Free Hidden by Tara Taylor Quinn Page A

with her lover in the sand—that was unsettling her so completely. Had she really changed that much? Hardened that much? Hurt so much that something vital inside her had snapped, allowing her to shut herself off and simply go?
    Or was she just stronger now? Better prepared? Able to do whatever she had to in order to protect her son?
    Had there really been someone watching her? Or was she becoming paranoid?
    At the park, she pushed the stroller toward the yellow metal swing set just off a cemented common area, stopping at a stone picnic table beneath the shade of a palm tree. Brushing back damp hair from Taylor’s flushed cheeks, she adjusted the canopy above him, loosened the straps on his denim coverall and slid the brown sweater down over his chubby little arms. He didn’t stir.
    Smiling, Tricia watched her son, followed the even cadence of his breath, and knew another perfect moment—a second when everything in her world was just as it should be. As it was meant to be. The love she felt for Taylor, the joy he brought to her life in ordinary moments—these things were larger than any evil that might lie in wait. That joy was worth any inconvenience, any pain she had to go through.
    For now and for always. To have had these moments, raising the innocent little person who was such an integral part of her, made everything else worthwhile.
    Satisfied that Taylor was fine for another few minutes, Tricia slid onto one end of the bench, setting the paper in front of her. There was no one around that early on a Sunday morning, so she didn’t have the peripheral protection of the crowds that would appear later, drawn by the museums, restaurants and shops. Still, she was out.
    And alive.
    There was nothing on the front page. Not even a teaser. Nothing in the whole first section. Which didn’tnecessarily mean anything other than that Thomas Whitehead—or someone equally influential—was paying to have the news hidden somewhere inside the paper. Money couldn’t stop freedom of the press, but it sure had a way of making some stories less visible.
    Pages shaking as she held them up, gaze moving more rapidly across each sheet as her heart rate sped up, Tricia turned a page. And then another.
    Panic rose in her throat. Another day with nothing couldn’t be good.
    Or maybe it could be, a calming voice said inside her mind. If, like Tricia, Leah was alive and well…
    Page 25. Section E
    Blood Found on Car Seat
    Police found blood on the front passenger seat of Senator Thomas Whitehead’s Miata convertible on Saturday after obtaining a warrant to search from Judge Paul Kassar. The lab report, released late yesterday afternoon, compared the blood sample with records from missing heiress Leah Montgomery’s personal physician. According to the report, the blood found in Senator Whitehead’s Miata matched a DNA sample taken from Ms. Montgomery at twelve years of age as evidence in her parents’ divorce case and resultant paternity suit.
    The senator was brought in for questioning just before 7:00 p.m. last night. He had apparently been at his mother’s home, where he was watching television with her. He told police that, while he was unaware of any blood on the custom-ordered black velour seat, Ms. Montgomery had been menstruating Monday morning when he’d picked her up for a quick breakfast before dropping her at her office on the top floor of the Madison building downtown. When asked by reporters why he hadn’t mentioned in his previous interview with police that he’d seen Ms. Montgomery on Monday, the senator replied that they’d asked only when he’d heard from her last. He blamed his oversight on emotional distress caused by the heiress’s disappearance less than two years after his wife’s.
    Whitehead said that Ms. Montgomery had been wearing a yellow pantsuit during last Monday’s breakfast. When asked if he’d noticed any bloodstains as