Gone in the Night

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Entertain yourself all you like, if puzzling me out is going to keep that smile on your lips.” He walked around the bed and stood in front of her. Allie lifted her chin high enough that her neck ached. My goodness, but he is... Allie swallowed hard. Tall. And big. So very, very big. She smelled the freshness of the shower he’d taken, the ever-so-subtle hint of sandalwood and spice from his soap or aftershave. Even fully clothed in something as simple as jeans and a dark T-shirt, she could see there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t toned, controlled. Given what she’d learned about him so far—early-morning runner, tightly wound, protective, judgmental bordering on accusatory—she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to herself she considered the man incredibly attractive and intriguing.

  She blinked, her hand tightening around the bottle. Now she was the one who needed distracting. “Tell you what. If I guess your nickname, you have to tell me something about yourself absolutely no one else knows.”

  He moved closer, lowered his voice. “And what do you give me when you guess wrong?”

  Allie shrugged, refusing to be put off. “Name it.” Her eyes went wide as she realized her mistake. “I mean, um.”

  He grinned. Not in a flirtatious or playful way as she might have expected or wanted. Instead she suddenly felt trapped in one of those crime novels she was so fond of—caught by someone with a nefarious if not alluring agenda.

  “I wouldn’t have thought a smart woman like you would be into dangerous games, Doc. Making an offer like that? It’s asking for trouble.”

  Allie cleared her throat. Was it just her or was it hot in this room? “Maybe I like trouble.”

  “Or maybe you’re just looking for any means to distract me from what’s really going on.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at her intently. “I’ll settle for you answering any question I ask you honestly.” He stressed the last word. “You were right. I don’t trust doctors. Even pretty ones with big brown eyes and a tough attitude. But I do appreciate your efforts, Doc.”

  Darn. Was that a smirk on his face as he stepped away? She couldn’t tell. Allie pressed her lips tight and took a long breath. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She shrugged and played the “aw shucks” card. She twisted the lid on the bottle, lifted it to her nose and breathed deeply. She gagged and covered her mouth.

  “What?” Max was at her side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

  Allie shook her head, her eyes watering as she tried to breathe around the suffocating, familiar aroma. “Just that smell.” The perfume she, Eden and Simone had given Chloe for her birthday a few weeks before Chloe disappeared. What was it doing here? Allie’s hand trembled. How had Hope gotten it? “I’ve always hated it.” Her head spun and she swayed, her knuckles turning white around the bottle.

  Max moved in, his hands poised to catch her. She held out her arms, shifted her stance as if preparing to defend herself.

  He looked startled for a moment, whether at his own instinctual reaction or at her immediate defensive posture, she couldn’t tell. Then his expression hardened and he glared, examining her as if she was now the one pinned under a microscope—what Max had accused Allie of doing to him earlier.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  That Max spoke so succinctly, so firmly, left Allie even more determined not to let too much slip about the possible connection between Hope and Chloe. “That’s not my fau—”

  “I don’t believe a lot of what’s been going on today. There’s too much whispering, too much secrecy. You and MacTavish know a lot more than you’re saying and I’m betting the FBI isn’t too far behind on the information train. Everyone I’ve run into so far is walking around like they’re about to break something and I refuse to let that something be Hope. What’s going on, Doc?”

  Allie couldn’t find the words.

  “This is my niece’s life we’re talking about.”

  The desperate plea in his voice had her swallowing a softball-sized lump of guilt. He was right. This was his niece’s life. Who was she to blame him for reacting like this? Why would he believe her when she said she was going to do whatever it took to bring Hope home? Why would he trust her? Why would he trust anyone? But she needed him to. “For the record, I’m well aware of what’s at stake, Max. Don’t believe for one second that I’m not.”

  “Something else is happening here, Doc. Something you’re not telling me. Are you going to come clean or not?”

  “There’s nothing to come clean about,” she lied. Would there come a time when she could be honest with him? Why did it matter? “Have you seen this perfume before?” She recapped the bottle and wished she hadn’t handled it so much.

