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his arm as he opened the front door. “What if I don’t want a tap on my phone?”
“Don’t you want us to find out who’s calling?” He stood close enough for her to see beard stubble shadowing his jaw. She could almost feel it, prickly against her skin, as if he’d rubbed his face against hers. His pupils were black pools rimmed by moss. Pure female response snaked through her belly, settling low and hot at her center.
“I’d also like to tap your cell phone,” he added softly.
Right. Tapping the phone. “It’s not listed anywhere by my cellular company. But you can tap my home phone.”
He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t press the issue. He stepped away from her and onto her front stoop, robbing her of his warmth. Her strength seeped away, leaving her enervated and bone-weary.
He turned back to her, danger glittering in his murky eyes. “You’re playing a reckless game, Ms. Browning. Take care.”
She watched him stride down the walk, his jacket flapping in the cool night breeze, every heavy thud of her heart echoing his solemn warning. The intent of his words may have been different than her own interpretation, but the truth remained: the people who had Abby knew who Lily was and where she lived.
She wasn’t safe in her own home.
CHAPTER SIX
ANDREW WALTERS WAS on his cell phone when Lily arrived at his hotel suite Thursday afternoon for their rescheduled meeting. He took her raincoat and waved her in, slanting her a rueful look as he spoke into the receiver. “We’ll have to blow that one off. The county party chairman will understand.” He gestured at the sofa, moving into one of the rooms off the main living area to complete his call.
Lily bypassed the sofa and walked to the picture window spanning one wall of the living area. During the day, the McMillan Place penthouse suite would boast a panoramic view of the lush woodlands west of town, but rain and falling darkness turned the window into a mirror reflecting Lily’s own bedraggled image back at her. She patted her rain-curled hair and straightened her skirt, wishing she looked more presentable.
It was important that Andrew Walters believe what she had to tell him.
He returned to the room, flashing an apologetic smile. “That was my campaign manager, Joe. We have to figure out how to manage the campaign while all of this is going on.”
Lily tried to hide her surprise. She’d have thought the election would be the last thing on Andrew’s mind.
“You think that’s cold of me.” He sounded resigned.
“No,” she replied.
“People have invested a lot of time and money in my campaign. For their sakes, I have to go through the motions.” He beckoned for her to join him in the sitting area. “It’s good to have something constructive to focus on, to keep my mind away from the worst possibilities.”
She sat where he indicated. “Understandable.”
He sank into an armchair and slanted a considering look at her. “The FBI told me about the call from the kidnapper. Why do you think he called you?”
If Andrew Walters harbored the same suspicions as Lieutenant McBride, he hid it well. He looked desperate and anxious, but he didn’t seem distrustful.
Lily wished she had a better answer for both of them. “I guess they saw my picture in the paper. From the funeral. My name was in the caption, and I don’t imagine there are that many Lily Brownings listed in the Borland phone book.” It was the only explanation that made sense.
“I wonder how the press got your name in the first place.”
She cocked her head. “I assumed you gave it to them.”
“No.” His eyes narrowed. “Probably Blackledge. He knew people would see us together and make assumptions. ‘Andrew Walters didn’t even let his first wife’s body get cold before he found someone else.’”
She grimaced. “People won’t think that.”
He gave her a look that made her feel very naive.
She shook her head, appalled. “If my being there—”
“This is politics. Dirt gets flung. I’m becoming a little better at ducking these days.” His face tightened with anxiety. “McBride says you’ve had visions of my daughter. What did you see?”
She told him what she’d seen in her visions, holding back only the appearance of the second little girl. Andrew Walters listened, his hands clenched in his lap, his sharp-eyed gaze moving over her face as if gauging her veracity. “What was she wearing?” he asked when she finished.
For a second, Lily’s mind went blank. She remembered so much about Abby—the way she smelled, the tear tracks down her dirty, freckled face, the way one red curl hung just off center over her forehead. But what she was wearing?
Lily closed her eyes, recreating the most vivid scene, the one where Abby had been huddled in the back of the moving car. She heard the hum of the motor, smelled the musty odor of the blanket under which the child had crouched, cold and afraid. She saw the messy red curls, the chattering teeth.
The light blue overalls with a yellow rabbit on the front.
“Overalls.” Her voice shook. “Pale blue with a yellow bunny on the bib. And she had a long-sleeved white turtleneck underneath.”
When Lily looked up, Andrew’s face had gone pale. His voice shook when he spoke. “My God, you did see her.”
She released a shaky breath. She’d been afraid she was wrong, that her visions really were delusions, as McBride apparently thought. “That’s what she was wearing?”
The man nodded, color slowly seeping back into his face. “A neighbor who saw her Friday morning remembered the outfit. She’d bought it for Abby on her last birthday.”
“So you believe me?”
Andrew reached across the space between them and took her hand. His expression solemn, he nodded. “I believe you.”
Relief swamped her. “Mr. Walters, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
He managed a smile. “Thank you. And please, call me Andrew.”
She nodded. “Andrew—”
The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted her, the sound jarring her spine.
“The dedicated line.” Andrew’s voice sounded strangled.
“Answer it,” she urged, breathless. Her nerves were so taut that she didn’t recognize the signs until gray mist invaded the edge of her vision.
As the fog thickened, she glimpsed a man hunched over a phone in a dim room. She barely made out dark green walls and a computer nearby. The man’s blond hair was thin and patchy, and his skin was milky pale. The glow of the computer screen made twin blue squares on the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses.
It was the caller, she realized when he spoke.
“Mr. Walters, listen quick.” Lily was certain she’d never heard the voice before. It definitely wasn’t the harsh-voiced man who’d hit Abby, the one who’d called her home on Wednesday.
“Who is this?” Andrew demanded.
“We have your daughter.”
“Is Abby there?” Andrew’s voice was like a fly buzzing in her ear, oddly unreal, even though he was in the same room with her. “Let me speak to her!”
“You have until tomorrow afternoon to get five hundred grand together. When you do that, you’ll talk to your kid. Got it? And if you call the cops, you’ll never see your kid again.” The caller shifted, his desk chair creaking.
Beyond