The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

by Andrea Kane

  “Saving your family, or your own ass?”

  “At this point? Both.” Sidney’s forehead was drenched with sweat. “The mob must have thought I gave the Feds something. So they pulled a repeat performance, this time with my granddaughter.” He grabbed the front of Patrick’s shirt. “You’ve got to stop them before they hurt her. Please. Do something.”

  “I plan to.” Patrick whipped out his cell phone. “I’m calling the task force working on Krissy’s case and filling them in. I need the name of the agent who came to see you and any immediate details on the mob guys you dealt with—names, descriptions—anything. After I pass all that along, I’m getting back into my own car, following you to your apartment, and waiting while you throw a few things in a bag. You’re coming back to Armonk with me.”

  The news about her father reached Hope via the task force right before she packed up Krissy’s duffel bag and prepared the drop for the kidnappers.

  Her shock and rage at this unexpected development and the part her father had played in it were secondary now, eclipsed by the white terror of what was happening to Krissy. The realization that the mob might be involved in Krissy’s abduction only strengthened Hope’s resolve to follow through with her plan. Time was of the essence. Action was of the essence.

  She couldn’t think about her father’s betrayal. She couldn’t allow herself to think about the fact that, if history was repeating itself, her baby could be dead. All she could think about—blindly, frantically—was that she had to do everything in her power to bring Krissy home, alive and safe.

  So when the agreed-upon time drew near, when the whole task force was caught up in tracking down known organized crime members, getting sketch artists, and contacting other Bureau members for further information while awaiting Sidney Akerman’s arrival, Hope hauled the cash-filled duffel bag into the garage, heaved it into the trunk of her SUV and drove off.

  No one noticed.

  No one but Casey.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Casey had done her ongoing review of Ryan’s documentation at Hope’s house all afternoon. She didn’t want to leave because she was still bugged by her suspicions that something was up. Once Hope had finally emerged from her mother’s bedroom, only to be given the news about her father, Casey had watched her carefully, paying close attention to her actions and reactions.

  Her reaction had been odd. Yes, she’d been genuinely stunned and devastated. But then her shock had transformed into something else. A grim determination. A panicky impatience. She kept glancing at her watch, clearly waiting for something to happen.

  Or to make something happen.

  The hell with Ashley’s lack of cooperation, and Hope’s morning-long absence. Casey could sense that something was going down. And she had a pretty good idea what that something was.

  Her theory was confirmed when she spotted Hope slipping down the back stairs and out of the house with a duffel bag that looked suspiciously heavy, and with a frantic pulse throbbing at the side of her neck.

  Casey didn’t say a word to anyone, although she felt Hutch’s probing stare as she slipped out the door. To avoid potential problems, she turned in the doorway and mouthed the words to him, I’m just getting some air, before she sprinted to her car. She knew he didn’t buy her staged exit. He obviously assumed she’d gotten some clandestine lead. But his hands were tied. He had no way of knowing if her lead was valid, or even if she’d truly gotten one. He was deep in his investigation, with no concrete reason to follow a private consultant wherever the hell she was going. So Casey was safe, and on her own—for now.

  Jumping in her car just as Hope’s garage door went up, Casey ducked down behind the wheel to avoid being spotted. From her crouched position, she made a quick call to Marc, instructing him to find and follow Edward Willis, no matter where he went. Simultaneously, she watched Hope back out of the driveway and speed up the street.

  That was her cue.

  Easing back up, Casey turned on her own ignition and shifted into Drive, waiting until Hope’s Acadia was halfway up the block before following her.

  Wherever Hope was taking that stash of money, and whether she was acting alone or with Edward, Casey was about to find out.

  The mall’s second-floor food court was every bit as crowded as Hope had expected. Five o’clock was prime shoppers’ dinner hour. Her shoulder throbbed from the weight of the duffel bag, but she made her way among the throngs of people, not stopping until she reached the trash can that was tucked inside a little alcove across from the pretzel kiosk.

