Author's note: This is a story I wrote back in 2004 and posted on another Internet board. I've been working on a few sequels over the past few months, so have decided to share the first chapter here (slightly revised) in the hopes that some of you will enjoy it enough to ask for more.

If I get enough interest in the form of reviews, I'll continue to post the rest (and perhaps the sequel) at the rate of a chapter every day or two. If not, I'll just delete it.

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Part One: A Missing Child
Thursday 6 November 1941

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Samantha Stewart looked at the wall clock for the umpteenth time. Six thirty-five. She sighed, peering down the corridor at the office door. Still closed.

At ten minutes to six Detective Chief Superintendent Christopher Foyle had handed her two envelopes. "Post these for me, would you, Sam? I need to make a phone call and then you can drive me home. Meet you up front in five minutes."

Learning to wait patiently had been one of Sam's biggest challenges when she was assigned to DCS Foyle as his driver. While she was keenly aware of how hard he worked and of how far his efforts had gone to maintaining public safety on the South Coast during the past two years of war, she still found her own lot tiresome at times. Like this evening, when the promised five minutes had stretched into three-quarters of an hour with no end in sight. She shifted impatiently against the wall where she was leaning. What could be keeping him this time?

Sam was, as usual, more than ready for her tea. She also wanted to get home in good time because she was hoping to receive a telephone call from her boyfriend Andrew this evening. A Spitfire pilot, Andrew was on call day and night and opportunities to speak with him were erratic.

Not that she would have ever pleaded such an argument to her boss – first, because of her dedication to her job and second, because Andrew happened to be Mr Foyle's only son. Sam felt a bit awkward about the romance at times, especially since they had kept it secret from him for the first several months. Even now, over six months after they had come clean, Sam was careful never to presume on the relationship. While she believed that on some level their shared affection for Andrew had drawn her and Foyle closer, they never spoke of it. In fact, they rarely brought up Andrew's name in daily conversation, leaving their working relationship as boss and driver largely unaltered.

Sam took another peek at the clock. Twenty minutes to seven. Rivers, the avuncular duty sergeant, raised his eyebrows at her restiveness and she returned him a rueful smile. Sam-waiting-impatiently-at-the-desk was an old story to both of them, such a frequent occurrence that it wasn't worthy of comment by either.

Her reverie was interrupted by the bang of the front door. A slender dark-haired woman in the green uniform of the Women's Voluntary Services approached the desk. "Excuse me," she said softly to Sergeant Rivers, gloved hands gripping her handbag. "I need help, please. My daughter has gone missing." Her accent was American.

The sergeant raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sam understood why; Americans were scarce beings in England these days. A few months after the war started the U.S. embassy had advised all its citizens to return home, so that for nearly two years now American accents had been conspicuously missing in the Babel of foreign voices that could be heard across Britain. Dutch, French, Belgian, Norwegian, Danish, Polish and countless others had poured into the country, either as refugees from Nazi oppression or as volunteers for His Majesty's forces. But except for a handful of pilots in the RAF's Eagle Squadron Americans had largely disappeared to the safety of home across the Atlantic. Their absence was widely resented, especially as the war dragged on and England's situation grew more desperate.

Sam could tell by Rivers' stiff stance and his tone of voice that he shared this view. "I see," he rumbled. "And what makes you think that, madam?"

The woman's large, expressive eyes were wide with anxiety. "She wasn't at school today when I came to meet her."

"Aye? Perhaps she went home with a friend. No doubt she'll come home for tea. Why don't you go on home? She's probably waiting there for you now."

"She wouldn't do that. I've spoken to all her friends, anyway. I've been searching for three hours. Please, can't you do something? She's only seven -"

Sam cocked her head at this last bit of information. Like the sergeant, she knew that most missing children turned up safely on their own eventually, but seven seemed quite a young age for a child to be out alone, especially after dark.

Rivers regarded the woman dourly for a moment before reaching reluctantly for pen and paper. "Very well, ma'am. I can have the night patrol keep an eye out for her. What is her name?"

The woman's reply was drowned out by Foyle's voice approaching from behind her. "Sam? Let's go." She shot the American woman a final glance as she followed him out the door. I do hope they find her little girl, she thought. She seems very worried.

By next morning Sam had forgotten about the American woman. She and Foyle arrived at the station at their usual time and immediately plunged into the morning routine. Foyle's assistant, Detective Sergeant Paul Milner, had not yet arrived, a rare occurrence. Milner generally made it a point to arrive at work at least a half-hour before his superior so he could check on any overnight business which might require their attention. It was a quarter of an hour later when Milner appeared at Foyle's office door.

"Good morning, sir. Sorry I'm late. Bit of a delay at the Food Office getting my ration book."

"Morning, Milner. Not a problem."

They were interrupted by the appearance of Sam with a cup of tea for her boss. "Good morning, Milner," she said as she set it on the desk. "You look as if you could do with one of these."

"Yes, thanks." He gave her a grateful smile.

"Looks like it was a quiet night," Milner said, flipping through the message slips he'd retrieved from the front desk. "Report of a break-in at a house on Devonshire Road, but the residents scared the thief off before he took anything. Uniform arrested two drunk-and-disorderly down near the harbour about midnight. And a Mrs Neville-West reported her daughter missing last evening. Night patrol reported no sign of her."

"Might have turned up on her own by now. Anybody spoken to the mother this morning?"

"Doesn't look like it. There's not much here, actually." Milner squinted at the brief note he'd found in his box.

"Right. Get on to her and check, will you?"

"Yes, sir." Milner went down the corridor to his own office.

A few minutes later he was back. "The girl hasn't come home, so I told the mother I'd stop by in a little while. She's American, by the way. Oh, thanks, Sam." He accepted a steaming cup from her and sipped it gratefully.

"Was that the woman from last night?" asked Sam, interested as always in everything that happened at the station. "Did they not find her daughter?"

"Nope, still missing," Foyle replied. "You saw her?"

"Yes, sir. She came in to report the little girl missing just before we left."

Foyle's brow furrowed as he tried to remember. "The WVS woman?"

"That's right."

"Did she mention how old she is?"

Milner scanned the scrawled note in his hand. "It doesn't say."

"She's seven," Sam volunteered. "I heard her mother say so."

Milner and Foyle exchanged glances, their concern aroused. A seven-year-old child missing for over twelve hours? Foyle rose to his feet.

"Better get over there," he said.

TBC ... if I get enough interest!