Lone Witness

“I know, but I wanted to remind you. Where’s Everly?” she asked. “Nana said she was at the hospital, but I didn’t believe her. Sister never gets sick.”

“You’re right. She doesn’t, but Nana never tells tales, either. Your sister really is here.” He set Aria on her feet and kissed her forehead.

“Why?” she asked, holding onto his hand and looking up into his face.

The girls were identical, their eyes the same shade of blue, their hair the same raven-black, but Aria was shorter and seemingly frailer, her scrawny frame currently hidden beneath layers of fabric and a heavy winter coat.

“She was sleeping a little too hard, and I got worried, so I brought her here,” he replied, trying to give her a response that would make sense to a not-quite six-year-old.

“That’s silly, Daddy,” she replied. “You always sleep too hard, and we don’t take you to the hospital.”

“Yes, but I’m not your sister. You know she barely ever sleeps, and when she does, she’s always easy to wake.”

“That’s true. Maybe, I should check on her. She’s probably scared,” she said with a frown.

“She’s still asleep, but you can see her.” He met his mother-in-law’s eyes. “I’m sure Nana and Pop-pop won’t mind bringing you in the room. I have a few things I need to take care of.”

“Of course we wouldn’t,” Rachelle said, her voice trembling. She stepped into the hospital room, urging Aria to follow. She was as shaken as Henry and trying not to show it. A long-time ER nurse, she usually had a calm approach to emergencies. Right now, she seemed on the edge of falling apart.

He started to follow, worried about her as much as he was about the girls.

Brett touched his shoulder. “She’s okay,” he said.

“She looks shaken.”

“She is, but she’d rather not know that we know it.” Brett ran a hand through his thick gray hair. “I feel terrible about this, Henry.”

“Nothing that happened is your fault. You and Rachelle have nothing to feel bad about.”

“I should have put new windows in. Better locks. A security system.”

“Provincetown is a safe community. You had no way of knowing something like this would happen.”

“Maybe not, but I still feel terrible. How is Everly?”

“The doctor said she would be fine.”

“And the other victim? I heard she had a head injury.”

It took a moment for the words to make sense.

Henry had been thinking of Tessa as a witness.

Brett was right, though. She was also a victim.

“I haven’t heard much except that she’s been admitted.”

“I wonder if there is anything I can to do help. We owe her a lot. If she hadn’t intervened, our Everly might not be with us.” A semiretired neurosurgeon, Brett had earned a reputation as being one of the best in his field. He still taught classes and gave lectures, and if it was warranted, assisted in cutting-edge neurosurgeries in Boston.

“I spoke to her before the ambulance transported Everly. She seemed lucid, but I’m going to check on her. I’ll let you know if things are worse than I suspect.”

“Rachelle and I will stay close to the girls until you’re back,” Brett said, his dark eyes so much like Diane’s that Henry had to look away.

“Thanks. I’ll hurry.”

“Take your time. We’ll work out a plan of action when you return.” Brett stepped into the room and closed the door.

Henry hesitated for just long enough to convince himself that a police officer, a nurse and his in-laws were plenty of protection for the girls. Then he walked to the nurses’ station and asked for Tessa’s room number.

The nurse gave it after she checked a master list of people who were allowed information about and access to Tessa and Everly. It was a short list. One Henry had helped create.

Hospital staff were on high alert, watching for unusual activity and turning away the press, who was already gathering outside the hospital.

A little girl had nearly been kidnapped.

A stranger had saved her.

There would be no hiding that from the local press, and Henry was confident national syndicates would pick up the story. For now, the hospital and police were keeping the victim’s identity and the identity of the hero who’d intervened secret.

That was normal protocol, but this wasn’t a normal case.

Not to Henry.

The perpetrator preyed on innocent children.

The victim was his daughter.

And he owed Tessa Carlson more than he could ever repay.

He would keep that debt in the forefront of his mind when he questioned her. He would also remember Brett’s comment—Tessa was a victim, too. But he wanted answers, and he wanted them quickly. He wanted to know why she’d walked away when the police arrived. He wanted to know what she’d seen, and what she was hiding.

He wanted to take whatever information she had and use it to track down the monster who had gone after Everly and who wouldn’t stop preying on the innocent until he was caught.

That was Henry’s goal and his mission, and he wouldn’t allow Tessa’s obvious reluctance keep him from achieving it.

THREE (#u830d3f44-96ff-5f28-887d-347dc0a9ece5)

Tessa’s experience with law enforcement had never been good. As a child living in the projects in Los Angeles, she’d been pulled out of bed dozens of times, taken outside by stone-faced officers who were more interested in checking her room for drugs than in making certain she wasn’t traumatized. She’d learned to wear street clothes to bed, so that she didn’t have to face the embarrassment of being outside in her threadbare nightclothes or too-small shorts and tank top. There had been many times when she’d watched as her mother was handcuffed and carted away. She had sat in the back of police cruisers waiting for her grandmother to walk the half mile that separated their rentals, inhaling the scent of vomit and urine while she tried not to cry.

Life in the projects had not been easy.

Being her mother’s daughter had not been easy.

Both had taught her the importance of staying on the right side of the law, steering clear of trouble and avoiding the police at all costs.

She tried not to show any of that as she perched on the edge of the hospital bed and answered Chief Carmichael Simpson’s questions. Dressed in street clothes, his short-cropped hair sprinkled with gray, he paced her room, a pad of paper in one hand, a pen in the other. Two uniformed officers stood near the door. Darrell Mitchel and Kayla Delphina were regulars at the diner, and Kayla attended Faith Community Church. Other than that, Tessa knew nothing about her and nothing about Darrell. Right now, she wouldn’t have minded a connection, a smiling face, someone aside from the taciturn police chief to focus on.

“So, what you’re saying is that you were walking to work before dawn in thirty-five-degree weather when the forecasters were calling for freezing rain?” Chief Simpson said, a hint of disbelief in his voice.