  Her heart was pounding like a drum. Her insides were twisted into knots. She resisted the urge to look around. Krissy’s life depended on her following instructions to a tee.

  She lowered the duffel bag to the tiled floor right behind the trash can, where it was half-hidden and out of the path of the main flow of traffic. Keeping her head conspicuously down, she squeezed her eyes shut for one moment, fighting a wave of sickness. Then she sucked in her breath and walked away, heading directly for the door leading to the second-floor parking lot.

  Please God, she prayed. Please let things go as planned. Please let Krissy come home to me.

  It was going to be the longest hour of her life.

  Casey stood in the middle of the food court, impatiently scanning the area for Hope. There were scores of people crammed into the various tables and chairs, endless lines in front of each restaurant station, and still more shoppers milling around the kiosks. Finding Hope was going to be a major challenge.

  It was a good five minutes before Casey spotted her. Wearing her generic brown trench coat, she was halfway down the corridor, moving purposefully toward her destination, despite being weighed down by the duffel bag.

  Casey elbowed her way through the crowd, losing sight of Hope twice before spotting her nearing the exit door. This time there was no duffel bag on her shoulder.

  Dammit.

  Following her target, Casey scrutinized the passersby in the thin hope of seeing someone with the heavy duffel bag in tow.

  No such luck.

  She reached the exit, pushed her way out, and headed for the garage where she’d seen Hope park her Acadia not thirty minutes earlier.

  The SUV was still in the same parking space. Hope was inside, sitting in the driver’s seat. Her arms were folded across the steering wheel, and her face was buried in her arms. Even from a distance, Casey could see that her shoulders were shaking with sobs.

  The damage had already been done. The payoff had been made. Hope was obviously waiting for her daughter’s appearance—an appearance Casey knew would not be forthcoming.

  But Hope had to realize that for herself. If Casey went over there now, Hope would always blame that interference as the cause for Krissy not being returned.

  Casey retreated to her car, which was parked diagonally across the way, slid inside and waited.

  Thirty minutes passed. Then forty-five.

  Hope got out of her SUV and began pacing around, looking from her watch to the pillars at the exit door.

  No one appeared.

  A good hour and a half passed before Hope sagged against her car, raking her fingers through her hair and breaking down completely. She sank to the concrete floor, her knees raised as she curled forward and wept.

  Casey jumped out of her car. She crossed over until she was standing beside Hope.

  Hope’s head jerked up, and, for one split second, there was a wealth of hope in her eyes. It was replaced by bleak realization when she saw who it was.

  “You knew?” she asked in a watery voice.

  “I guessed.” Casey hated this part of her job. On the other hand, she was far from ready to give up. “I came alone,” she explained, putting Hope’s mind at ease about the thought of a posse scaring off the kidnapper. “I didn’t tell a soul. But, Hope, they’re not delivering Krissy to you, no matter what they said. That’s way too amateurish for such a sophisticated kidnapping. That doesn’t mean they’ve harmed Kriss
y. It just means they want something more than they’ve gotten.”

  “More than a quarter of a million dollars?”

  Casey winced at the large sum Hope had gambled away on nothing.

  “Yes,” she responded honestly. “It might be more money, although I doubt it. I’m sure they realize that, at this point, you’re going to fill the authorities in on the ransom scheme. And that the FBI task force will be all over any future ransom attempts. More likely, they want to see you suffer. Especially since we know this crime is personal. The whole ransom thing gave them a ton of cash, plus the opportunity of twisting a knife in your heart.” Casey paused. “It’s also possible that this entire plan was orchestrated by some news junkie who conned you into supplying him or her with some quick and hefty cash.”

  “I didn’t think of that,” Hope managed. “But they had so much personal information…I just don’t think so.”

  “Tell me the details leading up to the drop—how they reached you, what they said—everything. Then, we’ll go back to the house and tell the FBI what happened.”

