Livy glanced at Alex. He seemed as puzzled as she was. She stepped through the doorway into a dimly lit living room.
“Let’s go back to the kitchen, if you don’t mind. I have guests in the bedroom next to this room.”
They followed her to a brightly lit kitchen. A yellow Formica table centered the room. Yellow gingham curtains covered windows that had been frosted over. A whiteboard listed meal times and duties. What kind of house had they come to? She studied this Susan Carpenter who had been the subject of the newspaper articles and the director of Wings of Hope Ministry. Things fell into place, sort of. Livy tilted her head. “Do I know you?”
“I used to be a model; maybe you saw me in a magazine ad. Won’t you please sit at the table? I’ll make us a pot of coffee.”
A spicy scent wafted from a pot on the stove as Livy sat on one side of the table while Alex took the other. She realized they’d been so focused on getting to this house, they hadn’t eaten.
Susan Carpenter poured water in a coffeemaker and turned to them. “I have spaghetti if you’d like a plate.”
Alex’s stomach growled. Susan smiled and opened a bread box, taking out a loaf of French bread. “I guess that’s my answer. Fix you a plate, and then we’ll talk.”
The spaghetti was delicious. Susan sat at the end of the table, nodding when they expressed their thanks. She turned to Alex. “I think I know why Livy is here, but not you.”
Alex paused with a fork of spaghetti halfway to his mouth. “I’m a private investigator, working on a case of a missing girl.”
“I see.”
Livy smeared butter on a piece of the bread. “You seem to know me. Why is that?”
“We’ll get to that later. What brings you here?”
Alex leaned forward. “We met a person driving your car and using your name in Logan Point today. When we checked your name out, we had some questions.”
Susan’s slow easy smile appeared again. “Yes, I’m sure you did. Did you recognize the woman?”
“Not exactly,” Livy said. Pinning this Susan Carpenter down was like grabbing an eel. “I don’t ever remember seeing her before, and she reminded me a little of my cousin, but my cousin is in Mexico. Yet I felt as though I knew her. It was strange. Almost as strange as this conversation we’re having right now.”
The coffeemaker dinged, and Susan stood and poured each of them a cup of coffee, then looked over her shoulder. “Cream or sugar?”
“Black for me,” Alex said.
“Me too.”
Susan set the cups down and reclaimed her position at the head of the table. Livy placed her elbows on the table and tented her fingers. Susan still carried herself gracefully, and Livy could imagine her twenty years and thirty pounds ago. Her complexion, straight hair, and slightly almond eyes hinted at an Asian heritage mixed with the African. Livy couldn’t figure out why she answered every question with another question. “Who was the woman posing as you today?”
Susan stared into the mug she held, gently rubbing her finger on the handle. “Let’s talk about this house first.”
There she went with the diversion again, but Livy had a hunch if she wanted information from her, she’d have to play her game.
Alex cocked his head. “What about this house?”
“Do you know what it is?”
They both shook their heads.
“You googled me, but not what I do.”
“The article I scanned mentioned something about training and jobs for women,” Livy said.
“Once we saw the woman in the park wasn’t you, we didn’t have time,” Alex said. “I wanted to get into the air before dark.”
“So that’s how you got here so quickly.” Then she straightened her shoulders. “Look around this kitchen and tell me what you see.”
Livy bit back the what that almost sprang from her lips. She ran her gaze over the large room that held a recliner and sofa on one end. On the other end, white cabinets lined the wall. She noted the sunny curtains, the clean white floor, and the plaque over the sink. You are my hiding place; you will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance.
“I see a homey place,” Alex said.
“I see a safe place.” Livy tilted her head. “This is a shelter, right?”
Susan’s broad smile lit up her face. “You’re both right. The woman you met in Logan Point today is my assistant here. Last night she stood up against an abusive, drunk husband while I took his family out the back.”
