Free I'll Find You by Nancy Bush Page A

shut down. Whatever interest she’d had in talking to him, and there had been some, she could admit that, she now felt none. She needed to leave. Get away from him. Pull herself together and keep Tucker safe.
    “I’ll just use the bathroom to clean up.” She got to her feet and dusted herself off.
    He rose to his feet to help her up the stairs but she waved him away as she picked up her carryall. In truth, her head had been filled with a dull ache for a while now.
    “I’ll be a while,” she said.
    “All right. I’ll wait at the bar.”
    “No, I’ll come back.” She moved lithely away from him, pretending she wasn’t starting to feel the mass of bruises that were settling in from her earlier fall.
    She wished she had a way to call Tucker on the phone, or at least Aimee, but she didn’t know their number, whether they had a phone, or a cell, or anything. She knew next to nothing about them other than Tucker was a sweet little boy she would lay down her life to protect, if necessary.
     
     
    West stared after the woman who looked so much like Teresa. She’d lied to him, was still lying to him. The needle on his bullshit meter was flickering in the red, and he trusted his instincts completely. He’d been a cop for too many years to be bamboozled by an amateurish liar.
    And Callie Cantrell, if that was truly who she was, was most definitely lying. About the bracelet for certain. There was no goddamned pawnshop in Barbados or anywhere else that had this piece, unless Teresa had pawned it herself, and that chance was slim to none. The bracelet was part of the Laughlin family collection that was catalogued, insured, and kept in a safe-deposit box. He might not be a true member of the family, at least in his grandmother’s eyes, but he sure as hell had been tutored in what they possessed, by his mother, his father, and Victoria, too.
    It was probably closer to the truth that she’d gotten the bracelet from her friend, Aimee, if she was truly Callie Cantrell.
    Well, fine. He’d figure it out one way or another. And he’d lied to her, as well. His cell phone worked internationally. He wouldn’t have come all this way without making certain he could communicate at will. He just hadn’t wanted to stop and call anyone on her behalf until he was completely certain she wasn’t Teresa.
    And she wasn’t Teresa. That didn’t track. But how could this doppelgänger with the Laughlin bracelet not be involved ? That really didn’t track. So, how did she fit into this puzzle? His gut told him she was involved in Stephen Tucker’s abduction somehow.
    Reaching into his pocket, he fingered his phone. He could call the number of the attorney she’d given him. Or he could call Dorcas at the department and get the details about the fatal accident on Mulholland that had killed a father and son. See if their name was Cantrell. See if a woman named Callie Cantrell had survived.
    Pulling out his phone, he glanced at the time. Two thirty, and the day felt like it was getting hotter. Thank God for the breeze off the bay.

    How much time did she have? Ten minutes? Five? Callie sluiced water on her face, thought about cleaning herself up more, then glanced at her image in the mirror. Lines of strain had formed around her mouth. Her eyes were wide and slightly anxious. Well, no shit. She’d done okay with him, but now that she was free she wanted to run screaming out of here.
    Quickly, she tucked the carryall over her shoulder and left the ladies’ room, turning toward the front of the hotel and the outdoor portico where taxis and rental vehicles vied to drop off or pick up hotel patrons. The doorman saw her and interpreted that she wanted a taxi without her even saying so, opening the door of one that had just pulled in with a flourish.
    “Fort-de-France,” she told the driver, searching in her purse for a tip. She thanked the doorman, shoving several bills into his hand before sliding into the backseat. “Please, hurry. S’il