  “No. But I don’t keep up on my nine-year-old niece’s perfume habits.”

  Maybe someone should have. Allie picked up the jewelry box. “I need to get an update from Jack. He should have spoken to his partner by now. Keep searching for anything you think might help.”

  “I meant what I said before, Doc.” Max’s voice had her stopping at the door, but she didn’t face him. Not again. Not when she wasn’t sure she could continue the façade. “I don’t trust you. Whatever it is you’re hiding, I promise you, I’m going to find out. And I always keep my promises.”

  Chapter 4

  What did a perfume bottle have to do with his niece’s disappearance? Max closed the last drawer of Hope’s dresser and took a step back, literally and figuratively, as he walked over to the small window overlooking the street. Neighbors had begun gathering in front of homes, speculation running rampant given the lineup of law enforcement vehicles surrounding the Kellan house. He’d seen the Amber Alert flash across the TV screen downstairs, had received the same alert, hauntingly eerie, pop up on his own cell phone screen.

  At the window, Max watched as Dr. Allie Hollister exited the house and approached a dark-suited man climbing out of what had to be a government-issued car. Max’s mouth twisted. The Feds had arrived.

  Dr. Hollister’s face broke into a wide, friendly smile as she hugged the much taller, linebacker-looking agent. Old friends, Max supposed. Maybe more given how she caught the man’s pale face between her hands and pushed against his cheeks to make him smile. The man’s eyes brightened below slicked-back red hair as he hugged her again. Something twisted inside Max’s chest. “Yeah, definitely more.”

  Dr. Hollister retrieved Hope’s jewelry box from the top of a nearby SUV and handed it over, clearly adding verbal instructions because the agent nodded before retrieving an evidence bag from the trunk of his car.

  Dr. Allie Hollister definitely knew more than she was saying.

  Resuming his search of Hope’s room, Max found himself agreeing with the assertion this wasn’t a ransom issue. If that was the case, they’d want a fast payout. Keeping a restless and sometimes hyper nine-year-old wasn’t easy. Kids were unpredictable, Hope especially so. Given Joe’s wealth and how public he was about the money he had, if someone was expecting to be paid off, this whole thing would already be over.

  Nor did this seem like some spur-of-the-moment abduction. How could it be given the girls had been camping out on private property? It wasn’t as if they were on their own in the middle of the wilderness.

  “So if this isn’t about money and wasn’t random, what is it about?” he wondered aloud. Max had seen enough of the real world to know how powerful emotions like anger and vengeance could trigger someone. Had Joe ticked someone off to the point that they would personally come after his family? Max couldn’t see that. His brother made everyone happy, except Gemma, who spent more time gallivanting with her girlfriends—and boyfriends—than she did attending her daughter’s school recitals and swim meets. “Unless it is about money.” Just not in the way one might suspect. “This is personal.” And once this was over, once Max got his hands on whoever was responsible, he’d make certain they realized just how perso
nally he took Hope’s abduction. Someone was out to cause his family pain.

  Sirens whined in the distance. Tiny explosions of unease went off inside him as the sound grew louder. Once upon a time, that blaring cacophony was a call to action. Now? He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever hear sirens again and not think of this day. Not think about Hope out there somewhere alone or worse, not alone.

  The lumpy stuffed panda bear he’d won Hope at a carnival a few years earlier sagged to one side on top of Hope’s unmade bed. Max found himself smiling at the memory of spending over fifty bucks to throw baseballs at milk bottles because she’d had her heart set on that bear.

  He picked it up, gripping the floppy head between his hands, imagining Hope curling up with it when she went to sleep at night. She will again, he told himself as he started to set it down, but then he stopped. The corner of a small book peeked out from under her pillow. He put the bear aside and picked up the neon-green hardback secured with one of those brass locks that took little more than a solid jiggle to release.