Livy’s shoulders slumped. They had come all this way for nothing. Her earliest school memories were of protecting Robyn from bullies. Her shy cousin had been an easy target because she wouldn’t stand up to them. No way it had been Robyn who stood up to the abusive husband.
“And while my assistant was able to stand against this man, she can’t face her own fears. She’s in a prison not of her own making. Over two years ago, I found her battered and beaten in a rest area on the highway outside of town.” Susan stared at a point on the wall behind Livy.
Livy leaned forward, drawn into the story by Susan’s compelling voice. “What had happened to her?”
Her gaze shifted until it caught Livy’s eyes. “She didn’t know.”
“How could she not?” Alex said.
Susan turned to him. “Lots of reasons. I called the police, and they came and took her to the hospital. She had a concussion, a broken nose, three broken ribs, and she’d been drugged. GHB.”
“The date-rape drug.” The thought of what the woman she’d met in the park earlier had gone through sickened Livy. “Was she . . .”
“No. That was the strange part, and to this day, she hasn’t been able to remember much of what happened that night.”
“Why didn’t she go back to her hometown?”
Susan’s cell phone beeped, and she glanced at it, then slid it back in her pocket. “I need another cup of coffee. How about you two?”
Alex handed her his cup. “Probably won’t sleep, but fill it up.”
Why was Susan telling them this story? What did it have to do with them? She studied her as she handed Alex his coffee, then sat down again. Again Livy was struck by her gracefulness. That coupled with her calm, gentle manner made it easy to see why women trusted her.
“She’s terrified of returning home.”
Alex frowned. “Why?”
“Because she’s afraid people won’t believe her,” Livy said. She’d worked rape cases for a year before joining the homicide division and didn’t know how many times she’d heard women say no one would believe they weren’t at fault.
Susan nodded. “The man who did those terrible things to her is still out there, and she doesn’t know who he is. He could be someone she might see every day . . . or only on Sunday,” Susan said.
“But you’ve encouraged her to go back.” Livy knew that from her tone.
“I don’t think she’ll ever be free until she does.”
“What’s her name?” Alex asked, and Livy held her breath, waiting to see if Susan would answer.
“Robyn Martin. And according to the text, she’ll be here in a couple of hours.”
Robyn shook her head, trying to stay awake as the highway stretched on and on under the full moon. Another hundred miles. Had to stay awake. She checked the clock. Twelve thirty. She’d driven the last two hundred miles on automatic, barely aware of the small towns she passed through. Over and over, her mind replayed the afternoon.
To be so close to Abby . . . Livy . . . and not tell them who she was. What would it hurt if she had? The image of the hawk answered that question. He was out there, waiting to swoop down and capture her again. And if Abby was with her, he would take her daughter as well. No. She couldn’t risk it.
But what if she went back to Logan Point for the sole purpose of catching this . . . this creature. He wasn’t human. No human could have beaten her the way that man did. She flinched, remembering the way his fists had pounded her face, her body. Three broken
ribs, broken nose, battered face. But the physical injuries had healed.
What if Livy figured out who she was? God, please don’t let that happen. Robyn had come to rely on God since the attack. He’d brought her this far, he wouldn’t let her world come crashing down again. But she hadn’t been able to give him her fear. She’d tried. But every time she thought she had, it raised its ugly head, gripping her body in paralyzing weakness. When it hit, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, and she could barely breathe. She heaved a sigh, so tired of living her life under this cloud.
If she could just remember something about the man other than the tattoo. Or even how she’d gotten to the rest area where she escaped from him. Bits and pieces of riding in something that night seemed like a dream when she tried to remember. Whatever type of vehicle he’d carried her away from Logan Point in had been spacious, like a big car or truck, maybe. An eighteen-wheeler blew past her, rocking the little Camry. Why couldn’t she remember?
