“Christ,” Sean muttered, slowing his approach to the police station. He could see it up ahead, an American flag flying on a pole out front.
“If I were you,” Solomon advised, “I’d get a hold of your lawyer friend before walking into a police station. I’ve tried to get Ellie to seek counsel, too, but she says innocent people shouldn’t need lawyers.”
Sean swore. In his opinion, Ellie couldn’t afford not to have an attorney right now. The urge to rush to her side was overpowering, but if the police honestly thought he had anything to do with her boys’ abduction, he’d be far better off armed with legal counsel. “You’re right,” he decided, executing a swift U-turn at the next intersection. “I’ll call Reno Silverman. And I’ll pay for him to represent Ellie, too.”
“Thank you,” Solomon bit out with irony.
Sean heaved a sigh and hung up. His timing sucked. Taking off with Tiffany Hughes might yet prove to be the worst mistake he’d ever made.
Ellie wanted to die. Since Thursday night, she’d kept nothing down. She was exhausted. All she wanted to do was jump into a car and go looking for her missing boys, but the police had brought her back to this room with the two-way mirror in order to ask her the same damn questions they had asked her yesterday and the day before. Why couldn’t they remember her answers?
At first, they’d seemed helpful. On the night her boys were taken, as she’d lain in the hospital being treated for shock and multiple abrasions, they had put out a preliminary BOLO for a Chevy Impala. They’d dispatched an officer to her house to pick up photos of her boys and had disseminated the photos to the media. At midnight, the hospital had released her to Solomon McGuire, who’d been summoned to take her home. He’d brought her to his new house instead, a refurbished rambler overlooking the Lynnhaven Inlet.
There she’d spent the interminable hours till dawn staring into the dark, her heart frozen in disbelief. Every wail of Solomon’s infant daughter had torn at her heartstrings as she wondered if she would ever hear her children cry again.
The next day, the police had picked her up. They’d driven her to her home and talked her into signing a Consent to Search document. In addition to providing the DNA samples they needed, police thought they might find something she couldn’t recall because of her trauma.
She’d watched in disbelief as they’d overturned every box of toys, every drawer and mattress, in total disregard for her feelings. “Why are you doing this?” she’d cried. They’d assured her they were looking for clues, something to explain why her boys had been snatched from her.
Only, they hadn’t found any.
They’d driven her back to the station, where they’d proceeded to question her more thoroughly. Where was she from? What had brought her from Mississippi to Virginia?
Ellie had answered with utter candidness, praying that her replies would point to whoever had kidnapped her boys. But with no sleep the night before, her recollections grew less distinct. Like an impressionist painting, the details of the abduction seemed undefined when analyzed in isolation.
The heavyset officer, whose chair creaked under his weight, had asked several times, “Why would anyone want to steal an eighty-four Chevy Impala?”
She’d had no answer for him.
“Why didn’t they take your purse?” he’d asked again and again.
“I don’t know. They threw it at me.” She’d pawed through it after her car disappeared, looking for her cell phone; only it wasn’t in there. She’d left it on the car seat.
“Why didn’t you put it back in your purse?” he’d asked.
“I told you,” she’d replied, rubbing her burning eyes. “I used it to call my professor, to ask him to wait for me because I was running late. Caleb was in the backseat, causing a stir. I had to come to a sudden halt. I must have just put it down.”
“Sounds like you were pretty stressed,” Sergeant Peyton had observed.
Ellie, who was beyond exhausted and could see no point in being questioned any further, had laughed hysterically. Her? Stressed?
She’d laughed until she’d cried, and then, finally, with the sun setting on the second day, they’d released her to Solomon and Jordan, who’d brought her, too dejected to speak, back to their home.
The police, despite Solomon’s protests, had picked her up again this morning, escorting her to the same horrible room with its two-way mirror. It was then that Ellie suffered the bone-chilling suspicion that she’d become a suspect in the abduction of her own sons.
As Sergeant Peyton rubbed the prickles on his jowly jaw, the signet ring on his right hand gave a wink. “Tell me about your ex-husband,” he exhorted.
