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  Then came the shock. Sarah had noted the same with the other parents. “Actually, Senator,” Sarah interjected, “we’re looking at the employees. This may be a disgruntled employee trying to get back at the hospital by abducting high profile patients.”

  To his credit Tom didn’t say a word or stare at her as if she’d lost her mind. She had an advantage over him. She had already interviewed the senator. Secret or no, if he knew something that would help he would react. Perhaps not by answering their questions, but he would make a call or take action of some sort. Though all the parents were wealthy, Adams was the only one with powerful political connections.

  “Are you saying all seven of the missing children were born at the Avalon Center?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sarah answered before Tom could. “All within the same twenty-four month period and all to families of means. There’s potentially eight now.” Sarah had confirmed that the Cashion child had been born at Avalon as well. She hadn’t been able to interview the father yet. He’d had a heart attack. If he was stable enough later this evening she would be able to question him then.

  Adams shook his head. “Avalon is a cutting edge facility. They employ only the very best. I checked them out before we made the decision to go there.”

  “You weren’t happy with the hospital where your first child was born?” Tom checked his notes. “She had her tonsils removed there two years before the accident.”

  “And she died there,” Adams said, his voice cold and empty.

  “Are you implying malpractice?” Tom pressed. “You never filed a suit.”

  “She was gone. What would a lawsuit have accomplished? I didn’t need their money. I needed my child alive and well.” He shook his head again. “You’re wasting your time.” He looked to Sarah then. “Avalon is the best in the country, maybe the world. They screen their employees better than the NSA vets their own.”

  “Then you won’t mind giving us the names of any doctors or nurses involved with your daughter’s care there,” Tom prompted.

  Adams stood. “I won’t be a party to this waste of time. Avalon has an administrator who can assist you with this pointless endeavor.”

  Tom pushed to his feet and Sarah did the same. “Senator, I know this is difficult,” she offered, “but—”

  “That’s what I find so stunning,” Adams said, cutting her off. “I did my research on you, Detective. You do know, both of you, and still you’re pursuing this nonsense.” He glared at Tom then. “When I called Quantico for help, I didn’t expect them to send the husband of the detective already working on the case. I’m certain this arrangement is less than ethical. I will be reaching out to your superior, Cuddahy.”

  “Do what you feel you must, Senator,” Tom said. “Our only interest is in finding your daughter.”

  Adams gestured to the door of his study. “I’ll show you out.”

  “Please let Mrs. Adams know we’re working around the clock,” Sarah said, in hopes of salvaging some connection with the man, as they moved into the entry hall.

  For one moment, Sarah sensed she had reached beyond the senator’s fury, and then he turned his back. “I’ll tell her.” Adams walked away, leaving them standing in the grand entry hall.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Sarah warned Tom before walking out.

  The next interview was going to be conducted her way.

  Holy Cross Hospital

  Silver Springs, Maryland, 7:49 p.m.

  Lawrence Cashion listened as Tom explained why the FBI wanted to question him after the local police already had. The man insisted the strain of the police questioning coupled with the trauma of finding his wife and daughter missing had brought on the heart attack he’d suffered.

  Sarah wouldn’t deny the events of the past twelve or so hours had been horrifying for the man, but she’d also read the reports from the officers who had searched his home. Judging by the empty liquor bottle and the blood alcohol level he’d had when he showed up at the police precinct, his recent binge likely contributed to the problem as well.

  Both his wife and daughter remained missing. The mother’s disappearance was a significant deviation from the MO of the others in Sarah’s investigation. As was the blood they had found at the scene. Cashion, or someone, had gone to great lengths to clean it up with bleach, but he’d failed to get it all. Something had happened in that home and Cashion wasn’t talking.

  The Cashion child was like the others. Her age, the fact she’d lost a sibling, and birthplace all fit the profile. Sarah was still on the fence with the genetic designer children or whatever business. The theory seemed too improbable. In her opinion, looking into any employees who had a grudge against Avalon or who just wanted to capitalize on an opportunity were the better scenarios.

  Still, whatever else stood between her and Tom, he’d never been anything other than a topnotch investigator. For him to make that leap there had to be more he wasn’t telling her. The whole need-to-know nonsense. If she didn’t need to know, then why the hell were they working together?

  “Mr. Cashion,” Sarah said, “you stated that your wife took your daughter to a birthday party. Do you typically go to bed so early? We spoke with the Sims family and they’re certain your wife and daughter left the party around eight. Since they live no more than twenty minutes away, your family should have been home by eight thirty.”

  “Like I told the detectives this morning,” Cashion licked his visibly dry lips, “I’ve been working a lot of long hours lately. I crashed last night. Didn’t know I was in the world until about eight this morning.”

  “Did your crash have anything to do with the amount of alcohol you consumed?” she prodded. He’d been asked about this already as well, but so far he hadn’t admitted to having gone on a bender. He had no current record. If he’d ever had any legal trouble with alcohol it was not on his record.

  “I’ve worked day and night for weeks to win the bid on an account that was stolen from me by a competitor. So, yes, I had a few drinks last night. What else do you want to hear? If you showed as much interest in finding my daughter and wife, maybe they’d be here with me now instead of God knows where!”