  The FBI task force was deep into their investigation of Henry Kenyon and his construction company, when Casey and Hope walked into the house.

  Hutch nearly mowed down Ashley as she sprinted toward her employer.

  “Where did you two disappear to?” he demanded.

  Hope glanced at Casey, who nodded, urging her to tell the truth as they’d discussed.

  “I got a call from the kidnappers,” Hope said quietly. “I paid the ransom they asked for. They didn’t return Krissy. The whole thing was a reckless dead end.”

  “She wasn’t with them?” Ashley asked, her voice trembling.

  “No. They took the duffel bag of cash. But Krissy never showed up.”

  Casey could see Hutch visibly controlling himself. “When did you get this call, and who knew about it?” he asked.

  “I got the call yesterday.” Hope wasn’t hiding anything at this point. “It came in on Ashley’s cell phone, so the FBI couldn’t trace it. I was the only one who knew the details. Ashley just handed me the phone. I swore her to secrecy. And Casey spotted me as I was leaving the house, and followed me on a hunch. I didn’t even tell Edward. I was afraid to. The kidnappers said they’d kill Krissy if I…” Hope’s voice broke, and fresh tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Have I pushed them over the edge? Is this what they wanted? Now that they have the two hundred fifty thousand dollars they asked for, will they—”

  “I don’t think so,” Hutch interrupted her. “It doesn’t fit the profile of these kidnappers. If they wanted money, and money alone, why would they wait until the FBI and the police were so heavily involved before asking for it? They’d have better luck dealing with you alone, and right away, when the first horrible realization punched you in the gut.” He signaled to Grace, as well as to Peg Harrington, who both strode right over.

  Hutch filled them in with a few terse sentences.

  “Tell us everything you remember,” Peg instructed Hope.

  Once again, Hope repeated the scenario verbatim, from the details of the phone call to the specifics of the drop.

  “This plan is way amateur,” Grace murmured. “It doesn’t fit the sophistication of the crime.”

  “Neither does the amount of ransom money they demanded,” Hutch added. “They know that you and your husband are good for a lot more than a quarter of a million dollars. And playing you Krissy’s voice on tape? That’s weak. They could have recorded her anywhere and spliced her words together. Again, an amateurish move. For all we know, it was all a hoax, and whoever called you doesn’t even have Krissy. Instead, they freaked you out and made themselves a nice chunk of cash.”

  Casey was well aware that Hutch was intentionally softening some components and leaving out some biggies. Like the fact that, if Sidney Akerman’s ties to organized crime had incited Krissy’s abduction, this whole extortion scheme was either a dead end or the horrific tip of the iceberg. Scoring some quick cash wouldn’t cut it. The mob would want major payback, just like they had when they kidnapped Felicity—if they’d kidnapped Felicity. And if they had…the mob didn’t deal in idle kidnapping. They dealt in human trafficking, torture and murder.

  Before Casey’s thought process could continue, Edward emerged from the kitchen. Spotting his wife, he went over and caught her arm. “Where were you?”

  He was livid at the answer.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped. “That’s why we have the FBI here. Do you realize you could have gotten Krissy killed?”

  “We don’t believe that’s the case, Mr. Willis.” Casey stepped in, seeing the white fear return to Hope’s eyes. “Not in such a well-planned, cleverly executed abduction. We think this was just step one, or even an unrelated act.”

  Edward’s gaze shot to Casey, suspicion clouding his stare. “You knew about this.”

  “No, sir, I most certainly did not.” Casey spoke as respectfully as she could. But she really didn’t like this man. “If I had, I would have told you and the task force about it immediately. I followed Hope. I’d planned to try to stop her. I was too late. I realize how upset you are, and that emotions are running high. But, the bottom line is that Hope wasn’t intentionally undermining you or the FBI. She was behaving like a terrified mother. She wasn’t thinking clearly. And now she’s beating herself up enough for everyone. So I suggest we not waste time with accusations, but move on to finding your daughter. I know that’s what you want. Please, Mr. Willis, let’s just find Krissy as quickly as possible.”

