Shelter
Chapter 2
By: Mariel
10 HOURS MISSING 6:30 p.m.
Interviewing Emma's mother provided them with little new information. Stephanie Matthews still wasn't certain what her daughter had been wearing when she left the house that morning. She had no idea when her daughter might have left the apartment, except that it must have been between her own 8:00 a.m. departure and 11:00 a.m. return. She confirmed that her daughter's blue windbreaker was missing, and that she was likely wearing a pair of jeans. She had no idea what top she might have been wearing. Emma'd only been back with her a month or so, and every time she went to a foster home, she came back with new clothes. How, she asked in a defensive tone, was she supposed to keep track of everything? Looking at the clock on her VCR, she asked how much more they wanted to know. There wasn't, she said, that much you could say about a six-year-old.
Jack and Samantha shared a dark-eyed glance. The mother was not showing a great amount of concern over her daughter's whereabouts. The report given by the neighbour who'd seen Emma walking towards the swing set shortly after 8:30 that morning had provided as reliable a description as anything they had gotten from the girl's mother. That meant they were looking for a six year old brown-eyed, blonde-haired girl in a navy windbreaker and pale blue jeans. No one knew for sure what she was wearing for a shirt, but at least the mother was certain she had been wearing dirty navy-blue sneakers with velcro closures.
They were the only pair of shoes her daughter owned.
"Is there a relative who might have come by and taken her somewhere?" Samantha asked. "A friend of yours, maybe, or a neighbour? Her father, perhaps?"
It had, after all, been only ten hours or so since Emma had gone missing. A long time, perhaps, but strange things had been known to happen. There was always a chance that an aunt had come by, found Emma alone, decided to take her to the grocery store or something, and then met with some crisis that had prevented her from contacting the mother to let her know where her daughter was.
Stephanie, however, shook her head. Fingering the frayed sleeve of her low- cut, too-tight sweater, she glanced at the clock again and then said, "No. I don't have family here in New York, and Emma and her father wouldn't know each other if they fell over each other." She shrugged. "The police have already checked with all the neighbours."
"Has the father had any contact with Emma at all?" Samantha asked.
Not since she was about two, Stephanie reported. "He's somewhere north of here, in the country," she said, her heavily made up eyes flashing. Tossing her head and making her dangling earrings clang, she told Samantha, "Got himself a new woman, from what I hear, and set himself up pretty. Doesn't have time for his little girl back in New York." Contradicting herself immediately, she then said, "He wanted me to fly Emma up to see them, but I said no way. If he wants to see her, he can damn well come here. Why should Emma be jet-setting all over the place? Besides, they're strangers to her. It wouldn't be right."
"We'll need his name and address, if you have it," Samantha said, unsurprised that though the woman didn't like the idea of Emma travelling to see a father she barely knew, she didn't seem to mind her being taken in and out of foster homes where she knew no one at all.
The dark-haired young woman eventually found Emma's father's address after a search through a couple of cardboard boxes she kept under her unmade bed. "Good luck trying to find him," she told them, handing over a crumpled piece of paper. "That's almost a year old. He's never stayed in one place too long. I doubt he's still there."
"So you haven't heard from him recently?"
"No. Why would I?" she asked, raking bone-thin fingers through her tangled hair. "Sonofabitch. If he paid me better child support, maybe they wouldn't keep coming and taking Emma away every time I turn around."
Jack and Samantha were both aware of the reasons Emma was so frequently removed from Stephanie's home. They had nothing to do with child support and much to do with child neglect and the mother's close association with drugs, alcohol, and prostitution. Stephanie Matthews, they had quickly learned, was a whole cornucopia of issues all by herself.
