Taken

  He looked over. “Your faith survived what happened?”

  “Yes. You seem surprised.”

  “I think I am. Puzzled at least.”

  “My relationship with God is fine.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I’m a cactus, Matthew. Not an orchid. They’re beautiful, but they can’t handle heat or a tough environment. The circumstances throughout my life have made me who I am. I can plan. Strategize. Think across long periods of time. Put me in a room with those who hate God, and I can still thrive. God has made me into a tough, battle-hardened believer. I am very grateful to have those eleven years behind me. But I used them. I chose to survive with my faith intact. I chose to come out strong and together. I endured, and now I’m going to thrive. I don’t expect life to be easy. I do expect God to be there with me. He was during the last eleven years.”

  Matthew hesitated. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  She smiled. “I’m my own person, Matthew, with my own strengths and weaknesses. You just bumped into one of my strengths. I can think for myself. Hold on to decisions I’ve made. I believe certain things about God. I know certain things about God. A family of smugglers didn’t stand a chance of changing my mind about that, no matter how . . . horrifying my circumstances became.” Shannon briefly went quiet, then added, “I can tell the difference between the acts of a man and the acts of God. That’s why I still believe. I could always tell the difference.”

  “You were hurt. Bones broken . . . and other violence,” he said, alluding to what he suspected had happened. She didn’t flinch from the comment. Her gaze held his when he glanced over. But it was the controlled gaze he’d seen in Atlanta, the enforced calm.

  “It was men who hurt me, not God.”

  “God allowed it,” Matthew said quietly, going to the heart of his daughter’s struggle with God.

  “He did. And I wondered for a time if God still loved me.” Shannon was silent for a long moment, then smiled. “I used to wonder how I’d answer this question once freedom came and someone asked me about God. It’s not a conversation I think I want to have very often. But would you listen to my long answer, let me see if it makes sense to you?”

  “I’d like to listen to whatever you want to say,” Matthew replied, surprised she was willing to further open this particular door with him.

  “I realized something, probably about year two,” Shannon said, “that changed how I thought about God and what was going on. I’d like a featherbed world where falling out of a tree didn’t break a bone, where a guy couldn’t land a blow on someone smaller than himself, where no one ever got to touch me without my consent. That’s the world I would have created. But God decided to create a world where free will was more important than no one ever getting hurt. There must be something stunningly beautiful and remarkable about free will that only God can truly grasp, because God hates, literally abhors, evil, yet He created a world where evil could happen if people chose it. God sees something in free will and choice that’s worth tolerating the horrifying blackness that would appear if evil was chosen rather than good. I find that utterly remarkable.”

  Matthew nodded slowly as he considered her answer. “From the very beginning, all the way back to the Garden of Eden, human beings have had a choice,” he agreed, beginning to sense how she’d settled this matter for herself.

  “Can you imagine how marvelous Eden must have been? God walking with Adam and Eve in the evenings where they could talk face-to-face. God gave Adam and Eve that free will and a choice. He gave them one warning: eat of any tree that is here, including the wonderful tree of life, but don’t eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” Shannon paused. “I wish Adam and Eve had thought more about what knowledge meant. Eve saw it as a good thing, to know more. But how do you really know something? You experience it.”

  Matthew looked at her, realized how pale she had become, and reached over to cover her hand with his. He felt her suddenly shiver. “I got a nasty taste of what evil is like these last few years,” Shannon went on. “The sad thing about evil . . . we did this to ourselves. It wasn’t God’s plan. God expected, fully intended, for Adam and Eve to obey what He had said, to leave the tree of good and evil alone.”

  Shannon turned her hand under his, gripped it, seemed to seek and find comfort from that contact. “We’re Adam and Eve’s children, reaping their decision. We chose the knowledge—the experience of good and evil—and we found out just how bitter and dark evil really is. We experience it now. That’s our reality. There’s probably not a person alive who wouldn’t want to go back and see that decision changed, now that we have tasted how bad it turned out to be. My faith survived because I realized God didn’t want this for us, He never had. I’m passionately looking forward to a new Heaven and Earth where only good exists once more.”

  Matthew drove for three miles after Shannon finished her answer before he said, “I’m stunned at your reply.”

  “Why?”

  He quoted a couple of her statements back to her, about Adam and Eve choosing knowledge, which brought about the experience of good and evil. “That’s pretty deep theology, Shannon.”

  “Time was heavy on my hands; I had some time to think.”

  “It’s wisdom.” Matthew hesitated. “But it’s also abstract.”

  “Then let’s not be abstract. God didn’t stop men from hurting me. Does that fact make God not good? I concluded that God was suffering as I was, but He didn’t want to end free will or bring the world to judgment yet, so He permitted what happened. People hurt me, not God. He didn’t divinely rescue me from the world I live in, even though that was within His power. He simply walked each hour and day of it with me, and promised me that justice was coming. And as hard as it was to accept, I reached the point I could accept it. God is Immanuel—‘God is with us.’ It’s enough truth to rest on. God has been acting honorably throughout history regarding what He wants. We’re the ones at fault. God is good. And I still really, truly like Him. My relationship with God is fine.”

