Girl, Missing by Sophie McKenzie Read Free Book Online

peeling paintwork. There seemed to be hardly any people about, though cars roared past constantly.
    Back home I’d imagined the agency being a big house set in an elegant lawn. In fact it was just a shabby, concrete office block, with nothing to make it stand out from the other buildings in the road.
    I stood outside, my stomach churning like a washing machine.
    â€˜Okay, Laurenzo?’ Jam squeezed my arm.
    I nodded slowly and pushed open the door.
    A large woman in an elastic-waist skirt was standing beside the reception desk. ‘Hi there. How can I help you guys?’
    I gulped.
This is it. Don’t screw up
. ‘I’m Lauren Matthews. I was adopted from here,’ I said, trying to control the shake in my voice. ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Tarsen. He did it. I mean, he organised my adoption.’
    A flicker of surprise crossed the woman’s face. ‘OK,’ she said slowly. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
    â€˜No.’ I swallowed. ‘I just happen to be here . . . on . . . on holiday, so I thought it would be . . . I wondered if I could talk to him.’
    The woman frowned. ‘We close in ten, honey. Early for the weekend. Why don’t you make an appointment for Monday?’
    â€˜No.’ Jam and I spoke at the same time. Panic rose in my throat. The plan was to get in and out and back to Burlington Airport as quickly as possible. After buying our air and bus tickets we had precisely $43 left. No way could we hold out until Monday.
    â€˜Please let me speak to him.
Please
,’ I begged. I could feel tears threatening. I blinked them angrily back.
    â€˜Well, I’ll try him,’ the woman said doubtfully. She pointed us to a couch by the desk, then spoke softly into her headset.
    We waited. Five minutes passed. Then a buzzer sounded. The woman wheezed as she leaned across the desk. ‘Reception?’ she said.
    She talked quietly again, for a few seconds, then looked up at us, surprised. ‘Mr Tarsen’s coming down now,’ she said.
    I’d expected somebody important-looking. But Mr Tarsen was a bit like a mouse – small and slight with a pointynose. When he shook hands with me, his palms were damp.
    â€˜Elevator’s over here,’ he smiled. His eyes flickered over Jam then back to me. I caught a whiff of musty cologne as he turned away.
    My heart thudded loudly in the muffled silence of the lift. The three of us got out on the first floor. Mr Tarsen led us down a long corridor. My eyes were fixed on the back of his neck, where tufts of wiry grey hair poked out of the top of his white polo-neck.
    He stopped outside a door marked
Resource Center
.
    â€˜I’d like to speak to you alone,’ I said. This wasn’t strictly true of course. I would much rather Jam stayed with me. But stage one of our plan was for me to keep Mr Tarsen talking, while Jam had a good look round and worked out where my file was.
    Mr Tarsen looked mildly surprised. ‘OK. Your boyfriend can wait with my assistant,’ he said.
    â€˜He’s not—’ I started. But Mr Tarsen was already herding Jam towards the next room along. ‘We won’t be long,’ he said.
    He came back and took me into the Resource Center. A long row of filing cabinets led down to a small window. There were a few tatty sofas and a plastic box full of kids’ toys in one corner. I perched on the edge of one of the sofas. My mouth was dry.
What the hell am I doing?
I felt like I might puke any second.
    Mr Tarsen sat down opposite me. There was a framed poster on the wall behind his head. It was covered with snapshot-style pictures of smiling families with a line written in swirly type at the bottom:
Marchfield makes miracles. Every day
.
    I could hear Jam’s voice in my head.
Could that
be
any cheesier?
I wished he was with me.
    â€˜How can I help you, Lauren?’ Mr Tarsen’s manner was kindly but businesslike. Like he knew I was