The Tempted Read online

  Abby shoved back a lock of dark, glossy hair as she stared at Tess. She wasn’t as beautiful as her sister, Naomi, nor as tall and willowy, but there was compassion in her brown eyes. A softness in her smile in spite of her years in law enforcement.

  Tess had liked Abby at once, and she wanted to believe her now. Wanted to take solace in Abby’s assurances. She was a good cop. With the help of an ex-FBI profiler, she’d cracked the Sara Beth Brodie case. She was working on Emily’s case now, and Tess wished that she was in charge instead of Dave Conyers. Abby had found Sara Beth. Maybe she could find Emily, too.

  But in ten years, not even Abby Cross had been able to locate Sadie, her own niece, and Naomi had been forced to endure that slow death, to exist in the terrible purgatory of never knowing what had happened to her child.

  One by one, Tess studied the faces around her, and she knew that the same thought was paramount on everyone’s mind. In the last ten years, three of Eden’s children had gone missing. Only one of them had returned. If they didn’t find Emily, if they never determined what had happened to Sadie, how many more children would be taken? How many more parents would have to suffer?

  “TESS, WAIT A MINUTE!”

  Tess had been heading across the parking lot to her car, but she paused now as someone called out her name. Turning, she saw Naomi Cross hurry across the asphalt toward her. Even from a distance, even in her despair, Tess marveled at the woman’s extraordinary beauty. She was tall and thin, with a flawless complexion and large brown eyes rimmed with thick lashes. She looked like a model as she hurried across the parking lot toward Tess.

  By comparison, Tess knew her own looks had suffered since her daughter’s disappearance, so much so she hardly recognized herself in the mirror these days. She’d lost weight, and her face, thin to begin with, now appeared pale and gaunt. Her blue eyes were shadowed with grief and exhaustion, and her hair hung in a limp ponytail down her back. For Tess, makeup and hair appointments had become a thing of the past. It was all she could do to drag herself out of bed each morning and get dressed.

  But it was more than Naomi Cross’s looks that provided a stark contrast. She exuded a strength and quiet dignity, garnered from her tragedy, that Tess knew she would never be able to muster.

  Naomi stopped beside Tess and placed a hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

  Tess let out a ragged breath. “No. How could I be, after what they just told me in there?”

  “I know what you’re feeling,” Naomi said gently. “When it first happens, you think nothing could be worse than learning your child has disappeared. But then comes the day when the police stop actively searching for her. When the volunteers all go home, the command center is shut down, and your daughter becomes just another face on a milk carton. Life returns to normal for everyone but you.” Naomi paused. “That’s when your faith is most sorely tested.”

  Tess wrapped her arms around her middle. “I’m not sure I have any faith left.” She searched the early-morning sky. White clouds scattered across an intense, blinding blue, and the sun hovered in the east. It was late August, still hot and humid, the temperature marching steadily upward to the nineties. But in spite of the heat, Tess thought she could detect a hint of fall in the air. Or maybe it was her mood. Maybe it was a portent. The seasons would be changing soon. Would her daughter still be missing?

  “I want her to come home. I want to hold her in my arms again. She’s just a baby. She didn’t deserve this. How could something like this happen?” she asked angrily.

  When Naomi reached a hand to touch her arm, Tess flinched away. Immediately remorse set in. Naomi had been nothing but kindness. “I’m sorry,” Tess whispered, putting a trembling hand to her face. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you like that. I don’t do that. I don’t—”

  “Lose control? Fall to pieces? Maybe it would help if you did.”

  Tess wished she could fall apart. She wished she could scream at the injustice and cruelty of a world that would allow this to happen to an innocent child. She wished she could just let go, beat her fists against her chest, tear her hair, do something, anything, to give rein to her rage. But losing control wouldn’t help Emily, and control was about all Tess had left.

  She glanced at Naomi and the hollowness inside her deepened. “How do you do it? After all these years, how do you keep going?”

  Naomi glanced away. “Sometimes it might be easier to just give up, to lose all hope. To accept what fate has doled out to me. But then I think about Sadie out there somewhere, wondering if I’m still looking for her, and I make one more phone call. I follow up on that last lead. I do the next interview because if she is still alive, I want her to know that I haven’t given up. That I’ll never give up.”

  “I won’t give up, either,” Tess said fiercely. “But the police have.”

  Naomi squeezed her hand. “I know it seems that way now, but the case will remain open. Leads will be followed. My sister has put a major career change on hold until they find Emily.”

  Tess lifted her head. “Career change?”

  “Abby’s applied for acceptance at the FBI Academy, but no matter if she’s accepted or not, she’s not going anywhere until Emily is found. That’s how committed she is.” Naomi glanced over her shoulder at the sheriff’s station. “They all are, Tess. You have to remain committed, too. There are things you can do on your own to find your daughter, and the Children’s Rescue Network can help you.”

  “I’ll do anything,” Tess said brokenly. “You know that.”

  Naomi nodded. “The first thing is to stay connected with as many of the missing-children’s networks and foundations around the country as you can.”

