He couldn’t deny her. With her arm in a sling, her face battered, her eyes pleading with a quiet desperation he couldn’t refuse. “I’ll see what I can do about a copy. In the meantime…” Again he reached into his back pocket and, his insides aching, pulled out a folded piece of paper that he handed to her.
“Dear God,” she whispered as she unfolded the poster he’d had made. It was a color photograph of Dani. Travis stared down at the image of his daughter with her riot of curls, big green-gold eyes that twinkled above a straight little freckled nose. Her chin was pointed, her mouth wide and smiling in the shot. Above the face in bold letters was the word MISSING. Beside the picture was a description and contact information including his name.
Shannon closed her eyes, touched a trembling hand to her forehead. How often had she seen posters such as this? How many pairs of worried, fearful eyes of parents had she witnessed?
“You can keep it, if you want.”
“Thanks.”
“Jesus Christ, Shannon, don’t even go there!” Aaron cut in. “I think you’d better remember why we’re all here.”
Good point, Travis thought grudgingly. He didn’t like the smarmy bastard, but he had to keep his distance from this woman; she was still a threat. Not an ally. Yet, he couldn’t help wonder about her and though he hardened himself toward her, he didn’t think the tears that had sprung to her eyes were faked. He imagined that every day over the past thirteen years she’d regretted giving up her baby. And somehow she was entangled in this same mess that included him and his daughter. Why else was the burned birth certificate left on the porch on the night of Dani’s birthday?
Shannon stared at the poster as if she couldn’t get enough of it, then finally refolded the page and stuck it into her own pocket. He finished his beer, and decided that since he was treading on tenuous territory already, there was no reason not to go a step or two farther.
Motioning with his finger toward her sling, he asked, “So how’re you feeling?”
“What?” she asked as if lost in thought. “Oh.” A faint smile. “How do you think?”
“Like you’ve been flattened by a semi.”
She cleared her throat. “Close enough.”
He nodded. Scraping his chair back, he signaled to the waitress. “I think we’ve covered about everything tonight.” He glanced at her. “Any other questions?”
“Just one more thing.” She met his gaze levelly. “I might be more help than you think. I train search and rescue dogs, train them to find people. I want to help. With the dogs.”
“If you think it would help.”
“I don’t know. She wasn’t taken from here, but if you saw that man…if she’s with him…Do you have anything of hers with you? Clothing? Hairbrush? Anything she handled a lot.”
He thought of Dani’s sweatshirt stuffed behind the seat of his truck. Could he trust her? What did he have to lose? Maybe it was a mistake to let Shannon Flannery in, but she seemed sincere and he was rapidly running out of options. “Yeah, I think.”
She pushed back her chair. “Let’s get it.”
As if on cue, the waitress came with the check. Shannon tried to snap it up. He beat her to it. “I offered,” he said, slapping his credit card onto the small tray. She didn’t object and her brothers finished what was left of their beers, then pushed away from the table and stood.
Within two minutes it was over. He signed for the drinks, then started for the door. The Flannery entourage was on his heels as he stepped into the parking lot. The heat of the simmering night hit him full force.
A woman was waiting by a BMW.
“Okay, Robert,” she said, venom in her smile. “Where the hell is your whore?”
Travis’s gaze swung to the Flannerys. What the hell was this?
Chapter 13
Shannon stopped dead in her tracks.
The night was hot.
Sultry.
The near-empty parking lot radiating leftover heat. Two sedans, a minivan and an SUV were parked in front of the low-lying units of the motel. A few others were scattered in the spots closer to the restaurant. One woman stood waiting.
Mary Beth, her face a mask of scorned fury, was leaning a hip against the fender of Robert’s new BMW. Petite, with a killer figure and short, straight black hair highlighted to a shimmering midnight blue, she bristled slightly at the sight of the Flannery family. Dangling from one finger, winking in the bluish lights of the parking lot, was a single key. Mary Beth held the silvery piece of metal and pursed her lips, her threat evident: she intended to scratch the hell out of the Beemer’s glossy silver exterior.
Twenty feet away, standing near his own vehicle, was her brother Liam. Everything about him—his stance, his glare, the set of his jaw—suggested he was looking for a fight.