Hope smiled, but it was the sort of smile that made her look small, frail and alone. She nodded, placed her hand atop his and squeezed it, then stood and turned away from him to switch off the light. He heard her nestle into the chair again but as exhausted as he felt he couldn’t get his mind to stop churning. It was a bitter irony that Hope was the only person who knew and understood him for who he was. She loved him without question, and yet he still never managed to measure up to the man he believed he should be for her.
Officer Robert Guillory was an imposing man, tall of stature and with a wide chest and broad shoulders. He didn’t scare easily, he didn’t back down, and he didn’t take crap off anyone. He also could sniff out a worthless piece of shit from a mile away. Harold Taggert fit the bill.
The man was here in his office again. That wasn’t unusual in and of itself. His baby granddaughter had been taken from his own home. The kidnapper had walked in the back door, wrapped the baby up in her own bed covers, and gone right out through the same door.
But that wasn’t what seemed to have Harold Taggert fit to be tied. It was that Hope Sheffield had sullied his name. During the first interview the morning the child showed up missing, the man raged on and on about how he was not a molester. The grief that should have been within his brown eyes was missing.
Officially, the investigation into the kidnapping was over. Sheffield and the child were gone, lost to the sea. The bodies weren’t recovered, but the late season tropical storm hadn’t left much of the boat to find either. Clearly they couldn’t have survived. Surely.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Taggert?” Guillory asked, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands against his stomach.
“When am I going to get some answers?”
Officer Guillory sighed and said nothing for a moment.
“I’ve given you all the answers I have. See my desk. The file with your granddaughter’s name isn’t here. The case is closed, Mr. Taggart. I’m sorry because I know this is difficult for you, but Ms. Sheffield and the baby are dead.” Bullshit, Guillory’s mind insisted.
“I want the file. I know you’ve investigated that woman, and I want to know everything about her. I want you to tell the media what you know so that my name will be cleared.”
Guillory had a look he liked to use. His first wife had called it the “cold, dead look.” When they were still happy, he used to joke with her about the meaning of those words. Does that mean I look like I’m dead? She said it meant his eyes were so cold, a person felt like they would rather be dead than to have him glaring at them.
When the “happy” went away, she revised that definition. It means I wish you were dead, you cold bastard.
The “cold, dead look” had an impact on Harold Taggert now. He softened his angry expression and replaced it with one of pain.
“Officer, isn’t it enough that she’s killed my granddaughter? Will you allow her to kill my reputation as well?”
He didn’t feel much sympathy. The man ran a cheap liquor store on the edge of town. Guillory didn’t think he needed much reputation for that profession.
“Mr. Taggert, I’m sorry for your loss. I wish there was more I could do, but I can’t. Have you contacted victims’ services yet?”
Taggert opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, clicking his teeth together. Guillory could see that he was raging with barely contained fury and he was again reminded of the accusations he’d read in Justine Taggert’s testimony. As he watched the man walk away, he raised a hand to rub the cleft in his chin.
After a few moments, he reached into his drawer for the file with Michelle Taggert’s name on it. He hadn’t exactly lied to Taggert. The case was officially closed, the original file off in storage. It was the file in Guillory’s mind that wasn’t closed. It was the two photographs in the file that had started the spark of question in his mind.
One of the first things investigators need when there’s a kidnapping is a photograph of the victim. He remembered Taggert’s confused expression, his deer in the headlights look when he turned to his wife. Mrs. Taggert finally found a single picture of the baby. A photo of Michelle Taggert when she was just an infant.
But when they searched Sheffield’s apartment, they’d found numerous photographs. Pictures of the baby, the baby and her mother Justine, and even ones of the baby, Sheffield and her mother.
The absence of the appearance of love in the Taggert home was a stark contrast to the Sheffield home. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been missed. His gut told him the conclusion to this matter couldn’t be as simple as a sunken boat.
Hope Sheffield was still alive.
He was getting old. He was getting close to retirement. Why the hell did he care about this case if his department didn’t?
It was simple. His gut just wouldn’t let it go.
Mark's head snapped up sharply when someone kicked him under the table. He looked around in confusion, and one of his co-workers raised his brows to get his attention.
“The vote,” Pat Logan mouthed.
Mark sat up straight, not even remembering what this meeting was about, and shook his head in apology.
“Excuse me.” He got up and left the room, retreating to his office, waving his secretary away and locking the door. Running his fingers through his black hair, Mark moved to the window and watched as a great mass of dark storm clouds gathered in the sky.
It had been nearly a month since Hope had left; three weeks since Brennan had gone to find her. Were they safe, he wondered. He got little to no sleep each night as his thoughts wandered in an endless circle of speculation.
Guilt throbbed in his throat, an ever present reminder that he had let her down. Always, always she came to him when she needed help, support, and the time she was most in need of him, he could not help her. He should have worked harder to find another solution to her problem.
“Let me in, Terrance.” The loud, insistent voice came from the other side of his door.
