The Summit. Kat Martin

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      Ben endured his evening with Delores, all the while wishing the night would end. His mind was on Autumn Sommers and on Molly and whether or not he dared to believe she might still be alive.

      Though Delores made it clear she expected him to join her in her suite at the Fairmont Olympic Hotel, he declined. Sometime over the past few days, sex with the exotic model had lost its appeal. Like most of the women he dated, Delores required a lot of attention. Currently his attention was fixed somewhere else.

      Leaving Delores fuming in the grandiose lobby of the five-star hotel, he walked the few blocks to his penthouse. The answering machine in his office was blinking. Next to it, a stack of papers waited in the fax machine.

      He played back the phone messages, including one from Pete Rossi explaining the fax: more information Pete had collected on Autumn Sommers. Ben lifted the pages out of the machine, walked over and sank down in his butter-soft leather chair.

      He skimmed through Pete’s report, the high points of which the detective had given him over the phone.

      Autumn Kathleen Sommers. Born June 3, 1980 to Kathleen L. and Maxwell M. Sommers.

      Kathleen Sommers had died in 1993 when Autumn was thirteen. Max Sommers, a fireman, had raised her. He was retired now, giving him more time to devote to his hobby, rock climbing. It was Max who had sparked his daughter’s interest in the sport. At twenty-seven she was a certified member of the American Mountain Guides Association and apparently an extremely qualified climber.

      According to the report, Autumn had gone to the University of Seattle—partly on scholarship, partly school loans—graduated at the top of her class and then went on to get her teaching degree.

      In a subparagraph, her relationship with a guy in college named Steven Elliot was mentioned and two other men with whom she’d had brief affairs, neither of them recent. Pete was extremely thorough.

      Ben almost smiled. From the looks of the report, Autumn hadn’t dated a lot. He didn’t believe for a minute she hadn’t been asked.

      There was something about Autumn Sommers, something that reached out and snagged a man’s interest. She might not be a buxom blonde with a movie star face, or an exotic, olive-skinned brunette, but with her silky russet curls, green cat-eyes and tight little body, in a different sort of way the woman was sexy as hell.

      Ben ignored the unwanted shot of desire that came with the thought, just as he had the surprising physical attraction he had felt for her the moment she had walked into his office. He had clamped down hard on it then, certain she was some kind of crazy. But tonight, when he had seen the quick flash of tears in her eyes, he had felt the pull again.

      Autumn was different from the women he dated. She seemed more passionate about life, more vital. If he was honest with himself and circumstances were different, he wouldn’t mind taking Autumn Sommers to bed.

      It wasn’t going to happen. Though Pete’s report showed nothing out of the ordinary, past or present, it didn’t mean he could trust her. She could be the world’s smoothest charlatan or simply a nutcase who believed what she was telling him was real.

      He made a note to call Pete in the morning to have him check whether Autumn had really made a trip to the prison in Sheridan, find out if she had actually talked to Meeks. In fact, if she had, he would have Pete go up there himself, see if he could confirm what Meeks had said about Molly.

      The name whispered though his head as he hadn’t allowed it to in years. What if Molly were actually alive? She’d be twelve years old on August first. If she was alive, what horrors had she suffered in the years since she had been taken? Had she been abused? Molested? Brutalized in some terrible way?

      God, he couldn’t bear to think that she was being mistreated. It was one of the reasons, after the long, hopeless search, he had grasped onto the theory that she had been murdered by Meeks. Better to think her dead than alive and suffering.

      But the Sommers woman had raised that possibility and he realized that whatever had happened to Molly over the years didn’t matter. If she was alive, he just wanted her home, back where he could take care of her and heal whatever wounds she might have suffered.

      A memory arose of the last day he had seen her, standing in the door to his study.

      “Daddy! Daddy will you come out to my dollhouse and play with me?”

      He was busy. There was always so much to do. But he always made time for Molly.

      “All right, angel, what shall we play?” Scooping her up in his arms, he carried her toward the door leading out to the backyard.

      “Let’s have a tea party!” Molly said, hugging his neck. A make-believe tea party was her favorite pastime.

      “Okay, but you have to pour.”

      Molly СКАЧАТЬ