A loud pop jerked her attention to the road. Seconds later the unmistakable whop-whop of a flat tire was confirmed as the steering wheel pulled to the right. Robyn slammed on the brakes and muscled the car to the side of the road. She flipped the emergency flasher on and rummaged in the glove compartment for a flashlight before she climbed out of the car. Moonlight cast the surrounding area in shadowy figures. Her shoulders slumped as she walked to the front passenger side and stared at the decidedly flat tire.
Headlights from an eighteen-wheeler topped the hill she’d just climbed and slowed. A shiver ran down her back. What if . . . All sorts of images bombarded her mind. Why hadn’t she found a motel and waited until daylight to travel? Her blood pulsed in her head as the truck pulled onto the shoulder and the driver hopped out. Seconds later the gravel crunched as someone walked toward her and then rounded the end of the trailer.
“Having trouble, ma’am?” The man lumbered toward her.
His voice sounded kind. “Flat tire.”
“Do you know if you have a spare?”
Please let there be a spare. “It’s not my car.” She hated the way her voice broke. Now he’d know she was afraid of him.
“My name is Walter Cronkite.” He stuck his hand out, but she could only stare at him.
Walter Cronkite was a newscaster and dead. Tears scalded her eyelids. Of course it wasn’t that Walter Cronkite. How could she be so silly?
“No need to tell me yours. I only told you mine because you look scared to death. I usually get a laugh out of it since I don’t look anything like that newsman and he’s passed on.”
She offered him a quivery smile. “Thanks. It is kind of scary being on the road alone at night.”
“Yes ma’am, it is. Now, let’s see if we can find that tire.”
Walter knew his way around Camrys and soon had the tire out. When he bounced it on the ground, he groaned.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s flat, ma’am. Let me jack up the front of your car, and we’ll take the flat tire and donut here to a plaza about three miles up the road and get them fixed.”
She stared at him. Get into the truck with him? Yeah. Unless she wanted to stay here on the road until he returned. Not hardly. “Let me get my purse.” She needed to text Susan and let her know what happened and that she’d be later than she’d told her earlier.
Once in the big rig, Robyn tried to relax. The man had been nothing but kind. He pulled the truck out onto the highway and shifted gears until it was rolling down the road. “Thank you,” she said.
“Just doing what I hope someone would do for my wife in the same situation.”
“Your wife is a lucky woman.”
He shot a look her way. “Wish you’d tell her that.”
“I’m sure she knows it.” She settled into the seat. Unease crept into her chest. The cab of the truck seemed familiar. And it shouldn’t—she’d never ridden in a semi before. She gripped the handrail. She’d done that before. But when? Robyn tried to get enough saliva to lick her lips, but her mouth was dry. A memory flashed in her mind. Country music. Trying to move. Hurting. A bed. She squeezed her eyes shut.
“We’re almost there.”
His voice cut into the memories. She was here. Safe. But once . . .
“Is this a sleeper cab?”
“What?” Walter turned to stare at her.
She realized how that must sound and threw up her hand. “I mean, I . . . I’ve never seen the inside of a semi. I just wondered how hard it was to sleep in your truck.” She wasn’t making sense, but now that the thought had grabbed her, she had to know.
“Oh. Nah, it’s not bad. While I’m getting your tires fixed, look around.”
He pulled the rig into the plaza and parked on the side. After he closed the door, Robyn touched the curtain that separated the cab from the sleeper. She jerked her hand back. Did she really want to go there in her mind? She breathed evenly, willing her body to relax. She had to know. She climbed out of the seat and through the curtain and then sat on the bed with her eyes closed and waited.
Her hand flew up, shielding her face. She shrank back from the edge of the bed into the corner. She flinched as another blow hit her shoulder. Her eyes flew open and she blinked, banishing the memories. She ran her hand over the edge of the bed. Memories surfaced again. They had stopped at a rest stop on the interstate, and she had pretended sleep. But when he got out of the truck, she’d watched him go to the restroom. That was when she escaped. She’d half stumbled, half run to the women’s restroom and smack into the arms of Susan Carpenter.
