Chapter Two

Marlie peeked inside Noah's room. Dark circles hung like half-moons beneath his closed eyes. Her rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the vinyl floor. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she emptied the trash bin beside the bed. The boy had been through so much, and it wasn't over yet.

A patient's medical history was kept strictly confidential from the hospital gossip grapevine, but she'd been talking with Noah for the past two nights and learned the FBI had found him locked in the basement of a house. Some animal had kept him drugged. Luckily, there'd been no other physical injuries or signs of abuse.

Noah shifted onto his side, his forehead creasing like he was having a bad dream. A lock of blond hair fell across his forehead, and the urge to reach out and brush it away welled up inside her, along with an emotion she hadn't felt in years.

Longing. The kind she'd thought permanently dead and buried.

Aiden would have been nearly the same age as Noah. He'd also had blond hair.

Gently, she set the trash bin back on the floor. When she looked up, Noah's lids flickered open.

His green eyes lit when he caught sight of her. "Marlie!"

"Shh." She put a finger to her lips, glancing over her shoulder. What she ought to be doing was working, not spending time with the boy. But from the moment she'd glimpsed him in the emergency room two days ago, she'd been drawn to him in ways she couldn't explain. "Did you sleep better last night?" she asked, knowing the last two nights had been difficult for him.

"A little." He nodded. "It's noisy here, and everyone keeps coming in and waking me up."

"They do that to make sure you're okay." This time, she gave in to the urge and leaned over to brush the errant lock of hair from his face.

"Can you stay and talk with me some more?" The look of hope on his face made her more aware of what had been missing in her life since her world had crashed and burned—love. And someone to care for.

She hadn't thought about it until she'd begun talking with Noah every night, something that went against her mantra to fly under the radar. To remain invisible and be left alone. That's what she wanted. Wasn't it?

Again, she glanced over her shoulder. "For a little while. Then I have to get back to work."

"When can I leave?" His brow wrinkled. "There's nothing wrong with me."

Thankfully, that was true, but there was more going on behind the scenes he wasn't aware of. Latisha Torres—Tish—Marlie's best friend and one of North Metro's top administrators, had mentioned there was another problem.

"But I don't want to go back to Sheila and Mike's." Noah punched the mattress. "I hate them."

"You won't. I promise." That was about the only thing she could promise.

Noah told her his mother had died a year ago, and he didn't even know who his biological father was. With no other relatives to take him in, he was in the foster care system until he ran away. Since then, his foster parents had been arrested for running a drug den.

Noah had no place to go. He was completely alone in the world. Like her. No, not like her. She did have family. Her parents lived in Long Island, as did her sister and brothers with their children. Marlie hadn't seen any of them in years. Being around them, watching them with their kids, would have been like jabbing the knife into her heart again and again and again.

"They're trying to find a new family for you to live with." Doing her best to put a positive slant on his terrible predicament, she gave him a forced smile.

He crossed his arms, his eyes filling with tears. Valiantly, he blinked them away. "Can you stay and talk more? Please?" The look of hopefulness on his face now mingled with desperation, making her heart squeeze.

The clock on the wall read six p.m. She'd been on shift for only two hours, and there were still plenty of rooms to clean. Garbage cans to empty. Floors to mop. At thirty-two, this wasn't the employment she'd expected, but the anonymity suited her.

"Sure." She sat in a chair next to the bed, and this time, the smile she gave him was genuine. "For a little while." And because Tish had also said Noah wouldn't talk to anyone else, not even North Metro's child counselor. Not that she could blame him. She'd run into Dr. Michael Strobie around the hospital a few times. If she were Noah's age, she wouldn't want to talk to Strobie, either. Just because someone had a psychology degree didn't make them a good shrink. Especially where children were concerned. That took a specialized degree.

"The cops wanna talk to me." Noah's lips twisted into a cute frown. "I don't wanna talk to them."

