something equally conceited.
She wasn’t going to think about him anymore. She’d work with him but that didn’t mean she’d spend a minute of her free time thinking about him.
Jacob Graystone had been a personal mistake, a personal failure. And she’d moved on.
He certainly had. Their little world was incestuous enough for her to have heard how quickly he’d dived back into the single-guy dating pool to do the backstroke.
Rich, amateur diggers, that was his style, she thought as she yanked out fresh jeans. Rich, amateur diggers with big breasts and empty heads. Someone who looked good on his arm and made him feel intellectually superior.
That’s what he wanted.
“Screw him,” she muttered and dragged on jeans and a shirt.
She was going to see if Rosie wanted to hunt up a meal, and she wasn’t going to give Graystone another thought.
She pulled open the door and nearly plowed into the woman who was standing outside it.
“Sorry.” Callie jammed the room key in her pocket. “Can I help you with something?”
Suzanne’s throat snapped shut. Tears threatened to overflow as she stared at Callie’s face. She fought a smile on her lips and clutched her portfolio bag as if it were a beloved child.
In a way, it was.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Callie said when the woman only continued to stare. “Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m looking for someone. You . . .I need to speak with you. It’s awfully important.”
“Me?” Callie shifted, to block the door. It seemed to herthe woman looked just a little unhinged. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you.”
“No. You don’t know me. I’m Suzanne Cullen. It’s very important that I speak with you. Privately. If I could come inside, for a few minutes.”
“Ms. Cullen, if this is about the dig, you’re welcome to come by during the day. One of us will be happy to explain the project to you. But right now isn’t convenient. I was just on my way out. I’m meeting someone.”
“If I could have five minutes, you’d see why this is so important. To both of us. Please. Five minutes.”
There was such urgency in the woman’s voice, Callie stepped back. “Five minutes.” But she left the door open. “What can I do for you?”
“I wasn’t going to come tonight. I was going to wait until . . .” She’d nearly hired a detective again. Had been on the point of picking up the phone to do so. To sit back and wait while facts were checked. “I’ve lost so much time already. So much time.”
“Look, you’d better sit down. You don’t look very well.” The fact was, Callie thought, the woman looked fragile enough to shatter into pieces. “I’ve got some bottled water.”
“Thank you.” Suzanne lowered to the side of the bed. She wanted to be clear, she wanted to be calm. She wanted to grab her little girl and hold on to her so tight three decades would vanish.
She took the bottle Callie offered. Sipped. Steadied. “I need to ask you a question. It’s very personal, and very important.” She took a deep breath.
“Were you adopted?”
“What?” With a sound that was part shock, part laugh, Callie shook her head. “No. What the hell kind of question is that? Who the hell are you?”
“Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”
“Of course I am. Jesus, lady. Look—”
“On December 12, 1974, my infant daughter, Jessica, was stolen from her stroller in the Hagerstown Mall.”
She spoke calmly now. She had, over the years, given countless speeches on missing children and her own ordeal.
“I was there to take my son, her three-year-old brother, Douglas, to see Santa Claus. There was a moment of distraction. A moment. That’s all it took. She was gone. We looked everywhere. The police, the FBI, family, friends, the community. Organizations for missing children. She was only three months old. We never found her. She’ll be twenty-nine on September eighth.”
“I’m sorry.” Annoyance wavered into
She wasn’t going to think about him anymore. She’d work with him but that didn’t mean she’d spend a minute of her free time thinking about him.
Jacob Graystone had been a personal mistake, a personal failure. And she’d moved on.
He certainly had. Their little world was incestuous enough for her to have heard how quickly he’d dived back into the single-guy dating pool to do the backstroke.
Rich, amateur diggers, that was his style, she thought as she yanked out fresh jeans. Rich, amateur diggers with big breasts and empty heads. Someone who looked good on his arm and made him feel intellectually superior.
That’s what he wanted.
“Screw him,” she muttered and dragged on jeans and a shirt.
She was going to see if Rosie wanted to hunt up a meal, and she wasn’t going to give Graystone another thought.
She pulled open the door and nearly plowed into the woman who was standing outside it.
“Sorry.” Callie jammed the room key in her pocket. “Can I help you with something?”
Suzanne’s throat snapped shut. Tears threatened to overflow as she stared at Callie’s face. She fought a smile on her lips and clutched her portfolio bag as if it were a beloved child.
In a way, it was.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Callie said when the woman only continued to stare. “Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m looking for someone. You . . .I need to speak with you. It’s awfully important.”
“Me?” Callie shifted, to block the door. It seemed to herthe woman looked just a little unhinged. “I’m sorry. I don’t know you.”
“No. You don’t know me. I’m Suzanne Cullen. It’s very important that I speak with you. Privately. If I could come inside, for a few minutes.”
“Ms. Cullen, if this is about the dig, you’re welcome to come by during the day. One of us will be happy to explain the project to you. But right now isn’t convenient. I was just on my way out. I’m meeting someone.”
“If I could have five minutes, you’d see why this is so important. To both of us. Please. Five minutes.”
There was such urgency in the woman’s voice, Callie stepped back. “Five minutes.” But she left the door open. “What can I do for you?”
“I wasn’t going to come tonight. I was going to wait until . . .” She’d nearly hired a detective again. Had been on the point of picking up the phone to do so. To sit back and wait while facts were checked. “I’ve lost so much time already. So much time.”
“Look, you’d better sit down. You don’t look very well.” The fact was, Callie thought, the woman looked fragile enough to shatter into pieces. “I’ve got some bottled water.”
“Thank you.” Suzanne lowered to the side of the bed. She wanted to be clear, she wanted to be calm. She wanted to grab her little girl and hold on to her so tight three decades would vanish.
She took the bottle Callie offered. Sipped. Steadied. “I need to ask you a question. It’s very personal, and very important.” She took a deep breath.
“Were you adopted?”
“What?” With a sound that was part shock, part laugh, Callie shook her head. “No. What the hell kind of question is that? Who the hell are you?”
“Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”
“Of course I am. Jesus, lady. Look—”
“On December 12, 1974, my infant daughter, Jessica, was stolen from her stroller in the Hagerstown Mall.”
She spoke calmly now. She had, over the years, given countless speeches on missing children and her own ordeal.
“I was there to take my son, her three-year-old brother, Douglas, to see Santa Claus. There was a moment of distraction. A moment. That’s all it took. She was gone. We looked everywhere. The police, the FBI, family, friends, the community. Organizations for missing children. She was only three months old. We never found her. She’ll be twenty-nine on September eighth.”
“I’m sorry.” Annoyance wavered into
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