by Linda Ladd
“Tokyo?”
“I worked there. For a while.” Mariah quickly changed the subject back to her missing friend. Novak wondered why. There was no telling what she’d been up to in Japan, but he didn’t care enough to ask. “We were good friends for years, all the time we were growing up, really. Sarah, too. But Emma was more my friend than she was Sarah’s. Especially after you started turning my sister against me.”
Novak ignored that. “You’re absolutely positive that it’s her handwriting?”
“Absolutely. Look at it. Look at that capital ‘C’ in Cinder. See that little curlicue on the top loop and then again at the bottom? That little artistic flourish. I’ve never known anybody else to make them that way, not before or since. This came from her. I know it did.”
Mariah’s gaze remained steady on his face, unequivocal and certain. Sarah’s face, right there in front of him. Mariah truly believed the matches came from her childhood friend, no doubt about it. He could still read her that well.
“So what exactly are you telling me? That she was taken somewhere against her will, that story about her family drowning fabricated for some reason, and then she was smuggled into the remote mountains of Georgia halfway across the world? Don’t you think that whole scenario sounds a little unlikely?”
“I don’t know about the smuggling part, but I think somebody took her. Maybe kidnapped all of them. Maybe it was her husband who did it for some reason. He was that way. She told me that he liked to control her.”
“What’s his name?”
“Robin Adamson. And he’s always been absolutely obsessed with Emma. I mean he’s got some kind of crazy, psychotic fixation on her. He swept her off her feet and talked her into marrying him when she was barely out of high school. She was just a kid then, with no life experience whatsoever. Right after her parents died.” She paused, shook her head, and began to sound angry. “Hell, she wasn’t even eighteen yet, I don’t think. He took her under his wing, mentored her career, and kept her completely under his thumb. I mean it, Will. She was like his most prized possession. His little china doll. She couldn’t blink unless he told her she could. Then after their son was born, she wrote and told me that she wanted out. That he abused her and the boy. She had to sneak letters to me using their housekeeper, an old lady who felt sorry for her. The last time Emma wrote, she said she was trying to figure out how to take little Ryan and go into hiding, and get them both away from Robin for good.”
“Maybe she did. Maybe she’s on the lam with the kid. Maybe it was a hoax and everybody fell for it.”
“Maybe. But where’s Robin? And why would she send me a matchbook with a plea for help?”
Novak didn’t know why. He didn’t really care, either. “So you’ve come here to find out.”
“I told you, I’m an investigative reporter. This could turn out to be one hell of a good story. She’s an old friend of mine, too, one who I loved to death all through school and who might be in big trouble. Yes, all that is exactly why I’m here.”
“And you want me to help you, I take it?”
“I’ve just been to America that one other time, remember? To visit you and Sarah, right here in this house. I don’t know my way around the U.S. I don’t know some of the lingo or the motor laws or the customs up there in the state of Georgia. I’d stick out like a sore thumb. Just my accent alone will get me noticed. I don’t want to get noticed, and I don’t want to waste time getting acclimated and figuring out the lay of the land. I want to go find her now, before something awful happens to her.”
It sounded to Novak like something awful had already happened to her. He stared at his manipulative sister-in-law, tried to see through her habitual lies and conniving, but she appeared to be a little different this time. Looked genuinely worried, maybe. But she was good at using people in order to get what she wanted. Any way she could. With no regard for who might get hurt when she walked all over people. He finished off his beer and dropped the bottle into the wastebasket. “I’ll think about it. I’m not promising you anything, Mariah. I probably won’t do it, to be honest.”
Mariah looked pleased at first, but not so much at the last part. “I hate to ask you this, really I do, but could I stay out here tonight? I won’t be any trouble to you, I swear. It’s a long drive back to New Orleans. Only until you decide what you want to do. If you turn me down tomorrow, I’ll get in my car and leave immediately. I promise.”
