Dying for Love by Rita Herron Page A

along with pictures of the churches and rosaries associated with them. Some rosaries were fashioned from wood, some from silver, with various combinations of saints and religious symbols on them.
    “There it is, see the small ‘SMHC,’ ” Amelia said, excitement marking her tone. “Saint Mary’s Holy Church. It’s about thirty miles from here. I have to go there. Someone at that church might know what happened to my baby.”
    John stood. “I’ll check it out.” The last thing he wanted was for her to go and be disappointed. Cold cases were difficult.
    Witnesses forgot things, paperwork got lost, sometimes those connected with a crime had passed on.
    And if the Commander had been involved, it might be dangerous.
    Amelia had been mentally unstable at the time she gave birth. It wasn’t a stretch to think she’d done something to the baby.
    Something she didn’t remember because it was too painful for her to face.

    The ride to St. Mary’s Holy Church dragged, compounded by the new storm moving in and slowing traffic. Wind and sleet battered the vehicle, turning the skies a blackish gray and making the woods seem even eerier. Debris from the latest hailstorm had torn branches from trees and tossed them across the road and forest.
    “I’m sorry to pull you away from the kidnapping case,” Amelia said.
    John checked his watch. “It’s all right. Coulter is researching other cases for a connection. He’ll call me if we get a lead.”
    “Tell me about this missing boy,” Amelia said.
    John scraped a hand down his jaw, his beard stubble rasping in the silence. “The poor kid has been bounced around for years. His mother’s in jail on drug charges. He was recently placed at his current foster home.”
    His phone buzzed and he snatched it up. “Yeah?” A pause. “Okay, keep me posted if anything comes in on the Amber Alert.” He ended the call. “Terri Eckerton, Ronnie’s foster mother, wants to make a plea for Ronnie on TV.”
    “What about the real mother?” Amelia asked.
    “She signed away all rights. She cared more about her next fix than her son.”
    Terrible. She could never abandon a child.
    But Skid or Viola could have.

    Helen Gray studied the picture of Ronnie Tillman on the news for any signs he might be the boy she was looking for.
    She’d joined the social-work group months before in hopes of finding him and making things right. She’d tried so hard these past few years to atone for her mistakes.
    But so far, she hadn’t had any luck.
    Her coworker Sara tapped Ronnie’s photo with a grimace. “This kid is just one of a dozen who disappeared this week across the country. I’m so glad you decided to join our group. We need all the help we can get placing these children and following up to make sure they’re taken care of.”
    Helen nodded, nerves on edge. “Ronnie Tillman has health issues. They need to find him fast.”
    “He’s a sweet-looking kid,” Sara said. “But he’s had a tough life. No one wants a child with health problems and an attitude.”
    “He’s spunky?”
    “That was the last family’s complaint.”
    But spunk could be a positive attribute. It could help him survive.
    She studied his face again. Ronnie had dirty brown hair and was small, but he was the right age. Six.
    For years she’d studied every little boy in a stroller, on the playground, at the park, inside a store, searching everywhere she went.
    She’d failed as a mother. Had been lured into bed by a monster years ago, one who’d hooked his claws in her and held on tight, using whatever method of torment he could to keep her silent and at his beck and call.
    Sara grabbed a stack of folders and waved as she left for a meeting.
    Troubled, Helen walked outside the office onto the deck, her breath catching at the way the wood frame hung over the sharp ridge, leaving a half-mile drop into the canyon where anyone who fell over would meet certain death.
    She’d been teetering on the edge for years.