Page 137 of Ghost Hunted

“Well...” I hunt for a plausible explanation in the place of the real one—how can I possibly keep her with me if I’m not dangling something in front of her?—“It’s not that easy, you know. Suddenly appearing in someone’s life like that, when they have no idea you even exist. We need to be careful. We don’t want to mess it up, right?”

Her frown lines disappear, and she nods.

“Yeah... yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

I huff out a sigh of relief. “We could spend the week talking together. Figuring out the best way to make ourselves known to Jane. We don’t want to overwhelm her. I’m sure you could come up with ideas.”

“And you’d...” She arches an eyebrow in surprise. “You’d listen to me?”

“Uh huh. Sure,” I lie, kissing her nose. “I’ll always listen to you from now on, Lia.”

_

“See? Look at her.”

We’re sitting in the car, watching our slim, redheaded daughter fetch the mail at the end of the driveway leading up to Mrs. Everton’s sprawling mansion. Ever since I found her, I’ve had my guys watch her from afar, and I’ve come to know a lot about her habits. I know she goes to the mailbox every morning and picks up the mail. I don’t know if it’s a chore Mrs. Everton gave her, or if she wants a reason to get out of the house, or if, maybe, she’s hoping for a letter. Whatever the case, she’s outside every morning at seven a.m., picking up the mail.

“All this time,” murmurs Lia, “and she lived right in Astley. Right next to Devil Tower.”

I press her hand to my lips, thankful that her anger seems to have ebbed. I did, after all, give in to her after she spent all day yesterday—between the Starbucks and the bagel and the sushi and the movie—demanding to see Jane. I brought her here so she could see her daughter from afar, but I insisted that we wait the full week before meeting her, and she agreed.

Today, as usual, Jane—or Billie, as she calls herself—goes quickly through the letters, then stops at one of them.

It’s got her name on it. She quickly tears it open, reads it, and then… squeals.

I grin. “I knew it. She’s thrilled. We’re paying for her to attend Devil College, and…”

“We’re not paying, Logan. You are. I don’t have any money.”

“Well, what’s mine is yours.”

“No, that’s not true.” Lia shakes her head. “What’s yours is yours. And that includes me.”

I know it’s an accusation, but I decide to take it as a statement of fact. I kiss her on her cute freckled nose. “That’s right, baby. I’m glad you’re catching on.”

She purses her lips, and I can tell she’s trying really hard not to smile.

“Doesn’t our daughter look good?” I ask, looking back at the girl outside. “She seems happy. Doesn’t she?”

I haven’t told Lia about the possible suicide attempt. Maybe she was just hiding, after all. Or floating.

I’m doing my best to keep an eye on Jane. She doesn’t go out much, beyond getting the mail at the end of the driveway. I looked into this foster brother of hers, too. Apparently, his friends see him a lot less ever since she moved in. He’s always by her side; apparently, he’s very protective of her. Plus, he’s a straight-A student who’s also the quarterback on the football team. I know none of that means much, but I have to allow those facts to reassure me. I won’t give in to the temptation of setting up cameras inside the house. I’ve already got one girl captive; I just can’t do that to another one.

I need to let my daughters live their lives, even though that means one of them has spent the past few months on the other side of the country, refusing to talk to me, while the other one has a life I know nothing about.

“I wish I could hug her,” murmurs Lia, her lower lip trembling.

I squeeze her hand, and one of the many knots in my stomach eases when she squeezes mine back. “Soon,” I promise her. “But we need to take things slowly...” I hesitate, then turn to Lia. “Don’t you agree? Or… would you like to go talk to her now?”

Surprise flashes in her eyes. “You’re asking for my opinion?”

“Yes.” I hesitate again. “I’ll always ask for your opinion from now on.”

When I see how happy that makes her, I decide not to finish my sentence. That doesn’t mean I’ll take it into account.

Maybe the answer, after all, is giving her just enough freedom to trick her into believing she’s entirely free.

She wraps her arms around mine, and I pull her into a full, awkward hug over the center console. “I think you’re right,” she says. “I think we should wait. It’s hard, but we’ll wait a few more days. And in the meantime,” she adds, glancing at me as if she’s testing me, “you can show me where her dorm will be. And I can walk around, and picture her going to her classes, and...”