She was a mother. And mothers were supposed to know.
But she hadn’t.
Had she told Krissy she loved her when they said goodbye that morning? Had she hugged her? Had she tucked those stubborn wisps of unruly hair behind her ears before letting her out near the kindergarten door?
Would she ever have the chance to do those simple, priceless things again?
Her precious little girl. Would she ever hold her again, hear her sweet voice, revel in her exuberance? Would she ever share her childhood, struggle through her teens, see her grow to womanhood?
Oh, God, what was that animal doing to her? Hurting her? Molesting her? Worse? Where in the name of heaven was her baby? Was she alive?
Hope sank to the carpet, a knife of pain stabbing through her heart. She broke down completely, sobbing until her body was weak and trembling, until every single tear was spent.
The bedroom door opened, and she heard Ashley’s tentative, “Judge Willis? Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” Hope shook her head, not even lifting it from the carpet. “I just need to be here with Krissy’s things.” An agonized pause. “I certainly wasn’t there for her, not when I should have been.”
Down the hall, Ashley’s cell phone began playing music, signaling an incoming call. She ignored it.
“Judge Willis, you’re a wonderful mother,” she told Hope with all the conviction of knowing it was true, and that this, at least, was something she could give her employer. “None of this is your fault.”
“It is my fault. I should have been there.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have. She’s my child.”
The upbeat music of Ashley’s cell phone continued to play, its lively tempo a flagrant antithesis to the somber mood in Krissy’s bedroom.
“That’s your cell.” Hope voiced the obvious.
“Whoever it is will call back.”
As if to confirm Ashley’s words, the phone fell silent.
Ashley walked over and knelt down beside Hope. “I blame myself, too, you know,” she admitted softly. “If I’d been doing yesterday’s car pool, maybe I would have gotten there sooner. I definitely would have noticed Krissy’s absence right away. Maybe I would have been in time to prevent all this.”
“You couldn’t have. Maybe none of us could. It doesn’t matter. I’m dying inside, anyway.”
“I know you are.” Tears clogged Ashley’s throat. She reached down and gripped Hope’s hand.
“I don’t think I can survive this, Ashley,” Hope managed. “Krissy is my world. Without her…nothing else matters.”
“I know that, too. But I have to believe—”
Before Ashley could continue, her cell phone burst into song again.
“Damn.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll get rid of whoever that is.”
“That’s okay. You can talk.”
“I don’t want to. I want to stay in here with you. I’m turning off my phone.”
She rose and sprinted down the hall.
A full minute passed. Then another.
Hope just lay where she was, riddled with pain, guilt and fear. It was as if all the life were draining out of her.
Through her onslaught of emotion, she heard Ashley return.
“Judge Willis?” Ashley whispered from the doorway.
Something about the odd note in her voice brought Hope bolting to her feet. “Is there news?”
Ashley’s face was colorless. She was gripping her cell phone so tightly that her knuckles were white. Furtively, she glanced behind her, then stepped into the room and shut the door.
“On my phone,” she managed, extending her hand and offering Hope her cell. “It’s a weird voice. But he told me he’s the kidnapper. He said he got my number from Krissy’s book bag, and that he called it so the authorities couldn’t trace him, and so that you wouldn’t involve them. But he wants to talk to you. He has…demands.”
Hope snatched the phone and put it to her ear. “This is Judge Willis.”
“I have your daughter,” an odd, tinny voice told her. Clearly, the kidnapper was using a voice scrambler. “If you want her back, follow my instructions exactly, and keep your mouth shut. Tell no one that I called. Not your husband. Not the locals. And not the FBI. If you do, your daughter dies.”
“I’ll do whatever you say,” Hope replied instantly. “Please, please don’t hurt Krissy.”
“That’s up to you.”
“Is she all right? Can I talk to her?”
“She’s fine. And, no, you can’t talk to her. She’s elsewhere.”