"They just want to find out who's responsible for what happened to you." And hopefully lock them up for the rest of their lives. Anyone who would mistreat a child… Marlie squeezed her eyes shut, desperately trying not to let the anger show on her face. Noah had enough to deal with as it was. "Why don't you want to talk to them?" Them being the FBI, most likely. Anything involving missing children was the FBI's domain. They even had specialized teams to find abducted and missing children. Sometimes too late. "Are you afraid of what they might ask you?"

The boy had been on the street for months now. Who knew what laws he might have broken to find food and shelter. He might have reasons for being afraid of the police. A typical sentiment of runaways. "Did you have to steal food while you were on the street?" she asked.

Long seconds went by before Noah nodded. "Can't I just talk to you instead? I don't want to talk to Dr. Lurch, either."

Marlie grinned. Noah had nicknamed the hospital counselor after Lurch in The Addams Family . "Did you know game five of the World Series is on tonight? You said you loved playing baseball."

"I love baseball." He plucked at the slightly too-small pajamas someone had procured for him. Little baseballs, mitts, and bats adorned the sleeves. "I wish Caleb had gotten out with me. We played ball together."

"Caleb is your friend, the other boy there with you, right?" Wherever there was. Apparently, Noah had been taken somewhere else before he'd wound up locked in that basement. He nodded. "Then I think you should tell the police everything you remember. It might help them find Caleb." The idea that another boy was being held against his will, possibly drugged, left her with an uneasy, unsettled feeling, but there was nothing she could do about it. Aside from listening, there was nothing she could do for Noah, either.

In a day or so, arrangements would be made for him to go to another foster family, and she would never see him again. Considering she hadn't wanted to be around children— any children—why never seeing Noah again bothered her so much was a mystery.

Voices came from the hallway, quickly growing louder.

She stood so fast the chair she'd been sitting on scooted back, scraping on the floor. She put a finger to her lips, whispering, "I'll try to come back later. It'll be our secret." Although prolonging any contact with the boy would only dredge up memories and the heart-wrenching agony she still felt some days was barely in check.

"I should be going." She reached for the rolling trash bin just as Tish, Dr. Strobie, and two men she didn't know came into the room. The first was tall and dark-haired, extraordinarily handsome, and held a leash attached to a large German shepherd. The dog wore a vest, the sides of which were embroidered with gold FBI badges, the same as the one on the tall man's black, long-sleeve polo shirt. Without issuing any command, the dog sat at his side. The side with the mean-looking holstered gun. The other man wore a suit and tie, carried a leather portfolio, and was several inches shorter.

Dr. Strobie narrowed his eyes on Marlie. She could practically hear the man growl his annoyance. Tall and slender with dark beady eyes and wearing a black suit, he really did look like Lurch.

"Yes, you should be going." Strobie strode to the other side of Noah's bed and rested a hand on the boy's shoulder.

Noah shrugged off Strobie's hand and latched onto Marlie's wrist with surprising strength. " Please , don't leave me alone with them." His eyes darted to Strobie, then to the tall man and his dog. The grip he had on her wrist tightened, and the absolute fear radiating from his eyes began chipping away at the stone wall she'd erected around her heart.

Strobie gave Tish a meaningful look. "She's a hospital custodian. A janitor . She shouldn't be talking to a patient in the first place."

"There's no rule prohibiting a custodian from speaking with a patient." Tish gave Strobie her consummate moderator smile and addressed Noah. "You know Dr. Strobie is only trying to help." She indicated the man standing on her other side, whom Marlie now realized was every bit as tall as Strobie, but where Strobie's long limbs were bony and thin, this man's were thick with muscles that strained against the fabric of his shirt and cargo pants. "This is Special Agent McGarry and Mr. Kinnemara. They're with the FBI. They've been waiting for you to be well enough to speak with them. Do you think you're ready to do that?"

Agent McGarry watched Noah silently from steely gray eyes. Something about the way the other man hung back, standing slightly behind McGarry, suggested McGarry was in charge.

"Of course, he's ready," Strobie interjected, answering for Noah and making Marlie want to punch him. "Noah isn't a baby. He's eleven years old. Isn't that right, Noah?"