  The childlike scribble inside on the first page was dated months ago, and consisted only of one sentence: Mom and Dad are fighting again.

  Max lowered himself onto the edge of her bed and flipped through the pages. He skimmed the thoughts his niece had confided to her journal. His heart cracked as she poured out her feelings and fears, sometimes taking up pages after one of her sessions with Dr. Hollister, whom Max realized his niece was crazy about. The doc didn’t get angry with Hope for talking or saying something she shouldn’t. Sometimes they just played a game or drew pictures or whatever Hope wanted to do. Hope felt safe with her.

  But Hope didn’t feel safe with her mother. Reading the last entry dated two weeks earlier brought Max to his feet. The panic he’d experienced upon learning of Hope’s disappearance resurged. The sirens had gone silent, replaced by the staccato sound of doors slamming. Joe.

  Max flipped the book shut and headed downstairs just as his brother raced inside flanked by two uniformed officers.

  “Is there any news?” Joe asked in that detached, broken way he had when reality was too much for him to handle. “Max? Did they find her?”

  “No.” Max took a step to the side as Dr. Hollister re-entered the house, her tall Fed on her heels. She glanced between them before her gaze dropped to the book in Max’s hand. She arched a brow but surprised Max when she focused her attention on Joe by leading him into the living room and gently pushing him onto the brown suede sofa by the fireplace. “Nothing yet.”

  “Someone tell me what’s going on,” Joe demanded of her and the detectives as they joined them. “What’s being done to locate my daughter? Do you need more resources? Cash? Has there been a ransom—” His voice caught as Joe’s face lost whatever color remained.

  “We haven’t received any calls like that,” Detective MacTavish said once he’d introduced himself.

  Why was everyone so calm? Why wasn’t anyone doing anything?

  “This is Special Agent Eamon Quinn with the FBI.” Detective MacTavish gestured to Dr. Hollister’s friend standing by the fireplace. Now this guy, Max realized, he got it. Max could see the anger spiraling behind those intense eyes, the barely restrained urgency as he took in everyone in the room, remaining stoically silent. Maybe the good doctor hadn’t been off the mark bringing in her friend after all.

  “Agent Quinn will be working with us to find your daughter,” the detective continued. “Lending every support he and the Bureau can. I’m afraid all we can do in the meantime is wait on the lab results from what the techs examined at the camping site and in Hope’s room.”

  Joe turned dead eyes on Max. For an instant, Max was nineteen again, opening his email to the news that his mother and stepfather had decided life was too short to stay in one place any longer. They’d taken off to travel the world, Joe and Max’s stepfather having siphoned off a good portion of Joe’s first significant commission check. That same suffocating weight of responsibility and grief bore down on Max now. He knew what Joe was thinking. Max was the one who took charge when it came to these kinds of things. He protected the family. It was the silent accusation he imagined coming from his brother that nearly drove him to his knees. How had he let this happen? Why wasn’t he doing anything now?

  “Where’s Gemma?” Joe asked finally. “Where’s my wife?”

  “No idea.” Max hated not being able to give his brother any answers.

  “Heaven forbid she be expected to parent for any length of time,” Joe muttered, the stricken expression on his face shifting to hostility. “How long did she wait after I was gone before she took off?”

  Max frowned and surprised himself by glancing at Allie for help. She gave him a silent nod of ascent. Tell him the truth. “A couple of hours.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. “She said she was going to a spa.”

  “We checked with the manager at the Camellia Day Spa. She’s not there. We’re still working on locating her,” Detective MacTavish clarified. “It would help if we had a list of places she frequents.”

  “Joe, you’ve got the best people working to find Hope.” Dr. Hollister—Allie—lowered herself on the sofa beside his brother and covered his hand with hers. “Believe me when I say none of us are going to stop until we find Hope and whoever did this.”

  “I don’t care who did it!” Joe’s uncharacteristic anger caught Max off guard. “I just want my little girl back.”