  “Let’s talk about your first daughter,” Tom cut in smoothly, “the one who died the year before Cassie was born.”

  Cashion’s face turned beet red. “I’m not saying anything else without my lawyer present.”

  Sarah’s cell vibrated. While Tom attempted to placate the man she withdrew it from her jacket pocket and checked the screen. Larson. She stepped out of the room and accepted the call.

  “You have something new for me?” Sarah held her breath. She prayed it wasn’t another missing child.

  “Nothing good,” Larson said, his tone somber. “We found Mary Cashion’s body. She was in the pond in the park north of her home. Cause of death appears to be head trauma. The evidence techs are comparing her blood to what was found in the house. I’m guessing they’ll get a match. The lab’s going over both the victim’s car and the husband’s. A uniform is headed your way to make sure Cashion stays put.”

  Sarah closed her eyes. Oh hell. “No sign of the little girl?”

  “Not yet.”

  She blew out a breath. “I guess this means I get the unpleasant duty of telling Cashion his wife’s body has been found.”

  “While you’re at it you might suggest this would be a good time for him to start talking.”

  “Yeah.” She somehow doubted that would happen. The man was already whining for his lawyer. “Thanks.”

  Tom stepped into the corridor. “He’s done.”

  Sarah reached for the door. “I’m not.”

  “I told you I have nothing else to say!” Cashion ranted as she entered his room once more. He grabbed the call button. “I’m calling security.”

  “No need,” Sarah assured him. “There will be a uniformed officer outside your door for the rest of your stay, Mr. Cashion.”

  His brow furrowed in question. “A
m I in danger?”

  His question gave her pause, but Sarah pressed on. “Sir, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but your wife’s body was found. This is a homicide investigation now. If there is anything about your previous statements you want to revise, I would suggest you do it now.”

  “What about my daughter?” Cashion snatched at the wires monitoring his heart and pulse rates as if he might jerk them loose and make a run for it. “Where’s my daughter?” he screamed.

  “Sir.” Sarah held up her hands. “Your daughter is still missing. Only your wife’s body was found.”

  Cashion dropped his head against the pillow and howled in agony.

  Sarah touched his arm. He jerked, glared at her. “Mr. Cashion, your daughter still needs your help. Is there anything you want to tell me now that might help us find her?”

  Cashion’s face wilted. “I don’t know. I blacked out. Woke up with blood all over my hands. Dear God.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I think I killed my wife.”

  By the time the uniform arrived Cashion had lapsed into sobs. Sarah reminded him of his rights and took his statement, for what it was worth. He had either killed his wife or he’d found her body and tried to hide it. For now, there was no way to know what happened.

  As she and Tom exited the hospital silence hung between them. She climbed into the passenger side of his SUV. Like hers, Tom’s vehicle had that lived in look. She imagined he spent as much time away from home as she did.

  Why go home when there was nothing there to go home to?

  “Why don’t I take you to dinner?” he offered. “We both have to eat.”

  Since she hadn’t eaten since grabbing a cup of yogurt on her way out the door this morning she could definitely eat. The trouble was she knew where spending time with him would lead. The same place it always took them—a screaming match.

  “That’s probably not a good idea. We should keep this about the case.”

  He hesitated before starting the engine. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Sarah. When will you see that?”

  Agony lashed through her. “Just take me to my car, Tom.”

  He pounded the steering wheel with his fist, startling her. “When will you stop blaming yourself? It’s been five years!” He glared at her. “Our daughter is gone, but it’s not your fault.”

  “I’ll get a cab.”

  He grabbed her arm when she would have reached for the door. “I would have done the same thing if I’d been in your position. We both know it wasn’t your fault.”

  His words were like scalding water pouring over her body. Emotion blurred her vision, had her heart swelling in her throat. “If I’d gone home on time, Sophie would have been with me. It was my fault.” She shrugged off his touch.

  “We, better than anyone, know how evil works. How the hell can you blame yourself for what some sick bastard did?”

  “How the hell can you not hate me for not being home on time?” She shook with the agony charging through her now. “I waited and waited for you to show me what you really felt and you just kept holding it back. Instead, we walked around pretending. But I knew.” She pounded her chest. “I knew! You hated me for what happened. Why can’t you say it? Dammit! Just say it!”

  He faced forward again. “I don’t hate you, Sarah. I’ve never hated you. I hate the son of a bitch who did this to our family.”

  Sarah closed her eyes and fought to hold back the tears. He could pretend all he wanted to, but she knew the truth. Whether he ever said the words out loud or not, she knew he hated her.

  She couldn’t blame him.

  She hated herself.

  105 7th Street, Washington, D.C., 10:30 p.m.

  Sarah stood in the entry hall of her home. She’d been standing here for twenty minutes or so. Her purse had slid down her shoulder and collapsed to the floor. She’d told herself repeatedly to move and somehow she couldn’t.

  This had been her home her entire life. As an only child she’d inherited the townhome when her father died while she was in college. Her mother had died when she was seven. Later, when she and Tom had gotten engaged, then married, they had decided to keep this place instead of selling and buying something new. The townhouse was huge, plenty large enough for raising a family. There was even a postage stamp sized backyard.

