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“Where’s your mama?”
She poked a thumb in her mouth and blinked.
“Are you lost?”
She nodded.
He got up, wincing at the cold floor on his bare feet, then picked her up in his arms.
“How about we go find her, okay?”
She nodded again, still sucking her thumb.
Cameron made his way between the cots and sleeping bags, taking care as to where he stepped as he headed toward the only light in the place, a small office the Red Cross had set up near the door. By the time he got there the little girl had laid her head on his shoulder and was almost back asleep.
He saw a pretty young woman dozing in an old recliner on the other side of the desk and frowned. He hated to disturb her, but it was better for her to wake up now than to put the baby’s mother in a panic when she realized her child was gone.
“Excuse me,” he said softly.
The woman sat up with a jerk, blinking rapidly and obviously trying to gather her senses.
“Sorry to wake you,” Cameron said. “But I woke up with this little elf standing by my cot. I don’t know who she belongs to, but I’d sure hate for her mama to wake up in a panic.”
“Oh, my goodness. Yes, you’re absolutely right. I’m Laura Doyle, by the way. Aren’t you one of the FBI agents?”
“Yes, ma’am. Nice to meet you, Laura Doyle. I’m Cameron Winger. And Sleeping Beauty here told me her name was ‘Twicia’ before she clammed up.”
Laura smiled, trying to ignore how good this big hunky guy looked in gray sweats, and how adorable he was with the toddler asleep on his shoulder.
“Patricia, huh? Let me check the list of names. Hopefully there won’t be too many little girls named Patricia on site.”
Cameron waited, eyeing the way she chewed the edge of her lower lip as she scanned the list, thinking to himself that she was one of those women who looked good without makeup. He started to wonder if she looked as good without her clothes, and then she looked up and he blushed, thankful she couldn’t read his mind.
“We’re in luck. There’s only one Patricia who’s a juvenile. She belongs to the Metarie family. I think I know where they’re sleeping. Follow me.” She picked up a flashlight and led the way across the darkened floor of the gymnasium to the opposite corner of the room.
Once they reached the sleeping family, Laura tapped the father’s foot and then softly spoke his name.
“Billy Joe, it’s me, Laura.”
The young father sat up with a jerk, blinking against the glare of the flashlight in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
Laura was chuckling softly as she gave him the news, knowing they’d all had enough drama.
“Your daughter, Tricia, took herself a little walk. Mr. Winger here woke up and found her standing by his cot. We thought you might want her back.”
“Oh, sweet Lord,” he muttered, and came up off his cot as if he’d been shot from a cannon. He shook his head as he took the sleepy toddler from Cameron’s arms.
“Thank you, thank you so much, mister.”
“You’re welcome. She’s not much of a talker, but she’s awfully pretty.”
The young man smiled as he looked down at his daughter.
“Papa,” the little girl mumbled, and then snuggled up beneath his chin and closed her eyes.
Laura smiled. “I do believe we’ve delivered her to the right place. Go back to sleep if you can. It’s still a little while until morning.”
