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  Francesca closed her eyes. I would have noticed sooner.

  “She’s gone to find her biological father in America,” Gina blurted, sounding relieved to get the secret out. “She said he deserved to know about her.”

  “That’s crazy. He’s on another continent.”

  “She’s going to Miami, Florida. She said that’s where her real father lived.”

  “She’s too young to do that. The airlines won’t let her buy a ticket

  “She met a man who said he would help.”

  “A man?” Francesca asked, her voice hoarse. “What man?”

  “His name is Arthur Finnegan. He’s super nice with a really cool accent. We met him at the coffee shop a few weeks ago. Bella’s been talking to him on and off ever since. He was there on Sunday afternoon, and they made plans to meet this morning. I was supposed to go too, but changed my mind at the last minute. I guess I chickened out.”

  “What time this morning?”

  “Eight a.m. As if she was going to class so you wouldn’t notice.”

  Almost twelve hours ago. Her daughter could be on a plane to America. Or to Asia. Anywhere in the world with some stranger. Had she taken her passport? Oh, mio Dio. What about her inhalers? I need to check.

  “What airline?” Francesca demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Gina replied, her voice cracking. “Arthur was supposed to handle that.”

  Arthur? How clueless could these girls be?

  “Listen to me very carefully, Gina. I’m coming over to your house right now, and I’m bringing the police. Tell your parents to expect us.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Gina started to sob, perhaps finally understanding the gravity of the situation. Had she realized she might never see her best friend again?

  Will I ever see my beautiful daughter again?

  “I need to know everything about this man,” Francesca said, her voice rising to a shout. “Do you hear me? Every detail, no matter how small.”

  One week later

  DALE BALDWIN THREADED his way through the noisy crowd in Moe’s and Joe’s carrying three mugs of beer. The bar was packed tonight, but his friends had managed to secure a table for their celebration.

  “Here you go, ladies.” He placed the beer onto the table and slid into the huge booth across from Trice and Lana. “Enjoy.”

  “Where’s Sean?” Trice asked, pulling her mug toward her across the rough wooden surface. “I thought he was going to join us.”

  “On his way,” Dale said.

  “Kelly will be late,” Lana said. “She had a report to finish, but she’s coming, too.”

  “No sense waiting,” Dale said. He lifted his mug in a toast. “To us.”

  “To you, Detective Baldwin.” Lana raised her own mug. “The first of us to get the gold shield.”

  “Awesome, dude,” Trice said, clinking her mug against his.

  Dale took a swallow of the cold brew and sat back with a smile, enjoying the congratulations of his fellow cops. And why not? He was proud of his promotion. He’d worked his butt off to become a detective.

  Hard to believe when they’d started coming to this bar five years ago they’d all been dumb, eager rookies. After graduation from the police academy, this bar had become their home away from home, the place to de-stress from the shit that went down on the job before going home to their loved ones.

  Not that he had a loved one to go home to, but that’s the way he’d planned it. His life was rolling along exactly the way he wanted it to. And today that life felt damn good.

  “I always thought Kelly would be the first,” Trice said.

  “She’s thinking about joining the FBI,” Lana told them.

  “Kelly a fed? Oh, my God.” Trice shook her head.

  “Don’t look now,” Lana said, leaning toward Dale, “but one of your many barfly groupies is on the way over.”

  “It’s the lovely Linda, your old sweetie,” Trice murmured.

  “Linda was never my sweetie,” Dale said. “We went out a couple of times.”

  “Hey, Dale.”

  “Wow, don’t you look gorgeous tonight,” Dale told the long-legged blonde who’d stopped by the booth. “But then you always look beautiful.”

  Linda returned his smile. “And you always were a sweet talker. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

  “Dale’s been busy,” Lana said, raising her mug. “He got promoted to detective. We’re celebrating.”

  Linda’s blue eyes went wide. “Detective? Are you serious?”

  “Yep,” Dale said.

  “Wow! Congratulations. That was fast.”

  “I got lucky,” Dale said.

  “Luck had nothing to do with it,” Trice said.

  “Would you like to join us?” Dale asked, gesturing to the seat beside him.

  Linda hesitated, glancing at Lana and Trice.

  His colleagues glared back in a less-than-welcoming manner.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude on your party.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Dale said. “Let me buy you a drink.”

  Linda shook her head. “Some other time.” She leaned over to kiss Dale’s cheek, her breath soft against his ear as she whispered, “My number is still the same. Call me, Detective Baldwin. We can have our own private party.”

  Dale watched her walk away. A private party with Linda might not be a bad thing later tonight. She’d always been reasonable about her expectations.

  “How do you do it?” Lana asked, shaking her head.

  “Do what?”

  “Keep ’em coming back for more.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Trice agreed. “You break up with women and they never hold a grudge. They even want to be your friend.”

  Dale spread his arms. “Obviously it’s because I’m such a sweetheart. And so good-looking.”

  “And so humble,” Lana said.

  “It’s the uniform,” Trice teased. “Some women can’t resist it. You might lose your edge when you start wearing plain clothes in three weeks.”