  Her words seemed to placate Edward a little, because his jaw snapped shut and he nodded. “Fine.”

  The tension was still crackling, when there was a brief knock at the open door, and Patrick stepped inside. Behind him was a nervous, weathered-looking man who had to be Sidney Akerman.

  “We’re here,” Patrick announced. “Ready to get started.”

  “Sidney?” Vera Akerman rose from the living room sofa and made her way out into the hall. “My God, it is you.” She looked torn between relief and disgust.

  Hope harbored no such torn loyalties. She whirled around, facing her father with blazing eyes. “How could you?” she demanded. “How could you compromise your family like that? Felicity and I were innocent children—your children. And now Krissy—she barely knows of your existence, yet she’s become part of your collateral damage. How can you live with yourself?”

  “I can’t,” her father replied without flinching. “That’s why I’ve spent my life inside a bottle. And that’s why I’m here now, even knowing you hate my guts. If I can help bring Krissy home safely, I’ll do anything, sacrifice anything, to make it happen.”

  “How valiant. Unfortunately, it’s thirty-two years too late for my sister, and my daughter…my baby…” Hope’s voice quavered, and she turned away.

  “Hope.” Vera went to her daughter, put her arms around her. “I feel what you feel. But put it aside. We have to find Krissy.”

  Sidney met his ex-wife’s gaze, and he was clearly speaking to both her and Hope. “To tell you that I was a stupid, naive pawn would be the truth, but meaningless. It changes nothing. Please—I’m not asking you for forgiveness. I’m just asking you to accept my help. Let me look at mug shots. Let me work with a sketch artist. Let me try to aid this investigation.”

  Hope stepped away from her mother and dashed the tears off her cheeks. “That’s why you’re here,” she informed Sidney. She gestured toward the group of waiting professionals. “It certainly isn’t for a family reunion. So go see what you can do.”

  Sidney was entrenched in mug shots and recaps when Casey’s cell phone rang.

  “Hey,” Ryan greeted her. “Marc called and told me what’s going on. Sidney Akerman there yet?”

  “He got here about an hour ago,” Casey replied quietly. “I’m not sure what’s going on. The FBI’s not in a sharing mood. They’re pissed at me about the ransom drop. By their rules, I should h
ave shared my suspicions with them before I took off to follow Hope.”

  “Yeah, well, by their rules I wouldn’t be calling you with this interesting bit of info.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Henry Kenyon’s construction company was bought up after he died. Guess who the buyer was? Bennato Construction, employer of one Joe Deale.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope. And from what I’m pulling up, Bennato is connected—mob connected.”

  “This one I’m going to share,” Casey said.

  “By all means.” Ryan chuckled. “It might get you back into Hutch’s good graces.”

  “Goodbye, Ryan.”

  “One more thing. When the FBI wants to pick up Deale, he’s at the Laketown Bridge. They’re repaving.”

  “Thanks.” Casey ended the call on her BlackBerry.

  “That was one of my associates,” she announced to the task force. “Evidently, the construction company Sidney worked for was bought up after the owner died.”

  Guy Adams shot her an impatient look. “So?”

  “So the company who bought it is Bennato. I’m sure you know they’re reputed to have mob connections.”

  “We’re aware of that.”

  “Wait a minute.” Hutch rapidly scanned his notes. “Claudia Mitchell’s fiancé works for Bennato.”

  “Exactly,” Casey replied. “Joe Deale. I doubt that’s a coincidence. Nor is the fact that Bennato recently repaved the parking lot and playground of Krissy’s elementary school. Joe worked on that project.”

  There was a long moment of silence.

  “How is it you have access to all that information?” Guy asked in a clipped tone.

  “That’s not important. I just do. I also know he’s at the Laketown Bridge right now, working on a repaving job.”

  “Let’s bring him in—now.” Peg was already at the door as she spoke.