Hideaway At Hawk's Landing. Rita Herron

the door, but Brayden caught it with his hand.

      He studied her, searching for signs she was upset or being coerced somehow. “The nurse said the doctor’s daughter was sick. Is she here?”

      The woman’s eyes darted to the side, then she nodded. “In bed. She has a fever and needs rest.”

      He slipped his business card into her hand. “I hope it’s nothing serious,” he said. “If you need anything, call me.”

      The woman’s hand trembled as she jammed the business card in her apron pocket. “I’m sorry, mister. I need to go take care of her.” She didn’t wait for a response. She closed the door in his face.

      * * *

      MILA CLASPED HER clammy hands together as she waited on the lawyer to meet her before the bond hearing. Nerves bunched in her stomach, and her head throbbed from lack of sleep.

      The door to the interrogation room creaked open, and Agent Hawk appeared with Polk. His beady eyes skated over her, threatening and unrelenting.

      “You have five minutes,” Agent Hawk said as he glanced between the two of them. “Then it’s time to see the judge.”

      “It will only take two,” Polk said curtly.

      Fluorescent light accentuated Polk’s bald head. He strode toward her, then claimed the chair across from her, his lips set in a firm line.

      “Is my daughter all right?” Mila asked in a low whisper.

      His thick brows furrowed together into a unibrow. “As I said last night, she will be fine as long as you do what you’re told.”

      “Please let me go home to her,” Mila said. “I promise not to tell anyone about yesterday. I’ve been here all night and I didn’t say a word.”

      “He had a rough night,” Polk said, as if he didn’t intend to incriminate himself by saying DiSanti’s name aloud. “Once he’s on his way to recovery, you and your daughter will be reunited.”

      Would she?

      “How do I know you’re not lying, that you haven’t killed her already?” Mila crossed her arms. “I want proof that she’s safe, then I’ll do whatever you ask.”

      Polk cursed, then pulled his phone from his pocket and accessed a photograph.

      Tears choked Mila’s throat. It was Izzy in her room. The princess clock on her nightstand read 7:00 a.m. Not long ago.

      Izzy was curled in bed with her pink blanket and baby doll clutched to her. Relief made her shoulders sag.