Faith, Hope and Love. BEVERLY BARTON

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СКАЧАТЬ might not be the same Faith Sheridan,” Worth said.

      “Might not be. The report is coming from someplace in South Carolina.”

      Worth’s heart skipped a beat. “Whitewood, South Carolina?”

      “Yes, I think that’s—”

      “Faith told me she was going home to Whitewood when she handed in her resignation to the Constantines last year.”

      “Well, this news story must be about her. Take a seat.” Sawyer indicated a leather wing chair to the left of his desk. “We’ll check out the report together.”

      Just as Worth eased down in the chair, the local noon anchorman said, “Now to Connie Beck in Whitewood, South Carolina, where a young mother has been missing for the past thirty-six hours and feared to be the latest victim of the Greenville Slayer, who has murdered two women and left two others close to death in the Greenville, South Carolina area.”

      Every muscle in Worth’s body tensed. Faith dead? No, it wasn’t possible. Not sweet little Faith. An overwhelming sense of grief sucker punched Worth, then he recalled something that the newsman had said. He’d said Faith was a young mother. Did Faith have a child? Was it possible that when he hadn’t shown up on Christmas Eve last year, she’d turned to another man? But if her name was still Sheridan, she wasn’t married. Faith was the old-fashioned sort of woman who would take her husband’s name when she married.

      The face of the attractive brunette reporter, Connie Beck, appeared on screen. Beside the reporter stood a somber young blonde holding a baby in her arms.

      “This is Connie Beck, coming to you from Whitewood, North Carolina, where Faith Sheridan, the owner of a local day-care center and mother of a four-month-old child, has been missing for the past thirty-six hours and is feared dead.”

      Four-month-old child? Mentally Worth counted back. God in heaven! That meant Faith had given birth in late July or early August, which would mean she had conceived sometime in November.

      Was it possible the child was his? No! He wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Faith knew how to contact him through the Dundee Agency; if she’d been pregnant, she could have gotten in touch with him.

      Worth tried to focus on what the reporter was saying. “Police aren’t revealing much about Ms. Sheridan’s disappearance, but our sources tell us the police fear she was abducted when she left the day-care center night before last, and with a serial killer—the Greenville Slayer—having recently hit in the town of Sparkman, only twenty miles south of Whitewood, there’s a good chance Ms. Sheridan is his latest victim.

      “With me today is Ms. Sheridan’s best friend since the two were childhood playmates—Ms. Jody Crenson.” Connie Beck held the microphone toward Jody. “Jody, you have something you’d like to show us and something you’d like to say.”

      Jody held up a photograph in one hand as she kept the baby, bundled in a pink blanket, poised on her hip. “This is Faith Sheridan. If anyone has seen her or has information about her, please contact the Whitewood police department. Faith’s friends are collecting reward money for anyone with information.” Jody removed the blanket from the baby’s head and the camera zoomed in on the child.

      Worth’s heart stopped beating for a split second. Fat, pink cheeks, button nose, rosebud lips. A thick fluff of dark-red hair curled atop the child’s head and a set of dark-brown eyes stared into the camera.

      She was his! He knew it the moment he looked at her. Faith’s baby was his daughter.

      “This is Faith’s little girl. Hope needs her mother, so please, if you know anything, anything at all, about Faith’s disappearance, we need your help.” Tears spilled from Jody’s eyes.

      “Thank you, Ms. Crenson.” The reporter caressed the baby’s rosy cheek, then turned back to the camera, which focused on her. “It is feared that Faith Sheridan is the fifth victim of the Greenville Slayer. This man murdered one woman and left two for dead in the Greenville area, all within the past two months. Only three weeks ago, his fourth victim was found dead in an abandoned warehouse in Sparkman, twenty miles south of here.”

      Worth shot up from his chair and bounded out of Sawyer McNamara’s office. He had to get to Whitewood as quickly as possible. Every instinct he possessed urged him to find out what had happened to Faith and to see the child he knew had to be his.

      Sawyer came out in the hallway and called to Worth, “What’s wrong with you? Where are you going in such a hurry?”

      Worth slowed for a moment, glanced over his shoulder and replied, “I’m going to Whitewood to find out what happened to Faith.”

      “I knew she had a major crush on you after you rescued her last year, but I didn’t think you reciprocated her feelings.”

      Worth didn’t explain himself to anyone, didn’t justify his actions to anyone, not even his boss—not unless those actions directly related to a current case. But he did owe Sawyer some sort of explanation. “I’ll need some time off. I don’t know how long.”

      Sawyer eyed Worth suspiciously. “Sure. Take however long you need. And call me if there’s anything I or the agency can do to help you.”

      “Thanks.”

      Worth hurried into his office, tossed his overcoat across his arm, then went by Daisy’s desk on his way out.

      “Call the airlines and get me the first available flight to Whitewood, South Carolina. And arrange for a rental car.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Call me on my cell phone to let me know about my reservations.”

      “I’ll take care of the arrangements for you, Mr. Cordell.”

      Ten minutes later, Worth found himself stuck in downtown traffic. Twenty minutes later just as he entered his one-bedroom apartment, his cell phone rang. Daisy rattled off details of his flight and he registered the information mentally, then set about packing. His plane left Atlanta in less than three hours.

      

      Margaret Tompkins and Lindsey and George Dawson sat around the table in Jody Crenson’s kitchen. Half-eaten sandwiches and empty coffee cups littered the table, along with piles of money.

      Margaret punched the final numbers into her adding machine, then announced, “We have collected two thousand, six hundred and forty-two dollars and twenty cents.”

      “George and I want to add a thousand dollars to that,” Lindsey said as she bounced a wide-eyed Hope on her knee.

      “With my thousand, that will bring our total to nearly five thousand.” Margaret wiped away a tear. “I feel as if we should be doing something more. I want to go out and search this town, house by house.”

      “The police have pretty much already done that,” Jody said. “Everyone in Whitewood knows Faith and if anyone has seen anything, this reward money—” Jody eyed the stack of bills and rolled coins in the middle of her kitchen table “—should entice even the most reluctant to come forward.”

      “I simply can’t believe that anyone would harm a sweet child like Faith.” A portly, fifty-something George СКАЧАТЬ