  There were so many of them, Tess had discovered. Most of them founded in memory of someone’s missing child, just like the Children’s Rescue Network had been founded in Sadie Cross’s memory. A year from now, ten years from now, would such a foundation be Tess’s only consolation, her only connection to a daughter she loved more that life itself?

  “You’ll want to keep Emily’s story in the news and her picture in front of the public as much as you can,” Naomi said. “And you’ll have to find creative ways of doing that now that media interest is waning. You might also want to think about starting a Web site. We can help you with that.”

  Tess wasn’t as proficient on a computer as she should be in this day and age, but she knew about the Internet’s power, its ability to reach millions of people in the space of a heartbeat. The rest she would learn.

  “What else?”

  Naomi paused. “You can go proactive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the note I found is genuine, then the kidnapper has already made contact once, and he was willing to risk detection to do so. You could do another round of television and radio interviews, asking for your daughter’s safe return. It’s possible the kidnapper will respond to your pleas.”

  Tess seized on her words. “Then you think the note was genuine. You don’t think it was a hoax as the police seem to.”

  “I’m not an expert,” Naomi cautioned. “But I can tell you this. For a split second after I found that message, it crossed my mind that it was from Sadie. I know that sounds crazy. She’s fifteen years old now, almost a young woman, but I guess a part of me still thinks of her exactly as she was the last time I saw her.” A shadow darkened her expression, but her eyes were bright and dry. “The point I’m trying to make is that the note touched me in some way. I think a child wrote it.”

  Relief welled inside Tess. “I think so, too. I think that child was Emily.”

  “If she did write it, then we have to assume she’s still alive. And if she’s alive, someone may have seen her. A neighbor or a family member of the kidnapper may have suspicions, but for whatever reason, hasn’t come forward. You may have to increase the reward offer, and you may also want to consider hiring a private-detective firm to look at the investigation in a different way.”

  Tess’s heart san
k. Immediately after Emily’s disappearance, she’d drained her savings to set up a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information pertaining to the kidnapping. That was all the money she had in the world, and her cleaning service had suffered a major financial setback, primarily because she wasn’t around to supervise and coordinate the work.

  For the last three weeks, she’d haunted the sheriff’s station every day, looking for any scrap of information, any bit of news that would give her hope, that would give her confidence the police were doing everything that could be done to find her daughter. She’d worked with the volunteers, stuffing envelopes, answering phones, passing out pictures locally and to the organizations that could distribute them state-and nationwide. No job was too tedious or too overwhelming for her to tackle. She would do anything in her power to bring her daughter home, but Naomi was asking her to do the one thing she could not do. She couldn’t raise the reward offer. Not alone.

  As if reading her mind, Naomi said sympathetically, “The CRN can set up a fund to help you out financially, but it’ll still be expensive. And it could take a while for the donations to mount up. Is there anyone who can help you out immediately?”

  Tess shook her head. “Emily and I have no family except for my mother, and she’s certainly not a wealthy woman.”

  “What about Emily’s father?”

  Tess grew instantly defensive. “What about him?”

  “I know he’s dead, but what about his family? Could they help?”

  “Uh, no,” Tess said awkwardly, realizing her initial response must have seemed a little strange. “They’re on a fixed income, too. They wouldn’t be able to help.” Not that his mother would if she could, Tess thought. Mildred Campbell had been dead set against her son’s marriage to Tess, and her attitude hadn’t softened even when Tess had nursed Alan through the worst of his illness, when she’d kept vigil night and day at his deathbed. The child Tess had been carrying had only served to remind the grief-stricken woman that as one life began another was ending.

  And now it was Emily’s life on the line.

  What about her father?

  A shudder racked Tess at the mere thought of her secret being revealed after all these years. Emily was in grave danger at the hands of her kidnapper, but the note proved she was still alive. She could still be found and rescued.

  But if the truth came out now, there might be nothing Tess could do to save her daughter.

  Chapter Two

  “Here’s your mail, Mr. Spencer. And your messages.”

  Jared Spencer stood gazing out the window of his father’s office—his office now—idly gauging the flow of traffic on the street nine stories below. He turned as his secretary bustled into the room. “Thanks, Barbara.”

  She held up a newspaper. “I brought you a copy of the Journal, too. Your father always liked to read the paper first thing in the morning with his coffee.” She paused tentatively. “I seem to recall you take yours black.”

  “You have a good memory.”

  She turned back to the door. “I’ll get you a cup right away.”

  “No, don’t bother,” he said, distracted. “I can get my own coffee.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “It’s no trouble.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t expect you to wait on me.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Spencer.” She fussed with the mail for a moment, then folded the paper just so on his desk. “Oh, dear.” Her bifocals hung on a chain around her neck, and she perched them on the end of her nose as she scanned the headlines. “That poor little girl is still missing.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She looked up over her glasses. “You haven’t heard about it? A five-year-old girl was kidnapped almost three weeks ago from a school playground in Jefferson County. They still haven’t found her.”

  “That’s too bad.” Jared walked over to his desk and glanced down at the paper. The little girl’s picture stared up at him. Dark hair, dark eyes.

