Missing Child

By Debra Sage

A single mother, a deranged animal, and an agent desperate to release her personal demons bind together when a six-year-old girl goes missing.

Jamie's life shattered the day her daughter disappeared. Scrappy and jaded, she's trying to build a better life. Cast out of her family, broken and angry, she's barely got the energy to move forward. When her six-year-old daughter vanishes, she goes on a desperate bid to save her.

What kind of loathsome animal attacks a child?

Police and the FBI's Child Abduction unit are forced to match wits with an unknown culprit. Agent Bishop will stop at nothing to crush the ruthless monster who stole Bailey away. As a child, Agent Bishop was kidnapped, and understands the lasting damage victims go through—if they're found alive. Driven to find answers where there appear to be none, she knows if she can save just one child, it's worth sleepless nights and wrestling her demons.

How well do you know the people you trust?

With no communication or demand for ransom, they are forced to delve into darker territory. Killers don't call, and molesters have what they're after. In a race for time, Agent Bishop is forced to dig deep in a desperate bid to save the young girl.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Debra Sage Books
• Release date: Apr 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386292692

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jamie grasped the back of the chair. Her knees buckled in response, refusing to cooperate. The detective’s lips moved, but nothing made sense.

Like an out-of-body experience, she stared at him. His head wobbled like a bobbled-headed dog on a car dashboard. His lame attempt at sympathy was plastered on his face like an old movie poster that’d been left in place too long.

He went through the motions, but his vacant expression gave him away. What did he know about losing a child? Not a damn thing.

Detective Nolan’s thick, stocky build filled the space around him. He tried to comfort her, she’d give him that much, but the detachment in his voice said it was a job.

He’d clock out at the end of the day and go home. His life hadn’t shattered like a fragile ornament. He wasn’t picking up pieces of broken glass off the floor, wondering if the pieces would ever fit back together again.

I have kids of my own. I get it. I can’t imagine the horror of losing one of them. This job haunts me night and day. It’s why I’ll never stop fighting to make a difference. The detective let out a deep, heavy sigh. I promise, we won’t stop looking until we find her.

She read between the lines—either dead or alive. Too much time passed. She’d heard them say it before. Without answers in the first two to three days, leads ran cold. 

Her stomach twisted.

We’re keeping close tabs with the FBI, as you know, Mrs. Turner. We’ll use all our resources to solve this case.

Solve this case...so damn, cold and impersonal.

Jamie’s anxiety spiraled like a tornado. It ricocheted through every fiber and nerve in her body. Desperate to release the tension, she rubbed the back of her neck, but it was like trying to tame an angry python with a fly swatter.

This wasn’t just some case—it was her daughter. They’d tried to put forth a valiant effort, but it didn’t change the fact that her daughter was still missing.

Some sadistic asshole destroyed her life. Nothing else mattered if she didn’t have Bailey.

Where was she? Was she still alive? Was she cold, afraid, or suffering? Did she know the monster who’d stolen her away?

Jamie drew a hand over her mouth, as if it would hold back the sobs that choked in her throat.

JAMIE DREW A DEEP WEDGE of black eyeliner across her lid, then swiped mascara through her lashes. A quick dab of lipstick and she’d be ready to go. With a quick double-take in the mirror, she finished her face, then headed downstairs where her daughter waited.

Sunshine pierced the miniblinds which were partially slatted in the kitchen.  She winced, then adjusted them. Did you decide what you want to eat?

Bailey’s golden-blonde hair bobbed as she nodded. Pasketti.

Spaghetti, Jamie corrected.

Right, pasketti and meatballs.

Jamie laughed. It was the one word that tripped her up over and over. One day you’ll get it. Try again, sweetie. Spa-ghet-ti.

Pas-ghetti, she said.

You’re getting closer. Try again.

Spa-ghetti? the little girl asked.

Jamie clapped her hands. There you go. Good job. Okay, let me make your lunch. You’ll be a good girl for the babysitter, right? And tomorrow we’ll go to the petting zoo. I saved some bread for the ducks.

