A Reason to Believe (2 page)

invading her privacy. Instead he was studying the

platter of festively decorated cookies when he

heard a soft sound. Lifting his head, he looked

around, frowning. It came again and he

straightened. He didn’t have much experience with

children, but he knew a giggle when he heard it. A

high-pitched little girl’s giggle.

He took a few steps and looked around the

corner toward the service porch, then the other

way, into the long hallway leading to the front

entry and the curving staircase. Seeing nothing, he

moved in that direction.

“No, silly.”

He went still, startled, quickly looking both

ways. The voice sounded like it was right in the

room with him. Bright, full of amusement, and yet

he saw nothing.

“Not out there. Down here!”

He blinked, looking around. Down where?

His eyes shifted toward the door leading to the

basement. The investigating team had been down

there, all of them, not an hour before. What the

hell…?

“Are you coming, or not?”

Matt strode forward decisively and pulled open

the door. At the bottom of the narrow staircase

descending into the darkened basement, he caught a

glimpse of something white just before it

disappeared to the right. Starting down, he pulled

his flashlight off his belt. Again, childish giggles

floated to him, now coming from the cluttered

room at the bottom of the stairs, and he flicked on

the beam. It cut through the gloom and lit dancing

dust motes and the rough wooden stairs.

“Abby?” he whispered, moving forward

cautiously. He didn’t want to frighten her. If the

child was playing some sort of elaborate prank,

he’d let her parents explain the trouble she’d

caused. His heart lifted at the thought of returning

their daughter to them none the worse for wear. He

moved quickly, eyes scanning the space. “Abby,

where are you?”

“Here!” the voice sang. “I’m over here.”

Matt swung his flashlight left and right. The

sound seemed to be coming from all around him.

He shivered. It was freezing cold in the basement.

Outside, the snow was piled up around the

foundation in drifts, but he didn’t remember it

being this cold when he’d been down here before.

He could see his breath, lingering before his face

in a misty fog.

“Where are you, honey?” he called. “Your mom

and dad are frantic. This isn’t a very nice game.”

“Not a game.”

The voice was right behind him. He jumped and

turned.

Standing not five feet from him was the child,

her hair mussed, her little feet bare beneath the

hem of her Beauty and the Beast nightie. But

something wasn’t quite…right. She was so pale

her skin looked colorless. And her eyes were

almost unnaturally wide. She wasn’t smiling. She

was just—staring. Matt’s heart kicked hard against

his rib cage, reacting to the unexpectedness of

finding her there.

“Abby,” he said with mingled relief and

concern. “Everyone has been so worried. Are you

okay?”

She shook her head slowly, still staring, still not

blinking.

“Are you hurt?” He took a step toward her. She

nodded, her expression flat. “Where? I can take

you upstairs, and we can have someone fix it,

okay?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Yes, it’s okay. No one is going to be mad.

They’re just going to be so happy to see you…”

Her stoic expression and her stillness, in such

marked contrast to the happy giggle and teasing

voice he’d heard, had him completely unnerved.

She lifted her arm and pointed.

“The refrigerator?” Matt frowned at the beat-up

old appliance. “What about…” He turned back and

stiffened, his whole body going cold.

She was gone. Where moments before the child

had stood, there was nothing but a dusty floor.

Matt staggered back a step, unwilling to believe

what his eyes were telling him. “Abby?” he called,

his voice hoarse.

She couldn’t have vanished. That didn’t happen.

He was a cop, a highly trained detective. He dealt

in what was real. The little girl had been there.

Moving quickly, he swung the beam of his

flashlight under the stairs, into the dim corners,

growing more frantic by the moment. He searched

every corner, all the while calling her name.

Finally, after looking in every inch of the basement

and exhausting every theory about how she might

have vanished into thin air, he turned and stared at

the refrigerator. Someone had looked in it, hadn’t

they?

But he didn’t think they had. There was a pile of

boxes in front of the stained doors and he didn’t

recall them being disturbed. Moving stiffly, he

shoved the pile to one side.

“Please, God,” he muttered, reaching out with a

trembling hand, curling it around the cold metal

handle. “Please.” He closed his eyes, took a deep

breath and opened the door.

Moments later, he was forcefully reminded why

he no longer prayed. He’d long ago given up

believing anyone was listening.

Chapter Two

Matt entered his small house, moving slowly, so

tired he could hardly lift his feet. He closed the

door on the snowfall that had begun again in

earnest, leaning against it for a moment before

pulling off his coat. Without bothering to shake the

flakes from the shoulders, he dropped it on the

floor.

At one time, he wouldn’t have done such a thing.

But at one time, there had been someone to fuss at

him to hang it up.
“You weren’t actually raised in

a barn, were you?”
The voice seemed to drift

through the empty house. Matt scowled.

Resolutely refusing to allow himself to go down

that road, he toed off his shoes and emptied his

pockets onto the small table against the wall.

Badge, ID, wallet and keys all went into a frosted

white glass bowl sitting there for that purpose.

