The Missing

her. Even more than he wanted to hurt her for failing him, he loved her. Chasing her away was the only way he could keep himself from hurting her, over and over.

    His dad finally gave up trying to talk to him and went downstairs, leaving Cullen alone in silence. Feeling lost, he wandered around in endless circles until finally he stopped by the couch, touching the spot where he had been with Taige. He rested his hand against the padded back and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

PART TWO

FOUR

    May 2008

    T AIGE stalked into the kitchen, releasing the holster on her shoulder with one hand and holding the cordless phone in the other. “Damn it, Jones, I said no. I am tired. I just spent four months in hell because of you, and I’m not going back there just yet.” On her way past the table, she laid her weapon down.

    “Taige—”

    She took a deep breath as she opened the refrigerator, staring inside for something to drink. Her belly was an empty, aching pit, but she had no desire to eat. Just a drink. Preferably something strong enough to send her crashing into oblivion for the next eight hours. She wouldn’t even mind the hangover too much, provided she had a little bit of peace before it hit.

    “You aren’t hearing me, Jones. I’m not your lackey. I am not one of your agents you can send running out for coffee or to go spy on the neighbors. You want my help; you have to ask me for it. You asked. I just said no. Now leave me the hell alone.” She lowered the phone and disconnected it in the middle of Taylor Jones’s rant.

    Son of a bitch. She couldn’t stand him. He had tried to recruit her before she even got out of college, and when he didn’t succeed, he sent others to try their hand. Taige had refused all of them, unable to stand the thought of letting them stick her in some specialized unit where they’d use her like some psychic blood-hound and keep on doing it until she either dropped dead from the strain or burned herself out.

    Death wasn’t the issue for her. Most of the time, she felt more dead inside than alive. Even the burnout part wouldn’t be so bad—no voices in her head, no more nagging dreams—but the pace those bastards would work her at would have been something akin to the lowest level of hell. Instead, she agreed to take part in special task forces where the workload was only on the first or second level of hell.

    This last, though, it had been the worst. Four months undercover in Chicago. And Chicago in February was cold. She thought she just might freeze her ass before she managed to infiltrate that child-porn ring. Three families, all of them upper-middle-class, all of them foster parents to troubled kids. Troubled kids they drugged and then sold to the highest bidder. Whoever shelled out the most cash got to do whatever they wanted with the kid, and for a little extra, they could even keep the DVD made of the event. Without that extra cash, that DVD might make its way onto the Internet, and God only knew who’d see it out there.

    It had taken four months and the overdose of one of the victims before Taige had been able to ferret them out, but finally, they were all behind bars. Whether they would stay or not was up to the judicial system, but at least Taige could close her eyes knowing she had done her part.

    It might even help her sleep for a little while. A few weeks, maybe a month or two. Then the guilt would start chasing her again.

    She didn’t realize she was standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open until she started to shiver. With a scowl, she grabbed a bottle of white zinfandel from the shelf and let the door close. She popped the cork and poured a glass, emptying it in under a minute. Then she filled it to the top again and made her way into her office, bringing the rest of the wine with her.

    She didn’t boot up the computer or turn on the radio. Instead, she turned her chair around so she could stare out over Mobile Bay and wait for the numbness to set in.

    But it didn’t come as quickly as it used to.

    I worry about you, baby girl.

    Often, in moments like these, when Taige was alone, she could hear the ghostly whisper of Rose’s voice. It wasn’t the woman’s ghost, Taige knew that, just memories. There had been long, endless nights of studying when Taige wouldn’t have slept at all if Rose hadn’t forced her into bed. Days when she would have gone without eating if Rose hadn’t sought her out around dinnertime and forced her