Taking one last look around the dirty, rundown apartment, they said 'thank you' and left.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
When they stepped outside, darkness had fallen and a cold breeze rushed up the street towards them. Jack saw Samantha hunch her shoulders against it and smiled inwardly. The light coat she was wearing was fashionable, form- fitting, and, in his opinion, looked wonderful on her. It was definitely not suitable for the weather they were experiencing, though. Keeping his observations to himself, however, he told Samantha, "We'll look at the mother a little more, and have some of her 'friends' checked out tomorrow. The father's a possibility. I don't think the mother's telling us the full story there. Maybe he didn't like the way she was taking care of Emma and decided to just come and take her."
He paused to flip open his cell phone and called Danny. After giving the other agent the father's name, address, and phone number, he finished the conversation by saying, "We'll be here for a while more. Let me know what you get."
As Jack folded his phone up and clipped it back onto his belt, Samantha looked along the street. "The police checked the neighbours. Why don't we talk to the store owners along here?" she asked. "Someone may have seen Emma walk by." Jack nodded and looked across the busy street at a diner with a large piece of plywood bandaging one of its broken, dirty windows. "I'd suggest we stop to eat somewhere, but I think maybe we'll wait."
Samantha's eyes followed his gaze across the street. A red neon 'open' sign flickered uncertainly in the rundown establishment's door, obviously unconvinced of the message it was sending. What she could see of the inside from where they stood looked no more encouraging. "Thanks," she murmured dryly. "I'm hungry, but not that hungry." The roaches inside, she decided, were probably as big as small cats.
Dinner postponed, the two agents took stock of their surroundings. The cold air held an edge of foul smells. Pushed by exhaust-laden wind, wrappers and pages of old newspapers and flyers skittered by their feet. Garbage cans placed against the front of the apartment building were full, with bags of refuse fallen onto the sidewalk, their contents spilled. Already, there was a drunk lying propped up against the steps they'd walked down to reach the sidewalk. Two heavily made-up teenage girls strolled by, arm in arm, hair long, skirts short, obviously waiting for a car to slow down, check them out, and ask them their price. Under the halo of a flickering street light, a group of youths hung out on the nearest corner, swearing loudly and pushing each other in displays of machismo. What few pedestrians there were gave them a wide berth as they walked by. Samantha shuddered. The street was as desolate and dirty as the small park Emma had disappeared from. Unconsciously, she took a step closer to Jack.
"Which way?" he asked, "Right, or left?"
Samantha paused and looked around. First, she looked in the opposite direction from where the young men stood. Then, thinking better of it, she turned back to look at the group huddled at the corner. "Let's talk to them, first."
Jack raised a surprised eyebrow, then nodded. As they neared the group of teens, Samantha began to think questioning them might not have been the smartest thing she'd ever thought of. As though sensing they had been singled out, the young men turned in unison as she and Jack approached them, watching in sullen silence as they drew to a stop in front of them.
Holding out Emma's picture, Jack casually asked if any of them had noticed her out that morning.
At first, his question was met with silence, then: "What you lookin' f'little girls for?" one of the young men drawled. Making a great display of looking Samantha up and down, he smacked his lips appreciatively and shook his closely shaven head. "Yo woman looks jus' fine," he said with a grin. "I had myself somethin' looked that good, no way I'd be out on the street walkin'. You should be home, keepin' her warm, man." Glancing around at his friends, he jabbed the nearest one with his elbow and then rubbed his hands together. "And I know jus' how I'd be doin' that!" After the expected snickers from his buddies, he stepped forward. Looking from one side to the other, he said in a lower tone, "You want somethin' to make your time with her more fun, maybe? How 'bout I help you out? Get you a li'l spice to go with d'sugar? I can get you just 'bout anythin' you want, for the right price." Jack glanced at Samantha, who rolled her eyes. He shook his head. The kid was an idiot and trying way too hard with the tough street thug act. Reaching into his overcoat, he flipped them his badge, then said in an even tone, "How about I forget what you just said and you think a little harder about seeing this girl."
"Her name's Emma," Samantha piped up, regarding the youth steadily. "She went missing this morning from the apartment building just over there," she added, indicating Emma's building with a backward jab of her thumb.
