Taken

by Dee Henderson

  He put the phone in his pocket and leaned against the side of the car. When Shannon was near enough for him to use his normal voice, he offered a smile and remarked, “Trying to impress me with your shopping speed?”

  “You said pink. I think I look like a bit of cotton-candy fluff, but I admit it’s a nice dress, and I love the shoes.”

  He laughed and opened the back door of the car so she could use the garment hook. “Then I’m grateful you took my advice.” He opened the trunk and deposited her other bags. “Like to do some more shopping, have a longer break, or do we head north a few more hours, choose a hotel to stay at for the night?”

  “Let’s drive. What’s nearby this restaurant you mentioned to Adam York—shopping malls, movie theaters?”

  “I remember a few.”

  “I’m thinking I’ll see a movie tonight while you go chat with Adam. Either that or just crash at the hotel with room service and take another nap.”

  Matthew waited until Shannon was settled and he had the car out of the mall parking lot before he mentioned, “One of the things Becky did that first year was watch every chick-flick movie she had missed seeing. Have you started your list yet—things you want to do to fill in the gaps from the missing years?”

  “I’ve got a list, but not that kind. I may start one of those. Not that many movie holes will need filling in. I wasn’t isolated, Matthew. Captive, yes, but not as you would assume. I watched most of even the B-grade movies as they came out.”

  She didn’t explain further, and Matthew just tucked the information away. The day-to-day of what her life had been like would be a string of land mines, and it was best to let her share comments when and where she chose. The details would fill in over time, and then he’d ask some careful questions to complete the picture.

  “Do we continue with the audiobook?” Shannon asked.

  “Sure. Start chapter four.” He smiled. “I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version of what you slept through.”

  Shannon laughed, tugged around the pillow to get comfortable, ready to continue that nap should she drift off listening to the book again. Matthew reached the Interstate ramp and once more headed north.

  5

  Ann Falcon rang the doorbell at the Bishop home in Chicago shortly after four p.m. on Saturday, aware that security would have called the house to announce her arrival when she pulled into the driveway. Bryce Bishop opened the door with a smile before the chimes had finished. “Ann, welcome back from Atlanta. I’d ask how the trip went, but first tell me—did you get to see anything other than the airport and the inside of the hotel?”

  She laughed. “Not much. Does Charlotte have a minute?”

  “For you? You don’t have to even ask. She’s in the studio. Head on back.”

  Ann set her bag on the kitchen table and walked through to the sunroom that Charlotte used as her art studio. She was sitting at the drawing board, her attention focused on a large piece, working in colored pencil.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, and a smile lit her face. “Never. Hi. Welcome back from the conference.”

  Ann crossed the room to see the work in progress. The kindergarten-classroom scene had added definition since she’d last seen the work. The teacher was now fully in place, as were most of the children. “I like it. A lot.”

  “Not too cute?”

  “That age, you want the innocence of childhood still showing through,” Ann replied, moving to the couch.

  Charlotte began slotting pencils back to their places in the trays around her, which spanned all shades of the color spectrum. “What brings you by? I figured you would be curled up with a book with the phone shut off, trying to catch up on some rest.”

  “The perfect description of where I’m headed after this. Paul needed a couple hours at the office to move some voicemails and paperwork, so we went our separate ways until dinner. Something came up that I need to talk with you about.”

  “Sure thing. And a nice break for me.” Charlotte went to one of the comfortable chairs facing the couch.

  Where to begin, how to approach this, wasn’t a simple matter. The weight of having worked homicide for years that Ann carried with her, the dark past Charlotte dealt with, were both deliberately left to the side so their friendship could be forward-looking. They made a point of keeping things lighthearted and positive, a safe zone where they could both flourish. This coming conversation would be pushing against that unspoken agreement.

