She nodded. “No kids playing ball in the yard, no little boy named Robbie. This time, the girl was five or six years older…maybe eleven or twelve. I don’t think she was a teenager yet.”

“Wow, that’s weird. And you still think these dreams are real?”

“I’m probably crazy, but yes. I think maybe little Molly got into that car and the man drove away with her, like in the dream. But he didn’t kill her—he couldn’t have if she’s older in the second dream. I think maybe he just took her off with him somewhere.”

“Maybe you’ll just keep dreaming about her until she’s all grown up and everything will be fine.”

“I thought of that. I suppose it’s possible, but…”

“But what?”

“But I don’t think that’s going to happen. I think…I don’t know but…I think Molly is trying to send me some kind of message. I think she’s asking me for help.”

Terri fixed her with a stare. “That’s a pretty far stretch, don’t you think? If she is trying to reach you, why did she wait until now? Why didn’t she send you this supposed message five or six years ago?”

Autumn hooked a curl behind her ear. “I don’t know.”

“You have to admit this is all pretty crazy.”

“No kidding.” She trailed her finger through the condensation on her wine glass. “If it weren’t for what happened in high school, I’d ignore the whole damned thing.”

Terri frowned. “The car accident…right? I see what you mean.”

“The weird thing is—what caused it to happen back then? And why is it happening now?”

Terri ignored the question since neither of them had an answer. “You know what I think you should do? I think you should go through old newspapers to see if a little girl was abducted five or six years ago. If there was and her name was Molly—”

“You’re right!” Autumn sat up straighter on the stool. “I should have thought of that myself. I’d have to make certain assumptions. I may have guessed her age wrong, so I’d need to do a spread of several years. I’ve got to assume I’m somehow connected or this wouldn’t be happening, so I’ll start looking here in Seattle.”

“It might not work but it’s worth a try.”

“It’s a great idea.” If Autumn’s hunch was right, it was absolutely worth a try.

Terri looked up just then and broke into a smile. “Todd just walked in. Isn’t he gorgeous?”

Todd was definitely a pretty boy, tall and blond, sort of the Brad Pitt type. But Autumn couldn’t help wondering if there was any substance behind that pretty face.

Terri introduced her and the three of them chatted for a while. Todd held his own. He seemed to be polite and intelligent. Still, it was too soon to make a judgment.

Autumn stood up from her stool. “Listen, I’d better get going. I’ve got classes in the morning. Nice meeting you, Todd.”

“You too, Autumn.”

Terri cast her a meaningful glance. “Keep me posted on your…research, will you?”

“Will do.” Autumn left the bar and headed down the street for home. The sun was just setting over the water and glimpses of the sea appeared between the buildings. Pretty as it was, the neighborhood she lived in wasn’t the most desirable. Transients haunted the bus stop not far away and drug deals were made on the streets, but the condo was affordable and only blocks from museums and theaters. And all of the downtown was improving a little at a time. She loved Seattle. She couldn’t think of anywhere she would rather live.

By the time she reached her building and took the elevator up to her condo, dusk was setting in. She baked a pork chop, cooking it on a rack so there would be less grease, and settled in to watch a little TV. The sitcoms were always cheery. She watched a few of those, then started yawning and decided to go to bed.

She purposely avoided the Ambien, hoping if she dreamed she might get more information, though a good night’s sleep was certainly a temptation.

Instead, she drifted into slumber and again that night she had the dream.

Since it was a good long way from her apartment to the Seattle Times on John Street, Autumn decided to phone before she made the trip. The receptionist at the Times told her that archival information could be found at the library, not the newspaper, so she made a second call and discovered that the Central Library on nearby Fourth Avenue was where she needed to go. There were old newspapers there, she was told, dating back to the late eighteen-hundreds.

A number of newspapers covered the Seattle area, but the Times was the largest. Autumn figured if a child had been abducted in the city or in any of the surrounding towns, the Seattle Times would probably have covered the story.