The young man sobered slightly. Forgetting, for a moment, to use the full complement of his street lingo, he said, "This is no place for a kid to be out alone, man." He looked at the picture, then shook his head. "I never seen her before." Turning to his buddies, he asked, "Yo seen this kid?" They all looked at the picture Jack held up for them and then shook their heads. Their leader shrugged. Resuming his street-wise, bad-boy persona, he told Jack, "You ain't gonna find nobody tonight." Jerking his head towards Samantha, he grinned, "She's startin' to look a little cold. You'd do better to be gettin' home and workin' on warming her up, man."
Trying hard to ignore the image that rose in his mind at the boy's words, Jack raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for the advice. I'll get right on that," he said, his tone sardonic. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a card. "Call us if you think of anything or hear something. She's only six. She could probably use some help."
* * * * * * *
They had barely stepped out of hearing distance when Samantha purposely bumped up against Jack with her shoulder. "Thanks for the advice, I'll get right on that?!" she repeated, her voice rising. "You told him 'thanks for the advice, I'll get right on that'?!" She gave a muffled choke of laughter and leaned against him slightly as they continued to walk away. "Jack! My God!"
"It was all I could think of," Jack admitted, feeling foolish. "The kid was an idiot," he added, speaking his earlier thought aloud. "What was I supposed to say?"
"I dunno. Maybe something like, 'we're professionals, we don't do that' or 'get your mind out of the gutter a moment and think straight'?" She looked up at him and grinned. "Not that I don't appreciate the concern over my body temperature!" She shook her head. "It never ceases to amaze me where teenage boys' minds spend all their time."
Jack looked down at Samantha and out of the blue came the thought that a man would be lucky to be able to wrap his arms around her. She smiled at him and he wondered what her hair would feel like against his cheek. He glanced away quickly. Disconcerted, he said, "Let's go question some storekeepers." Then, because he couldn't help himself, he added, "After that, as an apology from all mankind, I'll take you for something to eat."
15 HOURS MISSING 11:30 p.m.
Samantha sat back from her desk and tapped her pencil on the arm of her chair. They would be speaking with Emma's case worker and her last two sets of foster parents first thing the next morning. Danny was still trying to track down the father, and Vivian and Pete had left for home hours ago, knowing they were expected in very early the next morning. She sighed. Going home herself would be the sensible thing to do. Somehow, though, it didn't feel right to leave. Rising, she walked over to the white board and examined Emma Matthew's picture again, memorizing the sprinkled freckles scattered over the small nose and the bright brown eyes hovering over an open smile. Sadness welled up inside her. Danny had reported that her teachers said Emma was a bright little girl who didn't suffer as much academically from her irregular attendance as a less able child would have. She was quiet, but eager to please, and polite. She got along well with adults and other children. "She's an absolute pet," Danny had quoted one of her teachers as saying. "You'd never know from her disposition the kind of life that mother of hers puts her through."
Looking at the girl's picture, Samantha imagined her on the swing set outside her dingy apartment building. Something had happened, and someone had seen it. The blood on the Kleenex had been Emma's - that had been confirmed by the lab only hours ago. The Kleenex indicated that someone had been careful of her. She frowned. Someone had stopped when Emma had fallen and scraped her palm, or knee, or done whatever that had made her bleed, and helped her.
So what had happened next? Why had no one-
"What are you doing still here?"
She turned towards the warm, familiar voice. "Hey," she said quietly.
"Hey, yourself," he replied in an equally soft tone. "Why aren't you home?"
She liked the way his voice felt. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Why aren't you?"
He shrugged, and, as she'd grown to expect, said nothing. He opened up only rarely about his personal life, and she never, ever, asked questions. Sometimes, she felt that by not allowing their personal lives to enter their working relationship, it made them closer. They created their own reality when they worked together, one that protected them, for a time, from other parts of their lives that were not so pleasant. That he was not happy, however, seemed obvious to her, and that he was avoiding whatever problems he had instead of facing them also seemed evident.