  Ann knew who Charlotte Bishop really was—Ruth Bazoni—and knew her history. They didn’t talk about it often because it didn’t need to be said. Charlotte had been at the center of the most famous kidnapping in Chicago history—four years and three ransom demands before cops had shot the two men and rescued her. Buried inside that crime lay another even deeper tragedy and the death of a child. And that past was why Ann was here this afternoon. She hoped, though, their friendship could handle what she was going to ask. “I need to tell you about something that happened at the conference.”

  “All right,” Charlotte said, looking both curious and a little guarded.

  “Do you remember my mentioning Matthew Dane?”

  “The guy from Boston you dated for a few months, back when his daughter was still missing?”

  “That’s the one. Matthew was at the conference. I was able to introduce him to Paul. My husband has decided he likes the guy anyway.”

  Charlotte laughed. “From those I’ve met whom you dated, you had good tastes. They all seem to share a streak of honor and . . . I guess chivalry, for want of a better word.”

  “That probably describes Matthew better than most.”

  “I hear a story coming. Let me get us something to drink,” Charlotte offered, getting to her feet.

  “Ahead of you, honey,” Bryce said, stepping into the room carrying two glasses. “Ann, I wasn’t sure what you might like on a day like this, so I made it lemonade.”

  “That’s perfect, Bryce,” Ann said. “My voice is still hoarse from trying to carry on conversations in crowded convention hallways.”

  He handed her a glass and napkin, the other to his wife. “I’ll leave you two ladies to chat. Swing by my office before you leave so I can hand off some nonprofit information for Paul.”

  “Actually, Bryce . . . would you mind staying for a few minutes? What I need to speak with Charlotte about she’ll want to run by you later. It might be easier if you both heard it now.”

  Bryce’s gaze narrowed a bit at the careful but casual way she said it. He changed directions to take the chair beside Charlotte. “Of course.” If it affected Charlotte and referenced the past, Ann knew he was going to do everything he could to be the wall between his wife and that news. He ran his hand down Charlotte’s hair as he sat down, an affectionate gesture Ann had seen many times. “What’s the topic?”

  “Matthew Dane’s from the Boston area—I’ve mentioned him to Charlotte in the past. He moved over from cop to private investigator when his daughter went missing at age eight so he’d have more time and resources for the search. Becky was recovered at age sixteen. She’s doing well, is in college this year. Anyway, he was one of the speakers at the conference this week, talking about best practices in the dialog between the police and victims’ families.”

  Charlotte leaned over against her husband’s shoulder. “Ann used to date him, for a few months during the years his daughter was missing.”

  “I see.”

  Ann felt a faint blush. “You’d like him, Bryce. Paul does. You’re all of the same type. Men of integrity, for want of a better definition.”

  He grinned. “Compliment appreciated.”

  Ann pulled out a copy of the newspaper article Shannon had shown Matthew; she’d found the same AP story in the Chicago Tribune archives. “A woman is on her way back to Chicago today. She tracked down Matthew at the hotel in Atlanta last night. This lady.” She handed across the article for Charlotte and Bryce to read.r />
  Charlotte’s smile faded, and her hand trembled a bit as she read. Then she wordlessly handed the clipping on to her husband. “Tell me the rest of it.”

  “She’s asked Matthew to bring her home. She hasn’t said much about what happened yet.”

  “How long has she been free?” Bryce asked.

  “Seventeen days.”

  Bryce flinched. Charlotte closed her eyes.

  “Have you met her?” Bryce asked, his voice husky.

  “Not yet. The timing worked better for Paul and me to return to Chicago on schedule and put some things in motion here in preparation for her arrival.”

  “The last name Bliss,” Charlotte said, looking back at the article, “her brother is running for governor. He’s spoken often about his missing sister.”

  “That’s the family. She’ll have some unique challenges simply returning home.”

  Charlotte reread the article before folding it carefully and offering it back. Ann looked at her friend, and took a big risk. “Would you be willing to meet with her?” she asked carefully.

  Bryce shifted, leaned forward, clearly not liking the question. Ann kept her focus on Charlotte.

