Speaking in Tongues

described in obsessive detail.
    More patient notes.
    More articles.
    More diaries. With shaking hands Tate and Bett read through them all but there was no clue as to any other buildings, apartments or houses where he might have taken the girl.
    “There’s nothing,” Bett barked in frustration. “We’ve looked at everything.” Tears on her face.
    Tate gazed at the mess of scorched papers and files on their laps. His eye fell on a patient diagnostic report. Then another. He flipped through them quickly. Then read the name and address of the hospital where the patients had been evaluated.
    He snatched up his cell phone and, eyes on one of the reports, made a call to directory assistance for Calvert, Virginia. He asked for the number for the Blue Ridge Mental Health Facility.
    “Please be out of order,” he whispered.
    “Why on earth?” Bett asked.
    “Please . . .”
    “We’re sorry,” the electronic voice reported, “there is no listing for that name. Do you have another request?”
    He clicked the phone off. “That’s where she is. An old mental hospital in the Shenandoahs.” He tapped the reports. “Matthews was a shrink. I’d guess he was on the staff there a few years ago. It’s probably closed and that’s where he’s taken her.”
    “You sure?”
    “No. But it’s all we’ve got.”
    “Go, Tate.”
    He pulled onto the highway and steered toward the interstate. Thinking with frustration that they’dhave to drive the entire way right on the speed limit. They could hardly afford to be stopped now.
    •   •   •
    Glass knife in front of her, Megan walked through the hallways.
    There was silence, then the shuffling of footsteps. More silence.
    I hate the quiet worse than his footsteps.
    I’m with you there, Crazy Megan shares.
    Then the steps again but from a different place, as if the intruder were a ghost materializing at will.
    Five minutes passed. Another noise nearby, behind her. A sharp inhalation of breath. Megan gasped and turned quickly. Aaron Matthews was twenty feet away. His eyes widened in surprise. She stumbled backward and fell over a table, went down hard. Grunted in pain as the edge of the table dug into her kidney.
    Despite the pain, though, she leapt to her feet, lifting the knife threateningly. She assumed he’d charge at her. But he didn’t. He merely frowned and said, “Oh, my God, Megan, are you all right?”
    Crouching, eyes fiery, breath hard, gripping the cloth handle of her wicked knife. Staring at his dark eyes, his large shoulders and long arms. Why wasn’t he coming at her?
    She glanced behind her.
    “Wait,” he said with a heart-tugging plea in his voice. “Please, don’t run. Please.”
    She hesitated.
    He sighed. “Oh, I know you’re upset, Megan, honey. I know you’re scared . . . You hate me and you have every right to. But please. Just listen to me.”He held his hands up. “I don’t have a knife or gun or anything. Please, will you listen?”
    His eyes were so sincere, radiating sympathy, and his voice so imploring . . .
    “Please.”
    Megan kept her tight grip on the knife. But she straightened up. “Go ahead,” she whispered. “I’m listening.”
    “Good,” he said. And offered her a smile.

Chapter Twenty-seven
    “I didn’t know you’d gotten out of your room,” Aaron Matthews said.
    “Cell,” she corrected bluntly.
    “Cell,” he conceded, watching her eyes carefully. “But I should’ve guessed.” He laughed. “You’re the independent sort. Nobody was going to lock you away. It’s one of the things I love about you.”
    Matthews noted how she fixed her gaze on his eyes. How her pale lashes stuttered when he’d said the word “love.”
    How had she done it? he wondered. He’d been over the cell so carefully—and the lock was still on the door. Had she gotten through the ceiling? The wall? And she was wearing some of his clothes. So she’d found his living area. What else did she know?
    However it had happened, Matthews was surprised. It showed more mettle than he’d expected from the spoiled little whiner.
    “Are you all right? Just tell me that.” He looked her up and down.
    No answer.
    He continued, “I’m sorry about your clothes. When you passed out from the medicine I gave you . . . well,you had an accident. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would happen. I’m washing your clothes in the laundry room here. They’re drying now. They should be ready soon. I didn’t touch you. I