He hitched himself up to sit on the table. Hands grasping the edges to each side of him, he leaned forward and rested his weight on them. "You're wondering what happened to her after the person who used the Kleenex came along," he said.
She nodded. Walking away from the board, she moved to mirror his position on the table beside him. They both stared silently at the board and its meager assortment of information for a long moment.
"This one is bothering you," he said, his voice still soft.
She nodded.
Looking down, he covered her left hand where it held the edge of the table next to his.
Her body reacting to his casual touch in unexpected ways, she glanced at him quickly. Fighting a surprising urge to lean against him, she stilled, her heart pounding.
After giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, he gripped the table edge again and said, "You have to prepare yourself for the worst, but you can't allow yourself to expect it, Samantha. We'll find her."
"She's so little. It doesn't seem fair," she said, missing the warmth of his hand over hers. "She hasn't had a fair chance at life. And now-" She let out a heavy breath of air.
"And now she's got us looking for her. We'll find her. Something happened, and somewhere, somehow, we'll find the clue that will take us to her."
She knew that, but couldn't stop the images of all the horrible things that might have happened - or be happening - to Emma from racing through her head. "She's so little..." she murmured.
"I know," Jack said in a quiet tone.
They allowed silence to blanket them comfortably for a while, then Jack slowly shifted, and said, "It's time for you to go home. Come on. We'll walk out together." He slid off the table and turned towards her expectantly.
Samantha regarded him, her dark eyes serious. Thinking he was an unexpectedly kind man, she nodded slowly. As they walked towards where Samantha had left her coat, she felt a warmth flow through her as she recognised the comfort his words gave her. Or perhaps it was not so much his words as it was his presence. Or maybe, she thought, glancing sideways at him as he helped her with her coat, it was just him. The whole package.
The thought set off an unaccustomed flutter in her stomach.
The flutter increased with the wish that they were not going separate ways.
End Chapter 2 Shelter
10 HOURS MISSING 6:30 p.m.
Interviewing Emma's mother provided them with little new information. Stephanie Matthews still wasn't certain what her daughter had been wearing when she left the house that morning. She had no idea when her daughter might have left the apartment, except that it must have been between her own 8:00 a.m. departure and 11:00 a.m. return. She confirmed that her daughter's blue windbreaker was missing, and that she was likely wearing a pair of jeans. She had no idea what top she might have been wearing. Emma'd only been back with her a month or so, and every time she went to a foster home, she came back with new clothes. How, she asked in a defensive tone, was she supposed to keep track of everything? Looking at the clock on her VCR, she asked how much more they wanted to know. There wasn't, she said, that much you could say about a six-year-old.
Jack and Samantha shared a dark-eyed glance. The mother was not showing a great amount of concern over her daughter's whereabouts. The report given by the neighbour who'd seen Emma walking towards the swing set shortly after 8:30 that morning had provided as reliable a description as anything they had gotten from the girl's mother. That meant they were looking for a six year old brown-eyed, blonde-haired girl in a navy windbreaker and pale blue jeans. No one knew for sure what she was wearing for a shirt, but at least the mother was certain she had been wearing dirty navy-blue sneakers with velcro closures.
They were the only pair of shoes her daughter owned.
"Is there a relative who might have come by and taken her somewhere?" Samantha asked. "A friend of yours, maybe, or a neighbour? Her father, perhaps?"
It had, after all, been only ten hours or so since Emma had gone missing. A long time, perhaps, but strange things had been known to happen. There was always a chance that an aunt had come by, found Emma alone, decided to take her to the grocery store or something, and then met with some crisis that had prevented her from contacting the mother to let her know where her daughter was.
Stephanie, however, shook her head. Fingering the frayed sleeve of her low- cut, too-tight sweater, she glanced at the clock again and then said, "No. I don't have family here in New York, and Emma and her father wouldn't know each other if they fell over each other." She shrugged. "The police have already checked with all the neighbours."