  Her friend took a long breath, gave an obviously forced shrug. “I’m not a counselor, Ann. There must be others—”

  “I think it might help her to know you’ve now got a worthwhile profession you love, that you’re married to a good man, that you have friends around you who you can trust. She needs to see hope—to see what her future can be once the pieces get fit back together. It’s going to be a rough couple of months coming up for her. I think it might help her to meet you, to speak with you.”

  “Ann—” Bryce tried to intervene.

  She shook her head, not disagreeing with his concern but wanting to make her case as best she could. She kept her focus on Charlotte. “I’m not asking you to tell Shannon details of what you went through, but of your life now, and how it’s going with you and Bryce. You love him. He loves you. That’s what you can show her. She needs a friend, someone who can understand her and what she’s been through. That’s all.”

  “Your all is a pretty big word in this context,” Bryce put in.

  “Ann . . .” Charlotte struggled to find words.

  “I will understand if you want to say no, Charlotte. This is going to be raw pain for her for quite some time, and it likely would push memories of your own back to the surface.”

  “It’s not that.” Charlotte slid her fingers through her hair. “She’s going to need . . . a lot of time. A good doctor. A best friend.”

  “Matthew will find the right doctor to help her. I don’t know if there’s a best friend in the picture or if she will have to identify a new one. Eleven years is a long span to bridge.”

  Charlotte bit her lip and turned toward her husband. “Tell me what you’re thinking, Bryce.”

  “I agree she’s going to need a lot of help. I think you and I are both more than ready to help her get that help, be it financially or through influence with medical doctors and psychologists we know. But I’m not sure if you’re the right person to be involved in personally providing that help.”

  Charlotte looked curious. “Because?”

  “You’re at present in a fight with your own memories. I can see the progress you’re making, but we both know every step since our wedding day has been a hard-won fight. You’d be adding her memories on to your own, even if it’s simply listening sympathetically to a few comments she might let slip in an otherwise light conversation. They would reverberate through you in a way they would not with Ann or me. They would feel alive and real and devastating to you because they would echo your own memories. I don’t think you’re ready for something that could possibly be very intense.”

  Charlotte considered him and his words for a long moment. “Maybe it would help me to put my own memories in perspective. You know, try to help someone going through the early stages . . . a way to see for myself how far I have come in this journey,” she said thoughtfully. “I feel the stress of wondering if I’ll ever get better because progress is so slow, maybe all I see is how much there is still yet to recover, and I miss seeing how far I have come. It might be good to have that perspective.”

  “I’m not opposed to you helping, Charlotte,” Bryce responded, laying his hand on hers. “The opposite. I think you’ve got something to offer Shannon that no one else could bring to the table. But when and how that happens—there’s virtue in moving slowly. Six months from now, a year from now, there’s firmer ground. The woman made contact—” Bryce looked quickly over at Ann—“Friday night? Late yesterday?” After her confirming nod, he continued, “There’s been no time for Shannon to process what is happening in her life, for cops to begin a debriefing. This is too early, Charlotte. She needs time to get her bearings.”

  “Bryce.” Charlotte reached over and put her other hand over his, offered a small smile. “Ask me tonight about my first days. Those very first days in the hospital before my sister hired John to be my bodyguard. I am remembering what it’s like to figure out how to ‘get your bearings’ when freedom is abruptly there, when you doubted it would ever come—it’s because of that I’m inclined to say yes to meeting Shannon this early.” Charlotte tightened her hand on his. “You’ll have my back. You won’t let this get to be too much for me. And for that I’m very grateful. I can count on it.”

  Charlotte looked over at Ann. “Two casual meetings, maybe three, over a couple of months,” she offered, “if she wants to meet me. But I’d ask that you first give Shannon a copy of the book Gage wrote. The one thing I don’t want to have to do is tell her my story. It’s enough to be willing to say I’m Ruth Bazoni. I’d like to be able to leave it at that.”

  “I can do that.”

