The Missing

“Who is she?” Taige demanded, her voice harsh and shaking.

    “My daughter.”

    My daughter. My daughter.

    The words seemed to echo through her, but instead of getting fainter, they got louder and louder, until the words seemed to shriek inside her skull. Blood pounded in her head, and her vision narrowed down until all she could see was that little face with the pretty smile and solemn eyes. Taige had lost count of how many times she’d seen that face. It had haunted her dreams for years.

    “Her name is Jillian. She was kidnapped earlier today, well, technically yesterday . . .”

    “I know.” Taige looked back down at the picture and traced it with the tip of her finger. “I know her face, Cullen.”

    Cullen went still. “How is that possible?”

    Carefully, she closed the file. She pushed it away. Cullen looked back down at it and then back at her, agony screaming in his eyes. Denial. He thought she was going to refuse him, refuse that little girl. Softly, she told him, “I don’t need to see the file, Cullen. And don’t look at me like that. I’ll find her.”

    That much, she knew. She shoved up from the couch, automatically holding her hand against her belly as she started to pace in absent circles around the couch. It wasn’t going to be long now before it came on her, that dark, eerie knowledge that guided her to the missing. She could feel it hovering just outside of conscious thought, like a thunderstorm brewing out on the Gulf.

    Cullen was another storm. She could feel the turmoil inside of him, along with other emotions that she really didn’t want to think about. She shot him a quick look and saw that he was still watching her with confused eyes. “You probably don’t remember it, but there were several times back when we were together that I kept having weird dreams about a little girl.”

    His eyes narrowed. The turquoise blue of his eyes darkened, and his brows dropped low over his eyes. “I remember.” He grabbed the file from the coffee table and opened it to stare at his daughter’s face. “Please tell me that you weren’t dreaming about my baby.”

    She didn’t answer, and he grabbed the glossy eight-by-ten photo from the file. He shoved it into her face and said it again: “Tell me that you weren’t dreaming about my baby.”

    Taige reached out and took the photo. She had a sweet face, Taige thought. Soft, delicately pretty. She’d be a heartbreaker when she got a little older. “I can’t tell you that, Cullen.”

    This wasn’t happening, Cullen thought. He shoved a hand through his hair, jerking on it hard in hopes that it would clear some of the fog in his head. You probably don’t remember . . . What would Taige think if she knew that he remembered practically every moment with her in detail so vivid, it hurt? Didn’t remember . . . hell, he only wished that were true. He’d lost track of how often he’d wished that his memories of her would fade, even a little, but they never did.

    Shit. Yeah, Cullen remembered those dreams. He remembered all too well, and he wanted to scream.

    It didn’t seem possible that she could have dreamed about Jilly. It had been twelve years, longer really. Nearly fourteen years since the time she had first woken shivering from a dream about a little girl. A dream that would come back and haunt her month after month, year after year. But Jillian was only nine years old.

    His voice was rusty. “What can you tell me, Taige? Can you tell me that you can find her?” He stared at her, just now realizing how close she was, close enough that he could see the darker striations of gray in her eyes, close enough that he could smell the warm, soft scent of her. Close enough that he could see the gentle rise and fall of her breasts with each breath she took. Close enough that he could see the compassion in her eyes when his voice broke as he asked again, “Can you tell me that you’ll find her and bring her home safe? Tell me that without lying to me?”

    She reached up and touched him, laying a hand on his cheek. “Yeah. I can tell you that, Cullen.” Then she turned away from him, leaving him standing in the middle of the room as hope hit his system with a force that left him weak-kneed and almost shaking from it.

    Taige barely made it to the bedroom before it hit her. She stumbled, falling to her knees as she knocked the door shut with the back of her hand, and then she sagged against it. She swallowed the bile that