Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by Lisa Clark O'Neill Page A

that Amber might be more comfortable if she held onto your mama’s hand.  Do you mind walking with me?”
    Smiling up at Clay, Max tucked a hand into his.  “I like walking with you.”
    The four of them made their way through the gathering throng until they arrived at the trailer peddling funnel cakes.  The smell of fried dough and powdered sugar wafted out, and when the frizzy-haired blonde purveyor saw her younger daughter in the company of strangers, she frowned out the sliding window.
    “Amber, where’s Casey?”
    Amber let go of Tate and raced toward her mother, who opened the door and caught the child in her arms.  “What happened?” she demanded, dividing another frown between Tate and Clay.
    “Ma’am, I don’t want to alarm you, but we found your daughter alone near the Ferris wheel, and she claims to have lost her sister.  Is there any chance your other daughter came by here?”
    “No.”  Her worn face twisted into an angry mask.  “She knows I’d tear a strip off her hide for leaving her sister alone.  You sure she wasn’t hanging around that ride and you just didn’t see her?” she asked her daughter.
    Amber shook her head and clung to her mother.  “She wasn’t there, Mommy, I promise.”
    “Ma’am, if you don’t mind me asking, do you or your daughter happen to know any men who wear an Atlanta Braves hat?  About six feet tall, dark hair and eyes, and very muscular – like a weightlifter?”
    The woman opened her mouth, obviously wanting to deny any such knowledge, but seemed to change her mind.  “A man like that bought a funnel cake from me today.  I remember because he was a real hottie.  I like a man that looks like he can handle himself, you know what I mean?” 
    She looked Clay up and down.  “Why do you want to know?”
    “Miss Hennessey” – he nodded toward Tate – “saw a man matching that description talking to your daughter while Amber was on the ride.”
    “And what, you think she went off somewhere with him?”  She scoffed.  “Casey knows better than to do something that stupid.  She probably just went to the bathroom.  Although I’m still going to lay into her for leaving her sister alone.”
    “I hope you’re right,” Clay said evenly.  But he had a bad feeling, nonetheless.  And after years of dealing with the worst kinds of offenders, he’d learned to trust his instincts.  “Has she ever gone off like that before?”
    She hesitated, growing suspicious.  “Are you a cop or something?”
    Clay pulled out his badge again, noting that this was the third time he’d done so on his vacation.  “Special Agent Clay Copeland, FBI.”  He could tell he was making the woman nervous.  “And I’m not interested in trying to persecute you for anything, ma’am. I’m merely concerned for the safety of your daughter.”  He handed her the identification so that she could study it, continuing in a friendly voice.  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to offer to help you locate her.”
    The first crystals of fear began to form in her eyes.  “You think that man had something to do with her wandering off?”
    Given the vibes he’d gotten from that man, he was afraid it was a possibility.  “It would be premature to speculate at this point,” he informed her.  Freaking the mother out totally wouldn’t do either of them a whole lot of good.
    And there was always the chance he was wrong.
    “Maybe you could just check the places you think she might have gone, and make both of us feel a whole lot better.”
    “You’re right.”  Her smile came over-bright and false.  “She’s probably just back at our camper, or maybe hanging around those no-good teenagers over by the woods.” 
    Clay turned toward Tate, skimming the back of his fingers along her cheek.  “I know you and Max are both tired, but would you mind terribly if we stuck around?”
    “Of course not.”  She shivered slightly.  “And just for the record, I think it’s