Mother by Fate

“This guy’s determined, Lila. He’s going to find her. And when he does, she’s as good as dead.”

“Do you think he’s one of them?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible.”

“What’s your gut instinct?”

“I think he’s doing his job and might be caught up in their game. But I’m not clear either way.”

“I don’t like it. You’re usually clear.”

“I know. But this has been one hell of a weird day.” And Lila only knew half of it. “Whether he’s with them or not, my instincts tell me that he won’t hurt me, Lila. And I don’t want this guy finding Nicole without someone on the team there to help her,” she said. “He thinks he can convince me that Nicole’s not what we think she is. I’m going to go along with that.”

“He obviously thinks you can help or he wouldn’t be there.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t like it,” Lila said again.

“She needs this, Lila. She deserves it.”

“I know.”

“It doesn’t put the Stand at risk.”

“It puts you at risk, and you are a huge part of the Stand.”

“There are other counselors who would be equally as good at coaching victims.”

“You’re part of our family.”

“I have to do this, Lila.” There, she’d said it. “There’s something about Nicole. I...need to do this.”

“I think I knew that.”

“So you’ll give me whatever support you can?”

“I’ll do more than that. I’m alerting the team and I’ll make sure that wherever you are, Sanchez or someone from his department will be right behind you.”

“Thank you.”

Lila took a couple more seconds to issue severe warnings. To extract promises that they both knew Sara might not be able to keep.

And then Sara hung up.

She was sure-footed as she crossed the cool decking on her way back to Michael Edison. She was doing the right thing. The only thing.

Her biggest doubt was the little extra spring she felt in her step at the prospect of having a few more hours with the handsome bounty hunter.

It made no sense. She’d been married to a liar once. It wasn’t a road she was going to travel again.

Ever.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_f4b653f4-aba5-5f08-9826-6317f49064ad)

THE WOMAN WALKED with assurance, her shoulders straight and her head held high. She took her seat across from him at the round glass-topped table.

“Sorry about that,” she said.

“No problem.” He didn’t need an apology. He wanted an explanation.

She wasn’t offering one. Her gaze met his and Michael knew he’d met his match.

“Did you take care of whatever it was?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

It was late. But the air was nice. Balmy. If they listened carefully they might just hear the ocean on the other side of the security wall surrounding the complex.

“Why are you still here?” He liked that she was direct.

“Because I need to know anything you know that can help me find Nicole Kramer. I need to know what she told you.”

“If I knew a Nicole Kramer, I couldn’t tell you anything even if I wanted to.” She repeated what she’d told him earlier, and added, “I’m legally bound by HIPAA laws. And by client-counselor privilege.”

He’d obviously failed to convince her of the seriousness of the situation.

Leaning forward, one arm on the table, he said, “It would be just like Nicole to use a women’s shelter as a hideout. And if she’s doing so, every woman in your care is at risk.”

She assessed him silently.

He made certain that he stood up to the test. His gaze didn’t waver.

“The longer she’s out there, the more chance there is that someone’s going to get hurt,” he said, trying to find even a little of the connection they’d had earlier. He’d been there under false pretenses, but some of those feelings had been real. Her interest had been obvious, and his actions hadn’t been all calculated. All lies.

“You’ve seen her rap sheet?” Sara met him gaze for gaze.

“Yes.”

“You’ve read it yourself?”

“Yes.”

“This isn’t just something you heard about from someone else? A cop, maybe?”

“No.”