Single Father Sheriff. Carol Ericson

      “He just said a few words, though, right? ‘Get off’ or ‘let go’?”

      She shifted her gaze away from him and dropped her lashes. “I’d grabbed on to his leg.”

      “Brave girl.”

      “It didn’t stop him.”

      His eye twitched. Did she feel guilty because she didn’t stop a grown man from kidnapping her twin?

      “No surprise there.”

      Her dark eyes sparkled and she shrugged her shoulders.

      “He took something from you, didn’t he?”

      “My twin sister. My innocence. My security. My mother’s sanity. My family. Yeah, he took a lot.”

      He wanted to reach for her again and soothe the pain etched on her face, but he tapped his chin with the pencil instead. “Not that it can compare with any of those losses, but he also took a pink ribbon from your hair.”

      The color drained from Kendall’s face, and a muscle quivered at the corner of her mouth.

      “Do you want some water?” He pushed back from the table. “You look pale.”

      “I’m okay.” Her chest rose and fell as she pulled in a long breath and released it. “I’d forgotten about that ribbon. Pink was Kayla’s favorite color. Mine was green. That night Aunt Cass had put our hair in pigtails, and Kayla had insisted on tying pink ribbons in my hair while she tried the green. I was glad he took that ribbon.”

      “Why?” He held his breath as Kendall’s eyes took on a faraway look.

      “I always thought that when Kayla woke up and found herself with this strange man, she’d feel better seeing the pink ribbon. Now...” She covered her eyes with one hand.

      “Now?” He almost whispered the word, his throat tight.

      “Now I think that he just killed her, that she never saw the ribbon.”

      When her voice broke, he rose from his chair and crouched beside her. He took the hand she had resting on the table and rubbed it between both of his as if she needed warming up.

      “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m forcing these memories and thoughts back to the surface.”

      A misty smile trembled on her lips. “This is exactly what I put my clients through every day.”

      “And it’s supposed to help them. Is it helping you?”

      Sniffling, she dabbed the end of her nose with her fingertips. “This is well-traveled territory. It’s not like I haven’t been through all of this before with my own therapist.”

      “You see a therapist?” He sat back on his heels.

      “All therapists do at the beginning. It’s part of our training, and most of us keep it up because it helps our work.”

      “So I must be a poor substitute.” Although he could probably do a better job than half the quacks out there.

      She curled her fingers around one of his hands. “She never holds my hand, so you’ve got her beat there.”

      He squeezed her fingers and released them as he backed up to his own seat. “Did your therapy ever bring up any memories of that night that you hadn’t realized as a child? The man’s accent? Someone he reminded you of?”

      “Nothing like that.” She stretched her arms over her head. “I don’t have any repressed memories of the event, if that’s what you’re driving at, Doctor Sloane.”

      He stroked his chin, wishing he had a clean shave. “You know, sometimes I feel more like a psychiatrist than a cop when I’m questioning people.”

      “So tell me.” She wedged her elbows on the table and sunk her chin into one cupped palm. “What makes you think these two kidnappings are at all related to the Timberline Trio case? Wyatt mentioned you were working on some theory that the FBI didn’t share.”

      When Kendall mentioned the FBI, he ground his back teeth together. He’d never met a more arrogant bunch, who seemed more interested in dotting i’s and crossing t’s than doing any real investigative work.

      “It’s something I’d rather keep to myself.”

      She swiped his glass from the table and jumped up from her chair. As she sauntered toward the sink, she glanced over her shoulder. “You want me to help you, but you won’t share your findings?”

      “Can you keep a secret?” He sucked in his bottom lip as he watched her refill his glass with water from the tap. She’d lured him into a comfortable intimacy, making him forget that she’d lied about the spider, but she seemed like someone who could keep secrets because she had plenty of her own.

      “Who am I going to tell? I’m only going to be here for a short time anyway. Pack up the house, list it, outta here.”

      He scooted back his chair and stood up, leaning his hip against the table. “When this guy snatched the two children on separate occasions, he left something behind.”

      “What?” She placed the glass on the counter and wiped her fingers on the dish towel hanging over the oven’s handle.

      “When he took the boy, he left a plastic dinosaur. When he took the girl, he left...a pink ribbon.”

       Chapter Three

      The room tilted and Sheriff Sloane’s handsome face blurred at the edges. The pink hair ribbon that she’d found in the drawer of the cabinet burned a hole in her pocket where she’d stuffed it.

      What did this mean? Who had put the ribbon in the drawer? What was the significance of the ribbon left at the scene of the kidnapping?

      She swallowed. “A dinosaur?”

      “You didn’t know that, did you?” He reached over and took the glass from the counter. “When Stevie Carson was kidnapped, his parents insisted that one of his dinosaurs from his collection was missing. When Harrison Keaton was taken from his bedroom, the same kind of dinosaur as Stevie’s was on the floor.”

      “The boy’s parents confirmed the dinosaur didn’t belong to him...to Harrison?” She twisted her fingers in front of her.

      He gulped down half of the water. “No. That’s why the FBI isn’t looking at this angle. Harrison’s parents can’t say whether the dinosaur belongs to him or not.”

      “And the p-pink ribbon?”

      “Same thing. The ribbon was on the little girl’s dresser. Cheri Douglas wears ribbons. She likes pink.”

      Kendall eked out a tiny breath. Sounded like a coincidence to her. Lots of little boys played with plastic dinosaurs. Lots of little girls wore ribbons, especially pink ones, in their hair. Sheriff Sloane was grasping at straws, perhaps trying to stay relevant as the FBI moved into Timberline and took over the investigation.

      She hooked her thumb in the front pocket of her jeans, the ribbon tickling the end of her finger. “Your theory is a stretch.”

      “Could be.” He downed the rest of the water. “I’ll let you get back to work, Kendall. If anything comes to you while you’re still in town, give me a call.”

      He plucked a white business card from the front pocket of his khaki shirt and held it out between two fingers.

      Taking it from him, she glanced at the embossed letters before shoving it in her back pocket. “I’ll do that.”

      “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention the ribbon or dinosaur to anyone else—just in case they mean something.”

      “My lips are sealed. As a therapist, I’m good at keeping secrets. It’s part of my job description.”

      “I