Her Christmas Guardian. Shirlee McCoy

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      Lucy!

      Scout tried to call for her daughter, but the words stuck in her throat, fell into the darkness that seemed to be consuming her. She tried to struggle up from it, to push away the heavy veil that blocked her vision, but her arms were lead weights, her body refusing to move.

      She tried again, and nothing but a moan emerged.

      “I think she’s waking up,” a woman said, the voice unfamiliar, but somehow comforting. She wasn’t alone in the darkness.

      “I hope you’re right. Until she does, we’ve got nothing to go on,” a man responded, his soft drawl reminding her of something. Someone. She searched through the darkness, trying to find the memory, but there was nothing but the quiet beep of a machine and the soft rasp of cloth as someone moved close.

      “Scout?” the man said.

      Someone touched her cheek, and that one moment of contact was enough to pull her through the darkness. She opened her eyes, looked into a face she thought she knew. Dark red hair, blue eyes, hard jaw covered with fiery stubble.

      “Who are you?” she asked, her voice thick, her throat hot.

       Where am I?

       Where is Lucy?

      That last was the question she needed answered most. It was the only question that mattered.

      She shoved aside blankets and sheets, tried to sit up.

      “Not a good idea,” the woman said, moving in beside the man and frowning. She had paler red hair. Cropped short in a pixie cut.

      “I need to find my daughter,” Scout managed to say, the words pounding through her head and echoing in her ears. Sharp pain shot through her temple, and she felt dizzy and sick, but she wouldn’t lie down until she knew where Lucy was.

      “We’re looking for her,” the man said, his expression grim and hard, his eyes a deep dark blue that Scout knew she had seen before.

      “I need to look for her,” she murmured, but her thoughts were scattering like dry leaves on a windy day, dancing along through the darkness that seemed to want to steal her away again.

      “You’re not in any shape to look for anyone,” the woman said, dragging a chair across the floor and sitting. “We’re going to do this for you, and you’re going to have to trust that we can handle it.”

      The words were probably meant to comfort her, but they only filled Scout with panic. Lucy was missing. That was the only clear thought she had. Everything else was a blur of feeling and pain, bits of memories and shadowy images that she couldn’t quite hold on to. A store. A man. Flames and smoke.

      “I don’t know who you are,” she responded absently, her attention jumping from the woman to the man, then past them both. A hospital room with cream walls and an empty corkboard. A television mounted to a wall. A clock. In the background, Christmas music played, the carol as familiar as air.

      “I’m Stella Silverstone. I work for HEART Incorporated.” The woman took a card from her pocket and set it on a table near the bed. “Among other things, we help find the missing.”

      Missing. The word was like a dagger to the heart, and Scout had had enough. Enough listening. Enough talking. Enough sitting in a hospital room.

      “I’m going to find my daughter.” She scrambled from the bed, dizzy, sick, blankets puddling near her feet. “She’s—”

      “Been gone for three days,” Stella said, the blunt words like hammers to the heart. “Running out of the hospital in some mad dash to find her isn’t going to do any good.”

      “Stella,” the man warned. “Let’s take things slow.”

      “How slow do you want to take them, Boone? Because I’d say three days waiting to talk to the only witness is slow enough. I’m going to find Lamar. He’s hanging around here somewhere.”

      She stalked from the room, closing the door firmly as she left. The sound reverberated through Scout’s head, sent stars dancing in front of her eyes.

      “You need to lie down.” The man nudged her back to the bed, and she sat because she didn’t think her legs could hold her.

      “What happened?” she murmured to herself and to him, because she couldn’t remember anything but those few images and the deep, deep fear for her daughter. It sat in her stomach, leaden and hard, the knot growing bigger with every passing moment.

      “That’s what we’ve been trying to find out.” He sat in the chair his friend had abandoned, his elbows on his knees, his gaze direct.

      “We’ve met before,” she offered, the words ringing oddly in her ears.

      “You remember.” He smiled, but it didn’t soften his expression. “I’m Boone Anderson.”

      The name was enough to bring a flood of memories—a trip to Walmart, Lucy in the cart. The man she’d been sure was following her. Boone handing her his business card.

      And then...

       What?

      She pressed shaking fingers to her head, wanting to ease the deep throbbing pain. A thick bandage covered her temple, the edges folding as she ran her hand along them.

      “Careful,” Boone said, pulling her hand away and holding it lightly in his. “You’re still stapled together.”

      “Tell me what happened,” she responded, because she didn’t care about the staples, the head injury, the IV line attached to her arm. All she cared about was getting up and going, but she didn’t even know where to start, couldn’t remember anything past the moment Boone had handed her his card. “Tell me where my daughter is,” she added.

      Please, God, let this be a nightmare. Please, let me wake up and see Lucy lying in her little toddler bed.

      “We don’t know much, Scout,” he responded. “What we do know is that you were shopping. When you left the store, you were followed. The tire of your car was shot out, and you were in an accident.”

      She didn’t care. Didn’t want to know about the car or the accident or being followed. She needed to know about Lucy. “Just tell me what happened to my daughter.”

      “We don’t know. You were alone when we found you.”

      “I need to go home.” She jumped up, the room spinning. The knot in her stomach growing until it was all she could feel. “Maybe she’s there.”

      She knew it was unreasonable, knew it couldn’t be true, but she had to look, had to be sure.

      “The police have already been to your house,” he said gently. “She’s not there.”

      “She could be hiding. She doesn’t like strangers.” Her voice trembled. Her body trembled, every fear she’d ever had, every nightmare, suddenly real and happening and completely outside of her control.

      “Scout.” СКАЧАТЬ