  She could sell it now. Downsize and stash a nice chunk in savings. Homes in this area went for top dollar. The townhouse would easily go for a million and a half. She wouldn’t have to walk past Sophie’s bedroom anymore. She wouldn’t have to block the memories of making love with Tom in her own bedroom.

  There were advantages to starting fresh with a clean slate.

  Except this was Sophie’s home. If she was still alive, she might come back here one day. It happened. Abducted children, if they escaped or survived to adulthood, sometimes sought out their real parents once more—unless they’d been totally brainwashed into believing they were someone else.

  Sophie could come back.

  That was the sole reason Sarah endured the haunting memories. She had learned to walk through the house without seeing or hearing or feeling anything.

  Spending the better part of the day with Tom had disabled her ability to block the images and sounds, like the way the front door squeaked when she closed it. Sophie used to laugh every time that sound echoed down the hall. The whisper of their bare feet on the wood floor. Leaving their shoes next to the table where mail and cell phones landed each evening had been habit.

  Sarah closed her eyes. If she tried she could smell the scent of rain on her child’s hair and skin. She and Sophie were the world’s worst about forgetting their umbrellas. Street parking ensured they made many dashes through the rain and snow.

  Even now, Tom’s scent lingered inside Sarah, around her. He still used the same soap. It reminded her of all those times they had showered together, making love and wondering if they’d ever get pregnant again.

  Sophie had been easy. They’d made the decision the time was right and suddenly Sarah was pregnant. Number two hadn’t happened.

  Then Sophie vanished.

  Sarah shrugged out of her coat and let it fall to the floor with her purse. She toed off her shoes and started forward. She should eat. Shower. Take a pill and go to bed. No more thinking. No more seeing.

  Slowly, she went through the steps. A can of chicken soup with crackers. A beer for washing down the pill she hated and loved at the same time. Then bed.

  She climbed between the sheets and told her brain to shut down. No matter that Tom had not slept in this bed in more than fourteen months and twenty-nine days, she could smell him all around her. He had invaded her senses and would not be evicted.

  The sound of Sophie giggling followed Sarah to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  Sunday, October 22, 4:00 a.m.

  Her cell woke her. Sarah sat up, scrubbed a hand over her mouth before shoving the hair from her face. Tom calling flashed on her screen.

  “What?” She reached for the bottle of water on her nightstand. Her mouth was dry as hell.

  “We have an employee from Avalon who’s come forward. He’s agreed to a meeting. I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll drive my—” The call dropped and Sarah glared at her phone. Had he just hung up on her? Maybe he’d gotten another call.

  “Dammit.”

  She did not want to ride with him, but if he’d landed a lead she wanted to be a part of it. She desperately needed a break in this case.

  Ten minutes later, as promised, Tom’s SUV eased to the curb behind her car. Sarah stepped outside, set the alarm and locked the door, then hustled down to the sidewalk. Tom reached across the console and passenger seat to open the door for her. She climbed in and fastened her seatbelt.

  “Where’re we going?” She reminded herself to relax. Maybe she should have taken the time to finish her coffee.

  “He wants to keep his cooperation under the radar so we’re meeting at an IHOP.”

  �
�How did he know to contact you?”

  “I’ve been putting out feelers for a while now,” he explained without explaining anything at all. “Patrick Schneider was a maintenance engineer at Avalon. Two weeks ago he was fired. I guess he has an ax to grind now that he’s been let go.”

  “A grudge makes him an unreliable source,” she reminded the man who’d been doing this longer than her. She’d turned thirty-seven last month, which made Tom forty. She couldn’t deny that he’d always been good at his job. No matter, this whole situation just didn’t feel right.

  “We have nothing to lose by hearing what he has to say.”

  Now there was something they could agree on. They had nothing to lose.

  IHOP, Baltimore Avenue

  College Park, Maryland, 5:09 a.m.

  “People pay big money for the doctors at Avalon,” Schneider said. He glanced around the nearly deserted restaurant before hunching his shoulders around his head as he leaned forward. “They do things no one else does.”

  Tom sensed the tension in Sarah. She wasn’t buying his story any more than she had the one Tom had given her less than twenty-four hours ago. He didn’t blame her. If he hadn’t seen the undeniable evidence in that small, quiet Tennessee town last year, he wouldn’t have believed it himself. But it was real. At least one cloned human had survived to adulthood. Unimaginable genetic experiments had been conducted on so many others.

  Paul Phillips and his family had barely escaped with their lives. Their secret was one the world could never know. Tom had ensured any files on Paul’s wife and sister-in-law vanished. As deep as his loyalty to the Bureau went, his loyalty to the people he cared about went much deeper. He just hoped Sarah would forgive him one day for what he’d done in his efforts to help her.

  “You need to be more specific, Mr. Schneider,” Sarah pressed. “What you’ve said so far is public knowledge. Avalon is one of the most renowned private hospitals in the country. The facility didn’t reach that status without world-class physicians. No law against being the best.”