Page 39 of Rescuing Sara

“Three,” Mrs. Masters told him. “And the first one was the intake appointment, information gathering. But after the next two and I saw the way things were going, I told my husband, ‘Not for me.’”

Remembering Sara’s note about being ‘out of there’, Danni asked, “Did you find anything a note or letter, or anything written from Robin after you realized she was gone?”

Brow wrinkling, Mrs. Masters said, “No, nothing like that. Why?”

“Nothing,” Danni said hastily. “Is there anything else you think we should know?”

“Yeah, here.” Mrs. Masters dug into her large handbag and pulled out a recent issue of a major news magazine. “There’s a story about that men’s philanthropy group my husband joined. It will tell you more about them. Honestly, even reading about them gives me the creeps.”

She left, her back straighter than it had been, leaving them to consider what she’d shared. “Wow,” Danni said at last. “This is getting beyond creepy.”

“You’ve got that right,” Patrick agreed, drumming his fingers on the table. “This thing with the controlling husbands is leaving a very bad taste in my mouth.”

“Mine too,” Danni said. “Would you get me a cup of tea if they have one before we go? I’m going to stand by the railing and look at the Christmas trees downstairs. I need to think.”

“You got it,” he said, clearing the table and placing the cups in the recycling bin. “Any special kind of tea?”

“Darjeeling or Earl Gray,” she said.

“Got it.” He headed toward the coffee kiosk at the far end of the hall, his long-legged stride quick and elegant while Danni propped her elbows on the railing over the Grand Hall to survey the annual Festival of Trees that raised so much money for localchildren’s charities. Maybe she and Patrick could come back tomorrow to see it. It would be a lovely way–

“Looks like you’re alone,” a male voice rasped. “This will teach you to mind your own damn business.”

Danni had just enough time to look up and find a misshapen, bleached face staring back at her before he shoved her against the mezzanine railing with such force, it sent her toppling over the side.

“Help!” Her scream cut through the piped-in music as she clutched at the top of the heavy canvas hanging on the railing, feeling it move under her hands and her shoes slid from her feet. Below her, other screams and shouts echoed around the hall.

“Don’t move,” and Patrick’s voice was a blessing as he leaned over the railing, his expression remarkably calm. “Give me one of your hands, very slowly, then the other. Can you do that?”

“Y-yes,” Danni stuttered, unclenching her right hand’s death like hold from the canvas and lifting it to him, wincing at the strength in his grip while she sucked in air into her lungs and her heart hammered with a rib-bruising force.

“Good girl,” he said, and she was dimly aware of people gathering around him, staring at her in horror. “No, don’t look down. Look at me and give me your other hand. Okay, I’ve got you. On the count of three. One. Two–”

He hauled her up and over the railing, sliding her down against him. Never had a floor beneath her feet felt so good.

And neither had the feel of a man’s arms around her.

This man’s arms.

“Are you alright?” he whispered into her hair.

“I’ve lost my shoes.” Danni gulped as her knees gave way. She might have made it to the floor if Patrick hadn’t gently put her back in place against him.

“We’ll find them,” he said. “Just as soon as you can walk.”

“I can walk,” she insisted.

“No, you can’t,” he corrected. “You’re still shaking too hard which is why I’m still holding you upright.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he whispered again. “Oh.”

Can someone please tell me what the devil is going on here?” A man’s officious voice demanded.

The spectators spread apart, and Danni peered around Patrick to see a short, well-dressed, slightly portly man coming toward them. “Oh, Lord,” she murmured. “That’s Andrew Dempsey, head of the museum’s security.”

“He looks like a first-rate asshole.” Patrick rested his head on top of hers.

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