"Has the father had any contact with Emma at all?" Samantha asked.
Not since she was about two, Stephanie reported. "He's somewhere north of here, in the country," she said, her heavily made up eyes flashing. Tossing her head and making her dangling earrings clang, she told Samantha, "Got himself a new woman, from what I hear, and set himself up pretty. Doesn't have time for his little girl back in New York." Contradicting herself immediately, she then said, "He wanted me to fly Emma up to see them, but I said no way. If he wants to see her, he can damn well come here. Why should Emma be jet-setting all over the place? Besides, they're strangers to her. It wouldn't be right."
"We'll need his name and address, if you have it," Samantha said, unsurprised that though the woman didn't like the idea of Emma travelling to see a father she barely knew, she didn't seem to mind her being taken in and out of foster homes where she knew no one at all.
The dark-haired young woman eventually found Emma's father's address after a search through a couple of cardboard boxes she kept under her unmade bed. "Good luck trying to find him," she told them, handing over a crumpled piece of paper. "That's almost a year old. He's never stayed in one place too long. I doubt he's still there."
"So you haven't heard from him recently?"
"No. Why would I?" she asked, raking bone-thin fingers through her tangled hair. "Sonofabitch. If he paid me better child support, maybe they wouldn't keep coming and taking Emma away every time I turn around."
Jack and Samantha were both aware of the reasons Emma was so frequently removed from Stephanie's home. They had nothing to do with child support and much to do with child neglect and the mother's close association with drugs, alcohol, and prostitution. Stephanie Matthews, they had quickly learned, was a whole cornucopia of issues all by herself.
Taking one last look around the dirty, rundown apartment, they said 'thank you' and left.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
When they stepped outside, darkness had fallen and a cold breeze rushed up the street towards them. Jack saw Samantha hunch her shoulders against it and smiled inwardly. The light coat she was wearing was fashionable, form- fitting, and, in his opinion, looked wonderful on her. It was definitely not suitable for the weather they were experiencing, though. Keeping his observations to himself, however, he told Samantha, "We'll look at the mother a little more, and have some of her 'friends' checked out tomorrow. The father's a possibility. I don't think the mother's telling us the full story there. Maybe he didn't like the way she was taking care of Emma and decided to just come and take her."
He paused to flip open his cell phone and called Danny. After giving the other agent the father's name, address, and phone number, he finished the conversation by saying, "We'll be here for a while more. Let me know what you get."
As Jack folded his phone up and clipped it back onto his belt, Samantha looked along the street. "The police checked the neighbours. Why don't we talk to the store owners along here?" she asked. "Someone may have seen Emma walk by." Jack nodded and looked across the busy street at a diner with a large piece of plywood bandaging one of its broken, dirty windows. "I'd suggest we stop to eat somewhere, but I think maybe we'll wait."
Samantha's eyes followed his gaze across the street. A red neon 'open' sign flickered uncertainly in the rundown establishment's door, obviously unconvinced of the message it was sending. What she could see of the inside from where they stood looked no more encouraging. "Thanks," she murmured dryly. "I'm hungry, but not that hungry." The roaches inside, she decided, were probably as big as small cats.
Dinner postponed, the two agents took stock of their surroundings. The cold air held an edge of foul smells. Pushed by exhaust-laden wind, wrappers and pages of old newspapers and flyers skittered by their feet. Garbage cans placed against the front of the apartment building were full, with bags of refuse fallen onto the sidewalk, their contents spilled. Already, there was a drunk lying propped up against the steps they'd walked down to reach the sidewalk. Two heavily made-up teenage girls strolled by, arm in arm, hair long, skirts short, obviously waiting for a car to slow down, check them out, and ask them their price. Under the halo of a flickering street light, a group of youths hung out on the nearest corner, swearing loudly and pushing each other in displays of machismo. What few pedestrians there were gave them a wide berth as they walked by. Samantha shuddered. The street was as desolate and dirty as the small park Emma had disappeared from. Unconsciously, she took a step closer to Jack.