She was relieved that his focus was, for the moment, on Carl and not on her. But the idea of Carl kidnapping her boys was ludicrous. She’d already explained how Carl had made no fuss whatsoever over her bid for custody, how he’d washed his hands of his obligations. “I really don’t think he took them,” she insisted dully.
Peyton shook his head. “Well,” he said, skewering her with a sharp look, “tell me more about your landlord, then. He’s sure been lying low.”
With an enigmatic scowl, Solomon had explained that Sean had taken leave. The police were hoping to question him; only he wasn’t answering his calls.
“He’s been overseas,” said Ellie, squashing her resentment that Sean had yet to come to her defense. “He needed time off.” What was she to him, anyway, but another tenant?
“According to your neighbor, Belinda Cartright, he’s more than just your landlord,” Peyton offered with a suggestive lift of his eyebrows.
Ellie choked on her protest. “I don’t know where she got that notion,” she retorted, her face growing hot.
He shrugged, looking down at the notepad in front of him. “Says right here his truck was parked at your house last Sunday, ’long about midnight.”
Ellie stared at him in disbelief. “He came by to fix the lights. Our electricity went out.”
“At midnight?” drawled the officer with disbelief.
“He’s in the military. He had to cover the watch that night. He couldn’t come any earlier,” Ellie insisted. “He’s just my landlord. It could never be more than that.”
Peyton’s eyes sharpened. “And why is that?”
Too late. With a feeling that she had just stepped into a hornet’s nest, Ellie tried to explain. “Sean Harlan’s a Navy SEAL. He’s not the kind of man who settles down and has a family. Besides, I don’t need or want a man in my life.”
Peyton sent her a patronizing smile. She could tell he didn’t believe her. “With three boys, I imagine it’s tough to have any kind of social life. I know how it is. I’ve got two of my own, you know.”
The design on his ring was that of a dragon or a griffin, a hideous creature just like him. Repulsed by his demeanor, Ellie hugged herself to quell the shuddering that wouldn’t stop. “You should count yourself lucky,” she told him, bristling.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’d like to strangle ’em both sometimes.”
His cell phone vibrated, a loud humming that startled Ellie. Noting her shot nerves, Peyton kept his eyes on her as he took the call.
The fear that she was no longer in this room to be helped coalesced into a knot of anxiety. Peyton’s thick lips took on a cynical twist as he listened to his caller.
“That was my partner,” he relayed as the call ended. “Professor Sloan says he didn’t hear any children in the background when you called the other night. Wonder why that is? Why wouldn’t he have heard your kids in the background, Ms. Stuart? You said that they were acting up.”
Ellie gripped the arms of her chair, outraged. “You think that I did something to my boys?” she demanded, willing herself not to shriek, not to lunge at him and tear his eyes out.
“Now, calm down, Ms. Stuart. It’s my job to consider everything. You did just say you and Mr. Harlan could never be more than friends. What would change that?” he wondered out loud.
Ellie coul
d only stare at him, aghast, her mouth hanging open.
“Maybe he’d want you more if you weren’t strapped with three mouths to feed,” Peyton suggested helpfully.
A red haze filmed over Ellie’s vision. She clung tighter to the arms of the chair to keep from flying at him. “I love my sons!” she choked out, tears gushing from her eyes. “No man in the world could ever come between me and my boys! Don’t you ever tell me that I did something to my children. They’re my life. My whole life, goddamn you!” By the end of her tirade, she was standing, quaking from head to toe as she loomed over Peyton like an Amazon queen.
A brisk knock at the door curtailed her outburst.
Peyton shot her what was meant to be a reassuring look as he rose to answer the summons. “Yes, what is it?”
Ellie dragged air into her tight lungs. The police actually believed she could have done something horrible to her very own children! She’d heard of mothers like that—women who’d drowned their children in the bathtub or locked them in their car seats and drove them into a lake. How dare he lump her into that category? Her knees threatened to buckle, but she locked them and forced herself to remain standing. She had to find a way out of here. Whatever it took, she would find her boys and prove him wrong!
