Gingerbread Man

that way, O'Mally," he told himself.
    This woman was different from the other needy women he'd tried to rescue. She didn't want his help, didn't want him anywhere near her, and seemed determined to keep the fact that anything was at all wrong in her little world entirely to herself. She was stubbornly independent, determined to be strong, even if she wasn't.
    He stiffened his spine and walked into the Newman family's kitchen. He made himself a pot of coffee. While it brewed, he slipped out to his car, and grabbed that fat envelope from underneath the seat. It had "Newman" scribbled across the front in his partner's familiar hand. Vince carried the file back inside, sat down at the kitchen table, and began reading it
    It was not a pretty story. It was long, and it was chilling.
    He hadn't finished it an hour later when Holly dragged herself out of her bedroom. She looked bad. Her hair stuck up all over, and her eyes were red-rimmed. She'd changed her clothes, put on a terry robe, and he didn't know what else underneath. She was sniffling and muttering to herself as she entered the kitchen, but she stopped short when she saw him.
    Blinking, she said, "What the hell are you doing here?"
    "I told you I wasn't going anywhere, Red. What, you didn't believe me?" As he spoke, he shoved the papers back into the envelope. But one sheet fell free, and fluttered to the floor, face up. It was a grainy photocopy of the missing child poster that had been plastered all over Syracuse after the abduction of little Ivy Newman— Holly's kid sister. The little girl depicted on it had been cute as hell. Chubby cheeks, and dimples. Holly stared down at it and went utterly still.
    "Where did you get that?"
    He picked it up, but her eyes remained riveted to the poster until he'd tucked it into the envelope, out of her sight. Then she came closer, yanked the envelope from his hand, and looked at the name scrawled across the front. Lifting her gaze to his, she looked angry and betrayed. "You had to go digging, didn't you?"
    "I'm sorry, Holly. Yes. I had to."
    "Why? My God, why?" She dropped the envelope onto the table as if it were dirty. "You have no idea how difficult it's been for my mother and me to put this behind us."
    "If you think you've put it behind you, you'd better go take a look in the mirror. This thing is eating you alive."
    She turned her back to him. "It wasn't. Not until you showed up."
    He sighed and got to his feet. Walking closer to her, he touched her shoulders. "I need your help, Holly."
    She sniffed. "You're not here on vacation," she accused.
    "No. I'm not. I'm here because of two kids who were abducted not long ago. Bobby and Kara Prague."
    Her body went still as a statue under his hands before she moved away and fixed her eyes on his face. "Killed?" Her voice had gone flat. Toneless. Lifeless.
    He did not want to answer that. But she probed his eyes with hers, and then she seemed to know. "So was my sister," she said in that same voice. "And what about the book? What does that have to do with any of this?"
    "I found it. In the same house where I found ... Bobby and Kara."
    "I see."
    "It came from the Dilmun Library. I thought there might be a connection. That's why I came out here."
    She shook her head slowly. "There's not."
    "There has to be. Look, I know you don't want to talk about this, but honestly, can it get any worse by trying? You're having panic attacks, flashbacks—Jesus, Red, keeping it to yourself sure as hell hasn't been a big success so far, has it?"
    She only stared at him, so he drew her to a chair, set her down, and poured her some coffee. "Talk to me," he said. "It can't possibly make you feel any worse."
    "It won't do any good. It's a coincidence, that's all."
    "What is?"
    "The book. That it's the same book my sister was carrying when—"
    "When what, Holly?" Reaching across the table he gripped her hands.
    "You already know. You read your precious file."
    He shook his head. "That file is full of dry facts. Dates and times. Cops are trained to be objective and uninvolved. I want to hear it the way you remember it."
    The remaining color seemed to drain from her face.
    "Come on. Come on. Tell me," he urged.
    She closed her eyes. "Don't ask me to do this."
    "You can help me save some little kid's life, Red. Now you know damn well you can't say no to that. So, can we skip ahead here and get on with it already?"
    She opened her eyes, glared at him. "You're cruel."
    'Talk to me."
    She drew a deep