It occurred to her that she was a person who usually followed the news, in print and on TV, so she should have seen something if it had happened anywhere near. Still, she traveled as often as she could so she might have been out of town or maybe she had just somehow missed it.

The lady at the information booth walked up the counter. She had silver hair and wore too much powder and circles of pink rouge on her cheeks.

“May I help you?”

“I’d like to take a look through your newspaper archives. I need to search for children who might have been reported missing. I need to go back at least seven years.” That should be long enough to cover the period, since she wasn’t really sure of Molly’s age.

“All right. If you’ll please follow me.”

Autumn trailed along behind the older woman into a back room filled with equipment.

“Everything from more recent times is stored on microfilm. You’ll find copies of every paper printed and an index by subject matter. Just type in missing children and it should bring up what you need.”

“Thank you.”

Autumn sat down and set to work, going back five years, thinking little Molly might have been six then and eleven now. Since Autumn had been living in Seattle, she figured she might have seen or met her during that time.

There were stacks of articles. Unfortunately, nothing looked remotely like it had anything to do with a little girl named Molly. There were a several children mentioned, missing then found. One was lost in the mountains and rescued by local search teams.

She tried four years back, found a story about a pedophile named Gerald Meeks who had been arrested for molesting and killing several young children, but Molly’s name—thank God—was not among those mentioned.

The year 2001, six years back, would make the child six then and twelve now, which was Autumn’s strongest suspicion. She was paging through the summer issues, reading snippets here and there, when an article popped up. The headline read, Issaquah Girl Reported Missing. The paper was dated June 30, 2001 and the disappearance had happened the day before the paper went to press.

A six year old girl disappeared from her home late yesterday afternoon, the article read. According to reports, the child was playing ball in her yard with friends when an unknown man appeared on the sidewalk.

The article went on to describe the incident and included a description of the missing girl: long blond hair, blue eyes, wearing jeans, sneakers and a purple T-shirt with a picture of Barney the dinosaur on the front.

There was even a photo, one Autumn recognized the instant she saw it. And the name beneath the picture read Molly Lynn McKenzie.

Autumn’s chest squeezed so hard it was difficult to breathe. Her heart was pumping, trying to beat its way through her chest. The child was real. The dream was real. The kidnapping had really occurred.

Autumn felt light-headed. She reread the date. That summer she had been staying with her dad in Burlington before starting her teaching job in Seattle. She probably would have seen the article, which would have been carried in all the local papers, but in June she was in Europe—a graduation gift to herself—traveling with a group of climbers.

McKenzie? McKenzie? Why did the name sound familiar?

It hit her like a bolt of lightning—she had heard the name only a few days ago. Josh had mentioned it when she and Terri were working out at the gym.

Autumn quickly scanned the article and there it was: Molly Lynn McKenzie was the daughter of sporting goods retailer Ben McKenzie and his wife, Joanne, residents of Issaquah, Washington, a town in the foothills just east of Seattle.

Pieces of the puzzle began falling together. She had noticed McKenzie at the gym only recently. She tried to think back. As nearly as she could recall, the first time was somewhere around the time she had started to dream about Molly.

She studied the screen, frantically pressed the button to skip forward in time. Article after article had been written about little Molly—interviews with her parents, the desperate search to find her. As she skimmed the pages, Autumn prayed the child had been found. Yet deep inside, she was certain the little girl had not.

According to the Times, the search had continued for weeks, though the articles became more and more scarce. As far as Autumn could tell, no clue to the child’s disappearance was ever discovered.

An image of handsome Ben McKenzie popped into her head. How devastated he and his wife must have been to lose their little girl. Her chest ached. She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain, the terrible grief they must have suffered. She had to talk to Ben McKenzie, find out as much as she could about what had happened.

If Molly was still missing…

She printed the newspaper articles, paid for the copies and left the building. She had to see Ben McKenzie and perhaps speak to his wife. She needed to know if anything had been discovered about Molly during the past six years. As soon as she got home, she would call McKenzie’s office and make an appointment to see him.