With a resigned sigh, he opened his office and Patrick Logan entered.
“What's wrong with you, man?” he asked as he seated himself across from Mark's desk.
“The meeting over?”
“Yes, and we managed to get the vote for our budget proposal, no thanks to you.”
“The budget—” he said in realization, “I—”
“You didn't even know what was going on! What in the world is wrong with you?”
“I just have a lot on my mind.”
“What? Cindy? The kids?”
Mark shook his head, but things weren't good in that area either. Cindy had been brokenhearted by Hope's “death”, but she could not seem to understand the strain the situation had put on him. Last night, she had even asked if he and Hope had been lovers.
“Don't worry, Pat. I'm fine.” He moved to his desk where he began to shuffle through papers. “Where the hell is that proposal?”
Patrick dangled a folder out to him, a smirk on his face. “You left it in the conference room.” He grinned as Mark snatched the papers from him.
“Thanks.”
“Why don't you take a vacation?”
Good idea he thought to himself, then I'll have every minute of every day to drive myself crazy! “I don't need a vacation.”
“You need something.”
I need Hope to contact me. “I need you to leave me alone.”
Patrick was silent for many moments, then he stood and sighed loudly. “Fine, but you know where to find me.”
Mark nodded, not even looking in his friend's direction, just staring blankly at the papers before him.
Maybe I need a drink, he thought in passing.
She had been crying. He could tell that the moment he saw her walk in the door. She had even knocked before coming in, something she never did now that they were close friends. No, normally she would simply walk through the door and smile that electric smile of hers, then begin talking. She wasn’t talking now, she was just staring
.
“Hope, what’s happened?” he asked, standing from his desk and approaching her.
Just as he was about to embrace her, he realized that the door to the office was closed. He hesitated. She would never have closed them inside before. It would cause too much talk. Everyone knew what close friends they were; it would only take one incident for people to jump to the conclusion that they were having an affair. Because such thoughts were ever present in their minds, they were always careful.
One look into her liquid eyes made him forget his concerns and take her in his arms anyway. She instantly fell apart, sobbing as he had never heard her sob. He rocked her, rubbing her back, whispering words of comfort and waiting for her to calm enough to tell him what was wrong.
“They took him away!” she wailed finally, shaking her head as if she didn’t want to believe it. “Thomas’s father came for him and they just took him away. He was crying, Mark. He wanted me- his mama- and still they took him away—”
“Oh, darlin’.” he sighed, hugging her tighter. “You knew he probably wouldn’t be with you for long. You knew better than to expect that he would always be yours. God, I’m sorry. I never wanted you to be hurt like this.”
“How could they take him?” she asked, looking up at him with dark, wet eyes. “No one could have loved him more than I did.”
Then time stood still. They had never been this close, at least not when their emotions were so raw. Hope’s breath caught in her throat, and Mark closed his eyes, struggling for control. He couldn’t help it. He bent down to touch his lips to hers.
It was the first time they had allowed their attraction for each other to take control. It was like releasing a dam, but the kiss went no further. They pulled apart, and they both knew it would be the last time they allowed something like this to happen. They both had too much to lose by such foolishness.
Mark smiled slightly, stepping back to put some distance between them. Hope cleared her throat, then wiped at the fresh tears on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Mark. This is all my fault— please— I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be crazy, Hope. You know as well as I do that this was bound to happen eventually. Now that it has, we just have to be sure that it never happens again.”
She nodded.
They talked at length about the event, dissecting each moment, each nuance. It was an easy conversation, and in the end they were both relieved to have been given the chance to free their feelings. They were the best of friends. No one would ever take that from them— especially each other.
Mark recognized Facebook for what it was: an addiction waiting to happen. He forced limits on himself by only logging in for an hour each evening. It was a fight not to check it during his lunch break, but so far he had found the will power when the yearning took him. His classmates were busy these days, sharing photos and posts from their high school years. He figured it wasn’t surprising given their upcoming twenty-fifth reunion.
“Ugh—” he muttered, scrolling to get past a series of political diatribes.
A photo of an orange peel cut into a lewd image of an obviously male figure had him guffawing a moment. He wiped an eye with the heel of his hand. When he glanced back at the screen, he saw a notification of a message.
Clicking the folder he saw that the message was in his Other folder, so he figured it was just spam. He started to look back at his newsfeed, but something brought him back to that folder again.
The message was addressed from a person by the name of Maxine Edendale:
Dear Mark,
We're fine. I won't tell you where we are now, just in case, but I know you must have been worrying yourself sick about us so I had to write. Also, I think it is time you told my parents. Please express to them the importance of being discreet. I've come too far to lose it all now.
My friend is here with me.
It was from Hope, and he knew “her friend” meant Brennan. Nervousness coiled in his stomach, and he looked over his shoulder even though he knew he was all alone in the room.
We have been moving as much as possible, staying in moderate hotels (I am trying to save as much of the money we have as possible) but soon we’ll have to find a permanent place.