Mommy, can I stay up late tonight? Bailey pleaded.

She relented. Eight-thirty—that’s all. If you stay up too late, you’ll be cranky tomorrow.

During the week, while Bailey was in school, Jamie worked days. At least on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Every Friday and Saturday, she worked nights. It was the only way. Money flowed freely on weekends, and without the tips she earned on Friday and Saturday nights, she wouldn’t be able to cover her bills.

It’s not like Bailey’s deadbeat father helped. That cheap bastard all but left them high and dry. After he’d been busted, the pleas started. Once his anger set in there was no turning back. With a restraining order, things only got worse. Bitter, he refused to pay.

The jerk stopped working so they couldn’t dock his check. She swore he pulled in cash under the table, otherwise he’d be out on his ass—homeless and hitting up soup kitchens. Last time she’d laid eyes on him, he didn’t look much worse for the wear. Maybe an unsuspecting woman took pity on him and let him in. Maybe his folks helped. Either way, he was out of their lives.

Jamie’s shoulders stiffened. The memory stayed fresh. He’d shoved her down the stairs.

Two broken ribs. Thankfully her only other injuries were the bruises, aside from the mental torture of the ordeal. She could have broken her neck. Bile rose in her throat. He’d gotten off too easily.

Eighteen months in the slammer, then let out for good behavior. The only reason he got time at all came down to the black eye on Bailey’s face. She’d tried to intervene and got caught in the middle. He said it was an accident. Yeah, right. Fucking accident.

Jamie kissed her daughter’s forehead. I love you, Muffin.

I love you, Mommy.

The doorbell rang.

Amber was Bailey’s regular babysitter. When she couldn’t watch her, two of Jamie’s neighbors stepped in to help fill the gaps. Patty lived across the street, and Karen next door. She’d be lost without them. Patty worked as a visiting nurse, but without a family to care for, her time was her own other than a little white dog.

It’s not like Jamie’s folks helped. She bristled. They hadn’t seeped into her mind for weeks, and their last encounter didn’t end well.

She dug through her fake-leather purse and scraped the bottom. Her finger hooked onto the key ring she’d gone after. I’ve got to go. I don’t want to be late.

Bailey threw her arms around her legs. Bye, Mommy.

Jamie squatted and hugged her. Be good for Amber, okay? And no later than eight-thirty.

Bailey nodded.

Amber’s chubby, cherub cheeks gave her an angel’s smile, but the devil played in her eyes. Bedtime is eight-thirty tonight.

The babysitter smiled. Got it, eight-thirty.

I shouldn’t be late, but if I am, I’ll call.

No problem. We’ll be fine, she assured her.

Jamie said one last good-bye, then shot out of the house. She had a twenty-minute drive in front of her. Time to go to work—a local strip-joint, The Sportsman, which sat off the highway. She didn’t dance. She worked at the bar instead.

If she’d been confident enough to slip off her clothes like the others, she’d have made more money. Honestly, her good looks afforded her the position. While she’d found a job at another restaurant, the money at The Sportsman was the deciding factor. If she flirted and played her cards right, the customers lined her pockets in cash.

As for her folks, they strongly opposed her choice. So much so that it put a wedge between them. Their religious affiliation looked down on her workplace. Horrified their daughter chose the path of a bar girl at a strip club, they claimed humiliation, at the expense of their relationship.

The gossip around their church became an axe to grind. They’d never live down the embarrassment. What kind of harlot was she? How could she choose a sordid establishment? What did it say about them as parents?

Well, when her parents paid her bills, then they could have a say in what she did. Until then, it was her alone that carried the weight of being a single mother.

Derrick was certainly no help, the bastard. Sure, he fathered their daughter, but he was no dad. He was a dark, shady, shadow from the past. It’s all he’d ever be if Jamie had it her way.

Then there was her ex-boyfriend, Max. She’d finally let her guard down and started to date again. A lot of good that did her. Yeah, so much for that relationship.

Jamie scowled and furrowed her brow. She didn’t know who to trust anymore. She thought she knew him. Thought he was good to them, but when the truth came out...

