions for sure.” He paused. “Did anyone live in the house before your family?”

“Yes. The house was a parsonage. My father was a pastor for the church next door. When the church hit some hard times financially, my father decided to buy the house to help them out.”

Brandon frowned. “How could he afford to do that if the church was having a tough time?”

Sonya blinked. “I don’t know. I never really thought about it. I was only a child. Maybe ten or eleven when it happened.”

Brandon tapped his chin and sighed. “Hmm. Well, I’ll keep digging.”

“Was Heather Bradley ever found?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Her stomach twisted into a knot.

“But I did locate her family. They actually live about thirty minutes from here, practically across town.”

“How was Heather taken? Why would her birth certificate be in her diaper bag? Don’t people usually keep those in a safe place?”

He gave her a slow smile that made her heart trip all over itself. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “What?”

“You ask good questions,” he said. “I’m impressed. According to Mr. Bradley, his wife had decided to go shopping Saturday afternoon. She checked the mail, and the birth certificate had arrived. She slipped it into the diaper bag so she wouldn’t lose it. She said she forgot about it until after Heather was taken.”

“Which was the next day. So the kidnapper took the baby and the diaper bag?”

“Right out of the church nursery.”

She nodded. “Right. So how did that happen? Where was security? Wouldn’t someone see the person taking the child and stop him or her?”

He held up a hand at her rapid-fire questions. “Let me explain. Mrs. Bradley said there were two rooms in the nursery. A room that held cribs for sleeping babies and a monitor. The door was shut so the other children could play without waking the ones sleeping. There was a window in the door, but...” He shrugged. “You have to remember this was almost thirty years ago. Security in church nurseries was nothing like it is today. If they even had security.”

“So no one knew Heather was missing until a worker went in the room to check on the other babies.”

“Exactly.”

“And I found the diaper bag with the birth certificate in my mother’s closet.” She paused, her mind racing. Then she looked at him and swallowed hard. “Do you think I’m Heather Bradley?”

TWO

Brandon saw the weariness on her face—and a sort of horrified curiosity mixed with embarrassment that she would even consider asking the question. When he didn’t answer right away, she pushed him. “Well?”

Brandon shrugged. “I can’t say the thought hasn’t occurred to me. I think it’s a real possibility. We’d have to prove it—or disprove it—of course.”

“Of course,” she murmured then gave a disbelieving laugh. “I really don’t think I could possibly be her. I mean, it just doesn’t make sense. I’m not adopted.” She swallowed hard. “At least I was never told that I am.”

“I understand that you’d feel that way, but I think it’s something we need to consider and look into.”

She bit her lip and gave a slow nod. “So where do we start?”

“Let me think about it.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “You need some rest. Is there anyone that could stay with you tonight?”

She shrugged. “I’ll be all right.”

“I really don’t think you should be alone. Today was traumatic, a tragedy that’s already playing on every news channel in the country. You probably have the media camped out on your doorstep.”

Sonya froze. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

He knew she hadn’t. “So. Is there anyone you could stay with?”

“I could call Missy Carlisle, I guess.”

“Who’s that?”

“A friend from work. Even though I haven’t been there very long, we’ve become pretty close.”

“Close enough to spend the night?”

“Of course.”

He nodded to the device still strapped to her arm. “Is that your phone?”

Sonya looked at her biceps as though she’d never seen it before. “Yes.” She released the device from the strap and dialed her friend’s number. While she talked, Brandon watched her. When she’d first come into the office, he’d seen her with Erica and wondered about her.

Erica had caught him watching. Later she’d patted his arm and said, “Don’t worry, she’s the real deal. She’s not here to gawk at our resident hero.”

Brandon had rolled his eyes. “Cute, sis. I’m not the one who worries about that and you know it.”

“Well, you have to admit, thanks to the media, we’ve had a few loonies looking to become your next girlfriend.”

He couldn’t help the wry twist his lips took.

A hero.

Just the thought made him shake his head. He wasn’t a hero; he’d just done his job. But the media had dubbed him a hero for being a part of bringing Molly home. Erica’s three-year-old daughter had disappeared while on a field trip with her preschool class.

Brandon had been a detective with the police force in Spartanburg. Banned from working the case because of his relation to Molly, he’d resigned and come on staff full-time with Finding the Lost. They’d brought Molly home three years later. Longer than he’d intended, but at least she was finally home with her mother.

And then he’d been in the right place at the right time two months ago. He’d caught and subdued an abusive husband trying to kidnap his child in the grocery-store parking lot. The media had gone nuts. Grudgingly, he admitted Erica had a point. Put the word hero on a guy and things got interesting—and extremely embarrassing. Not too long after the story broke he’d started getting marriage proposals via mail, email and even text messages.

Women. He’d never understand them. And frankly wasn’t sure he ever wanted to after the fiasco with his fiancée leaving him. All he’d learned was that most women weren’t to be trusted. The only exceptions he knew of were Katie Randall and Erica. He had no doubt they were a different type of woman.

But there was something about Sonya that made him wonder if she fell into the same category as his sister and friend. He also wondered if she ever smiled. A genuine smile, not strained or sad or worried.

She hung up and looked at him. “Missy said that would be fine. I need to go home and get some things, though.”

“I’ll take you.”

Sonya stood. “It’s not necessary.”

“Maybe not, but I want to.”