Strobie's handling of Noah was so far off the mark, it wasn't funny. Contrary to what Strobie had proclaimed, even eleven-year-old boys could be afraid. Especially of the police. This wasn't the way to handle things with a child of any age, particularly one who'd been through what Noah had. If that man actually knew anything about counseling children, she'd strip naked and take a bath in her rolling dumpster.

"I'll only talk if she can stay. She can, can't she?" Noah turned his sad, pleading gaze on Agent McGarry, who'd been listening and observing the back-and-forth with an inscrutable look on his face—one with high cheek bones and framed by short, but thick, dark-brown hair. Something about the hard set of the agent's jaw and the determination glittering in his eyes sent a protective surge through her. The man's dog had been swiveling his head back and forth, as if he, too, were taking in the conversation.

Strobie opened his mouth to say something, but Agent McGarry cut him off. "Doesn't matter to me if she's a hospital custodian or Elliott Ness. If it makes Noah more comfortable, she can stay."

"What?" she blurted out.

"Really?" Noah's face brightened. He unclamped his fingers from her wrist, only to thread them with hers so she couldn't escape. "You can stay! He said it was okay."

"I, um. Have to work." She chewed her lower lip. The instinct to protect warred with her instinct to flee. She'd taken the job to be invisible. After all, who ever talked to the hospital janitor? To further her invisibility, she'd specifically requested the night shift so she'd have even fewer people to interact with. She barely spoke with anyone these days except Tish. And Noah. That had taken her completely by surprise. Her throat went dry, and her skin prickled like someone was sticking pins in her.

Run. The word exploded in her mind like a sonic boom, yet her feet wouldn't move. Marlie glanced to where Noah's fingers curled around hers, and she swallowed, hearing the steady thumping of her pulse in her ears right before croaking out, "Okay."

"Dr. Strobie." Agent McGarry turned to "Dr. Lurch." "How about rounding up a couple more chairs so we can all get comfortable? Thanks," he added, ignoring the flabbergasted look on the other man's face as he walked to the bed and extended his hand to Noah. "I'm Evan McGarry. I don't know if you remember me. My dog, Blue, found you in that basement."

"I remember you." Hesitantly, Noah released her hand to shake the agent's.

The gesture wasn't lost on her. McGarry was making friends with Noah, already putting him more at ease than Dr. Lurch ever had. It was clear he had some training dealing with children.

"This is my friend, Sam Kinnemara." He indicated the other man. "And you are?" He held out his enormous hand again, this time, to her.

As she watched her hand lift to his, it occurred to her that she hadn't been touched by a man—for any reason—in years. "Marlie," she said in a slightly less croaky voice. "Marlie Foxe."

His hand was indeed large, and warm, his fingers long as they clasped hers. His eyes softened for an instant before he released her hand. Only then did she glimpse a weariness in his expression, as if he'd been up for days without sleep. Maybe he had been. The man's five o'clock shadow was more like a ten o'clock shadow.

"Six is a crowd, and I can see you have things well in hand, Agent McGarry," Tish said, giving everyone in the room the same consummate smile she'd given Strobie earlier. She winked at Marlie. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my office. Agent McGarry, Dr. Strobie, please keep me informed."

Watching Tish abandon her, Marlie gulped. She shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be letting herself get dragged into an FBI investigation, let alone one involving children.

Too late now .

The time to flee had come and gone. Noah needed her, at least for this interview. After that, she'd go back to her janitorial duties, and all would be well again in her safe, invisible world.

"How 'bout those chairs, Dr. Strobie?" McGarry threw over his shoulder in a matter-of-fact, yet authoritative tone.

Strobie spun on his heels and disappeared from the room quickly, as if compelled by some invisible force to obey McGarry's order. The agent definitely had a commanding presence, she'd give him that.

McGarry's dog turned his big head to stare after Strobie, then gave a quick snort that struck Marlie as being humanly dismissive.

As she stifled the laugh that bubbled up in her throat, a palpable shock wave rolled through her. The feeling of almost laughing was so foreign, so unexpected.

Because she hadn't laughed—not once—in over three years.