God only knew what she was going to say.

Ben ended the conference call he had been having with his financial VP, George Murphy, and Russ Petrone, a real estate broker in Issaquah. The town was Ben’s home when he moved to the area, the place he had opened his first store.

According to Russ, a long-time friend who had sold him and Joanne their home then helped him lease the building for McKenzie Sporting Goods, that store was about to be put in jeopardy. Apparently his competitor, A-1 Sports, had been nosing around, sniffing out property within a two-block range of his Issaquah location, one of the top-selling stores in the chain. Rumor had it that A-1 had located a piece of real estate just across the street and was seriously interested in making a purchase.

Ben swore as he hung up the phone and leaned back in his black leather chair. Sonofabitch! He didn’t believe for a moment that A-1 wanted to operate a store in the area. But he believed completely that they would do it if they thought it would urge him to sell them the McKenzie chain. With their lower prices, A-1 was tough competition. People were suckers when it came to getting something for less, even if it meant sacrificing quality.

In the world of sports, cheap products not only didn’t last, they could actually be dangerous.

A-1 was definitely a problem, one Ben was determined to solve.

His intercom buzzed. “Your five-thirty is here,” Jenn said.

“Remind me who it is.”

“A woman named Autumn Sommers. She said it was a personal matter. You said to schedule her at the end of the day.”

He tried to remember the name but it didn’t ring a bell. He had dated any number of women since his divorce, though none of them seriously. He wasn’t interested in a long-term relationship and he always made that clear from the start. But he enjoyed women and he liked sex. And the women he dated seemed to have no complaints. “Go ahead and send her in.”

He stood up as the door opened, saw a petite young woman in her twenties, pretty but not gorgeous like the models and movie starlets he occasionally spent time with. He preferred them blond and buxom and this one was petite and dark-haired, though she seemed to have a very nice pair of breasts.

She wasn’t really his type and he was almost positive he had never been out with her. That was something of a relief.

“My assistant says you wanted to see me on a personal matter. I don’t believe we’ve met, Ms. Summers. What can I do for you?” He motioned for her to have a seat in front of his desk, but she walked over to the window and looked out across the city. He could tell she was nervous. He wondered why.

“Spectacular view,” she said. “I live close to here but my condo looks over the city, not out at the water.”

“It’s a very lovely view. Now as I said, what can I do for you?”

She turned to face him, but still didn’t take a seat so neither did he.

“You can start by calling me Autumn, though you’re right we haven’t met. I’ve seen you at Pike’s Gym a couple of times. I didn’t even know who you were until a few days ago.”

He didn’t remember seeing her, but she wasn’t really the sort to catch a man’s eye…not at first glance, at any rate. “Autumn Summers. Interesting name.”

“It’s Sommers with an O. My parents thought it was cute.” She walked back his way and sat down and Ben sat down across from her. There was something intriguing about her. She had big green eyes that tilted up at the corners, a heart-shaped face and thick, short, softly curling hair that was almost red but not quite. In the overhead light, there were streaks of russet and gold—autumn colors, just like her name.

“So who are you, Autumn Sommers, and why are you here?”

She took a deep breath and released it slowly, as if she searched for exactly what to say. “I’m a fifth-grade teacher at Lewis and Clark Elementary School. I’m here to talk to you about your daughter.”

“Katie?”

Her russet brows inched up. They were perfectly formed, he noticed, adding a nice symmetry to her face.

“You have a daughter named Katie?” she asked.

“Yes. That’s her photo over there.”

“She’s lovely. How old is she?”

“Ten.” He was beginning to get annoyed. His time was valuable. Only his daughter took precedence over work. “You’re a teacher. I figured Katie was the reason you were here.”

“I’m here because of your other daughter. Molly.”

For an instant, Ben couldn’t breathe. No one had mentioned his older daughter in years. He wouldn’t allow it, couldn’t stand the shock it brought whenever he heard her name. The swift jolt of memories, the harsh stab of pain.