  Matthew drove in further silence, thinking about what she’d said. At last he offered, “Thank you, Shannon.”

  “For what?”

  “For convincing me better than anyone ever has that there is such a thing as a tough, God-fearing, bring-it-on woman left in the world.”

  She burst out laughing.

  He smiled. “I hope my daughter turns out a bit like you one day.”

  “God help you if she does,” Shannon replied with good humor.

  The conversation felt mostly finished, and Matthew accepted that. “I’m glad it’s okay with you and God.”

  “So am I. I’m not saying there weren’t some very dark stretches between myself and God. We certainly had our moments. But we worked through them as time passed—that had to happen early on, Matthew, or I wouldn’t have survived. The strength to survive, the planning, the long-term game theory, the strategies—that was God and I getting inside the dynamics of this group. I did it with God. So you can mark off your list wondering about my relationship with Him.”

  He smiled faintly. “I’m like you, I appreciate lists. They keep life orderly.”

  “You’re going to love my list then, because the next item on my agenda is to take another nap.”

  He chuckled. “At least you don’t snore.”

  She looked distinctly embarrassed. “I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  “You look . . .” he began, then stopped and shook his head. Adorable, cute, lovely—all of them fit what he could say about how she looked when she slept, yet they weren’t appropriate to the conversation. “I’m glad you feel like you can rest when we travel. Chicago is going to take a lot out of you quickly. I’d rather you arrive as refreshed as possible.” He offered a reassuring smile. “Get some more sleep while you can, Shannon. It’s the best use of your time right now.”

  She shifted around the pillow and settled back in the seat. “Thanks for listening to my long answer.”
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  “I’m blessed by it,” he said quietly. She’d understood God at a deep level. She was right. Her relationship with God was fine.

  “What did I miss?” Shannon asked sleepily.

  Matthew glanced over. “Not much. Some cows. Small towns. We’re still in the state of Indiana.”

  She straightened in the seat, stretched her arms out, looked around at the dark countryside, broken only by the occasional dusk-to-dawn farmhouse light.

  “I bought you a hot chocolate.” Matthew nodded to the covered cup he had picked up for her at the last truck stop. She hadn’t stirred when he pulled in and shut the car off.

  She slipped off the plastic lid. “I thought we were going to stop around nine tonight.”

  “We were. Nine came and went, you were sleeping heavy, traffic was running light, so I decided to keep driving. I’m thinking we’ll stop near Valparaiso, find a hotel for twelve hours, let you get a good meal or two, and me a comfortable bed.”

  “Maybe find a place with a pool?”

  She asked it casually, but he shot her a look, thinking it had been asked almost too casually. “Sure. Got a swimsuit tucked in one of those gym bags?”

  “Yep. I like to swim.”

  He was surprised she still liked the water, given how close she’d been to drowning at least twice in her life. “I’m glad to hear it. Swimming doesn’t beat up your knees the way running does.”

  “Do you like running marathons?”

  “I was wondering if you were ever going to mention my Boston Marathon #9 shirt,” he replied to encourage the conversation.

  She smiled. “I noticed the shirt. And your pride wearing it.”

  “Becky’s gift. I like the accomplishment of finishing a marathon. I like the running. But do I like mile seventeen when my body says ‘stop’? I can’t say I run races for the enjoyment of that moment. I run because it’s time to think, and I prefer being outdoors rather than lifting weights in some room. Besides, running the Boston Marathon is a rite of passage. You live in Boston, you try to qualify and run that race.”

  “That makes sense.”

  She fell back into silence. He let it linger for a long while, glanced over to see a faintly pensive expression on her face. “Something on your mind?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “You’ve said quite a bit over the last day. I’m grateful for that trust, Shannon. I don’t take it lightly.”

  “You’re surprisingly easy to talk to.”

  “What’s got you most worried?” he asked, keeping his tone light. “Sorting out what happened in the past that led to your abduction? Talking with your family? Dealing with the cops to locate the people who now need apprehending? Coping with the press?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed softly. “Yeah, I suppose I asked for that.”

  Silence returned, and this time Matthew didn’t try to break it. It was a nice night for a drive. Clear skies. Bright stars. Brighter moon. Peaceful. He found a radio station playing mostly jazz, let the music fill the quiet.

  Soon Shannon drifted back to sleep.

  The hotel’s pool room smelled heavily of chlorine, the water calm under the overhead lights. The place was empty at just after midnight. On the table just inside the door, Matthew put down a carryout container from the restaurant around the corner. Roast beef on rye, French fries—comfort food for when stress was high. His was increasing as they got closer to Chicago.

  Shannon came into the pool area ten minutes later, a towel draped around her shoulders, wearing a black one-piece swimsuit and matching jacket. “Eat first, then sleep. I like your priorities. But you don’t need to watch out for me, Matthew.”

  “I like to unwind for a bit before I turn in, and I’d rather do that here than with the TV.”

  She nodded, put her towel and wrap on a nearby lounge chair, and walked over to the poolside to sweep a foot in the water. “Not bad.” She stepped off the side into the water, going under the surface, reappeared, pushed wet hair away from her face, then rolled onto her back for a lazy kick toward the deep end. “The water’s warm,” she told him as she started swimming laps.

