Lullabies and Lies - By Mallory Kane Page 0,2

died. I suspect that explains her happy endings business. The baby she adopted is the child of a runaway teen she located—one of her cases.”

“Which one?”

“June of last year. Elliott.”

“Here it is, Brittany Elliott, a fifteen-year-old, ran away with her twenty-year-old boyfriend. Loveless’s testimony put the boyfriend in prison.” The missing child’s biological father. Definitely a suspect.

“Any contact from the kidnapper? A demand for ransom?”

“Nothing—that we know of.”

Griff raised his eyebrows at the tone in his boss’s voice.

“The local police lieutenant isn’t convinced Ms. Loveless is telling the whole truth.”

“He thinks the kidnapper has contacted her.” Griff stood, preparing to leave Decker’s office. “I shouldn’t waste any time. I’ll fly out this afternoon.”

Decker rounded his desk and sat down as Griff turned toward the door.

“Griff.”

He looked back over his shoulder.

“Good luck.”

Back at his desk, Griff pulled his laptop toward him and opened his personal database of missing children cases. He’d started it fifteen years ago, using a spiral notebook and a pencil. Now it was computerized in a spreadsheet.

He filled in the fields. Name—Emily Rose Loveless. Age—six months. Date of disappearance—June 20. Location—Nashville, Tennessee.

He stared at the screen for a couple of seconds, then dropped his head between his hands. He wasn’t sure he could handle another missing child case.

Ever since that day fifteen years ago when his baby sister had been kidnapped, he’d aimed toward one goal—to save as many children as he could. And, in all honesty, to atone. But few as his failures had been, each one had taken something from him, something the successes never quite replenished. Then, the death of the Senator’s son had eaten away too much.

No matter how many children he saved, the hole inside him never got any smaller. Lately, he felt like an empty shell.

Just a few weeks ago, after the Senator’s case, he’d talked with Decker about transferring to a specialty that was less emotionally draining, like white-collar crime. With his master’s degree in criminal justice, and his eight years’ experience, he could work in just about any area.

Now Decker, one of the few people in the world who knew Griff’s history, was sending him back to Nashville. To his hometown, where failure and guilt lurked, ready to ambush him at every familiar fork in the road.

The imprint of Decker’s hand burned his shoulder, sending a clear message. His boss was depending on him.

Shoving aside his feelings, he booked the next flight out and started preparing himself mentally. This wasn’t a personal mission, he reminded himself. It was an assignment.

An important part of his job was to present a calm, comforting exterior to the missing child’s frightened mother.

He called the Division’s computer expert. “Natasha, hi. Did Decker ask you to run a background check on Sunny Loveless?” He spelled her last name.

“I was just about to call you. I’ll e-mail the intel to you so you’ll have it on your laptop.”

“Good. Thanks.”

He saw the icon appear that told him he had new mail. “Okay, got the e-mail. Thanks, Nat.”

He hung up, then opened the file labeled LOVELESS and began to read.

But he couldn’t banish the question that echoed in his brain and pounded into his chest with each heartbeat.

Why did it have to be Nashville?

18 hours missing

BABY POWDER and the sour smell of spit-up milk. Ugh. Janie Gross nearly gagged as she lit a cigarette and took a deep puff. Her brand new Lexus stunk of baby. She’d have to get it detailed to get rid of the disgusting stench.

At least Bess hadn’t balked at keeping the kid.

Her old nanny had not been happy about Janie showing up with another kid, over three years after they’d agreed to quit the adoption business.

Bess was such a sucker for a baby. The brat would have the best of care. And after fifteen years of Bess keeping kids while Janie made arrangements for their adoption, Janie knew for a fact that she could trust the old woman.

She grinned at her own brilliance. Handing over the first kid she’d ever snatched to Bess to rear as her own was the best investment Janie had ever made. Lucky for Janie, Bess’s own little boy hadn’t been dead six months when Janie had shown up at her door that long-ago day with a screaming toddler in tow.

She shuddered. Thank goodness Bess loved kids, because Janie hated them. Maybe they should have gone into dog snatching, she thought with a smile as she merged onto the New Jersey Turnpike and headed back toward New York. Dogs were