“Then how do I know she’s okay? How do I even know you have her?”
“Listen.” There was a brief pause, a rustle, then the punch of a button.
“I’m not hungry.” It was Krissy’s voice, obviously recorded, obviously tear filled. “Oreo’s not either. I want my mommy. I want—”
Another punch of the button and Krissy’s voice vanished.
Hope squeezed her eyes shut. “Why does she sound so frightened? What are you doing to her?”
“Wear your brown trench coat,” the voice instructed. “I don’t want you noticed. Bring two hundred and fifty thousand dollars—cash. In Krissy’s black Adidas duffel bag. Tomorrow. Five o’clock. At the Mid-County Mall. Second-floor food court. Next to the pretzel kiosk. There’s a trash can. Drop the bag beside it. Then walk away. Don’t pause. Don’t look back. Just go.”
Dear God, he’d just provided an exact description of Krissy’s duffel bag. That meant he had to be watching her when she went on a Daisy Scout outing. Who knew where else he’d been scrutinizing her? Not to mention that he’d specified Hope’s brown trench coat. That meant he’d been watching her, too, probably when she was with Krissy.
The nightmare just kept getting worse.
“Did you get all that?” the voice demanded.
“Yes.” Hope didn’t need to write down the instructions. They were engraved in her brain. “What about Krissy? Will she be at the kiosk?”
“She’ll be on the second-floor parking level an hour later.”
“What proof do I have of that?”
“None.”
Hope barely paused. “I’ll be there.”
“Good. And Judge Willis? If I see anyone but you at that food court, your daughter’s blood will be on your hands.”
A click told Hope the call had been disconnected.
“God. Oh, God.” She sagged against the wall.
“What did he say?” Ashley asked.
Another brief hesitation. “It’s better that you don’t know the details,” Hope told her. “And, Ashley, not a word to Edward or the task force. I’m counting on you. I’ve got to bring Krissy home alive. Forget your cell phone ever rang. Forget anything you overheard. Plus, I’ll be going out twice—once now and once tomorrow around dinnertime. I’ll need you to cover for me. Will you do it?”
Ashley gave a shaky nod. “For Krissy? Yes.”
Hope’s mind was racing. Edward had a large amount of cash in their home safe, mostly under-the-table payments from rich, questionable clients Hope didn’t want to know about. And they had over a hundred-thousand dollars in their safe-deposit box at the bank. Between the two, she could get the necessary cash together without alerting anyone or triggering mandatory bank reports regarding large cash transactions.
Please, she prayed silently. Please let this work. Please bring my baby home.
The disgruntled-father angle wasn’t paying off.
No surprise to Casey. As soon as the men in question heard what she wanted, she ceased to be a pretty redhead tracking them down in their various workplaces and became an intrusive pain in the ass. And they had no intentions of speaking to some outsider they had no obligation to speak to.
Casey kept her questions brief, spending most of her few precious minutes with each potential suspect studying their reactions, their body language, and separating their natural belligerence from their poss
ible guilt.
All four guys were bullies. All four wanted to torment their ex-wives. And all four resented Judge Willis for ruling against them.
But none of them had the brains or the balls to kidnap her child. None of them had the strategic skill to plan this perfectly executed abduction, or the guts to kill a five-year-old girl. And none of them was twisted enough to be a child predator.
So Casey had to agree with the Feds on this one. A personal vendetta against Judge Willis from a custody case in her courtroom was looking like a weak possibility.
It was time to go somewhere the FBI task force hadn’t been.
Casey was surprised to find Vera Akerman alone in the living room. She was sipping a cup of tea, perched at the edge of the sofa.
“Mrs. Akerman,” Casey greeted. “Where’s Hope?”
The older woman looked up, gave a faint sigh. “She went for a drive. After spending the past hour alone in Krissy’s room, she needed some air. Some time by herself. To think. To pray for strength. To get away from the pandemonium. My guess? She’s parked at Krissy’s school, crying her eyes out.”
