Taken

  “Once your uncle committed suicide, I imagine your mother has always wondered what she might have set into motion, what part she might have played in what happened. I don’t want her to learn you were to be left at the home of Sanford Bliss. I think that confirms her terrible fears, maybe shocks her into a heart attack. I think we never tell Paul that address. We never give him the first diary. And I burn that envelope Flynn gave me.”

  Shannon shuddered as he finished speaking, a sob shaking her frame.

  “Keep the envelope, but unopened,” she finally whispered. “Someone makes an accusation against Mom, we might need to use it to unravel matters to prove what you suspect.”

  Silence stretched and she offered nothing else.

  “Talk to me, Shannon.”

  “Whatever happened, to punish my mother now would be to punish me even more. My choice. Leave it in the past. Whatever happened eleven years ago, I don’t want it robbing me of anything else I value. I need my mother,” she choked out.

  He wrapped his arms around her, let her rest against him as the tears fell. “I can live with that too,” he said softly.

  Shannon worked her fingers between his, gripping his hand. Matthew liked the interlocking image. “Tomorrow at the press conference,” Shannon said, “would you be there, behind the scenes? We’re friends. I don’t want to box you into something that might seem like it’s more than that. John’s going to stand up with me, the visible security presence. For Becky’s sake, it would be better if you’re simply someone I arranged to help me through my return, all the legal stuff, and so forth.”

  “I don’t mind if the press sees us together, even if they wonder about us.” Matthew had talked matters over with Becky, thought they had a plan in place that would work for her too. “And who knows,” he finished lightly, “you and I might be a couple one day . . . maybe five years from now.”

  She leaned back to study his face. “Do I have to go out with half a dozen guys before I can come back and say you’re still my choice? Or can it be, like, maybe one or two? I like you, Matthew. And I know you like me.”

  “I’m not the best guy for you,” he replied gently. “For one thing, I’m too old.”

  She made a face at him. “You’ve got the experience with Becky that helps you understand where I’ve been, what I’ve faced. If you were younger, you wouldn’t have that. And your daughter I already love.”

  He smiled. “You make it all sound very appealing, Shannon. And I can already tell Becky would adore having you around.”

  “Let me hope, Matthew, that one day you and I could be a couple. It makes the full recovery seem like a stepping-stone to something good. Maybe even something wonderful.”

  He ran a hand down her hair. “I’ll give you reality instead. I like you, Shannon. I plan to walk these next months and years with you. If we turn that friendship into something more one day, that would be fine with me.”

  “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “Being willing to see past my present mess.”

  “You’ll heal. And you will have completed those five items one day.”

  “One day,” she responded, sounding reflective. “But I didn’t realize to get my high school diploma I’m going to have to pass American history.”

  Matthew laughed. “Becky found that one challenging too. By the way, what’s number five on your list? Every Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve . . . you marked over it.”

  “It’s private, and it’s the last one for a reason. I pretty much need the first four to come true before I can have number five.”

  He thought about that, grinned. “Okay.”

  She turned her head to look up at him. “What do you think it is?”

  “I think I’ll keep my idea to myself.”

  She smiled and moved to stand. “It’s late. I’m turning in. I need a couple of hours in the morning to get ready for that press conference. And breakfast had better be very bland so I don’t get sick from stage fright.”

  “A banana and a glazed donut, I think.”

  “I like you.”

  “I’ll try to get you to eat healthy when it’s a low-stress season in life.” He held out the pillow she’d brought in to take back with her. “Sleep well, Shannon.”

  Her eyes were puffy, she clearly had a headache, she looked tired, but her smile was real. “Good night, Matthew.”

  He watched her disappear down the hall. She was feeling again—everything that had happened, the good and the bad. “Thanks, God,” he whispered. He shut off the lights and took himself across the hall.

  32

  Matthew settled in the green room just off the stage. The press room held sixty chairs, and it appeared most of them were occupied. Television cameras from two national news-affiliated channels were set up and ready to go, their images key to how the event would unfold across Chicago and the nation in the next hour. Matthew chose to watch the large-screen television rather than view it live; he’d be able to give Shannon better feedback on how it went if he’d viewed it like the TV audience would be seeing it. Charlotte and Ann were assisting Shannon with last-minute hair and makeup checks, and he couldn’t help there.

  Jeffery stepped to the podium, and instantly the room quieted. Matthew found himself holding his breath.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the press conference I’ve hoped to hold for the last eleven years,” Jeffery began, looking out at the reporters relaxed, confident, a man with good news to share. “I would like to thank the thousands of individuals who have helped search for my sister over the years, and also the numerous organizations and businesses that went out of their way to assist in this effort.

  “My sister, Shannon Bliss, escaped from her captors and was able to make contact with a retired member of law enforcement. She returned to Chicago on the night of June fourteen. She is in good health and good spirits.” There was an immediate stir among the newspeople. A hand or two shot up, but Jeffery gave a short shake of his head.