  “And I’d need you to show that article to Ellie before then. Talk with her so that she’s aware of the same details I am.”

  “I can do that too,” Ann agreed. It was with Ellie Dance, her closest friend as well as business partner, that Charlotte had shared the most difficult memories of what those years had been like, far more than she had shared with her husband. Ellie had her own dark history, and it was one of the reasons Charlotte and Ellie were so close—it had formed a bond that those who hadn’t been in that place couldn’t share.

  Ann looked at Bryce. She knew how hard he was trying to help his wife get back to full health—body, soul, and spirit. She didn’t want to undercut him. “Are you okay with this, Bryce?”

  “I’m comfortable with opening the door and assessing how it’s going as things progress, if that’s what Charlotte wants to try. How do you propose we do this, and when?”

  “I was thinking a casual meal to introduce Shannon to some people she needs to know, that I would intentionally make it a small gathering of people who know each other so she doesn’t feel like she has to do a lot of interacting if she isn’t ready for that yet. Matthew and Shannon. Paul and myself. You and Charlotte. John and Ellie. Theodore Lincoln, one of the cops on the case, and his date if he’s currently seeing anyone. Rachel and Cole, because I’m hoping Rachel might be able to step into that best-friend role and fill that void if it’s necessary. All safe people, unrelated to her family, ones Shannon can turn to in Chicago when she needs something and not worry about how they’ll react. The evening itself should be casual fun, good food, friends catching up with each other.”

  Bryce considered the suggestion, then nodded. “It’s a good approach. I propose we have that meal here—a cookout on the back patio. Charlotte can show Shannon this studio, and I’ll try to have a couple of conversations with her over the course of the evening. She has to be comfortable with both of us if this is going to play out as you hope.”

  “If she wants to spend some time here as the summer unfolds, I won’t mind the company in the studio,” Charlotte offered. “Security is good, the press won’t be a problem here once that begins to be a factor. What I can offer might simply be a quiet, non-stressful plac
e to read a book, but sometimes that’s enough. Knowing there’s a place where you can disappear for a while can be a lifesaver.”

  Ann looked at their clasped hands. They had a common concern in meeting Shannon, facing the memories it would stir up. It might be just what Charlotte and Bryce could use themselves without even realizing it. Ann raised her gaze to meet theirs, offered a smile. “Thank you, both of you. I’ll give you a call when I’ve spoken with Matthew, keep you updated as I learn more. I’ll see what date might work for them.”

  “Is there anything we can do to help in a practical way to smooth her return to Chicago?” Bryce asked.

  “I’ve already asked John to arrange a secure place for Matthew and Shannon to stay when they reach town. Paul’s going to make arrangements for Shannon and her brother to meet at our home—neutral territory, so to speak. A lot of what unfolds after that is going to depend on what Shannon is able to reveal. I’m hoping we can have this gathering maybe Tuesday or Wednesday evening.”

  Bryce looked at Charlotte, then back at Ann. “Our schedule is free this week,” he confirmed. “We’ll leave it open and wait to hear from you.”

  “What about this one?” Ellie Dance asked, stepping out of the dressing room in an elegant short-sleeve, knee-length blue dress.

  John Key thought his fiancée had never looked more beautiful. “The dress is stunning. If you don’t get it to wear on our honeymoon, I’ll be buying it for you shortly thereafter.”

  “It is lovely, isn’t it?” Ellie spun around to show him the full effect. “You’re going to have to take me to some very fancy places to take advantage of all these items you’re talking me into buying.”

  “I’ll just add days to the length of the honeymoon,” John replied, perfectly content to do just that. It had taken years for Ellie to reach the point she would say yes to marrying him. He didn’t mind their yearlong engagement while she planned the wedding she wanted. It gave him time to have days like this one with her, hanging out together, doing some shopping, letting her enjoy being beautiful and loved. He truly enjoyed romancing his future wife. A long honeymoon would be a nice beginning to their marriage.