She tilted her head, and her ragged ponytail flopped onto her left shoulder. She studied him for so long, he almost started to squirm. “Okay.”

Her quiet acquiescence stirred his heart. And his mind. Was her innocent little-ole-me an act? Or was Erica right and she was the real deal? He decided he’d have to keep his distance until he figured it out.

* * *

Sonya sat in Missy’s living area and debated whether or not they were close enough friends for her to share her heart. She noted the Bible on the end table and the plaque on the wall that stated, As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.

Neither one of those necessarily meant Missy practiced what she displayed, but chances were she wouldn’t have the items if she didn’t.

“What is it?” Missy handed Sonya a mug of steaming coffee flavored with vanilla.

Sonya blew on it, then took a sip. She smiled. “My mother always said one little puff isn’t going to make one bit of difference in the temperature.”

Missy laughed. “Well, she’s right.”

“I know but I do it anyway.”

Missy sat in the recliner and curled her legs beneath her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

The television played in the background on mute. Fox News carried the latest about the shooting, and Sonya shook her head. “I’m all right. Still shaken up, of course. The whole thing is surreal and I’ll probably have nightmares for weeks, but I’m just grateful to be alive.” She took another sip of the steaming brew. “How is the woman who was brought in?”

“Still alive when I left an hour ago, but critical.”

Sonya leaned her head against the back of the couch. “I don’t understand people who can do that kind of thing,” she whispered.

“I don’t, either, and I don’t want to.” Missy paused. “So who was the good-looking guy who followed you here?”

Sonya felt the flush creep up into her cheeks. “That’s Brandon.”

“And? You haven’t talked about him at work.”

That wasn’t her style, but she didn’t say that. “I hired him to look into something I found going through my mother’s things after she died.”

“What’d you find?” Missy turned serious, her brow creasing.

So Sonya spilled her story. Missy stared wide-eyed, her flavored coffee forgotten. Sonya finished with “The shooting happened just across from Brandon’s office with Finding the Lost. He heard the shots and came running.”

“That’s just crazy. And this Heather Bradley was kidnapped twenty-eight years ago?”

“Yes.”

“And Brandon works for this company.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me more about Brandon. You blushed when I asked you about him.”

Sonya groaned and gave a half laugh. “I can’t figure Brandon out. On the one hand, he’s kind, concerned and obviously very good at his job. On the other, he comes across aloof and—suspicious.” She’d been aware of his intense scrutiny while she’d been on the phone with Missy, but had pretended not to notice. He’d walked her back to the park and waited while she’d retrieved her car. Very serious, very businesslike. “I don’t know.” And she didn’t. Which meant it was time to change the subject. “I think I’ll grab some sleep. What time is your shift tomorrow?”

“Seven A to Seven P.” Meaning seven in the morning to seven at night. “What about you?”

“The same, but I’ll have to go home and change before I go in.”

“I have some clothes and scrubs you can use if you want to borrow them.”

She almost took her friend up on the offer. Instead, she said, “I’ll just go home early in the morning and get ready. My house is on the way to the hospital, so it’s no big deal. And besides, I have to feed Chaucer.”

Chaucer, her cat, independent and aloof until it was time to eat, but she’d filled his bowls before her run earlier and he would be physically fine for the next few hours. His temperament would leave a lot to be desired, but she’d deal with that later.

Missy shrugged and yawned. “Okay. Well, if you need anything, feel free to ask or browse.”

Sonya smiled. “Thanks. Shampoo and conditioner are all I need for now.”

“All right. See you in the morning.”

Sonya sat on the couch for a few minutes after Missy padded down the hallway to her bedroom. She stared at the clock on the mantel and listened to it tick.

Each click of the second hand felt like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Now that she was alone, the thought that she could have died today ate at her. “I don’t know why You left me here, Lord, but I thank You for that,” she whispered. She knew she’d die one day, and she was ready for when it happened. Meaning she knew she’d go to heaven, but until that time, she wanted her life to count, to mean something.

She saw death on a daily basis, but coming face-to-face with the fact that a bullet could have so easily taken her out made her shudder.

And made her all the more determined to find out what had happened to little Heather Bradley. To find out if Brandon’s hunch was right and she was Heather. Because if she was, her entire life had been a lie.

* * *

From his deck, Brandon sat in the darkness, ignoring the humidity that caused sweat to bead across his forehead. He stared at the half-moon and allowed his mind to process the day. At two in the morning, he sipped a soda, a rare drink for him, but one he enjoyed on occasion.

Living in the middle of downtown had its advantages, one of which was proximity to both of his offices. When Jordan Gray had looked him up after his last tour in Iraq, at loose ends and grieving the death of his brother, who’d recently died of an overdose, Brandon had offered him the spare bedroom.

And now Jordan was getting married to Katie Randall this summer. A June wedding Katie admitted she’d dreamed of since she was a little girl, but never really thought would happen. They’d bought a small house about fifteen minutes away and Katie was moving in tomorrow.

After the wedding, Jordan would join her, and Brandon would be left alone. He could afford the payment, but had to admit he’d be a little lonely. Not that things would be much different than they were now. Jordan spent every spare minute with Katie, coming home only to sleep and shower.

First Erica and Max had tied the knot, now Jordan and Katie. Brandon wondered if he’d ever meet someone. Someone real, someone who didn’t want to be with him just because the media had labeled him a hero.