a button beside an intercom box and spoke into it, giving their names. A moment later the gate slid open to admit them, then creaked shut behind them. As Lindsey followed Alan up zigzagging stone steps, above their heads the wind lashed trailing branches of eucalyptus trees so huge and old their tops were lost in the darkness and rain. The air was pungent with their scent.
When she looked up, trying to make out her surroundings through the rain, she saw that someone was waiting for them on the wooden deck at the top of the stairs. A man, bareheaded in the storm, wearing a long-sleeved dark pullover, hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans. Her legs weakened; she stumbled, and instantly Alan whipped around and his hand was there to steady her, then hold her elbow firmly as he brought her the last few steps remaining. The man on the deck opened the gate in the low wooden railing that surrounded it and held it for them, then closed it after them and thrust out his hand. Grasping Alan’s in both of his, he spoke in a voice raised above the rushing sound of the storm.
“Detective Cameron? I’m Holt Kincaid.”
“I’m Alan. And this is Lindsey.”
Lindsey felt her hand swallowed up by a larger and warmer one; other than that, she was numb.
Holt Kincaid seemed oblivious to the rain that spangled his hair and shoulders and was beginning to drip from the end of his nose. He paused for a moment to look searchingly into her face, then abruptly gestured, urging them to follow him.
“Come inside-this rain’s great, isn’t it?”
“We needed it,” Alan agreed.
He held the door and they stepped into a sunroom, cozy with woven sisal floor mats and wicker furniture with thick, flowered cushions. A playpen occupied one corner of the room, and an assortment of toys were scattered here and there on the cushions and floor. Pots filled with green and flowering plants were everywhere, sitting on the floor and tabletops and hanging from ceiling beams, and Lindsey was reminded suddenly, painfully, of her mother. Thinking how she would love this room…
Their host led them on through a small kitchen that was separated by a wide countertop eating area from a den-like living room. The living room walls were covered in unstylish driftwood paneling, and a gas log burned in a fieldstone fireplace, turned down low. Because she still felt chilled, Lindsey went to stand in front of the fireplace, rubbing her hands together as she held them toward the warmth.
“Please-make yourselves comfortable,” Holt said. “My wife will be right out-she’s putting the baby down.”
“You have a child?” It was Alan who asked the question as if he hadn’t noticed the evidence, which she thought was unlikely. Lindsey turned just in time to catch the smile that burst over Holt’s angular face.
Her breath caught.
“We do,” Holt said, beaming and obviously besotted. “Our son Jamie’s just fourteen months old. Now that he’s walking, we’re actively looking for a bigger place-one with a yard he can actually run around in. This has been great for the two of us, but-” he spread his arms to encompass not only the room but the whole outdoors “-as you can see, it’s not exactly kid-friendly.”
“Interesting, though,” Alan commented.
“Uh…can I get you something to drink?” Holt clasped his hands together in a way that betrayed his own nervousness-and for some reason, lessened Lindsey’s. “Are you hungry?”
He looked straight at her, then, and she realized she’d been blatantly staring at him. Now she saw his eyes clearly for the first time. They were her eyes.
Her stomach felt hollow, but she was too queasy to eat. She shook her head. Holt said, “Coffee, then?”
“Yeah,” Alan said, “coffee would be great. Thanks.”
As he busied himself in the kitchen, assembling coffee and accoutrements with the efficiency that suggested a long period of bachelorhood in his past, Holt spoke to them across the counter, picking up Alan’s previous comment.
“Yeah,” he said, “this canyon does have its history.”
“More like legends,” Alan said. “Wasn’t this a hippie mecca during the sixties and seventies? I’ve heard it was a big-time music scene-rock ’n roll, not to mention sex and drugs.”
Holt chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Even before that, though, the Canyon seems to have attracted characters-a lot of them famous. Or infamous. Still does, although it’s more gentrified nowadays. But-” he dusted his hands, having completed his task, and aimed a piercing look across the room to where Lindsey still stood with her back to the fire “-you didn’t come for a Laurel Canyon history seminar.”
He came around the counter, carrying a tray laden with four cups of steaming coffee, spoons and crockery containers of cream, sugar and sweetener. He placed the tray on the coffee table in front of Alan, then picked up the folder that was lying there.
“This it?”
Alan nodded. “That’s it.”
Holt opened the folder. Standing, he went through its contents one page at a time, studying each one before carefully turning it facedown on the left side of the folder. When he’d finished, he sank heavily into a chair across from Alan, the folder still open across his knees. He shook his head. “How could I have missed this? How did Baltimore PD miss this?”
Alan helped himself to a cup of coffee and took a sip of it-black-before he answered. “There wasn’t any reason for it to show up on Baltimore’s radar-or yours, either. She didn’t stay a Jane Doe long enough. Her husband showed up, ID’d her. Nobody questioned it.”
Holt sat for a long moment in silence, staring down at the folder. Then he looked up at Lindsey, and his eyes were gentle. Compassionate. “This must be a tough time for you.”
She managed to smile, even laugh, a little. “Oh, yeah.”
He held up the photo of the young Karen McKinney. “This is my mother. I understand you…think it might be your mother, too.”
She nodded, fighting back tears. Holt said, without smiling, “Well, then, obviously, that would make you my sister.” She nodded again, hugging herself tightly; it was all she could do, it seemed, without breaking down. Holt shook his head and simply said, “Wow.” Lindsey thought,
And as before, the awareness brought her a measure of calm. She said softly, “This must be hard for you, too. Finding out your mother is alive, after all these years.”
“
“Which, thank God, we can get easily enough,” Holt said briskly. “I’ll make sure you get a DNA sample before you leave.” He closed the folder but held on to it. “But seems to me we have a pretty strong connection here…”
“Connect the dots…” Lindsey murmured, but nobody paid any attention to her.
So, she stood silently and watched them, the two men who had come into her life so unexpectedly and with such catastrophic effect. It struck her how alike they were, without actually
“I agree,” Alan said, setting his coffee down and leaning toward the other man, elbows on his knees. He counted, raising and touching one finger at a time, and Lindsey found herself riveted by the graceful economy of his movements. “One, the McKinneys are abducted from a movie theater parking lot in Baltimore. Two, two days later a Jane Doe matching Karen McKinney’s description is pulled out of the Chesapeake, sporting a head wound that appears to have been caused by a bullet crease. Three, three days after that she’s identified by a man claiming to be her husband, as Sally Phillips, his wife, who is also discovered to be in the early weeks of pregnancy.”
He paused then, as a young woman came into the room, moving quietly to stand behind her husband’s chair. She was small and slender, with short blond hair cut in shaggy layers. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she seemed very young, barely more than a girl-until she leaned forward into the light, and Lindsey saw that her face wore the