Novak grimaced. He ought to just say no, right now, and be done with her. The last thing he wanted was for her to hang around and bring back painful memories. He didn’t like being around Mariah. He never had. But he found himself stupidly wanting to gaze into those same green eyes and pretend that she really was Sarah, come back to him. Alive and well. Not smart, that, he told himself. Dumb as hell, in fact, but he couldn’t help himself. It was as if Sarah was sitting right there, across the bar, close enough to reach out and caress a strand of that soft and silky black hair. Looking so eagerly at him, beseeching him to help her. God, how he wanted Mariah to be Sarah.
“All right, stay, if you want. You know where the guest rooms are. I’ve got things to do on the boat. I’ll come back up in the morning and let you know if I’m going to help you. Early. So be up and ready.”
Novak left Mariah sitting on the stool and staring after him, not giving her time to answer or ask him more questions. He exited out the back door, ran down the rear steps, and headed down to the boat. But she had been smiling when he took off, and it had been Sarah’s smile. He had a decision to make, but he was already pretty sure what he was going to do. He was still going to sleep on it, consider every nuance, motive, and disadvantage. Most of all, he was going to examine the disadvantages. The most unsavory of which was that he’d have to spend a lot of time alone with Mariah. He’d have to think long and hard before he accepted that kind of offer.
Chapter Four
Novak was up well before the sun rose the following morning. He had already taken his morning run, five miles along the narrow bayou trails he’d fashioned just for that purpose. He’d run them fast and hard, exerting himself and working out the anger Mariah had brought up inside him. He always enjoyed the extreme quiet that came before the dawn of each new day, the smoky gray time. Soon the first pearly light would creep softly down over the swampland and mist would float like white gauze atop the surface of the bayou, shrouding his feet when he ran along the bank. It was a good time for him to think things through.
Novak had retreated to his boat the previous evening, agitated and restless, tortured with thoughts of his dead family. He had holed up there, belowdecks, determined to put distance between Mariah and him, because he knew good and well that she was nothing but trouble. Without a doubt. Every single time they had ever interacted, she had dragged him down with her. He didn’t owe her a damn thing. She had hurt him with her lies and deceit, and even worse, she had almost broken Sarah’s heart. She had always hurt anybody and everybody who was unfortunate enough to become a part of her life.
After the run, Novak showered, dressed in a black New Orleans Saints T-shirt and faded denim jeans, drank three mugs of coffee, hot and strong and black as mud, and packed enough gear for a week on the road. He also grabbed the small emergency kit that he always carried when he left Bonne Terre: extra mags of ammo, self-charging flashlight, a thick roll of silver duct tape, waterproof matches, credit cards, a utility knife, a lock-pick kit, portable charger and three throwaway phones, and enough energy bars and water and solar blankets to last him three days out in the middle of any kind of wilderness. It had come in handy before and would again. Then he thrust the emergency kit into his black nylon duffel bag, grabbed a black down jacket, refilled his mug, and carried it all up onto the stern deck.
Novak stood there, breathing in the cool fresh air. The sun was not up yet, the sky overcast and dark. It smelled of impending rain, and the atmosphere felt heavy and still, the bayou running steady and brown and mysterious behind him. He finished the c
offee and tossed the dregs into the water and went about battening down and securing the boat for his trip up north to Georgia.
After hours of telling himself not to, Novak had decided to help Mariah. Not for old times’ sake, not for her sake—sure as hell not for her sake—but for that little girl who had lived down the street from them a long time ago. The girl who liked to call herself Goldie. The girl he didn’t remember at all. But a girl, now a woman, that he was pretty sure was in a shitload of trouble.
And then there was the little kid. Mariah was right about one thing—that whole lost-in-a-riptide story smelled rotten. The whole family? All at the same time? Huh-uh. His gut was telling him that Emma Beckenridge Adamson and her kid were most likely up there in the Georgia woods somewhere, all right, probably out in the middle of nowhere where no one would ever think of looking for them. Novak trusted his instincts on this kind of stuff, enough to go with it this time, too. Against his better judgment, maybe, at least where Mariah was concerned, but Novak believed Mariah’s story was legit.