  “Hey, I’m honest with women,” Dale said. “So there’s no way they can be mad. I make it clear from the get-go that I’m not looking for anything long-term.”

  “But don’t your girlfriends try to change you, think they’ll be the one to rope you in?” Trice asked.

  “Is that what you do with Rudy?” Lana asked.

  Trice looked away and took a long swallow of her brew. “We’re not talking about me. Besides, Rudy is already married.”

  “I’m glad to hear you remember that,” Lana said. “Do you remember he’s also our sergeant?”

  “How could I forget it?” Trice murmured.

  “Look, I like women.” Dale redirected the conversation, not wanting Trice to feel uncomfortable. Sometimes you couldn’t help who you fell in love with. That’s how he’d learned to be careful.

  “I like women a lot,” he added with a grin. “But when a woman I’m seeing gets serious or possessive, that’s our last date. It’s for their own good.”

  “So she won’t get her heart broken?” Lana teased.

  “It’s more than that.” Dale shrugged. “Does your husband worry about you on the job?”

  Lana’s smile faded. “Yeah, he does. Too much.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to avoid. No one worries about me.”

  “Not even your mom?” Trice asked with a laugh.

  Dale raised his mug to Trice, pleased to see her good mood restored. “Well, maybe my mom. She had a real problem when I was in Iraq.”

  “Yeah, moms worry no matter what we’re doing,” Lana said, her gaze focused on the opposite side of the room.

  “And my mother is a saint,” Dale proclaimed. “She raised six kids.”

  “Five more like you?”
Trice shook her head. “Poor woman.”

  “Have you been having problems with a female stalker?” Lana asked, her attention still over his head.

  “No more than usual,” Dale said.

  “I’m serious. Don’t turn around, but a woman has been watching you since you entered. She can’t take her eyes off you.”

  “Really? Is she hot?” Dale asked.

  “I’d say she’s the best-looking woman in this room.”

  “Dark hair at three o’clock?” Trice asked. “Five-six, exotic appearing?”

  “Right,” Lana said.

  “Exotic?” Dale asked. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Got her,” Trice said. “Never seen her in here before and my guess is she’s not American. Her clothing is too different.”

  “So she’s a refugee?” Dale asked, intrigued by the game, wanting to turn around and eyeball his admirer.

  “No way,” Lana said. “Everything she’s wearing screams a high price tag, designer even.”

  Trice nodded. “Her stilettoes cost more than we make in a week, and you’re right. She’s definitely obsessed by our man Dale.”

  “Oops,” Lana said. “She just realized she’s been made and she’s faded into the crowd.”

  “Well, thanks a whole hell of a lot,” Dale said. “You scared my new exotic beauty away.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Trice said. “Now she’s on her way over to our table.”

  “Man, does she look determined,” Lana said.

  “As if she could eat you up,” Trice added.

  “Don’t worry, Dale.” Lana reached across the table and patted his hand. “We’ve got your six.”

  “Thank you, ladies, but I don’t believe I’ll require any assistance,”

  His smile only partially formed, Dale froze in the process of coming to his feet when the woman under discussion arrived at the table.

  “Hello, Dale.”

  The soft, lilting accent flung him back more than a decade to his senior year in high school. He collapsed into his seat. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He blinked at the raven-haired beauty standing before him, certain he must be hallucinating.

  Francesca Scarpetta? This couldn’t be Francesca. No way.

  But it was.

  “May I sit down?” the woman asked, her dark eyes pleading. He remembered another time when those haunting eyes had begged for something else. Something that had provided intense pleasure for both of them.

  “Francesca?” he asked, his voice hoarse. She’d changed, yes, of course. It’d been over a decade, but no question this was his Frannie.

  “Yes, it is me,” she replied. “I need to talk to you.”

  He shook his head to clear it. This was nuts. Francesca? Here in Moe’s and Joe’s? She’d been seventeen years old the last time he saw her, a beauty even then, but she’d turned into a stunner, every man’s most vivid desire. Or at least his.

  A thousand thoughts rocketed through his brain, but he couldn’t form any of them into words.

  Why was she here? Why now after so many years? After all their promises to each other, she’d flown home, disappeared across the ocean as if she had never existed. Long ago he’d accepted the fact that he would never see her again. He’d convinced himself she had died and no one knew to inform him.

  “Dale,” Trice said, snapping him out of his daze. “Move over and let the lady sit.”

  Mumbling an apology, Dale scooted to his right.

  With the effortless grace he remembered so well, Francesca sat beside him. Her perfume, something soft and floral, wafted toward him. She was even more beautiful than his most private memories.

  “My name is Francesca Scarpetta,” she said to Trice and Lana. “Please forgive me for interrupting, but Dale and I are old friends, and I have something important that I must discuss with him.”

  “How do you know Dale?” Trice asked, shooting him a questioning look.

  Dale remained silent, staring at Fran, too shell-shocked to answer.

  “I attended his high school when I was a foreign exchange student from Rome.”