  “The FBI and Chicago Police Department,” he continued, “assisted by numerous law-enforcement agencies around the country, are now in the process of arresting eighteen individuals associated with the abduction of my sister, as well as several other children. They will be releasing information regarding her case when it’s appropriate and when it will not compromise the investigation.

  “My sister has chosen not to speak about any details of this matter until after the election, and I will respect her wishes. I will be taking no questions at this time. All inquiries to me and the Bliss family will be directed back to this press conference and accompanying press statement. After the election, Shannon will sit down for one comprehensive interview with a television and print journalist of her choosing, and she will endeavor to answer all pertinent questions covering the last eleven years.

  “Again, I wish to say thank you on behalf of myself and the Bliss family for the work done by so many to locate and bring my sister home. This is a day full of joy for so many.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, my sister, Shannon Bliss.”

  Shannon walked onstage wearing her drop-dead-gorgeous dress—looking poised, confident, comfortable in the high heels, a natural smile on her face. A couple of shouted questions emerged over the applause. She paused in front of the microphone. “Thank you, Chicago. It’s nice to be home.” Her brother wrapped his arm around her waist, and they weathered the flashbulbs going off like strobe lights, illuminating their faces.

  Shannon gave the photographers two minutes, then stepped briefly to the microphone once more. “I won’t be talking about matters until law enforcement has completed their work and the election is past—that seems only common sense at this time. But I look forward to answering your questions in the fall. I plan to be around some during the next few months, but on the advice of doctors, I’ll mostly be resting. You’ll forgive me if I prefer to do that on a beach somewhere.” Spontaneous laughter met her remark. “Please,” she said when it was quiet again,
“don’t take my absence as a lack of interest in my brother’s campaign. I’d be a distraction, and I’d rather like him to win, so I’ll see you again in mid-November.” She reached up and kissed her brother’s cheek, turned and walked back offstage.

  “How did I do?”

  Shannon was trembling so hard, Matthew closed his hand around hers to hold her glass of water. “You were fabulous. Drink some more. It’s a good thing you only get the shakes after the moment’s over.”

  “I was pretending to be someone else. Imagining Jeffery standing up several times a week to give a speech—and doing it voluntarily—is enough to make me question his sanity.” She tried to laugh.

  Her brother behind her picked up the last of her words, and he laughed as he took her arm. “It’s only fearful if you think you’re supposed to make them like you. You did great, Shannon. Where’s John?”

  “Here,” John said from near the door.

  “It’s time to get you out of here, Shannon, before they come clambering through the doors and track you down. I’m old news today,” Jeffery admitted with a grin.

  Shannon pointed toward a nice-looking lady dressed as her twin. “My decoy is ready. Let me go get changed. Five minutes, Jeffery, I’ll be safely out of here. If I don’t see you in the next few days, have a wonderful Fourth.”

  “I’m so proud of you. I’ll go buy a few more minutes of distraction for you—let the press ask something pedestrian, like what your return is going to mean for the campaign.” He smiled and headed back toward the podium.

  “He actually loves this,” Shannon said, shaking her head.

  Matthew laughed. “He does. Go change. He’s right about the time.”

  Shannon grabbed her gym bag and rushed across the hall to the restroom. Soon she came back dressed in jeans and her favorite Tex-Mex T-shirt, her feet pushed into the old blue tennis shoes. “I left my dress in its garment bag. Jeffery promised that his assistant would see it safely home.”

  John signaled it was time, and the lady dressed as Shannon had been, along with two security officers, headed down the private elevator to the basement parking garage, the route often used by VIPs. Reporters would be watching for her to leave the building, expecting that to be the route, and the decoy would hopefully draw at least a few of them away.

  Matthew took Shannon’s hand and followed John down to the lower level of the building, through the maintenance department to the loading dock, where a semi with trailer had backed up to unload cases of paper goods. They stepped down beside the truck to the waiting car wedged in behind the angled semi’s cab. John had the car running with the air-conditioning on while he made a few calls, then gave a thumbs-up to the truck driver. The semi pulled forward, clearing their path. They pulled out of the parking lot, into the street heading north, no one the wiser. Five minutes later, John had confirmed they weren’t being followed, and he turned east in the direction of the apartment.

  33

  How are you doing?” Matthew asked quietly, hunkering down beside the bed.

  Shannon opened drowsy eyes. “Wonderful. Go away.” Her eyes closed again.

  “You’ve been asleep since six p.m. yesterday,” he told her, amused. “It’s going to be night again soon; you slept away a full day. Your brother’s getting worried about you. So am I. You’ve barely moved. Sometimes I’ve wondered if you were even breathing.” She was lying facedown, blankets pulled up past her chin, one of her arms thrown across a pillow—she had squeezed the life out of the feathers inside that pillow. The most he could see was ruffled hair, pretty eyes, and part of a sleepy face.

  She opened her eyes again and briefly considered him. “I woke up occasionally, thought some about life, decided I’d like to sleep instead.”

  He wanted to lean forward and kiss that delightful face, but he didn’t let himself move. “What’s the problem?”

  “This is goodbye, isn’t it? You’re going to Boston for the Fourth and not coming back to Chicago.”