“I understand.”
“I doubt that.” The words were said factually, without bitterness or accusation. Vera glanced up and met Casey’s gaze. “Do you have children?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you can’t possibly understand. Not the depth of love a mother feels for her child, and certainly not the unbearable pain of possibly losing her. Knowing she’s out there somewhere in the hands of a monster, and there’s not a thing you can do, except pray. Hope would gladly trade her own life for Krissy’s. But she’s not being given that choice. All she can do is wait—and die a little each minute that passes.”
“You’re right. I can’t understand. And I apologize for my lack of sensitivity.” Casey gestured toward the chair, asking permission to sit.
Vera nodded.
Casey lowered herself to the armchair. “I can’t know what Hope is going through, or what you endured and are being forced to endure again. All I can do is sympathize and work my heart out to bring Krissy home.”
Hope’s mother set down her cup. “It’s my turn to apologize. I didn’t mean to be rude. I know how hard you’re working to help my daughter. My nerves are just raw. It’s like reliving a nightmare.”
“You don’t have to explain.” Mentally, Casey ran through some of the information Patrick Lynch had given her. She leaned forward. “Mrs. Akerman, I won’t do anything to make this worse for you. But would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”
“About Sidney.”
“More about what life was like right around the time that Felicity was taken.”
A pained expression. “Beforehand I can tell you about. It’s afterwards that I can’t. The memories went from horrifying to numb to blurry. The doctors tell me I went through severe post-traumatic stress disorder. I call it a nervous breakdown. I got out of bed each morning and went through the motions. I had to, for Hope. But the rest—it’s like I stopped living. So did Sidney. We just stopped in different ways. And now…” Vera pressed trembling hands to her cheeks. “Why is this happening again? Why is my family cursed? Why?”
Casey didn’t even try to offer an answer. “Beforehand, your family was happy?”
“Very. We were an average family. Sidney had a good job. I was on the PTA. The twins were well-adjusted. Hope was the reader who loved school, and Felicity was the athlete who loved games and sports. Still, they were incredibly close. If someone hurt one of their feelings, he or she had the other twin to contend with.” A reminiscent smile. “That last summer, Felicity broke her arm. She was devastated that she couldn’t play soccer. Hope arranged for everyone at camp to sign her cast. And when the cast came off, Hope asked if we could give Felicity a freedom party. That’s the kind of relationship they had.”
“Hope must have been traumatized by her sister’s kidnapping.”
“More than even she realized. She was next to Felicity in bed when it happened. The kidnapper drugged both girls, then took Felicity. I still don’t know if he chose her intentionally, or whether he only had time to grab one twin and get out before he was discovered.” Vera’s lips quivered. “All our friends, and all the mothers from camp, came over and kept vigil with me. They prayed. They brought food. Hope wouldn’t even come out of her room. Not to eat. Not to talk. It was only when I—and my marriage—started to deteriorate that she forced herself to come out of her shell and became part of our lives again. She was a brave little girl, far stronger than I was. Even after her father left.”
Casey made a mental note to explore the friends and camp mothers with Patrick. But it was obvious that Hope’s mother had had enough.
“Mrs. Akerman, let’s call it a day,” she said gently. “We can talk again tomorrow. In the meantime, I have some additional avenues I want to pursue.”
And she did.
Next on the agenda—meeting up with Marc and exploring every square inch of Claudia Mitchell’s house.
Ashley was preparing a light dinner for the family and the on-site members of the task force, when Edward stalked into the kitchen and seized her arm.
“The detectives tell me that you spent time comforting Hope in Krissy’s bedroom,” he said in a hard whisper. “And Hope has been acting odd and aloof since I got home. What did you tell her during your heart-to-heart?”
Wincing, Ashley pulled her arm away. “Nothing. I’m not stupid, Edward. I haven’t told a soul.”