"Which way?" he asked, "Right, or left?"
Samantha paused and looked around. First, she looked in the opposite direction from where the young men stood. Then, thinking better of it, she turned back to look at the group huddled at the corner. "Let's talk to them, first."
Jack raised a surprised eyebrow, then nodded. As they neared the group of teens, Samantha began to think questioning them might not have been the smartest thing she'd ever thought of. As though sensing they had been singled out, the young men turned in unison as she and Jack approached them, watching in sullen silence as they drew to a stop in front of them.
Holding out Emma's picture, Jack casually asked if any of them had noticed her out that morning.
At first, his question was met with silence, then: "What you lookin' f'little girls for?" one of the young men drawled. Making a great display of looking Samantha up and down, he smacked his lips appreciatively and shook his closely shaven head. "Yo woman looks jus' fine," he said with a grin. "I had myself somethin' looked that good, no way I'd be out on the street walkin'. You should be home, keepin' her warm, man." Glancing around at his friends, he jabbed the nearest one with his elbow and then rubbed his hands together. "And I know jus' how I'd be doin' that!" After the expected snickers from his buddies, he stepped forward. Looking from one side to the other, he said in a lower tone, "You want somethin' to make your time with her more fun, maybe? How 'bout I help you out? Get you a li'l spice to go with d'sugar? I can get you just 'bout anythin' you want, for the right price." Jack glanced at Samantha, who rolled her eyes. He shook his head. The kid was an idiot and trying way too hard with the tough street thug act. Reaching into his overcoat, he flipped them his badge, then said in an even tone, "How about I forget what you just said and you think a little harder about seeing this girl."
"Her name's Emma," Samantha piped up, regarding the youth steadily. "She went missing this morning from the apartment building just over there," she added, indicating Emma's building with a backward jab of her thumb.
The young man sobered slightly. Forgetting, for a moment, to use the full complement of his street lingo, he said, "This is no place for a kid to be out alone, man." He looked at the picture, then shook his head. "I never seen her before." Turning to his buddies, he asked, "Yo seen this kid?" They all looked at the picture Jack held up for them and then shook their heads. Their leader shrugged. Resuming his street-wise, bad-boy persona, he told Jack, "You ain't gonna find nobody tonight." Jerking his head towards Samantha, he grinned, "She's startin' to look a little cold. You'd do better to be gettin' home and workin' on warming her up, man."
Trying hard to ignore the image that rose in his mind at the boy's words, Jack raised an eyebrow. "Thanks for the advice. I'll get right on that," he said, his tone sardonic. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a card. "Call us if you think of anything or hear something. She's only six. She could probably use some help."
* * * * * * *
They had barely stepped out of hearing distance when Samantha purposely bumped up against Jack with her shoulder. "Thanks for the advice, I'll get right on that?!" she repeated, her voice rising. "You told him 'thanks for the advice, I'll get right on that'?!" She gave a muffled choke of laughter and leaned against him slightly as they continued to walk away. "Jack! My God!"
"It was all I could think of," Jack admitted, feeling foolish. "The kid was an idiot," he added, speaking his earlier thought aloud. "What was I supposed to say?"
"I dunno. Maybe something like, 'we're professionals, we don't do that' or 'get your mind out of the gutter a moment and think straight'?" She looked up at him and grinned. "Not that I don't appreciate the concern over my body temperature!" She shook her head. "It never ceases to amaze me where teenage boys' minds spend all their time."
Jack looked down at Samantha and out of the blue came the thought that a man would be lucky to be able to wrap his arms around her. She smiled at him and he wondered what her hair would feel like against his cheek. He glanced away quickly. Disconcerted, he said, "Let's go question some storekeepers." Then, because he couldn't help himself, he added, "After that, as an apology from all mankind, I'll take you for something to eat."