He stood up. “My daughter Molly is dead. She was abducted from our home six years ago. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I know about the abduction. I read the articles in the newspaper archives. As far as I can tell, they never found any trace of her and if that’s the case—”

“Molly’s dead!” Ben rounded the desk, his hands balling into fists as he tried to hang on to his temper. “Gerald Meeks killed her—along with God knows how many other children before he was captured and sentenced to life in prison. Now get out of my office!”

In an effort to avoid his wrath, Autumn slipped out of her chair and took a few steps backward as he advanced. “Please…I don’t believe Molly was murdered. I think she may still be alive and if she is, she needs your help.”

His insides contracted into a painful knot. Just talking about Molly made his stomach roll.

“Are you telling me you’ve seen her? Because if you are, I don’t believe you.” It had taken him years to convince himself but he had finally accepted the fact she was dead and no one was going to dredge up the awful heartbreak again.

“I haven’t seen her…not exactly, but—”

“Why the hell did you come here? What are you, some kind of charlatan? Or maybe you’re some kind of nut. Either way I want you out of here.” He walked past her and jerked open the tall mahogany door. “Ms. Sommers’s business here is finished,” he said to Jenn. “See her down to the lobby, will you? Make sure she leaves the building. Make sure she doesn’t return.”

“But I teach classes at the climbing gym,” she said quickly. “I’m also a member of the club. I’m there almost every day of the week.”

“Fine.” He fixed his eyes on Jenn, who was glaring at Autumn Sommers like a she-wolf protecting her cub. “See that she has access to the building, but not to any of the offices above the second floor.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Jenn said. “Come with me, Ms. Sommers.”

“I didn’t come here to cause trouble. I wanted to talk to you or your wife—”

Ben’s temper snapped. “Joanne and I have been divorced for nearly four years. You call her, you bother my family in any way, I’ll get a restraining order against you. Now get out!”

The woman said no more, just cast him a pitying glance and walked ahead of Jenn toward the elevator. Ben didn’t release the breath he had been holding till the elevator door slid closed and Autumn Sommers disappeared.

He didn’t know how long he stood there staring into space. Long enough for Jenn to return from her trip to the lobby.

“You all right, boss?” She had always been protective.

“I’m fine. I just…the woman’s some kind of nutcase. Or maybe she was trying to extort money from me or something. I don’t think she’ll show up here again.”

At least he hoped not. His brief encounter with Autumn Summers—Sommers with an O, he mentally corrected—had his stomach churning with acid. He’d have to pop a Pepcid before he’d be able to eat.

“You want me to have her checked out?” Jenn asked.

“Let it go for now. Like I said, I don’t think she’ll be back.” The woman was gone, but the memories were stirring. They were hovering in his head, threatening to come to life. He couldn’t afford to let that happen.

The best solution was to put his mind on something else…something that had nothing to do with his family or the past or involved his emotions.

Ben walked back into his office, sat down at his desk, opened the file on the Issaquah store, picked up the phone and went to work.

Five

Autumn trembled as she walked the few blocks to her apartment. She had known her meeting with Ben McKenzie wouldn’t be easy, but she hadn’t expected to be tossed out of the man’s office into the street!

The jerk wouldn’t even talk to her, wouldn’t give her the least chance to explain. She remembered the article she had uncovered about Gerald Meeks, a pedophile and serial killer who had been active in the Seattle area. He had been arrested and eventually convicted.

First thing in the morning, she was going back to the library to run Meeks’s name. Maybe she would find a reference to Molly, something that would explain Ben McKenzie’s belief that Meeks had killed her.

If she found proof that Molly was dead, she would drop the whole thing. She would take a sleeping pill every night until she stopped dreaming about the girl. Even if it took the rest of her life.

