Darling Girl: A Novel of Peter Pan(65)

One drop would be all it took.

Her stomach churns. If they’d discovered Eden’s secret, would they have taken her? And the missing bags of blood . . . Perhaps Peter was never involved. But no. Maria’s grief and concern had been real. That feather Holly had found the day she went to Grace House had been real too. It was Peter. It had to be.

Christopher has said something, but she’s missed it.

“What?”

“I said, they even suggested I try it, when we find her. On my stump.” He sounds amused. “They actually thought it might work.”

He doesn’t believe them. Of course he doesn’t believe them. It’s too crazy-sounding to be true.

“Holly? You still there?”

She pulls herself together. “This isn’t funny,” she snaps. “My daughter is out there somewhere and you—”

“I never said it was.”

“You let them leave.”

“They were terrified after talking to me. Apparently you had some hell of a nondisclosure agreement in place. But I’ll tell you this: they broke it because they truly want to help. They’re worried because more people—like the police—aren’t looking for her. And they don’t have your daughter.”

“How can you be so sure?” she cries, as much to herself as to him. She can’t tell him about the missing blood, not now.

“I just am. I have a knack for these things,” he says, and his voice has lost that amused tone. Instead she hears something else. Compassion. It tugs her back from the brink like a lifeline. “They love your kid, especially Maria. They’re genuinely worried about her.” He pauses. “Also, I had them followed. Your kid isn’t with them.”

More proof he’s not as easily put off as she once thought. “I assume I’m paying for that, even though I didn’t authorize it?”

“You are,” he says cheerfully. “It will be in my next bill.”

“Well, what’s your next step?”

“Figuring out what else you’re lying about,” he says without hesitation. “I’ll be in touch.”

He hangs up.

Holly stares at the phone. She should have listened to Barry—she never should have hired Christopher Cooke. He’s too independent, too hard to control. The best she can hope for now is that he doesn’t find anything else he can use against her. She thanks god that there are no old pictures of Jack immediately after the crash, that she’d managed to keep the paparazzi away from the hospital and his rehab. If Christopher saw those and started putting two and two together . . .

No chance, she assures herself. He’s already decided it’s too implausible to be believed.

But a little voice inside Holly’s head whispers that Christopher Cooke seems like the type who’s more than willing to believe the impossible once he’s found the proof.





Chapter Twenty-Five



At least the package from Elliot arrives in one piece. Holly’s working in the office a few days later when it comes, so Nan signs for it. When Holly walks into the kitchen, the housekeeper is holding the cooler box and looking curiously at the bright biohazard warnings taped across it.

“Thank you, Nan, I’ll take that,” Holly says. She expects the housekeeper to get the hint, but she doesn’t.

“Is this something from the States?” Nan asks.

“Yes,” Holly says, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. Nan has been a huge help with Jack this week, keeping Ed’s schedule busy enough so that including Jack in practice has been a nonstarter. Holly can tell Jack’s frustrated, but he’s not blaming her, which is a refreshing change.

“Is it safe to have in the kitchen? Around the food, I mean?” Nan asks dubiously. “It has all those warnings on it.”

Holly had been planning on injecting Jack in two days. Superstitiously, she’s wants to wait a full month from his last injection in the hopes she’ll catch a break before then and Eden will be found. But it’s clear Nan won’t be comfortable storing the blood in the refrigerator next to the Brussels sprouts for tonight’s dinner. And really, Jack’s been so up and down lately she can’t afford to wait until his next crash. Holly sighs.

“I’ll take it up to the office.” She takes the box from Nan and carries it up the stairs. On the landing, she bumps into Jane, who is exiting her room.

“Hmmm. That looks quite terrifying. What is it?” Jane asks. Her long hair is pulled back today, and a shaft of sunlight from the window on the landing catches it and turns it to molten silver.

“Just something I’m working on,” Holly says, trying to slide past, but Jane is too sharp.

“For the boy? Let me see.” She follows to the office, where Holly reluctantly opens the box. She unwraps the vial of blood and holds it up to the light, checking to ensure it isn’t cracked or broken.

Jane shakes her head. “It looks ordinary enough. What do you plan to do with it?”

“It’s the last one I have,” Holly says. “But there’s no sense holding on to it for too long. It won’t be viable. I’ll inject Jack with it today. All of it. He needs it.”

Jane reaches out and gently takes the vial from Holly, turning it this way and that. “That cream of yours the other day was quite the miracle-worker,” she says. “I might not have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, the difference it made in Jack.”