Another badge was already lying on top of a ratty

black wallet in the bowl, and he touched its

gleaming surface tenderly before moving away,

unbuckling the gun holster crossed over his chest.

Pausing before a painting of a landscape on the

wall, he pulled on a corner and it swung open

silently on well-oiled hinges. They’d had the safe

installed right after they moved in, because both

had found gun cabinets too obvious. He worked the

combination absently, heard the lock click and

pulled the door open. A few practiced movements

and the straps were wrapped around the holster

holding his service revolver, and he placed it

inside. He spared a tired look for the other gun

already secreted there before closing the safe.

Had he not been so completely exhausted, he

might have been able to muster the energy to be

really angry. Not only had he argued with his

superior, but he’d spent the past four hours telling

the department shrink he didn’t need to take any

time off. Neither of them had listened to him. Not

for the first time, he regretted ever telling them the

truth. If he’d just kept his mouth shut and never

admitted it had been Abigail Marie Reynolds

herself who had led him to her body, he wouldn’t

have been put through the administrative

nightmare.

Grimacing, he stumbled to the overstuffed sofa

in the cluttered living room and fell onto it,

propping his elbows on his knees and sinking his

face into his hands. He shouldn’t have said

anything. He should have just said he had gone

down to the basement because he’d had a hunch.

Then no one would have looked at him with that

humiliating mix of disbelief and pity.

“It’s not uncommon,” Dr. Pergola had said, her

eyes kind as she studied him from behind her

glasses. “When the psyche receives a profound

shock, it finds ways to tell you you’re not dealing

with the trauma. You didn’t take any time off after

Brad…”

“This has nothing to do with Brad,” he said, his

teeth clenched. “I saw her. She was there. She

pointed at the refrigerator—”

“Do you really expect me to believe the ghost of

a six-year-old girl led you to her body?” She

angled her head to one side. “Does it sound

rational to you?”

As much as he hated to, he had to agree that,

even though he’d seen it, it didn’t.

“Take some time off,” Branson had said.

“You’ve had a rough time. No one is going to think

any less of you.”

“Except you,” Matt mumbled aloud now in the

dim room, pressing his fingers against gritty eyes.

He’d seen the way his boss looked at him, as

though he was weak, compromised. But then,

Branson had been looking at him with derision

from the moment he’d found out two of his best

detectives had hidden the fact they were lovers for

three years.

It hadn’t been that they were ashamed of it. He

hadn’t been ashamed of Brad. He’d loved him.

He’d believed it was something of a miracle when,

after being partners for nearly a year, Brad had

suddenly grabbed him and kissed him. He’d had

feelings for Brad almost from the moment he met

him, but he hadn’t imagined they’d been returned.

When their off-duty relationship eventually ripened

into love, they’d both agreed what they did on their

own time was none of the department’s business.

He had steadfastly continued to believe it. Brad,

on the other hand, had begun to chafe at the

constraints. He’d wanted to be more open, but

Matt knew Branson, and had known the least he’d

do was reassign them to different partners. Being

right about Branson’s reaction had been little

comfort when Brad had been murdered.

Matt had called to remind him to pick up a case

of beer for their Labor Day barbecue. Brad had

stopped at a convenience store on his way home

and walked in on a robbery. He hadn’t even had

time to draw his weapon.

The officers sent to notify Brad’s family hadn’t

known about their relationship. They’d gone to his

mother. Matt learned the news when Brad’s

brother came to the house and walked into the

backyard.

The moment was crystallized in Matt’s mind. He

knew he’d never forget it. He’d been grilling

burgers, laughing with his brother and sister-in-

law over the fact Brad was late yet again. It was

something of a running joke. He’d turned, a bottle

of beer raised to his lips, when Brad’s brother

Brendan stepped onto the deck. And he’d known,

before a word had been said, from the shattered

expression on his face.

From that moment forward, he couldn’t smell

the scent of grilling meat without feeling bile hit

the back of his throat. After the painful clarity of

Brendan’s face, everything else became a blur. He

knew his sister-in-law had cried. He’d heard her,

as if from a long distance. He knew his brother

Bill had caught his arms and lowered him into a

chair. Someone had taken the meat off the grill, but

not before it was burned beyond recognition. He

just kept seeing Brendan’s eyes—the pain, the

apology for being the one who had to tell him…

Brad’s mom had come to the house to get his

dress uniform. Brad had been very specific that if

anything happened to him, he was to be buried in

his blues. Matt wanted to go to the funeral home

with her but couldn’t think how to explain his

presence. He was supposed to be Brad’s partner,

not his lover. Even then, he couldn’t bring himself

to openly admit it.

He went to work as usual, accepted the

condolences of his fellow officers and walked

through each day on autopilot. At night he lay in

their bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to accept it,

to believe Brad was really gone. How could he be

gone? They hadn’t done all the things they wanted

to yet. They’d never been to Hawaii, they hadn’t

skied Aspen. They’d just bought the house. He

couldn’t seem to wrap his head around any of it,