Could anything go wrong if Jane simply approached her? After all, Jane was family, almost, kind of, soon to be. Certainly someone had mentioned her name in connection with the wedding as well as this afternoon’s plan. Jane pursed her lips, never taking her eyes off Gracie.
Should she call Robyn? Melissa? Try Lewis’s number?
If Jane weren’t standing in the middle of a hotel lobby, in public, she would have yelled in frustration. But there was no one to yell at. She closed her eyes, briefly, semi-defeated.
Okay.
It couldn’t hurt if she approached Gracie, still perched by the potted palm. Obviously waiting. This wasn’t some spy movie or TV drama; it was the lame-brained scheme of a stupid stepfather trying to avoid embarrassment. Too darn late for that, Jane thought.
She took a deep breath, slung her tote bag over her shoulder, plastered a non-threatening expression on her face, and headed across the lobby. Muzak played some tinkly-mushy background music, soothing and summery, the fountain splashed, and the elevator doors opened, closed, and then Jane was facing the little girl. She stopped, keeping a reasonably non-intimidating distance, a step away.
Gracie looked up at her. Then down. As if she had no idea who Jane was.
“Gracie?” Jane leaned closer, touched her on the shoulder for an instant. “I’m Jane, okay?”
Gracie looked at her again, then stood, grabbing the strap of her backpack with her right hand.
Good.
“Ready to go?” Jane asked. Or maybe, she should make sure. “Your stepfather told you to come with me, right? Didn’t he?”
Gracie took a step back, stumbled against the pot, sat down again. Stood up. “How do you know my name?” she whispered. Her eyebrows drew together, and the corners of her mouth turned down.
Uh-oh.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to alarm you, honey,” Jane said. “I’m Jane. Didn’t your stepfather tell you I was going to take you home? To your mother? And I have Twizzlers, just for you.”
“DADDY!” Gracie screamed, the force of her entire body straining behind her little voice. “HELP! Stranger!”
Gracie turned and ran, skittering and sliding across the marble floor, racing toward the elevators, her backpack abandoned, arms flailing, yelling at the top of her lungs the whole way.
Every head in the lobby came up. Every person in the place stared at Jane. The concierge leaped from his desk. The clerk bounded from behind her registration counter. Every uniform in the room now beelined toward Jane. Two security guards, in starched steel gray and running shoes, banged through an unmarked metal door she hadn’t even noticed.
“We saw the whole thing on surveillance,” one yelled at her. “Stop right there, ma’am. Now.”
“No, no.” Jane put out her hands, smiling, blushing, embarrassed. What must that have looked like on surveillance? Her in the lobby, alone, compulsively checking her cell, black T-shirt and jeans. Waiting? Stalking? Approaching a little kid? She’d actually touched her! Offered her candy!
“No, no,” she said again. “It’s all a misunderstanding.”
“I bet,” the taller guard said. He conferred with the muscle-bound one by rolling his eyes.
“I’m Jane Ryland,” she began. This was going to be funny. Someday. Not right now, when these guys thought she was a child molester. “I’m a reporter, from Channel…” Her voice trailed off. She wasn’t anyone from anywhere now, and if this guy didn’t recognize her from TV, which she hadn’t been on for more than a year come to think of it, she sure didn’t look like a TV reporter. What’s more, she didn’t have any press credentials. Nor was she actually covering a story.
She started to unzip her tote bag. She’d show them her driver’s license, they’d call Robyn, and all would be well. These rent-a-brutes were only doing their jobs. There were bad people in the world, and they didn’t always look bad on the outside. It would take one phone call to prove she wasn’t one of them.
“Listen, listen,” she said, trying to look innocent as well as make the explanation as simple as possible. “That little girl is my sister’s fiancé’s daughter. Her stepfather asked me to come and-”
“Ma’am? Keep your hands out of that bag, please.” The guard took a step closer. The other one was behind her, sandwiching her between them. She smelled their bubble gum and acrid aftershave, the leather of their belts. The stupid Muzak was still tinkling along, the world’s most inappropriate sound track. Every single face in the lobby openly gawked. “You’ll have to come with me.”
“No, I don’t, I really don’t, it’s all fine.” She felt her heart twist a little, a prickle of sweat across the back of her neck. This was solvable, but it wasn’t going well. Not at all. And the harder she argued, the harder these guys dug in. “I don’t, because this it just a big misunderstanding. If you’ll listen, for one second, my sister’s fiancé’s ex-wife is-”
“Like you keep saying. But you can tell that to the cops, miss. They’ll be here any second.”
Jake saw Catherine Siskel’s eyes dart to the surveillance monitor. She leaned toward it, moving her daughter aside, frowning. What was she looking at?
“What are all these cop cars?” Catherine narrowed her eyes, peering closer at the screen.
“Whoa,” Tenley whispered. “Do we need to start the ta-”
“Hang on,” Jake interrupted. His radio had crackled to life again.
“Jake?” Behind DeLuca’s voice, behind the static, rose a flaring high-pitched wail. Sirens.
“Copy,” Jake said. “D?”
Static.
As they watched, two BPD Crown Vics, blue wig-wag lights flashing through the sunshine, careened down Congress Street. They tore past the surveillance cameras and skidded to a halt in front of the University Inn. Weird to see all the action but not hear the sirens or the squeal of the tires. The cruisers pulled up to the sidewalk, bumping their front wheels over the curb. Doors opened. Uniforms leaped out. Doors slammed. Silent on the screen. But Jake knew what it sounded like.
“Jake? You hearing me over all this?” DeLuca’s voice was almost trampled by the sirens, which were still wailing even though the cops had arrived on scene. “Situation here.”
“I hear you,” Jake said into the mic. He stashed his notebook in his back pocket. Looked at the monitor. “And see you, too. On the sidewalk. What you got?”
Jake watched his partner running toward the hotel.
“University Inn.” Jake heard D’s voice growing breathless, and the pounding of his footsteps over the radio. “Attempted child abduction, dispatch says.”
Catherine Siskel gasped, her hand up to her mouth, and stepped closer to her daughter. Put an arm across her shoulders. Jake now saw four uniforms outside, also running toward the hotel. In two seconds, they were out of sight.
“Mom, do we need to-” Tenley began.
“Honey,” Catherine whispered, “hush.”
Jake could see DeLuca’s shape moving closer to the inn.
“DeLuca, stop!” Jake ordered. The black Isuzu was still in place, no lights on that he could make out. What the hell were Hewlitt and that girl doing in there? If she was in there. “You stay on Hewlitt.”
“But-” DeLuca had come to a halt, right at the corner of Congress and North. Jake was glad he couldn’t see the look on his partner’s face. Probably pissed. D loved a good takedown. Some creep trying to abduct a kid from a hotel lobby? All the city needed. But it sounded like they’d already nailed the bad guy. Nobody was dead. And the alleged abduction wasn’t their primary case. This was.
“Negative. We can’t lose Hewlitt.” Jake heard a clatter of commotion behind him. He turned to see a row of bodies, Nancie Alvarez and her crew, hovering in the hall outside the office, eyeing the three of them through the glass door like they were performing animals. It was pretty much a circus, Jake had to admit. With him as the juggler.