  He ate the sandwich and fries, not particularly hungry but not interested in the food going cold. She looked comfortable swimming that crawl stroke, but flipping for a turn seemed awkward for her—it kept breaking her rhythm. She’d reach the wall before she was ready for it, strike her hand on the edge, or flip for a turn and be early so her feet gave only a small push off the wall. Shannon obviously wasn’t accustomed to a pool.

  She seemed determined to sort out the turn problem. She kept swimming laps, and he soon lost count of them. He finished his meal and moved to a lounge chair to lie back and close his eyes for a while, opening them occasionally to watch her swim. He checked his watch and finally got up and moved to the poolside, hunkered down to watch as she made another awkward turn. “You okay, Shannon?”

  His question startled her and she stopped to tread water. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  “Are you chasing away bad memories or just getting some exercise? You’ve been swimming laps for almost an hour.”

  “I wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular. I just like to swim. Actually, this is how I zone out and stop thinking.”

  “Where do you normally swim?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You obviously like to swim, but this pool length seems awkward for you. Where do you normally swim?”

  “The beach. I’m definitely not used to chlorine this strong. It’s burning my eyes.”

  An ocean swimmer? The coasts? Gulf of Mexico?

  “I’ll get out if you’re heading back to your room,” she offered.

  “No, it’s okay. Swim as long as you like. You know where to find me if you need something.” They had adjoining rooms again, the reservations called in by Ann to keep their names off the records. “We’ll do lunch, maybe hit the road around noon, if that seems good to you.”

  “Sure.”

  “Enjoy the pool while you have it to yourself.” He wasn’t enamored with the idea of leaving her here alone, but he didn’t want to appear like he was hovering. If she wasn’t in her room after another hour, he’d wander back to the pool on some casual pretext.

  Even traveling at a leisurely pace, they would be in Chicago tomorrow, and with that would come the next chapter in this story. Matthew glanced back at the pool as he opened the door. Shannon was already swimming laps again. He wondered about the memories she was trying to avoid. He thought he might be seeing her first real case of nerves—and her attempt to avoid them. She wasn’t as calm about what was coming as she would hope to appear.

  8

  On Monday afternoon, Matthew used the security code Paul had given him to open the door to a brick residential building. Located in the center of an otherwise downtown block of office buildings hosting architects, product designers, and marketing firms, nothing from the street indicated it was residential property, adding a layer of anonymity to the place that he appreciated. “We’re on the seventh floor,” he said over his shoulder as Shannon followed him to the elevator, carrying one of her gym bags and the dress she had bought. Private parking for the building was good for Chicago, accessible through the lower level of the adjoining building.

  The seventh floor hallway had four doors, though only three had numbers on them. He walked across to 714 and used the panel beside the door to enter a second security code. As he stepped inside, room lights automatically came on. He found the inside control panel and reentered both security codes in reverse order and watched the security system turn green. He relaxed.

  Shannon had wandered past him into the apartment. “Your friends found us a nice place.”

  He looked around for the first time. It was the home of a diplomat who presently was working in Eastern Europe. The distinctly male tone of the interior suggested that the man lived alone, but it was an elegant home just the same, with artwork, sculptures, framed photographs,
leather couch and comfortable chairs, a multitude of books, and a recessed television. The most personal possession in view was a guitar braced against a stand. “Very nice.”

  “I’m going to check out the bedrooms.”

  “I’m told there are three. Take your pick.” He’d be across the hall in the unnumbered apartment under renovation, the work stalled now for some reason. John had said there was a bedroom and bath still untouched, while the rest consisted of freshly plastered walls and sparse furnishings. For giving them both some privacy and providing a place he could meet with cops to discuss the case without bothering Shannon, the arrangement was ideal.

  Matthew went to check out the kitchen here, see if he needed to bring in groceries. John must have shopped for them. He set out fixings for grilled cheese sandwiches. Shannon eventually wandered in and took a seat on a stool. Matthew passed over a can of peaches he’d already opened. “We will stay right here for twenty-four hours, just vegetate and be slothful.”

  She grinned. “Do you even know how to be slothful?”

  “It’s time I learned.”

  She ate a peach slice. “I like the plan.”

  “Do I tell Paul to call your brother, or do you want more than a day?”

  “Tell Paul to call him before I talk myself out of it.”

  “Watch the sandwiches so they don’t burn,” he instructed and handed her the spatula. He pulled out his phone and walked into the living room. She was setting the sandwiches off onto paper plates when he returned. “Looks good.” He helped himself to the bag of potato chips she’d found, lifted the lid off the dip.

  She searched the refrigerator. “You’re going to steamroll me on matters where I show the slightest sign of any hesitation, aren’t you?” She turned, two soft drinks in hand.

  “When it’s for your own good,” he decided. “You want to do this. If in twenty-four hours you’ve changed your mind, Paul and Jeffery can simply have a conversation about your case, and Jeffery will be none the wiser about what was really behind Paul’s invitation.”