After he’d stowed and locked up everything to his satisfaction, all nice and tight and secure for the storms that were predicted to come off the Gulf during the next couple of weeks, he stood up again and got himself a fourth mug of coffee. The sun was trying to burst through the cloud cover. He gazed up through the field where early-morning ground fog was still crawling around, rising up to about knee level now. He could barely make out the first-floor gallery of the mansion.
Novak wished Mariah hadn’t showed up, wished he didn’t have to look at her face anymore, or hear her voice, or smell her perfume, or be anywhere within a thousand miles of her. She was not Sarah. Not inside or outside or in any other way. Sarah was gone from him forever. He had to remember that. Not let his love for his wife’s face allow him to forget who Mariah really was, how dark she was under all those good looks and mesmerizing green eyes.
And yet he was going to take Sarah’s sister up to Georgia with him and find out the truth about the missing family. Maybe they would find nothing there, maybe it was a wild goose chase, but if there was somebody abusing a little kid and a frightened young woman with beautiful back slanted handwriting, he was going to find them and take them down. Then he would buy Emma and Ryan a couple of tickets back to Australia where they belonged. Mariah, too. Especially Mariah.
“Hey, Mr. Will.”
Startled by the soft voice floating up from the dock below, Novak sank into a quick crouch, his weapon already in his hand. But it was his neighbor sitting down there, half visible in gray shreds of fog, her legs swinging off the edge of his dock. Her name was Adonis Gregory, and she was holding her little white German shepherd puppy named Toby. The dog started yipping and wiggling and wagging his tail and trying to squirm free and run up the gangplank toward Novak.
Novak’s bad mood softened a little. Adonis was not yet twenty, but she’d suffered through some harrowing things in her short life. First, a sick, twisted mother and then other monsters in the night had preyed on her innocence. But now Adonis was safe. Novak had taken her under his wing and made sure she was. To this day, he kept a close eye on her. Nobody was going to bother her again, now or ever, not while he drew breath. The young girl lived just down the road, even closer if walking the path edging the bayou. She was a hell of a lot better now than she had been in a long time. She wasn’t all the way there yet, but good progress had been made. Today was a new first, one that Novak was pleased to see. Never before had she ventured so far off her own property. Not on her own. Not to visit him, or anybody else. So it was a damn good sign. It had taken courage for her to show up at his place.
“I got you a squirrel for supper, Mr. Will. Huntin’ was good this mornin’,” she told him, holding up the carcass for him to admire. She always spoke in that extremely fragile little voice, soft and shy, no matter what she said. There was a time when she was afraid to speak at all. When he had thought she might become completely mute and never say another word.
“So I see.”
Novak jumped down on the dock and squatted beside her. She had her bow and a quiver of arrows strapped on her back and was dressed in muddy sneakers and old denim coveralls worn over a black hoodie. “He’s a big one, Addie. Thanks, kid, but you better keep this one for yourself. I gotta go on a little road trip, okay? You got that phone I gave you, right? Remember, you got to keep it with you all the time so I can find you if you ever get lost. Remember? You can call me anytime you need to, and I’ll come back home. Just press the button I marked in red. And David Knight, that guy who bought the house down the road? He’s retired, so he’s gonna be home if you need somebody quicker than I can get here, okay? Won’t take me long to get back, though.”
Adonis stared up at him out of haunted dark eyes. She was still frail, but she had begun to eat again and venture out of the house more. He could hardly believe that she’d actually shown up at his place. She was sitting there and listening to every word he said, maintaining good eye contact, and all of that was an improvement.
Addie finally nodded. “You know some lady’s up there stayin’ in the big house, Mr. Will? She’s been doin’ a lot of walkin’ around outside in the yard this mornin’ and lookin’ at all your stuff. You know that? That okay with you, Mr. Will?”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about her. That’s just Mariah. She came to see me all the way from Australia.”