The following morning she dressed and headed for the gym. She would have to wait until afternoon to go back to the newspaper files. She worked out, then began her climbing class. In the last session, they had talked about getting the body in shape and discussed proper nutrition, then she’d spent the rest of the lesson getting her students familiar with the climbing wall.

Today she discussed proper clothing and equipment then demonstrated some climbing techniques. Throughout the class, Autumn was careful to keep her mind focused on her students and helping them learn the best and safest methods for addressing the climb. She didn’t allow her mind to stray toward little Molly McKenzie and what might have happened to her at the hands of Gerald Meeks.

Autumn suppressed a shudder, but the thought remained in the back of her head. As soon as class was over, she changed into street clothes and left for the library.

Running through the microfilm, she approached the search as she had before. Dozens of articles on Meeks surfaced in the newspaper files, from his arrest, all the way through his long, drawn-out trial. In the end, he had been sentenced to life in prison.

Autumn paused as Molly McKenzie’s name popped up in one of the articles. It appeared again in several more.

Though Meeks has only confessed to the murders of the two children whose bodies were found in what appeared to be his dumping ground at the bottom of a ravine, it is believed he is also responsible for the death of six-year-old Molly McKenzie, who also went missing in the area around that time.

Apparently Meeks never admitted to the crime, but he never denied it either. One article mentioned that the description of the man given to police by witness only vaguely matched that of Gerald Meeks, but the age of the witnesses, all of whom were children under the age of seven, and the disparity of the descriptions were a factor in concluding that Meeks was the man responsible for Molly’s abduction and murder.

In a later paper, Autumn saw again that efforts were made to get Meeks to give up information about the location of Molly’s body. Though he seemed to be the man responsible, Meeks never confessed and he never gave the police the location of the victim’s grave.

Because he didn’t kill her!

The thought arose and wouldn’t go away. The photos of Gerald Meeks convinced Autumn further. Though as near as she could guess, he was about the same height as the man in her dreams, he was thinner and had brown hair, a gaunt man with the sunken eyes of a predator, not the warm, friendly eyes of the man in her dream.

Also, according to the information, Meeks had used chloroform to render his victims helpless before dragging them into his car.

Not like Molly, who, according to her dream, had been lured away by a man with a puppy.

More determined than ever, Autumn vowed to convince Ben McKenzie to at least hear her out.

But how to reach him?

She was no longer welcome in his office. She could try to speak to his ex-wife, but that might involve their younger daughter, Katie. It wouldn’t be fair to a child who must have already suffered a very great deal. And Autumn believed that if she approached the family, McKenzie would go after that restraining order.

Besides, Autumn was convinced Ben McKenzie was the link. She had never seen or met his ex-wife and she had only started dreaming about Molly after she had noticed Ben at the gym.

What to do?

It wouldn’t be easy but maybe if she tried again, McKenzie would at least hear her out.

Since the gym was the most likely place to find him, she headed there first thing the following morning. She didn’t usually work out on weekends, but she needed information and made a beeline straight for the sign-in desk.

To get into the gym, you had to flash a tag with a bar code over a lighted glass plate. The bar code reader analyzed the code and checked to see if your membership was paid up and active. Autumn knew Mike Logan, one of the staff guys who worked behind the desk. He was sitting a few feet away, inputting something into his computer.

“Hi, Mike.”

Mike looked her way, saw her and smiled. “Hey, sweet cheeks.” He jogged over to the counter in his white shirt and shorts, his dark hair neatly combed. The uniform was a requirement. All the guys on the staff looked like they just came off the tennis court at Wimbledon. The women dressed the same, in a white knit shirt and shorts with Pike’s Gym embroidered in black letters on the pocket. The climbing instructors were the exception. To attack the wall, they needed to wear more flexible clothes.

“Listen, Mike, I’ve got a problem. I was hoping you might be able to help me.”

“Name it.”

She pointed to the bar code reader. “That machine keeps track of everyone who goes in and out, right?”

“Right.”

“I presume the information goes into a computer. Can you pull up a person by name, see what times he checks in each day?”

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