Little Girl Lost. Shirlee McCoy

      “I could say the same about you, Detective.”

      “Mick, remember? Have you tried to start the car up since it stalled?”

      “Not yet.”

      “Mind if I try?”

      “Go ahead.” She passed him the keys, her hands encased in fuzzy pink mittens that Kaitlyn would have loved. Somehow on Portia they worked, the quirky fabric adding to her unique style.

      “Nice mittens.”

      “You’re the first person over ten years old to say so.”

      “Yeah? Well, don’t let it get around. I wouldn’t want to ruin my tough-cop reputation.” He slid into the Bug, the sound of her laughter following him and making him want to turn and watch the amusement playing out on her face.

      But he didn’t have the time, and not just because he was running late. A woman like Portia would need lots of attention. More than a man with a six-year-old daughter could give. Though Mick had to admit, he might be tempted to try if she didn’t live a few hundred miles away. Being married to Rebecca had taught him an important lesson. A relationship with a woman who traveled more than she was home didn’t work for him. He doubted a long-distance relationship would be any different.

      He turned the key in the ignition, heard a quiet click and knew he was about to add a few more minutes to his ETA. “Looks like it’s not budging. Where were you headed?”

      “Town hall. Aunt Winnie asked me to drop off a few things for the parade tonight.”

      “Go ahead and put them in my truck while I call for a tow.”

      She looked like she was going to argue, so Mick pulled a bag of cookie-filled containers from the back seat of the Bug and handed it her. “I’ve got a bunch of teenagers waiting for me to chaperone their ice-fishing trip. If I don’t give you a ride, I’ll have to stay here and wait until the tow truck arrives. Let’s save some time and do things my way.”

      To Mick’s surprise, Portia gave in gracefully, grabbing the bag and carrying it to the SUV. Less than five minutes later, the Bug was safely on the shoulder of the road and they were on the way to Town Hall, the interior of the SUV filled with the scent of chocolate and something else—a flowery, feminine scent that Mick thought must be Portia’s shampoo.

      She glanced at him and smiled, her eyes shadowed and dark. “Thanks for the lift. I hope your ice-fishing crew won’t leave without you.”

      “Seeing as how I’m one of the youth group leaders, I don’t think I have much to worry about in that regard. Besides, Unity Christian isn’t far from Town Hall. I’ll only be a few minutes late.”

      “You’re a youth group leader?” She turned toward him, tiny bells on her earrings jingling as she moved.

      “Does that surprise you?”

      “Maybe. I guess I didn’t picture you as the churchgoing, youth-group-leading type.”

      Before Mick could ask what type she had pictured him as, she shifted in her seat, her hands clenched in her lap, her shoulders tense. “I was planning to come to the station to see you this morning. Since you’re not going to be there, do you think we can talk now?”

      “Sure.”

      “What you said about my father last night is…disturbing.”

      “I imagine it is, but I can’t change the facts. Your father has a reputation to uphold and a company to protect. That company is your family’s bread and butter. Without it, your father can’t maintain the lifestyle he’s cultivated. Men have killed for less.”

      “I know, but I don’t think my father would. He may be difficult at times, but he’s no murderer.”

      “I don’t doubt your sincerity in saying that, but I’ve got to check out the facts and find out the truth for myself.” He pulled up in front of Town Hall and turned to face her.

      She frowned, her eyes a deep brown that reminded Mick of milk chocolate and Valentines. He had the urge to lean forward, cup her cheek with his hand, see if her skin was as smooth and silky as it felt. And that was bad news.

      He’d have to be careful around Portia. Really careful. Otherwise, he might find himself getting more involved than he intended.

      “So you’re going to keep investigating my family.” She sounded tired and defeated, and Mick was surprised at how much that bothered him.

      “I’m going to keep following my leads. Right now, they all head in that direction. By tomorrow, things might change.”

      “That’s nice of you to say, Mick, but I don’t think you really believe it.”

      He didn’t, though he was checking out other possibilities. McGraw hadn’t been a cop for long, but there was no doubt he’d made enemies while he was one.

      Mick considered telling Portia as much, but for the sake of McGraw’s family, he didn’t. Bringing up the past would do no good, unless the past proved to be connected to the case. “Tomorrow is a new day. Anything is possible. That’s something I do believe.”

      “A new day. Yeah, well, I hope it’ll be better than the last few.” Portia pushed the door open, anxious to get away, but Mick snagged her hand before she could retreat, his blue eyes searching hers.

      “Has it really been that bad?” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, his fingers lingering there for a moment.

      Portia blinked, surprised by his touch, by his words, by the concern she saw in his eyes. Did he really care that much about a woman he barely knew? If so, how would he act toward someone he loved?

      Just thinking the question made her uncomfortable, and she tugged her hand away, reaching over the seat for the bag of baked goods. “No, not that bad. Just…” What? Discouraging? Disheartening? “Difficult. I used to think I understood our family. Now, I’m not sure it’s anything like what I believed. And that’s hard.”

      “You’re talking about the new information regarding your mother.”

      It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “What else? But there are other things, too. It’s hard not to worry and wonder when so much of what’s happening is out of my control.”

      “I don’t blame you for that, but worry never changes anything.”

      “My head knows that. My heart isn’t convinced.”

      He watched her for a moment, then smiled, a slow, easy curve of his lips that made Portia’s heart leap and her stomach tumble and twist.

      “Tell you what, why don’t we make a deal? I’ll keep you updated on the case. You relax and stop worrying.”

      Did he really think it was that easy? “How about I promise to try not to worry?”

      “Good enough. Here’s my card. Call me if you have any questions or concerns.”

      Portia took the card, tucked it into her coat pocket and tried to get out of the SUV gracefully. As usual, her efforts fell short. Her boot caught on the edge of the door and she tumbled forward, nearly losing her grip on the bag and her purse.

      “Careful.” Mick grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. “You destroy the stuff your aunt baked and you’ll be the talk of the parade committee for the next ten years.”

      “I was thinking something similar, earlier. What is this? Three saves? Four?”

      “Three, but who’s counting?”

      “Certainly not you.”

      Mick laughed and shook his head. “You’d better get that stuff inside. See you around.”

      He drove off as Portia stepped into Town Hall, and she told herself she was glad to be away from him. And she was. Mick wasn’t the