Free Vanished by Kathryn Mackel

on him. "You're the police guy, right?" she whispered.
    "Yeah, sweetheart. I'm Sergeant Logan. Tell me your name
again.
    "Natasha"
    She and her mother were always on the bike path. The
mom had lost forty pounds, and little Natasha had lost her
training wheels.
    "You took a spill, I see."
    Natasha blinked slowly, as if she wanted to nod. The woman
on her other side looked across at Logan, the message in her
eyes clear. This is a nightmare.
    Logan stroked Natasha's cheek. "Do you hurt anywhere,
honey?"
    She nibbled her lower lip. "My shoulder. But I can't rub it."
    "Better that you don't, then. One of us will rub it for you."
He nodded at the woman and mouthed the word gently.
    Then tears came, hot drops down the child's cheeks,
followed by a confused look because she couldn't wipe them
away. "I'm scared."
    "I know, sweetie. It's a scary time, but we've got people to
help you. I want you to hold still, OK?"

    Natasha broke into sobs. "I can't move, so don't tell me
not to."
    "Oh, honey, I'm such a dope. I'm sorry." Logan wiped away
her tears. "We're going to take you to the hospital and get you
all better."
    "Where's my mommy?" she hiccupped.
    "She fell off her bike, too. We've got people helping her."
Logan hated the lie, but the truth would be merciless. "Just
hold on for a few minutes while I go looking for the ambulance. Can you do that for me?"
    "OK"
    He pressed his lips to her forehead. "You forgive me for being
a dope?"
    She nodded, showed the beginning of a smile. "OK."
    Logan tried to stand, couldn't get his back to cooperate. The
man he had shoved offered a hand, helped him up. Someone
else forgiving him for being a dope.
    "Don't let her turn her head. OK?"
    "You got it."
    He started back toward Jamie.
    "Thank you, Sergeant," Natasha called after him.
    Logan's heart hammered. If he learned that Stefan Pappas
was involved in the bombing that had hurt this little girl, he'd
break him in two.
    He took Jamie aside. "I need to see the woman's body."
    "She's gone, Sarge."
    "I might be able to identify her for sure."
    Jamie led him back toward the Circle, keeping to the bottom
of the embankment. "We figure Natasha was well ahead of her
mother on the path. You know how kids like to race ahead."
    Two corpses sprawled to the far side of the embankment.
One was a charred body of indeterminate gender, melded with
his or her bike. The other was a woman whose safety helmet
had been shattered and her back burned.

    Logan bent down. Indeed, this was Natasha's mother, but
her name wouldn't come. Come on, come on-what was her
name? She deserved to be known.
    Trina. Trina Perkins.
    "We'll take care of your baby for you, Trina," he whispered.
"I promise."

     

chapter seventeen
    F THE BOMB HADN'T BLOWN THE GIRL TO MIST, LUTHER
would have had to put a bullet in her head.
    Shame, really. Little Jasmine was fiery and fresh, the way
he liked them. Not much in the scheme of things, but genuine,
through and through. The same girl when she died as when she
had been born.
    He was a different matter, of course. Wearing so many
faces, speaking in so many tongues that some days he forgot
his own real name. Forgot where he had come from, whom he
had loved.
    Not why he was here though. Never that.
    He had been a mole so long that the light of day bleached his
true identity. It took a long mental squint to grasp who he had
been before burrowing underground and coming back up as
someone entirely different each time.
    His own cause couldn't nurture him, of course. Not like
they did the young ones who were brought in as dewy-eyed
kids. Taught in groups that drummed the cause through their
skin, they couldn't breathe without gasping for victory. Sent
out to mission fields, some carried money, some carried the
message, some carried the bombs.
    He was of the elite few who called the shots. Buried so deep
that he could manipulate with a mere whisper. Indeed, he was
the epitome of that marvelous piece of Christian