  He would have preferred to have this conversation over dinner, but accepted reality. He sat down on the floor beside the bed, rested an arm across his bent knee. “Yes.”

  She blinked at the admission, nodded. “I worked it out finally, what had to be next on your list. So what do you have planned for me?”

  “You’ll meet Sandy Post for a walk tomorrow morning, see if you think you might want her to be your counselor. You need a good driver who knows Chicago’s streets—John’s got a guy who can be that for you, as well as two others who are going to be a buffer with the press. On Thursday, you’ll head to Shadow Lake for the weekend, and I’ll leave for Boston. The next weekend, Jeffery hosts an open house for family and friends to meet you. You’ll want to be in Chicago for Flynn’s birthday later this month. You’ll stay with Jeffery and Cindy while you look around at options for your own place. Cindy, Charlotte, Ann—are all volunteering to go apartment and condo hunting with you. John’s got several places in mind with good security he thinks you might like. I’ll be back in Chicago at the end of the month to see how you’re doing. If you want to come out to Boston then, you can drive back with me. If you decide to stay out East for a while, I’ll help you find an apartment there you like.”

  She leaned up on her elbow. “I didn’t want it to end like this.”

  “It was always going to end, Shannon, we both knew that. You can’t live in my pocket, and I can’t live in yours, not while you work on what’s next in your recovery. We’ll transition this to a friendship that might one day be something more. I’m going to be just a phone call away. I’m not abandoning you. I’ve got your journals to finish reading, while Paul wants some help identifying ownership of the recovered items. Trust me—you’ll be on my mind constantly. But this is the next step you need me to take.”

  “I’ll get better faster if you’re around.”

  He shook his head. “You’re ready to fly without me. The best thing I can do is let you go enjoy that freedom. You’re up for it, Shannon.”

  “And if I’m not?”

  He smiled. “The woman who walked out in front of the press yesterday morning is ready to face anything, even if she might quiver for a while afterwards.”

  “Would you do me a favor?”

  “If I can.”

  “Find me an apartment in Boston you know I would like, so that if I need to bolt out of here or just want to visit, I’ll have somewhere to stay. If the pressure gets intense and I need to get away, at least I can run to you.”

  “Still have my number memorized?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll do that, Shannon.” He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Come join me for dinner and then a game of Scrabble. Paul’s been calling with regular updates today. The arrests are now at thirteen.”

  Her face disappeared under the pillow. “Give me an hour. And I don’t want to hear the updates. I’m done.”

  “Jeffery says you’ve had two hundred eighteen press calls.”

  She groaned.

  He got to his feet, tousled the hair he could see. “Face it, you’re famous. Want me to show you the newspapers? You make a nice photo standing with your brother.”

  “Go away. Now you’re just making this even more difficult.”

  “Half an hour or dinner will start getting cold.”

  “What are we having?”

  “Pot roast, potatoes, carrots.”

  Her face reappeared. “I think I’m hungry.”

  “Good.” He smiled at her expression. The face he was seeing now, the look in her eyes, was that of a woman ready to start living again. “Your phone is filled with messages too. You should call your aunt. She seems like a very nice woman.”

  “Did Mom or Dad call?”

  “Occasionally yesterday, only every hour since about noon today. I had to promise your mom I’d call her myself when you opened your eyes, which I shall now go do to stay in her good graces.”

  “She’s doing okay?”

  “S
he said you looked lovely at the press conference—she thought the dress and the jewelry and the hairstyle were perfect, and she was proud of you.”

  Shannon’s smile softened. “That’s more the mom I remember.”

  “I think she’ll be fine. Okay, it’s twenty-five minutes now. I’m going to set the table.” He left her to get ready, returned to the kitchen, made the promised call to Shannon’s mother, then set the table. He was acutely aware he was turning a page with Shannon, starting a new chapter. Distance was going to either loosen the bond between them or make the heart grow fonder. He had an idea as to which way his was going to go.

  He had one last piece of information to give Shannon in the next day: the name of her birth father. But he thought she could weather that knowledge okay. Her mom had dated the man in high school, seen him again at a high school reunion at a particularly low point in her marriage, and Shannon had been born nine months later. Everything Matthew had found out to date indicated he was a decent guy. He had never married, so there wasn’t a family on his side to be hurt if Shannon decided to make a connection as his daughter. Matthew thought it was a fifty-fifty proposition whether Shannon would choose to have that conversation one day.

  His phone rang, and he saw it was Becky. “Hi, honey.” He talked with her while he waited for Shannon. He finished the call and checked on dessert. The phone rang again, Jeffery this time. Shannon appeared forty minutes later, hair still damp, while he was on the phone with her brother. He had to smile. She was in comfortable jeans and a shirt, but she’d found fuzzy slippers from somewhere. “Hold on, Jeffery. You can ask her yourself.”

  He handed over the phone and moved to check on the dinner rolls he’d slid into the oven.

  “Do I want to do a public sit-down lunch with Jeffery tomorrow to give reporters more casual photos?” Shannon asked, holding the phone against her shoulder.