D’Angelo about appealing to the public for help earlier this morning. The captain had promised he would handle everything. “You know about that?”
She flashed a smile at him that did more than just hearten Brent. But there was no time for him to dwell on anything else. Not now. Not when his daughter needed him.
“I keep up,” she told him.
She did more than that. She stayed ahead. Which was what allowed him to continue holding on to the slender thread of hope.
Forty-five minutes later, Callie’s questions answered, Brent walked out of the interrogation room behind her. He’d found the room somewhat claustrophobic. He could see how, after a while, a suspect might feel as if the very walls were closing in on him.
Or maybe it was the situation that made him feel that way.
He watched Callie as she called several members of the task force over and divided the possible suspects among them. Out of all the files, twelve men and three women had emerged as viable contenders. Each was going to have to be tracked down and checked out.
No stone unturned, he thought. But there were so many stones and so little time.
He tried not to think about it, about what life would be like without Rachel if they couldn’t find her. He wasn’t going to allow that to become an option, even if he had to move heaven and earth himself in order to finally find her.
The last of the files distributed, Callie turned back toward him.
“We’d better get you down for that press conference.” She walked quickly with him to the elevator. The doors opened as if the car had been waiting there all along. “Just for the record,” leaning over, Callie pressed for the first floor, “none of the suspects drives a Mercedes. Eight don’t have access to any sort of moving vehicle at all, unless it might be the prison laundry wagon.”
“But you’re having them checked out?”
“Every possibility is being examined,” she assured him.
The elevator car stopped, but he made no move to get out. Instead he looked at her. “Tell me we’re going to find her.”
The vulnerability in his eyes took her aback. He was such a powerful-looking man, the contrast was astounding. She was surprised that he allowed her to see it. “We’re going to find her.”
He nodded. The moment evaporating, he squared his shoulders and walked to the lobby where the news media had converged with their microphones and their cameras, eager to help, eager to be part of this latest tragedy.
Callie hung back. This was the captain’s area. In general, she thought of the Fourth Estate as being comprised predominantly of vultures who fed on the sorrows and misfortunes of the average man and woman. Their enthusiasm for being the first with breaking news often caused them to lose sight of the fact that there were people with hearts behind each story.
But if the reporters could help by making the general public aware of the particulars, if having Rachel Montgomery’s photograph plastered across every screen in California could help in finding the little girl, then venturing out amid the vultures was a small enough price to pay.
She would have done it herself if it hadn’t been for the captain. Luckily, Captain D’Angelo took to the sight of a video camera like a duck to water.
As she stood on the sidelines, Callie listened to the judge make an impassioned plea to the kidnapper to take out any grievance the man or woman had on him and not on his innocent daughter.
Brent was a private man, a man accustomed to keeping his own counsel. She knew this had to be hard on him. Harder still was making an appeal to the public for help, to come forward with any information, however small, that they had. He asked them to consider the matter carefully because perhaps they didn’t know that they knew some important detail. He closed by going over the approximate time and the exact location of the accident.
The moment he ended his appeal, questions came flying at him like bees
She flashed a smile at him that did more than just hearten Brent. But there was no time for him to dwell on anything else. Not now. Not when his daughter needed him.
“I keep up,” she told him.
She did more than that. She stayed ahead. Which was what allowed him to continue holding on to the slender thread of hope.
Forty-five minutes later, Callie’s questions answered, Brent walked out of the interrogation room behind her. He’d found the room somewhat claustrophobic. He could see how, after a while, a suspect might feel as if the very walls were closing in on him.
Or maybe it was the situation that made him feel that way.
He watched Callie as she called several members of the task force over and divided the possible suspects among them. Out of all the files, twelve men and three women had emerged as viable contenders. Each was going to have to be tracked down and checked out.
No stone unturned, he thought. But there were so many stones and so little time.
He tried not to think about it, about what life would be like without Rachel if they couldn’t find her. He wasn’t going to allow that to become an option, even if he had to move heaven and earth himself in order to finally find her.
The last of the files distributed, Callie turned back toward him.
“We’d better get you down for that press conference.” She walked quickly with him to the elevator. The doors opened as if the car had been waiting there all along. “Just for the record,” leaning over, Callie pressed for the first floor, “none of the suspects drives a Mercedes. Eight don’t have access to any sort of moving vehicle at all, unless it might be the prison laundry wagon.”
“But you’re having them checked out?”
“Every possibility is being examined,” she assured him.
The elevator car stopped, but he made no move to get out. Instead he looked at her. “Tell me we’re going to find her.”
The vulnerability in his eyes took her aback. He was such a powerful-looking man, the contrast was astounding. She was surprised that he allowed her to see it. “We’re going to find her.”
He nodded. The moment evaporating, he squared his shoulders and walked to the lobby where the news media had converged with their microphones and their cameras, eager to help, eager to be part of this latest tragedy.
Callie hung back. This was the captain’s area. In general, she thought of the Fourth Estate as being comprised predominantly of vultures who fed on the sorrows and misfortunes of the average man and woman. Their enthusiasm for being the first with breaking news often caused them to lose sight of the fact that there were people with hearts behind each story.
But if the reporters could help by making the general public aware of the particulars, if having Rachel Montgomery’s photograph plastered across every screen in California could help in finding the little girl, then venturing out amid the vultures was a small enough price to pay.
She would have done it herself if it hadn’t been for the captain. Luckily, Captain D’Angelo took to the sight of a video camera like a duck to water.
As she stood on the sidelines, Callie listened to the judge make an impassioned plea to the kidnapper to take out any grievance the man or woman had on him and not on his innocent daughter.
Brent was a private man, a man accustomed to keeping his own counsel. She knew this had to be hard on him. Harder still was making an appeal to the public for help, to come forward with any information, however small, that they had. He asked them to consider the matter carefully because perhaps they didn’t know that they knew some important detail. He closed by going over the approximate time and the exact location of the accident.
The moment he ended his appeal, questions came flying at him like bees
Similar Books