My friend has been a lifesaver. I don't believe I could have made it this far without him. I suppose I needed more help then I once thought.
Now I know exactly what you are thinking now, but it is not true. You have helped me. I know you, and that you probably feel guilty because you think you didn't do enough, but I couldn’t dream of a better friend than you. Just stay safe, and know that I am always thinking of you and Cindy and the kids. I love you all more than you know.
Forever yours,
Hope
“I love you, too, Hope. Forever,” he whispered to himself.
When he clicked on the name Maxine Edendale, he found that the account no longer existed. He wasn’t surprised, but he found his heart sank all the same.
He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his head a moment, before hitting the delete key to erase the message.
When Hope returned to the car, she found Brennan curled up in the back seat with Michelle wrapped securely in his arms, both of them sound asleep. She set the groceries down, then knelt in her seat and watched them.
Somehow, despite the desperation of their crazy mess, this seemed natural. She liked being close to Bren again. He made her laugh at herself when she became too serious. Their rekindled rapport reminded her why she’d missed their friendship so much.
Bren hadn’t crossed the boundaries again after her talk with him that night a few weeks ago. That should have resolved any problem about renewing her affection for Brennan, but the idea seemed to be backfiring. The stronger their friendship grew, the greater the risk she would fall in love with him again.
Being careful not to wake him, Hope pulled the baby from his arms and strapped her into the car seat. Michelle flailed her hands a moment, then cuddled herself further into her seat.
Just as she was reaching to grab a soft drink from the bag, the loud wailing of a siren invaded the silence and Hope froze in terror. The police car sped past the grocery store, and Brennan jumped up in his seat.
“God,” she whispered. “I don’t think I’ll ever not feel like I’m going to have a heart attack when I hear a siren.” She clutched her chest in emphasis.
“It's okay.” Brennan took her hand. “He's gone. It wasn't us. Let me drive now. You're a nervous wreck. You can take over again in a couple of hours.”
She moved into the back seat, leaning with her head against the headrest, and her eyes closed while he pulled onto the highway. They remained silent, both trying to absorb some bit of calm. After her breathing evened, she glanced over at the sleeping baby and smiled.
“She’s a little stuffy.” Brennan finally spoke, eying Hope through the rear-view mirror. “Screeched like a banshee when I wiped her nose.”
Hope softly caressed the child's face, loving the smooth perfection of the skin. Perfect and beautiful, but warmer to the touch than it should be. She felt her stomach coil into a tight knot.
“Bren—”
He must have noticed the dread in the tone of her voice because his eyes sought hers again in the mirror and the car drifted just a tad to the right.
“I think she has a fever. She’s hot, Brennan.”
“What do we do? Do we take her to the hospital?”
If she weren’t so worried herself, Hope might have been amused by the panic in his voice. Instead, she swallowed and forced her racing heart to calm down, then shook her head.
“No, let’s just find a pharmacy and then get a room for the night. We shouldn’t have her out in this weather.” She turned her eyes up and looked at the dark clouds churning above them, ready to open up with a downpour at any moment.
A few hours later Hope was bouncing little Michelle in her arms as she paced the hotel room, cooing a lullaby in soft tones with her chin against the tiny blonde head. A wa
rm bath, a seemingly tortuous cleaning of that button nose with a bottle syringe and some acetaminophen to knock down her 100.2 degree fever, and the baby’s cries were now just a mere whimper.
Bren picked at his chips as his eyes followed them back and forth across the carpet. As babies are wont to do, Michelle was fighting sleep, trying to hold her head up even as her red-rimmed eyes drooped.
After a few more minutes, Hope laid the sleeping little one carefully onto the bed and stacked pillows around her, then forced a smile for Brennan.
“Here you go.” He handed her a turkey sandwich and chips.
Now that the baby was resting, Hope felt the tension ooze out of her body and hunger made her stomach growl.
“She okay?”
Hope nodded, chewing.
“Yeah.” She swallowed and continued. “It’s just a cold, I’m sure. Her fever broke pretty quickly so I think she’ll be fine.”
He nodded and stuffed several chips into his mouth. “How do you know so much? You act like you’re a professional mom.”
She snorted. “I’ve had some practice.” She grinned and nodded to her bag on the bed. “I also have a book in there that helps sometimes.”
Silence ensued for a few moments, then Brennan popped the last of his sandwich into his mouth. After swallowing, he turned to her again. “You need to get settled, Hope. She needs some stability.”
She didn’t say anything, just stared at nothing and took another bite of her sandwich.
“Are you listening, Hope? I don’t know anything about babies and kids, but this can’t be the best thing for her.”
She took a long swig of soda, then turned to him. “I realize that, Bren. I realize we need to find a place to stop and try to make a life. I keep thinking I’ll know where. When I get to the place we should be, I’ll know. Nothing feels right yet. No place feels safe. I’m not ready.”
All for Hope Page 4
