What Sarah Saw. Margaret Daley

her. “I’ve seen you playing with a couple of these. Will you tell me their names?”

      Sarah’s eyes brightened as she plopped next to Jocelyn. She carefully laid her pink ballerina blanket down on the rug, then picked up the top doll. “Madison.” The child hugged the blond-haired baby to her chest.

      “Which one is your favorite?”

      Sarah rummaged in the box until she pulled out a doll with red hair. Her wide gaze fixed on the baby’s head.

      Suddenly the child paled and dropped it. Screams erupted from her while tears welled in her green eyes.

      TWO

      Shocked for a second from the abrupt change in Sarah, Jocelyn froze, then suddenly scooped the little girl into her arms. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

      Instead of replying, Sarah just shook her head and cried, most unusual for a child who usually talked nonstop. The three-year-old had her face against Jocelyn’s neck and clenched her tightly. Sarah’s sobs continued, the sound muffled against Jocelyn’s shoulder.

      “Sarah, it’s okay. You’re safe,” she said in a calm, soothing voice while she stroked the child’s back.

      The door pushed open as Sarah wailed, “Don’t like. Don’t like.”

      Clint started across the bedroom. Jocelyn stopped him with a raised hand and a small shake of her head. Sam stayed by the entrance, his expression stoic. That was the man she’d gotten to know in New Orleans and had finally come to the conclusion she couldn’t break through his barriers.

      “Honey, what don’t you like?” The soft touch of Jocelyn’s hand and her steady tone helped Sarah begin to calm down.

      The young girl lifted her head and through blurry eyes stared at Jocelyn. Her breath wavered as she drew in air, and she sniffled.

      Jocelyn waited, aware of Clint hovering close, concern puckering his brow.

      “Don’t like Ashley now.” Sarah raised a trembling hand and pointed at the doll lying on the top.

      “Why don’t you like Ashley?”

      Sniveling, the child popped her thumb into her mouth and lowered her head.

      “Sarah?”

      “Just don’t,” the little girl mumbled, tears streaming down her cheeks.

      “That’s okay. I can put Ashley away, and you won’t have to see her.” Jocelyn reached around Sarah for the doll, but her uncle picked it up first and stuffed it under the other toys in the box, then hefted the container.

      “Princess, I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to see Ashley anymore.”

      The child watched her uncle take his load out into the hallway. He returned a few seconds later, his arms empty. Sarah leaped to her feet and raced across the room, propelling herself at him.

      Clint swept the three-year-old into his embrace. “Why don’t I read you a story?”

      “I want Mommy. Where’s Mommy?”

      “She’s gone away on business, but she wanted me to take care of you until she came home.” Smoothing the child’s blond hair from her face, Clint moved toward the bed and placed his niece on the rose-colored coverlet.

      As he twisted around, Jocelyn stepped closer and murmured, “If you need me, call anytime, day or night. I’ll come right over. I’ll talk to you later.”

      He nodded once, then picked up Winnie-the-Pooh on the nightstand and sat beside his niece.

      Jocelyn backed up toward the entrance, hesitating at the door. She didn’t want to leave, but Clint needed time with Sarah. She’d phone in a while and try to persuade him to let her see the little girl again. Everything wasn’t fine with Sarah. Supposedly she’d been in her room sleeping when Earl killed himself downstairs. But what if she hadn’t? What could she have seen? And why, all of sudden, didn’t she like her favorite doll?

      Outside on the porch Sam grasped Jocelyn’s arm, stopping her procession to the sidewalk. She stiffened at the touch, so familiar to her at one time.

      He immediately dropped his hand. “What do you make of that scene with Sarah? Why did the doll frighten her so much? Do you think she knows something?”

      “Whoa.” She descended to the sidewalk, wanting to get away from the house. “I intend to talk with Clint about Sarah seeing me tomorrow. I think something has spooked her. The last time I talked with Leah she said Sarah had been asleep in her bedroom when Earl killed himself. Sarah seemed unaffected by his death. Leah didn’t think she really understood that her daddy was gone.” She glanced at the front door. “But now, I think there’s more going on. I think what Leah told Clint is true. Something’s definitely not right here. That was one of her favorite dolls. She loved playing with it.”

      “You need to find out. A woman has disappeared and may be in trouble.”

      The urgency in his voice heightened her own. “I’ll do my best, but Sam, I’ll do it my way. Sometimes there’s nothing I can do to speed the process, especially when a child’s involved.”

      “I know.” He clenched his jaw, a faraway look entering his eyes.

      “I tried my best with that last case in New Orleans. The two friends who witnessed the abduction were suppressing their memories.” If she said it enough, maybe she would believe it. She should have been able to do something to help the kidnapped child.

      She pivoted to escape, a flood of emotions washing over her. Guilt that she couldn’t get the description of the man in time to help the FBI stop him. Anger that Sam had backed so far away from her right after the boy’s body was found. And still, after all the cases she’d helped with, horror that someone could do that to a child.

      “Jocelyn, I’m sorry.” Sam caught up with her at her car. “That kidnapping isn’t something I want us to rehash.”

      “You’re right, because I won’t let you make me feel any worse than I already do.” She swung around to open her car door, tears blurring her vision. She fumbled with the handle, wishing that time would remove the guilt, that she hadn’t become so emotionally involved in the case.

      Sam captured her hand and turned her around toward him. “It wasn’t your fault. I never felt that way.” He searched her face. “Did you think that I did?”

      “What else was I to think when you wouldn’t return my calls? I didn’t hear from you for weeks.” Then when she finally did, he wasn’t the same man.

      He peered away. “I was having a hard time coping with the case and its final—result.”

      And you thought I wasn’t?

      “We can’t change the past. We need to focus on what happened to Leah.”

      Although his words were formal, distancing, there was nothing like that in his expression, full of a vulnerability she’d never seen. Regret, mixed with the need to protect herself, tightened her throat. Suddenly, Sam looked directly at her, his eyes softening.

      “Come to dinner with me. I know it’s a little early, but I don’t want to eat alone. Besides, we were always good together at bouncing ideas around on a case.”

      Yes, the case. If she could help him solve Leah’s disappearance, Sam would leave. She wanted her friend Leah back and Sam gone from her life. Maybe dinner would hasten that process. “Fine.”

      “I saw a restaurant not far from the pawnshop. I know how much you like Italian. Let’s go there.”

      “It’s our best restaurant and pretty pricey.”

      He smiled, more relaxed now. “Only the best for you.”

      She actually blushed, the heat scoring her cheeks. Only Sam could do that to her. He still had power over