Lullabies and Lies by Mallory Kane

about happy endings once he told her about the suspicious death Carver had called him about at three o’clock this morning?
    Walking up to the front door, he rang the doorbell.
    A man of medium height in a wrinkled sport coat opened the door.
    Griff showed him his badge. “Griff Stone, FBI.”
    The man pulled his coat back to reveal his Nashville Police Department badge. “The Lieutenant told me you might show up.”

    He stepped back and Griff strode past him into the foyer. A staircase faced a bay window on his right; there was a closed door on the left wall, and a tall doorway arched ten feet in front of him.
    In the doorway between the foyer and the living room, a Queen Anne table served as a reception desk, and behind the table sat a slender elderly lady in a bright pink jogging suit. She had a phone propped between her shoulder and chin and was typing rapidly on a computer keyboard.
    “Yes, Mr. Thomas, that’s right. As long as you continue to pay your child support, you can claim the deductions.” Her mouth pursed with disgust as she listened.
    Griff let his gaze roam the reception area. It was clean and bright, with gauzy curtains at the windows and family photographs on the walls.
    Several of the photos were of Ms. Loveless with a beautiful, fair-skinned baby with downy blond hair. The kidnapped child. He’d seen a newspaper clipping, but now he quickly studied the infant’s features. His gaze took in Ms. Loveless’s happy smile and the brilliant emerald sparkle in her eyes as she held her child. His heart twisted.
    “Fine then,” the woman at the desk said briskly. “The IRS thanks you.”
    As Griff turned, she hit Enter on her keyboard with a flourish and hung up the phone. “Deadbeat piece of scum,” she muttered.
    Griff cocked an eyebrow. “The IRS?”
    The lady shrugged as she briefly met his gaze, her eyes twinkling. “I used to be an investigator. The lingo comes in handy if I need some information.”

    She dropped her gaze to his shoes. As she panned his pants legs to his belt, then on up, he felt as if he was being measured for something—possibly a coffin.
    “You must be the FBI agent. If you were a local, I’d remember you.”
    “I’m Special Agent Griffin Stone.”
    The lady’s sharp brown eyes snapped to his face. Her eyebrows lifted a couple of millimeters. “You have ID?”
    He held it out. “And you are?”
    She glanced down at his badge and ID card, then back up at him. “Lillian Jackson. Next-door neighbor, friend, assistant. What can I do for you, Mr. Stone?”
    “I need to see Ms. Loveless. It’s important.”
    The lady’s face changed and she clutched her collar. “Is it Emily? Did you find her?”
    “No ma’am. Sorry. But I need to discuss some things with Sunny, ask her some questions.”
    The lady looked toward the staircase. “She’s not up yet. She hasn’t slept since Tuesday night. I’m intimately familiar with the case. Perhaps I can help you.”
    “Not with this. I need to talk to her,” he said. “Now.”
    Lillian sat up, shaking her head.
    “It’s okay, Lil. I’m awake.”
    The hoarse, soft voice floated down to Griff. He lifted his gaze.
    She’d descended a few steps down the staircase, far enough to see his face.
    She was dressed in a loose white T-shirt and pajama bottoms that were blue with white clouds. Her body was as slender and curvaceous as he’d imagined it under the tailored slacks and shirt she’d worn yesterday, with thesame airbrushed skin he remembered. The scratches on her cheek seemed a little fainter.
    “Is it about Emily?” The hope that lifted her voice and sparkled in her eyes was heartbreaking. He hated to quash it.
    He shook his head. “No, but it is relevant to the case.”
    The sparkle went out of her eyes, and for Griff, the day turned less bright.
    She nodded. “I’ll be down as soon as I dress.”
    “Are you sure, darling?” Lillian asked with a frown. “I know you didn’t sleep well.”
    “I’m okay.”