  “I found Hope’s journal in her room.” Max bypassed his brother’s desperate gaze to hand Allie the book. “You should read the last entry.”

  Allie took the book and flipped it open. She barely glanced at the page before he saw her jaw clench. Her eyes grew colder as she passed the book to Detective MacTavish. “We need to find Gemma Kellan.”

  “Why? What does it say? What did she write?” Joe held out his hand for the book and, after a nod from Allie, Detective MacTavish handed it over. Joe’s eyes zoomed back and forth. “But she didn’t know. I didn’t think she knew,” he whispered as he flipped the page. “I thought I was the only one who knew Gemma was having an affair. Oh, no.” He lifted terrified eyes to Max. “Hope saw them together.”

  “And Gemma knew it,” Max clarified for the detective when MacTavish looked to him. “She told Hope if she said anything to Joe or anyone else she’d make sure Hope never saw her father again. That she’d take her away forever.”

  Detective MacTavish’s spine went ramrod-straight as he caught Max’s train of thought. “Who was this man she was seeing?”

  “Hope doesn’t say,” Max said. “I’m not sure she knows who he is.”

  “Kent Devlin.” Joe pushed to his feet. “He’s a former stockbroker working at a financial firm in San Francisco. Married to some real estate magnate’s daughter. Just give me a minute.” He stumbled down the hall to his office.

  “That’s not normal for him,” Max said.

  “There is no normal when your child is missing,” Allie said. “Let him work through this however he needs to. And no, that’s not a platitude,” she added when Max opened his mouth. “It’s common sense.”

  “I was going to agree with you,” Max said. “I’m just surprised. He’s been known to obsess over his computer and codes and ideas when things get too much to handle. He’s not usually so emotional.”

  “That’s because when it comes to my daughter, I’m not a robot.” Joe returned and tossed a manila envelope on the coffee table. The fury on his face was tempered only by the fear hovering behind the wire-rimmed glasses. For the first time in memory, Max didn’t see the helpless, geeky brother he’d spent most of his life protecting; he saw a father doing what he could to protect the only thing in the world he cared about: his daughter. “I’m betting whatever you need to find Gemma is in there. I hired a private investigator to follow her. She has a routine when I leave town.”

&n
bsp; “Joe—” Max couldn’t believe his brother never told him.

  “I hired the P.I. to prove you wrong,” Joe snapped. “Except you’re never wrong, are you, Max? All these years you warned me about her, told me she was probably running around on me and I didn’t believe you. And now here we are. Why aren’t you ever wrong?”

  The words sliced through Max like a flame-hot blade. “I’m wrong more than you know” was all he could say. He ignored the flicker of interest he caught in Allie’s eyes. “Do you know where she meets him?”

  “Some exclusive spa in Napa. It’s all in that report. I heard enough of the details,” he added when Detective MacTavish ripped open the sealed envelope. “I didn’t need to read it, too. I didn’t give it to the court because I didn’t want Hope to find out—” He broke off, scrubbed his hands down his face. “Gemma’s been seeing him off and on for the better part of three years. The reservation in Napa is always under his name. I’ve watched for credit card charges, anything out of the ordinary, and there’s nothing. You track him, you’ll find her.”

  “Callistrano,” Detective MacTavish read off one of the pages from the envelope. “Membership-only, luxury cottages. Winery on site. Allie? You know it?”

  Allie nodded. “That’s where Simone and Vince got married the first time. Her family still owns a couple of those bungalows.”

  That was all Max needed to hear. He took a step back and then another, keeping his eyes pinned on the doc, then the detective, making sure they were preoccupied. For an instant, he locked gazes with Agent Quinn. There it was again, in those eerie green eyes of his: complete understanding of the situation. But to Max’s surprise, he didn’t move, didn’t do anything but quirk a brow and refocus his attention on Allie.

  Max hesitated another moment, glanced at his brother, who was watching him. The guarded expression on Joe’s face shifted to relief before he gave Max a quick, sharp nod.