No one was coming for her. Nobody was even looking for her. I’ll never see my baby again. Tears squeezed from her eyes and ran down her cheek. It was no use to even scream. Anyone who could hear her was locked inside, too.

Atlanta , Monday, January 29, 9:15 p.m.

“Bailey Crighton?” The woman who’d introduced herself as Sister Anne put a tray full of dirty dishes on the kitchen counter. “What about her?”

In front of him Alex Fallon stood clutching Bailey’s driver’s license picture that she’d already shown at four other shelters. “I’m looking for her. Have you seen her?”

“Depends. You a cop?”

Alex shook her head. “No,” she said and Daniel noticed she said nothing about him.

Watching Alex Fallon in action had been an educational experience. She’d never outright lied anywhere they’d gone, but was quite adept at telling only as much as she needed to tell and letting people believe what they would. But she was tired and discouraged and now he could hear a tremble in her voice that made him want to make it better somehow. Any way he could.

“I’m a nurse. Bailey’s my stepsister and she’s missing. Have you seen her?”

Sister Anne cast a suspicious glance at Daniel.

“Please,” he mouthed silently and her eyes softened.

“She comes here every Sunday. Yesterday was the first day she’d missed in years. I’ve been worried.”

It was the first time anyone had admitted to having seen Bailey, although Daniel could tell a few of them had seen her and had been too skittish to admit it.

“She comes here on Sundays?” Alex asked. “Why?”

Sister Anne smiled. “Her pancakes are the best around.”

“She makes happy-face pancakes for the kids,” another woman said as she brought in another tray of dirty dishes. “What’s wrong with Bailey?”

“She’s missing,” Sister Anne said.

“She volunteers here, then?” Daniel asked, and Sister Anne bobbed her head.

“For five years now, ever since she’s been sober. How long has she been missing?”

“Since Thursday night.” Alex straightened her spine. “Do you know Hope?”

“Of course. That doll-baby can talk a blue streak and I love hearing every word.” She frowned abruptly, glancing at them through narrowed eyes. “Is Hope missing, too?”

“No, she’s been staying with me and my cousin,” Alex said quickly. “But she’s not well. She hasn’t said a word since I got here on Saturday.”

Sister Anne looked perplexed. “That’s very wrong. Tell me what happened.”

Alex did and Sister Anne started shaking her head. “There is no way that Bailey would ever abandon that child. Hope was her life.” She sighed. “Hope saved her life.”

“So Bailey was a regular here before she got sober?” Daniel asked.

“Oh, yeah. Here and at the methadone clinic up the street. But that was then. I’ve seen junkies come and go for thirty years. I can tell who’s gonna make it and who’s not. Bailey was gonna make it. Coming here every week was her way of keeping her head straight, of making her remember what she was so she wouldn’t go back. She was making a life for herself and that baby of hers. There is no way she gave up on Hope.” She bit at her lip, hesitating. “Did you talk to her daddy?”

“Hope’s daddy?” Alex asked tentatively.

“No.” Sister Anne looked at Alex shrewdly. “Bailey’s daddy.”

Alex stiffened and Daniel sensed what had been discouragement was now fear.

“Alex?” he murmured behind her. “Are you okay?”

She jerked a nod. “No, I haven’t talked to her father.” Her voice was cool, careful, and Daniel knew by now that meant she was scared. “Do you know where he is?”

Sister Anne heaved a giant sigh. “Out there somewhere. Bailey never gave up hope that he’d turn from the life and come home. I know she spent hours pokin’ her head in every godforsaken corner of this town, lookin’ for him.” She gave Alex a sideways look. “She still lives in that old house in Dutton, hoping he’ll come back.”

Alex grew even stiffer, more afraid. Daniel gave in to the urge to touch her that he’d been fighting since she’d met his eyes back in his living room. He needed to connect with her again, needed her to know he was there, that she wasn’t alone and didn’t need to be afraid. So he covered her shoulders with his hands and pulled gently until she leaned against him.

“I hate that house,” she whispered.

“I know,” he whispered back. And he did. He knew what she meant by “that house” and what had happened there. Daniel had read the articles Luke had downloaded and now he knew about Alex’s mother, how she’d put a.38 to her head to end her life, how Alex had found her body. All on the same day Alicia’s body had been found.

Sister Anne was studying Alex intently. “Bailey hates that place, too, honey. But she stays, hopin’ her daddy will come home.”

Alex was trembling and Daniel tightened his hold. “Did he come home?” he asked.

“No. Leastways she never told me.”

Alex straightened her shoulders and pulled far enough away that she no longer leaned against him. “Thank you, Sister. If you hear anything, will you call me?” She tore a corner from the copy of Bailey’s driver’s license photo and wrote her name and cell phone number. “And could you talk to Hope? We haven’t been able to get through.”

Sister Anne’s smile was sympathetic and sad. “You couldn’t stop me. I don’t drive anymore, though, so it’d be hard for me to get down to Dutton.”

“We’ll bring her to you,” Daniel said, and Alex twisted back to look at him, surprised gratitude on her face. “If it wasn’t safe for you,” he murmured, “it’s certainly not safe for you and Hope.”

“It was safe for Bailey and Hope,” she protested.

“Bailey knew her way around. You don’t. When’s a good time, Sister?”

“Pick any time. I’m always here.”

“It’ll be tomorrow night then.” Daniel squeezed Alex’s shoulders lightly. “Let’s go.”

They’d gotten to the door when a young woman stopped them. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, but like all the other women there, her eyes were far older. “Excuse me,” she said. “Somebody heard you in the kitchen. Are you a nurse?”

Daniel felt her change. She’d put her fear aside and was instantly focused on the woman who stood before her. She nodded, her eyes assessing. “Yes. Are you sick?”

“No, it’s my little girl.” The young woman pointed to a cot in the middle of a sea of cots where a child lay, curled in a ball. “She’s got some kind of rash on her foot and it’s hurting her. I was at the clinic all day, but if you don’t get here by six all the beds get filled.”

Alex put her hand on the woman’s back. “Let’s take a look.” Daniel followed, curious to see her in action. “What’s your name?” she asked the mother.

“Sarah. Sarah Jenkins. This is Tamara.”

Alex smiled at the girl, who looked about four or five. “Hi there, Tamara. Can I look at your foot?” She was efficient but gentle as she examined the child. “It’s not serious,” she said, and the mother relaxed. “It’s impetigo. Looks like it might have started with a cut, though. Has she had a tetanus S-H-O-T recently?”

Tamara’s eyes widened with fear. “I have to get a shot?”

Alex blinked. “You’re pretty smart, Tamara. Well, Mom, has she had one?”

Sarah nodded. “Right before Christmas.”

“Then you don’t need one,” she said to Tamara, who looked relieved. Alex looked up at Sister Anne. “Do you keep any ointments here?”

“Only Neosporin.”

“This is pretty inflamed. Neosporin won’t do too much. When I come back I’ll bring something stronger. Until then, wash it and keep it covered. You have gauze?”

The nun nodded. “A little.”

“Then use it and I’ll bring you some more of that, too. And no scratching, Tamara,”

Tamara’s lip pushed out in a pout. “It itches.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You’re just going to have to tell yourself it doesn’t.”

“You mean lie?” Tamara asked, and Alex made a face.