Read Online The Wrong Girl by Hank Phillippi Ryan - Free Book Online Page B

juveniles. About as juvenile as they come. If there was a baby somewhere—well, someone knew. And Jake would soon find out.
    He lifted a fist to knock on the gray front door, then opted for the black button of a doorbell. He heard the bing-bong, hollow, inside. “If we’re lucky, Phillip and Phoebe might be able to tell us who the bad guy is. Or, almost as good? Tell us who their mother is.”
    “Poor kids,” DeLuca said.
    “Detective Brogan? This is dispatch, do you read?” Jake’s radio crackled from his belt. “Superintendent Rivera requesting a landline, stat, please.”
    DeLuca puffed out a breath. “Now what?”
    Jake took the radio mic from its holder. “Brogan, I copy. Can you—”
    The door opened.
    A forty-something woman in a nubby sweater vest, leggings, and an oversized heather green turtleneck balanced a squirming little girl on one hip. From somewhere behind her came the beeps of a video game.
    The woman, smiling, pointed at Jake’s radio with the cell phone in her hand.
    “I know. I’m Dr. Sibbach, hello and good-bye. Someone from your headquarters called to warn me you’ve got another assignment.” Her voice had a soft burr, and she placed a quick kiss on top of the little girl’s wispy brown hair. “No worries. Phoebe and I will be dandy until you get back.”
    *

    Tuck’s stupid hat was incredibly itchy, but Jane had to admit this Ella girl—woman—hadn’t given her a second glance. Tuck introduced her as “my friend Jane,” then Jane had been dispatched to stand in line for three regulars, one with Splenda, and six chocolate doughnut middles.
    When Jane arrived at the table in the corner balancing the flimsy cardboard tray, Ella was holding up a piece of paper. Pointing at something. Tuck leaned in, peering at whatever it was. A thickly stuffed manila folder took up half the table in front of them, and a red Target bag took up all the room in Ella’s lap. They both looked up as Jane approached.
    “Here’s the coffee,” she said. There was utterly no reason for her to be here. This was as nuts as it gets. “And the middles.”
    The two women muttered their thank-yous and went back to focusing on the paper, their heads almost touching.
    Weird, they both have the same color hair, now that Tuck’s gone auburn crazy, Jane thought. Whole thing is crazy. Tuck had still not told her exactly why she felt she wasn’t Carlyn’s daughter. She’d kept repeating, “Let’s go hear what this Ella Gavin has to say.” Well, she was hearing it now.
    Jane grabbed a molded plastic chair to sit across from them, wincing as it scraped across the tiles. She didn’t have to check in with the city desk until ten. She’d already e-mailed Family Services with her request for info about the foster child system. For now, she could sit here. Drink her coffee. Then this would be over.
    “So, Jane?” Tuck pronounced her name carefully, as if to create the illusion that somehow “Jane” was an alias. “Miss Gavin seems to think—”
    “Ella,” the girl interrupted.
    Well, she’s acting like a girl, Jane defended her own assessment. High little voice. Bitten nails and fidgeting. A bobby pin holding obviously growing-out bangs.
    “Ella.” Tuck offered the briefest of smiles. “Seems to think the Brannigan doesn’t make mistakes.”
    Ella nodded, her curls bouncing with her certainty. “The Brannigan has a fifty-six-year history of reuniting families. We would never—”
    She looked around, seemed to remember they were in a bustling coffee shop. “Are you okay talking here?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I mean, it’s not very private.”
    “I’m fine, Ella,” Tuck said. Not whispering. She flipped up the plastic lid of her coffee, took a sip, flapped the lid back down. “Go on. Tell my friend what you said.”
    “We put families together, that’s what we do.” Ella looked at Jane, her eyes wide and sincere. “These are the documents in Miss Cameron’s—I mean