Stolen Daughters by Carolyn Arnold (top novels TXT) 📗

It had been five in the morning when she’d finally arrived home after taking Crystal back to her parents in Washington. Amanda had even hung around a little for the reunion, and that had sapped more life from her. Crystal’s mother, Leila, had collapsed into herself as she held her daughter tight. Henry had latched onto his wife and daughter and was even more outwardly emotional than Leila. He sobbed loudly, letting the tears stream down his face.

Amanda had made sure Simon West was booked for kidnapping and multiple counts of statutory rape. The cherry on top? Possession of an unregistered firearm, as it turned out.

All that in a day’s work—technically today’s work—from two thirty to five this morning.

She just wanted to burrow her head deeper into her pillow and pull the covers over her face… shut her eyes. But she had a killer to stop. She got out of bed, went through her morning routine, and was about to leave when there was a knock on her door.

Amanda froze, her heart thumping wildly. Was the killer standing on her front step ready to overpower her the second she opened the door? Did killers knock? She shook her crazy imaginings away but laid her hand over her hostler, ready to pull her Glock if needed.

She stood on her tiptoes to see out the high window in the door. Logan stood on the doorstep with flowers. She took a deep breath and opened the door. “Hello… What are you doing here?”

He smiled and extended the bouquet. “Thought I’d hand deliver these.”

She took the flowers from him. “What are they for?”

“Your birthday. It is today?”

She sniffed the blooms appreciatively but shook her head. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Shoot! I thought for sure I had it right. Well, it’s better early than late.” He hugged her and tapped a quick kiss on her mouth.

She licked her lips and smiled. “I wish I could ask you in, but I have to be going.” She touched his cheek, appreciating that his face was becoming familiar and trusted, even a comfort.

“No problem. I’ve got to get to a dentist appointment myself. Just figured I’d try to catch you. I swung by last night, but you weren’t here.” There was the enclosed question of her whereabouts, and she’d answer—this time.

“I’m working all hours right now. I actually didn’t get in until after five.”

“I don’t know how you pull it off.”

“Me either, honestly.”

“Oh, not just the long hours, but still looking the way you do.” He smiled. “You’re beautiful.”

“You caught me after I caked on makeup with a spatula, but I’ll take the compliment.” She grinned. She wanted to open up to him about the investigations that had her on the go at all hours, but why darken his day? She lifted the flowers. “Thank you for these.”

“Don’t mention it. But do call me. We’re past due for some quality time.”

“That we are.” She remained at the door, appreciating the view as he walked off and got into his black Dodge Ram. Logan was one good-looking man, and she was grateful for his attention, but she was determined to keep a level head and not get too attached. She knew all too well that good things had a way of being taken away.

She put the bouquet in some water and headed out the door for Central. She grabbed a coffee at Hannah’s Diner on the way. Then, she settled at her desk.

The first thing she did was send a copy of the mystery man’s photo to CSI Blair asking if she could run it through facial recognition. Getting a hit there would mean their guy had a record. Next, she searched the internet for white of eyes black. She had enough time to read some results before Trent arrived.

“Mornin’.” He put a to-go cup on her desk and smiled at her before heading to his cubicle.

She eyed the brown cup with the small, scripted H in a circle. It was from Hannah’s Diner. “You have impeccable timing. I just finished the one I was working on.”

“I know how much you love their coffee.”

“They’ve got the best I’ve ever had.”

“As you’ve said before.” Trent laughed. “It’s pretty good, but I think you might be stretching it a bit… or you need to get out more.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. She couldn’t get too angry at him though; he had brought her coffee—and she rather liked the frequency with which it was happening these days. “Just before you got here I googled what could make the whites of a person’s eyes black. The guy could have a rare case of severe kidney or liver failure, wear black sclera contact lenses, or he had the whites of his eyes dyed.”

Trent’s jaw dropped, and he lowered into his chair. “Dyed. Are you kidding me?”

“Add it to the list of the strangest things I’ve ever heard. But it’s called scleral tattooing. It’s where a dye is injected between two layers of the eye and the color spreads out.”

“Yikes. The thought sends shivers through me.”

“Makes two of us. Unless he’s wearing contacts, the black is a permanent feature of his appearance, so it should make this guy easily recognizable.”

“That’s true. So how did you make out last night?” Trent asked, then pressed his cup to his mouth.

She’d taken Crystal to Washington by herself and let Trent go home and get some rest. “It was an emotional night.” She stopped there, impacted by the memory of Crystal’s face upon seeing her parents. There was spite that had flicked across her eyes, and then there was sorrow. The teenager had ended up bawling as hard as her father.

“I can understand that. Did you tell the Fosters everything—about Ashley, and how Crystal might have something to offer our investigation?”

Before she’d taken Crystal back home, Amanda and Trent had discussed it might be useful if Crystal sat with a police sketch artist and have them draw the woman and the man with the black eyes. “I did. I gave them a