Switchback by Catherine Anderson Page A

Mallory. When twenty minutes passed and he hadn’t heard water running through the pipes, he began to worry. Was she all right? He hated to go up. If he caught her half-dressed, they’d both be embarrassed, but if he didn’t go up and she was sick or something...
    He dried his hands and tossed the towel on the countertop. Indecision held him rooted for a moment, then he moved through the entry hall until he stood at the bottom of the stairs. The house was eerily silent now that he had stopped rummaging around. No, not completely silent. He turned his head slightly and listened. There it was again. She was up there someplace bawling. And trying very hard not to be heard.
    Mac put a hand on the banister, took a step up, hesitated. If he were smart, he’d stay down here and let her cry. He took another step. He was lousy at mopping up tears. He took another step. Then another. He might be clumsy, but nobody else was around to take care of her.
    The house was like a maze. Two long halls when most places had one. Doors everywhere. He homed in on the soft sounds. At last he found the right room. The door was closed. From the other side, he could hear the sobbing clearly, not quite so soft now that he was so close. He stood there and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then he raked his hand through his hair.
Here goes nothing.
    He opened the door and peeked inside. The shaft of light from the hall spilled across Mallory, who knelt by a canopy bed. Pink ruffles and lace. A little girl’s room. She held something clutched in her arms. Mac couldn’t see what. She was rocking it like she would a child. His guts twisted. He had seen a lot of heartache, experienced his share, but never had he seen anything like this. The raw, jagged sounds coming from her chest sounded as if they might tear something important loose.
    He didn’t feel himself move toward her. Suddenly he was just there. Going down on one knee behind her, he placed a hand on her back. She jerked away, surprised, then averted her face and shrank from him. Now that he was closer, he could see that she had a tattered stuffed dog in her arms.
    â€œMallory...”
    â€œIt’s Ragsdale,” she sobbed.
    â€œIt’s what?”
    â€œRagsdale. She c-can’t sleep w-without him.”
    â€œOh, Mallory. Come here.”
    Mac thought she might resist. Instead he got an armful of woman and stuffed dog. He caught her to his chest and buried his face in her hair, shocked because some of the tears flowing were his own. He had never felt anyone shake the way she was shaking. He could almost feel her pain.
    â€œMy baby. They’re going to kill my baby.” She clung to him as if she were about to plunge off a cliff. “I love her so much. She’s afraid, I know she is. How can he do this? Oh, Mac, I can’t bear it. Not my little girl. They can have everything—all of it. But not my baby... Sh-she never did anything to anyone.”
    â€œI know.”
    He wrapped his arms around her. Now it was him doing the rocking. There was a first time for everything. Mac dipped his head to wipe his cheek dry on her blouse. She smelled like the lilac bushes that bloomed in his mom’s backyard each spring. He closed his eyes. “You listen to me, okay? I’m going to do everything I can to bring Emily home. You hear me? Safe and sound. Back to you. Back to Ragsdale. I promise you that.”
    â€œBut you said Lucetti can’t be found.”
    â€œNo, I said he would be hard to find. There’s a difference. I’m good at what I do, Mallory. Give me a chance to prove it. If he can be found, I’ll find him.” Catching her face between his hands, Mac set her away from him so he could look into her eyes. “I’ll do everything I possibly can to bring Em home. Trust me, okay? Just trust me.”
    He felt some of the tension drain out of her. She hiccuped and sniffed. “D-do you r-really