15 HOURS MISSING 11:30 p.m.
Samantha sat back from her desk and tapped her pencil on the arm of her chair. They would be speaking with Emma's case worker and her last two sets of foster parents first thing the next morning. Danny was still trying to track down the father, and Vivian and Pete had left for home hours ago, knowing they were expected in very early the next morning. She sighed. Going home herself would be the sensible thing to do. Somehow, though, it didn't feel right to leave. Rising, she walked over to the white board and examined Emma Matthew's picture again, memorizing the sprinkled freckles scattered over the small nose and the bright brown eyes hovering over an open smile. Sadness welled up inside her. Danny had reported that her teachers said Emma was a bright little girl who didn't suffer as much academically from her irregular attendance as a less able child would have. She was quiet, but eager to please, and polite. She got along well with adults and other children. "She's an absolute pet," Danny had quoted one of her teachers as saying. "You'd never know from her disposition the kind of life that mother of hers puts her through."
Looking at the girl's picture, Samantha imagined her on the swing set outside her dingy apartment building. Something had happened, and someone had seen it. The blood on the Kleenex had been Emma's - that had been confirmed by the lab only hours ago. The Kleenex indicated that someone had been careful of her. She frowned. Someone had stopped when Emma had fallen and scraped her palm, or knee, or done whatever that had made her bleed, and helped her.
So what had happened next? Why had no one-
"What are you doing still here?"
She turned towards the warm, familiar voice. "Hey," she said quietly.
"Hey, yourself," he replied in an equally soft tone. "Why aren't you home?"
She liked the way his voice felt. Raising an eyebrow, she asked, "Why aren't you?"
He shrugged, and, as she'd grown to expect, said nothing. He opened up only rarely about his personal life, and she never, ever, asked questions. Sometimes, she felt that by not allowing their personal lives to enter their working relationship, it made them closer. They created their own reality when they worked together, one that protected them, for a time, from other parts of their lives that were not so pleasant. That he was not happy, however, seemed obvious to her, and that he was avoiding whatever problems he had instead of facing them also seemed evident.
He hitched himself up to sit on the table. Hands grasping the edges to each side of him, he leaned forward and rested his weight on them. "You're wondering what happened to her after the person who used the Kleenex came along," he said.
She nodded. Walking away from the board, she moved to mirror his position on the table beside him. They both stared silently at the board and its meager assortment of information for a long moment.
"This one is bothering you," he said, his voice still soft.
She nodded.
Looking down, he covered her left hand where it held the edge of the table next to his.
Her body reacting to his casual touch in unexpected ways, she glanced at him quickly. Fighting a surprising urge to lean against him, she stilled, her heart pounding.
After giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, he gripped the table edge again and said, "You have to prepare yourself for the worst, but you can't allow yourself to expect it, Samantha. We'll find her."
"She's so little. It doesn't seem fair," she said, missing the warmth of his hand over hers. "She hasn't had a fair chance at life. And now-" She let out a heavy breath of air.
"And now she's got us looking for her. We'll find her. Something happened, and somewhere, somehow, we'll find the clue that will take us to her."
She knew that, but couldn't stop the images of all the horrible things that might have happened - or be happening - to Emma from racing through her head. "She's so little..." she murmured.
"I know," Jack said in a quiet tone.
They allowed silence to blanket them comfortably for a while, then Jack slowly shifted, and said, "It's time for you to go home. Come on. We'll walk out together." He slid off the table and turned towards her expectantly.
Samantha regarded him, her dark eyes serious. Thinking he was an unexpectedly kind man, she nodded slowly. As they walked towards where Samantha had left her coat, she felt a warmth flow through her as she recognised the comfort his words gave her. Or perhaps it was not so much his words as it was his presence. Or maybe, she thought, glancing sideways at him as he helped her with her coat, it was just him. The whole package.
The thought set off an unaccustomed flutter in her stomach.
The flutter increased with the wish that they were not going separate ways.
End Chapter 2 Shelter