“She was sittin’ out on that white bench in front of those angels where you put your family in the ground. She was cryin’ real hard, too, with her face hidden down in her hands, like this.” She buried her face in her palms to show him. “Why’s she cryin’ so hard, Mr. Will? Why’s she so sad? Demons comin’ after her?”
“No, all those demons that hurt you are gone for good. They are never coming back. You know that, don’t you? You believe me, right?”
She nodded and hugged the puppy closer. But she didn’t look completely convinced.
Will glanced up at the house. The fog had lifted some now. He could see the back gallery but the steps were still partially obscured. “She still out there in the garden?”
Adonis shook her head. She had blond braids the color of wheat and they swung all around her shoulders when she talked. Her hair was clean now, not matted and filthy, like it had been when he had found her that one terrible day, beaten and lying helpless on the side of the road. But she still liked to entwine little jingle bells in her braids that sounded like music whenever she moved her head. Not so good when hunting, he suspected, but it didn’t seem to bother her all that much.
“Huh-uh. She done went back in the house and then in a little while, I could smell bacon fryin’ from where I was hidin’ in the bushes. I could smell coffee, too. She’s a cookin’ you up some breakfast, I reckon.”
Will sighed. He sure as hell didn’t want to have breakfast with Mariah. “You wanna come up there with me? Have some bacon and eggs? Meet Mariah?”
Adonis shook her head violently, slinging the braids around some more, the bells jingling like crazy. He had known she wouldn’t. She was still way too skittish around strangers. Novak, Claire Morgan, and Nicholas Black were about the only people she’d talk to. And sometimes their new neighbor, David Knight. “Okay, you don’t have to. Remember, Adonis? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Not ever again. You’re free now. Nobody’s gonna lock you up or try to hurt you anymore.”
Adonis nodded but looked wary as she cast her gaze around the foggy bayou banks, as if she expected the people who’d tortured and harassed her to still be out there, whispering and waiting to hurt her.
“They’re dead or in jail, Adonis. Every single one of them. They’ll never come back. You are free of them now.”
She nodded and then quickly pushed herself up onto her feet. “I’ll be sure and watch your house while you’re gone. I won’t let nobody steal nothin’.”
Novak nodded. “Good idea. I’ll feel better knowing you’re keeping an eye on things.”
The slender young girl smiled, just the barest curve of her mouth, and then she moved away, making no sound whatsoever. He watched her until she disappeared inside the rolling ground fog that still blanketed the tree trunks along the bank, moving as swiftly and silently as a Houma Indian. She had a long way to go to get her life back. But he was there for her. She’d make it, given the time.
Quickly finishing up preparations, he made sure one last time that everything was locked down. He didn’t really expect anybody to nose around the boat. His place was far too remote. People, Mariah excluded, probably couldn’t find it, even if he gave them directions, which he never did. He stuffed the jacket inside the duffel, slung it over his shoulder, and headed up to the house. By the time he crossed the backyard, he could see Mariah. The lights were on inside the house, and she was standing at the kitchen sink, directly in front of the back gallery window. For one mere instant, he let himself remember how Sarah used to stand there, in that exact same spot. Waiting for him to come up from his run along the bayou. After that painful memory had receded, he thrust all thoughts of his wife out of his mind.
Novak climbed up the steps, crossed the wide gallery, and opened the screened door. It gave its familiar squeak, and he let it slam behind him. He hadn’t fixed the screech it made. He liked to know when and if anybody entered the house. Mariah jumped at the noise and swung around to face him. Apparently she was a morning person like her sister had been. She appeared to be all chipper and happy and smiling. He hated chipper, happy, smiling people in the morning. He hated chipper, happy, smiling people all the time. Sarah used to fuss at him about it. Tell him to smile and quit trying to frighten everybody off with his scary morning frown.
“Well, there you are. Good morning. I fixed us breakfast. Bacon, eggs, toast, the whole works. You like your eggs over easy. Bacon crisp. Lots of butter on your toast. See, I remembered.” She took a white ceramic mug off a hook under the cabinet and filled it with coffee while she talked. Just like Sarah used to do. Looked like her, sounded like her, acted like her.