  “You haven’t seen him since high school?” Trice sounded skeptical.

  “No,” Francesca said. She lowered her eyes to the table. “I have not.”

  “Do you still live in Rome?” Lana asked.

  “I do, yes.”

  “How did you track him down to Moe’s and Joe’s?” Trice demanded.

  “My investigator told me this bar is known to be frequented by police officers.”

  Dale found his voice for the first time. “You hired an investigator?”

  Fran flicked her gaze to him and then away again. “I needed to find you.” she answered, her voice hesitant.

  “So I was right,” Lana said. “She is a stalker.”

  “A stalker?” Fran’s eyes went large. “No, no. I would never—”

  “You needed to find me?” Dale looked around, aware he had shouted his question. The bar was so noisy no one else had noticed.

  “Why the hell didn’t you just answer my phone calls and emails?” he demanded. “That would have been a lot easier.”

  Fran fixed beseeching eyes on him again. “I can explain, but we need to have this conversation in private. Please.”

  Torn between raging anger, confusion and the sheer pleasure of seeing Fran again, of finally knowing she was alive, Dale stared at the girl—no, she was a woman now—who had shattered his soul when he was eighteen years old.

  That was one hell of a long time ago. A war zone ago, a lifetime. He finished his beer in one long swallow.

  He was a different person now. He was a man, not a boy.

  “What I have to say is...quite personal,” she said with a glance at Trice and Lana.

  Personal? Like the pain that had seared his heart hadn’t been personal? She’d promised to love him forever and had disappeared without a word or any explanation. Yeah, she’d been seventeen, but what she’d done had been beyond cruel.

  Dale slammed the mug to the table. “Whatever you have to say to me, you can say it in front of my friends.”

  “Whoa there, big boy,” Lana said.

  Trice leaned forward, interested.

  “Dale, please,” Fran said in her soft, accented English. “Can we not go somewhere and talk?”

  Lana jumped to her feet. “I need to go to the ladies’ room. How about you, Trice?”

  “No, I’m good,” Trice said, sitting back.

  “No, you’re not.” Lana grabbed Trice’s arm and pulled her out of the booth.

  And just like that his friends deserted him, leaving him with Francesca.

  He didn’t want to be alone with Francesca, a woman he’d convinced himself was dead. Because if she were alive, it meant she hadn’t loved him the way he’d loved her all those years ago. As a kid, he hadn’t wanted to face that fact, so he’d killed her off in his head. When he got home from Iraq, he put Fran out of his mind and never tried to find her again.

  He was a man now, a cop. A detective. He had no choice but to accept painful truths. He blew out a breath.

  “I thought you were dead,” he said.

  “I know. My parents wanted you to believe that.”

  “So what do you want, Francesca?” he asked, not caring how angry he sounded. “And why now after all these years?”

  Francesca closed her mesmerizing eyes and took a deep breath.

  “You have a daughter,” she said, her voice breaking. “We have a daughter. Her name is Isabella. I have come to you now because she has run away. I believe she is trying to find you.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “HAVE YOU HEARD from her?” Francesca lifted her gaze to Dale’s and sucked in a quick breath. His eyes—narrowed, angry eyes—were the same vivid green as thei
r daughter’s. She could never look at Bella without remembering Dale, which had always made her happy and sad and furious at the same time. And now in a strange, sick trick of fate, the reverse was happening.

  He looked older, harder than she remembered, but his hair remained that same sun-kissed shade of brown. She had sketched him from memory hundreds of times over the years and had recognized him instantly when she’d scanned the bar looking for him.

  “I have a daughter?” Dale’s tone was flat.

  Francesca choked back a sob, his reaction confirming her worst fears. Bella had not found him, had not contacted him. She might not even be in Miami.

  She had cautioned herself to face reality, but she had been clinging to a faint hope that everyone had been wrong about her daughter’s fate. Where the hell is she?

  “Yes, you do,” she said, bracing herself for the censure certain to rain down on her head. She was prepared to take any insults or anger or scorn. She would accept anything as long as Dale helped her find their daughter.

  Dale was a man now, a man displaying no emotion. So different from the boy she remembered, which confused her. Was there nothing left of the teenager she had once known and deeply loved?

  Becoming aware of a sharp pain in her hands, she relaxed her fingers. She’d been pressing her fingernails into her palms hard enough to draw blood.

  She had brought proof. If Dale doubted her, she had a copy of that wretched DNA test in her purse. But why would he doubt her? He knew what they had done together, the love that they had made. They had been so young, so stupid, and so crazy about each other they had believed that nothing, not even an ocean, could keep them apart.

  They had been wrong. And now it had come to this moment, a moment of truth she had thought to spare them both.

  Fran took a deep breath. “She has disappeared. I believe she has been abducted.”

  “Abducted,” Dale said.

  “Yes, and I need you to help me find her.”

  “You want my help?”

  “Bella needs your help.”

  Dale shoved his empty mug aside, reached across the table to grab the beverage of one of his female companions, and chugged it down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when finished and turned to her again.