Not now. This isn’t the time. 

Jamie turned the key in the ignition. Her car grunted in response, then shook with a start. At least it still started. The shine had long worn off her Chevy Malibu. Her tires were nearly bald and desperately needed replacing, but it wasn’t in the budget. It was yet another expense she couldn’t afford.

Max slid back into her mind. He’d been a good thing in their lives, until he wasn’t. She had to move on. What choice did she have?

And poor Bailey, she’d grown fond of him. It tugged at her heart to admit another man had let them down. Flipping heart-wrenching. Was that all she’d ever know? Men screwing her over?

Jamie hit her blinker and turned into the parking lot at work. She drew a couple deep breaths to clear her head. Saturday nights were the best night for tips. The last thing she needed was a bad attitude or sour mood. The more she smiled and played with her customers, the more cash they laid on the bar.

It was a game; make them feel desired, good, and happy. And for a little while, they’d forget about their shitty jobs and crappy relationships. It was a fair trade as far as she was concerned. It helped them relieve their stress, while lining her pockets in gold.

Hey, girl. The doorman nodded as she approached, then pulled open the large, wooden door.

Hi, Charlie.

Big, brawny bouncers kept trouble away. Usually, nights went off without a hitch, but get a rowdy party in or a guy with an axe to grind and things got ugly fast.

Charlie was up to the task, able to bust heads quickly and with enough force to send a clear message. There were others, but Charlie was Jamie’s favorite. He was the one that bounced her ex-husband’s ass out of the place when he came in to cause trouble.

He’d been extra rough on him when he learned who the guy was. Restraining order or not, her ex didn’t care. Charlie gave him a good hurting which seemed long overdue.

Men. They’d only ever let her down. There was her ex-husband who swore he’d cherish and treat her with care when they married. Max, her ex-boyfriend, who surprised her in ways she didn’t know possible, and lastly her father.

It’s not like dear old Dad stood up to Mom when the chips fell. Nope. Instead, he got in line like a good little soldier—damn lack of balls. She was a sinner as far as they were concerned, and Mom and Dad didn’t associate with people like her. Even if it meant they’d be cut off from their only grandchild in the process.

Chapter 2

Jamie climbed out of bed. She’d burrowed under her soft comforter as long as she could. The previous night, she’d fallen into the downy cloud like a dead woman. Work had been crazy busy. By the time she got home, it took mere moments to shut off the world. The plan was to wash her face and wipe away the makeup, but sleep called instead.

The moment she’d paid Amber and closed the door, she dragged her feet and climbed the stairs. At the top, Bailey’s door was closed. Thankfully, Amber barely heard a peep out of her after she’d gone to bed. She claimed Bailey went right to sleep come bedtime.

Jamie crossed the hallway to the master bedroom. She slipped off her clothes and pulled on an old T-shirt. In zombie mode, she tossed her work clothes in the hamper. Her eyes closed before her head hit the pillow.

Morning came out of nowhere, like a high-speed train throttling her way, long before she was ready get up.

She rubbed her eyes and went to wash her face. After dragging a toothbrush across her teeth and pulling on a pair of shorts, she made her way downstairs.  

Bailey usually watched cartoons and ate cereal while Jamie slept. The rule was that if Jamie wasn’t up by nine o’clock on Sunday, Bailey could wake her. She’d explained that she needed extra sleep after her late shift. They’d devised a plan, and cartoons and cereal held Bailey over until her mother joined her. Of course, if there was an important issue, she could wake her.

Sundays were all Mommy and Bailey time. Every Sunday, without fail.

Jamie turned toward the kitchen. Hey, Muffin.

She’d expected to find her daughter sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl full of Tasty O’s, but she wasn’t there.

She turned toward the living room to check on her daughter. The television was off. Again, no Bailey. Jamie scanned the room as if she’d overlooked her, then went back to the kitchen. Still, no Bailey.

Bailey? Jamie called up the stairs. Maybe she was playing in her room. Are you up there?

Nothing.

Jamie groaned and dropped her shoulders. She knew better than to go outside without her. Had she gathered