“Sir, Miss Stuart’s lawyer is here. He wants a word with you.”
Peyton shot her a look of surprise. “You have a lawyer?”
Befuddled, Ellie could only stare in confusion as a slim gentleman with a pleasant and professional demeanor stepped into the room. “Reno Silverman,” he announced himself, handing Peyton his business card. He rounded the table and placed a reassuring grip on Ellie’s elbow. “Is my client under arrest?” he inquired mildly. “Or is she merely being detained for questioning?”
Peyton hooked a fleshy thumb over his belt. “We were just making progress,” he replied, his mouth pursed with disappointment.
“Then she hasn’t been arrested,” Silverman deduced. “We’ll be in touch,” he added, drawing Ellie toward the door. “I’m sure she could use some time to herself.”
Ellie went with Silverman, amazed that she’d been offered a way out without having to resort to violence. The lawyer opened the door for her and hustled her out. “I can just leave?” she asked, her legs quaking unreliably.
He drew her down a bright hallway, where the sunlight outside told her that it was close to noon. “I’m sure they didn’t tell you that,” he answered grimly as he opened one of the double glass doors.
The flawless blue sky filled with winging seagulls struck Ellie as incongruous. How could the sun even shine with her boys stolen and gone? None of it seemed real.
Suddenly, individuals toting cameras and microphones thundered toward them, firing questions at her. “Have you heard any news about your children, Miss Stuart?” they asked, thrusting microphones into her face.
“No comment,” the lawyer replied for her, drawing her past the reporters and across the parking lot to a well-used silver Chevy Tahoe. As he opened the door, Ellie hesitated, asking, “Why did you do that? I mean, why are you helping me?”
“This isn’t the place to have an attorney–client conversation, Ms. Stuart, trust me,” he said with a glance at the reporters. “Please, get in and I’ll explain once we’re on our way.”
Ellie didn’t move. “I can’t afford a lawyer, Mr. Silverman. I mean, I will pay you, but I’ll have to make installments over time—” She grabbed the open door as the ground whirled beneath her feet. “I just want my boys back!” she cried.
“I promise to help you find your sons, Ms. Stuart,” he said, trundling her into his SUV. “Don’t worry about the money. Your bill’s already been paid.” Closing the door on her stunned confusion, he rounded the vehicle and slipped behind the wheel.
“Are you a court-appointed lawyer?” she asked as he started the Tahoe. “Are they going to arrest me?”
“No and not yet,” he replied, backing up. “Let’s get you safely to Sean’s house and then we’ll talk.”
“Sean,” she repeated, realizing with mixed feelings that it was Sean who’d sent Mr. Silverman to rescue her. What had taken him so long? she wondered, tamping down her resentment, which was coupled with gratitude that he’d sent his own lawyer to save her.
Where had he been these last few days that not even Solomon could get hold of him?
Chapter Four
Even in her misery, Ellie was ashamed of her appearance as Sean helped her out of Mr. Silverman’s SUV. She’d never wanted him to see her this way, battered and skinned, her hair unkempt and tumbling loose. Mostly she didn’t want him seeing the desolation and despair on her face that revealed the depth of her vulnerability. Life had taught Ellie that it didn’t pay to appear weak or less than able.
“Jesus, Ellie,” he rasped, putting an arm around her as he escorted her to his front door. The comfort of his touch and his familiar citrus scent brought tears to her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized quietly. “I ignore my phone whenever I take leave,” he explained. Hearing the self-blame in his voice, it was easier to accept his help, to lean into his strength.
Every ache and pain that came from striking the pavement seemed to ease now that he was with her. Only the ever-constant ache in her chest remained.
“Reno”—Sean caught his lawyer’s eye—“thanks, man. Come on in so we can talk.”