  “What a beautiful child,” he murmured, struck by the girl’s arresting features.

  “I know. I saw the mother on television the day after it happened. She looked just devastated, poor thing. I have a grandson the same age as the little girl. I kept wondering how I would feel if it was my daughter standing in front of those cameras, begging some madman to bring her child home.”

  “I hope they find her soon.” For a moment, Jared couldn’t tear his gaze from the little girl’s picture. He hated to think of an innocent child being taken from her mother, suffering unspeakable horrors at the hands of some psycho.

  “I hope so, too, but after all this time…” Barbara trailed off, shaking her head. “The world is a sad place. But I guess you know that as well as anyone.” Her gray eyes swept the spacious office. “It just doesn’t seem the same without him, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Spencer?”

  “Not at the moment.” He looked up from the newspaper and smiled. “I’m still just trying to get my bearings.”

  “You’ll do fine,” she said in a motherly tone. She paused at the door on her way out and glanced back into the office. “It will be strange, though, without him.”

  That was an understatement, Jared thought, sorting through his messages. He still hadn’t gotten over the shock of his father’s sudden death. He kept expecting to look up and see Davis Spencer stroll through the double office doors, demanding to know what the hell Jared was doing sitting behind his desk.

  Jared’s father had died four weeks ago from a massive coronary that had taken everyone who knew him by surprise. Jared had always thought his father would live forever. He was too stubborn, too powerful, too manipulative to do otherwise, but in the end, he’d been just an ordinary mortal, succumbing to an all-too-human frailty.

  And so Jared had been summoned back to the corporate office in Jackson after a six-year stint in New Orleans, where he’d overseen extensive renovations to the grand old Spencer Hotel on Royal Street. The Jackson Spencer, opened at the turn of the century, was the flagship of an elegant fleet of four hotels scattered throughout the South, but the New Orleans Spencer, established some thirty years later, was the most famous, a crown jewel shimmering with old-world ambience and charm in the heart of the Vieux Carré.

  The assignment to restore the hotel to its former grandeur had been both challenging and grueling, but it had also been a good place for Jared to make his mark. He’d earned a lot of respect and accolades from his peers over the years, even if at times his drive and determination had made him one of the most hated men in the company. But that, too, had toughened him. At the age of thirty, he’d already become a man to be reckoned with.

  Which was a good thing. His younger brother, Royce, had had six years to make inroads in the upper echelons of the Spencer Hotels Corporation while Jared had been out toiling in the trenches. For as long as Jared could remember, he and his brother had been fierce rivals, a situation encouraged by their father to prepare them for the “real” world.

  Whether it was on the football field, in the classroom or climbing the corporate ladder, Jared and his brother had been taught at an early age that it was a winner-takes-all world. The loser, it was always understood, got nothing.

  But where Jared had thrived on the competition, Royce had grown bitter over the years. He deeply resented Jared’s ascension to the presidency of the company, even though the position didn’t offer complete autonomy. Jared answered to a powerful board of directors, and his promotion could prove all too temporary if he didn’t live up to expectations. His age and experience troubled the old-timers on the board, and they would be watching him closely for any slipups, any lapses in judgment that would give them ample cause to remove him.

  Jared didn’t know what his brother had to complain about. As executor of a trust set up by their father, Royce had acquired no small amount of power himself.

  Frowning, Jared thumbed through the mail. The trust ha
d come as a complete surprise. Unbeknownst to anyone except Davis Spencer and his attorneys, he’d devised the ultimate contest between his sons. The first to produce a Spencer grandchild was given, upon Davis’s death, complete control of a fifty-million-dollar trust.

  But Royce didn’t seem to appreciate the fact that the real prize wasn’t the trust, but his family. He had two great kids, a son and a daughter, but unfortunately, he seemed all too preoccupied with the money and the power it brought him. And even that wasn’t enough.

  “The board should have named me president,” he’d ranted after the funeral, when he’d learned of Jared’s appointment. “Their decision had nothing to do with who’s the better man for the job. You got that appointment solely because you’re the eldest. Don’t kid yourself into thinking you deserve it. You’ve been away for six years. Six years, damn it, while I stayed here and worked my butt off. While I catered to the old man’s every whim.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing down in New Orleans?” Jared retorted. “I paid my dues, too, Royce. I spent fourteen and fifteen hours a day, seven days a week, on that project. You want to talk about working your butt off? You want to talk about sacrifice?”

  “Oh, please.” Royce gave him a killing look. “You were in New Orleans, for God’s sake. Do you know what I would have given to be in your place instead of stuck here with the old man?”

  “You could have been there. That project was up for grabs six years ago. But you weren’t willing to start out at the bottom, like I was.”

  “Oh, yeah, it was up for grabs, all right. And you grabbed it so fast, it made my head spin. You just couldn’t wait to get down there and prove yourself, could you? You couldn’t get out of Mississippi fast enough.”

  That part was true, Jared thought, but not for the reasons Royce had mentioned. Jared’s leaving had nothing to do with their father and very little to do with ambition. He’d left Mississippi because of Tess.