He studied her for a long moment, eyes narrowed. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. The only topic we discussed was Krissy.”
“Good. Keep it that way. Remember, one wrong word from you and my marriage and your job will blow up. Not to mention that we’ll zoom to the top of the FBI’s suspect list. Krissy’s rich attorney father, his young mistress, and his precious daughter take off for parts unknown, after a brilliant plan masterminded by Edward Willis.”
“I think you’re overreacting.” Ashley’s tone was in direct contrast to the frightened expression on her face.
“Trust me, I’m not. I’m a lawyer. I know how law enforcement thinks. Don’t give them food for thought. They’ll gobble you up.”
“I won’t.” Tears glistened on Ashley’s lashes. “I already feel guilty enough about what we’re doing to Judge Willis. And now Krissy’s abduction…” She broke off, swallowing to regain her composure. “But I know the rules. And I’ll play by them. With the authorities, and with your wife.”
“You do that. The alternative won’t be pleasant.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Patrick Lynch was too good a former FBI agent not to know that Casey Woods’s idea of pushing the boundaries and his own were very different.
He’d shared a good chunk of information on Felicity Akerman’s kidnapping with her, and agreed to share his notes and the file. She, in turn, had filled him in on everything she had on Krissy Willis’s abduction, and all the avenues that she and her team were pursuing—both the ones that were in conjunction with the authorities and the ones that weren’t.
She’d omitted more than a few details. Then again, so had he. Trust wasn’t something you developed in one conversation. It took time, and lots of it. So Lynch had kept certain cards close to his vest, and he was sure Casey was doing the same.
There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she and her team were heavily pursuing Hope Willis’s former court clerk, Claudia Mitchell. He understood why. Their reasoning had merit. Their methods, on the other hand—well, those he had a hunch would be teetering on the brink of illegal.
He couldn’t be a part of it.
On the other hand, there was no saying he had to stop it.
It was just after dark when Casey and Marc parked their car under a canopy of trees a half block down from Claudia Mitchell’s house. They were both dressed in black sweatshirts and jeans. They looked perfectly ordinary, and were hardly noticeable in the darkness. Marc carried his tools in a
sport waist pack.
They approached the front door like casual visitors and rang the bell.
As expected, there was no response.
A second ring.
This time a cat meowed from somewhere inside.
“Did you hear that?” Casey asked flatly, knowing full well that Claudia owned two yellow tabbies.
“Yeah.” Marc’s response was equally bland. “I wonder what it was.”
“I couldn’t tell if it was a cat or a child. Could you?”
“Nope. But if it’s a kid, he or she can’t be left alone in the house.”
“Definitely not. And he or she sounds like they’re in some kind of distress.”
A second meow.
“That’s it.” Casey reached for the doorknob. “We can’t risk it. We have to go in.”
Marc grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Don’t bother. I think it’s unlocked. Let me check.” He pulled out a torque wrench and pick. Inserting the flat end of the wrench, he exerted just enough pressure to the L-shaped top of the tool, which served as a lever. He then inserted the pick and carefully tapped each pin out of the way. There was a slight click and a subtle movement of the cylinder as the torque wrench acted as a substitute key, turning the entire cylinder and disengaging the lock.
With a slight push, Marc opened the door. “I was right. Unlocked. Let’s check on that sound.”
They crossed the threshold in a heartbeat.
“Start with the basement,” Casey instructed, all sarcasm having been abandoned. “That’s the room where Claire kept visualizing Krissy.”
They found their way to the stairs leading down to the basement. All Casey was hoping to see was a room transformed to a bedroom, much the way Claire had described.
All she found was a bare-bones basement. Drywalled partitions. Indoor-outdoor carpet. Two pull-string fluorescent fixtures. An Alienware gaming laptop sitting on top of a small desk. The only upgrade to the decor was a leather gaming chair facing a large flat-screen TV, along with video game consoles, controllers, various accessories and all the games to go with them.