As he drew Ellie up the two steps to his driftwood-gray contemporary, his gaze dropped to the raw, healing skin on her forearms and hands. His eyes flashed and his mouth firmed. Once within his foyer, he turned her to face him, examining her wounds and realizing her knees were in worse shape. His ears turned a dull shade of red. “Fucking bastards.”
“I wouldn’t let go of the car,” Ellie explained. “They were going pretty fast before I fell off.”
Sensing his horror, Ellie relived the awful moment when the door handle had slipped from her grasp and she had flown to the ground, tumbling and skidding to a bone-jarring stop. Self-pity strangled her abruptly, and her composure fled.
With a muttered curse, Sean gathered her to him and gently rocked her. With a whimper of relief, she wallowed in his comfort, welcomed the sense of finally being completely sheltered.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Ellie, I’m so sorry.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, but she immediately blinked them back. She couldn’t waste time crying, not when her boys needed her to find them. “It’s not your fault,” she choked, withdrawing reluctantly. “I just want my boys back.”
Sean glanced helplessly at Reno. “Come on in the living room,” he invited them both.
Sean’s living space was all hardwood floors and immense, comfortable couches set before a widescreen TV. “You want a drink?” he offered them both. “Iced tea? Beer?”
“I’ll have an iced tea,” said Mr. Silverman, making himself at home on one end of Sean’s couch.
“Ellie?”
“Water, please.” She sat on the edge of the overstuffed armchair, unwilling to get too comfortable.
Bringing the lawyer his tea and Ellie her water, Sean hovered protectively. “Are you cold?” he asked Ellie, who sat there hugging herself.
“No,” she said. She just couldn’t get herself to stop trembling. “The police think I killed my boys,” she blurted, unable to help her accusing tone as she added, “You shouldn’t have come over so late the other night. Now Belinda thinks we’re lovers, and the cops think I killed my boys so I could be with you.” Again her eyes filled with hot tears. She willed them dry.
The stupefied look on Sean’s face dispelled her misplaced anger. How could he ever have guessed what would happen to her boys? He’d been looking after her in his spare time, just doing what landlords did when tenants called with problems; that was all. “It’s not your fault,” she added again with a miserable shake of her head.
“Tell me what happened,” Sean exhorted, his expression the grimmest she’d ever seen it.
As he stood there, growi
ng increasingly rigid, she recounted the episode as she had a hundred times now, including every detail she could think of, trembling all over again as she relived her shock.
“Did the police make composite sketches of these men?” Mr. Silverman inquired.
“Yes,” said Ellie. The energy it had taken to describe the kidnappers’ features had left her exhausted. “One of the sketches looks just like the guy. The other one not so much.”
“Who are these guys?” Sean wondered out loud.
“I don’t know,” said Ellie wearily. She wanted to crawl into a hole and die; only she imagined she could still hear her children calling for her.
“I mean, they obviously planned this in order to pull it off,” Sean mused, pacing toward the kitchen and back again. “It’s not like some random kidnapping. And you haven’t had any calls for ransom money, have you?”
“My cell phone’s gone,” Ellie replied. “I left it in the car.” She had to talk through clenched teeth to keep them from chattering. “And I don’t have a home phone.”
Sean drew up short, shooting her a thoughtful look. “What about your ex-husband?” he inquired. Seeing her shiver, he fetched a burgundy throw from the end of the couch and draped it over her shoulders.
“Carl never wanted the boys,” Ellie retorted. The warmth of the blanket helped to quell her shudders, but the feeling that her world had ended had her wilting into the chair cushions, curling her knees to her chest.
With his heart in his throat, Sean watched Ellie quietly fold. It amazed him that she’d kept it together this long. Shooting Reno a silent message to stay put, he bent over and scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her feeble protests.
“You need to sleep, Ellie,” he told her, knowing for a fact that she hadn’t slept a wink, not with her boys’ lives in danger. Again ignoring her protest, he carried her up the steps, past his utilitarian guest room to the master suite, where his California king sprawled under a black and gold brocade comforter. His matching curtains were designed to blot out the sunlight, even at high noon.
Too Far Gone Page 5