With shaky legs, Robyn climbed out of the cab of the truck. She breathed the cold February air, not even wincing at the pain it caused her windpipe. She was alive. And she had another piece to the puzzle of that night. If she could only remember his face. But had she even seen it?
10
Robyn paid the service attendant and thanked him for bringing her back to her car and mounting her tire. She’d been so grateful he’d offered. Walter had been so nice, but she hadn’t believed she could get back into the eighteen-wheeler again. She checked her watch, then texted Susan she’d be home in ninety minutes. She looked forward to returning to her everyday routine.
Four cups of coffee should keep her awake until she rolled into Bristol at three. While she’d waited for the attendant to repair the tire, she’d journaled everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Seeing Abby, Livy, having the courage to make the trip—most of her life she had been afraid to do anything alone, something she’d never understood. No one in her family was like her. Her mother was the strongest person she knew, and her sister Bailey served as a missionary in Mexico. That took courage. And her dad had served on merchant ships until his two daughters were teenagers. So what happened with her? She’d always been afraid to try anything new, scared even to ride horses, always a follower and never a leader. But that was slowly changing. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
When she held on to that verse, she stretched beyond herself. Trouble was, she didn’t always hold on to it. But tonight she had, and now she knew a little more about that horrible night that changed her life. She couldn’t wait to get back to the shelter and tell Susan.
A little over an hour and a half later, Robyn pulled into the drive at Hope House. A blue car she didn’t recognize sat in front of the house. Probably not a woman hiding from an abusive husband, but Susan hadn’t mentioned having company. She pulled all the way behind the house where a light shone through the kitchen window. Surely Susan hadn’t waited up. No. Just left a light on, that was all. Robyn unlocked the door and eased into the kitchen. Someone was wrapped up on the sofa, and another person slept in the recliner. Had there been such an influx of clients that there was nowhere for them to sleep? Footsteps padded down the hall from Susan’s bedroom, and she came through the door.
“I thought I heard a car,” she said. Whoever was on the couch stirred.
“What’s going on?” Robyn whi
spered.
“Your friends are here.”
Robyn backed against the door as Livy pulled the blanket away from her face.
“Robyn! You’re back.”
She swayed as the room moved. A band squeezed her chest, making her unable to breathe. Livy? Here? “How . . .” Her knees buckled.
“Catch her! She’s fainting.”
Hands grabbed her, and she felt herself being lifted in strong arms and placed on the couch. Susan placed a wet cloth on her head. “It’s going to be all right, baby. It’s going to be fine.”
Robyn struggled to sit up. “I’m okay.” She turned, searching for Livy. “How did you get here before I did?”
Livy squeezed her hand. “Alex over there flew us in his airplane.”
She glanced toward the recliner. Alex? Oh yeah, the good-looking guy with Livy and Abby. She took a shuddering breath. They hadn’t come all this way just to say hello. “How did you find me?”
“I ran your license plate and then looked Susan Carpenter up on the internet. When we found her”—Livy glanced toward Susan and smiled—“it was obvious you’d given us a fake name.”
Robyn should have known Livy would do something like that. She glanced up to find her cousin scrutinizing her.
“You’ve changed so much,” Livy said.
“And you’ve dyed your hair again. I think I like it strawberry blonde.”
Her cousin shrugged, then she picked up Robyn’s hand. “It’s still there.”
“What’s there?”
“The blue mark where you stabbed the pencil into your hand and the lead broke off. See.” She pointed to a small blue dot at the base of Robyn’s thumb. “Why didn’t you contact me?”
“I . . . I couldn’t. First, I was too ill, but later, if I thought about it, I had a panic attack.” She glanced up at Susan. “Did you tell them what happened?”
Susan nodded. “I thought it’d be easier if they knew before you returned.”
“Thank you. I think tonight I discovered how I got to the rest area. Earlier, I had a flat tire and a long-haul trucker stopped to help me.” She smiled at Susan. “Your spare was flat as well, and he drove me in his truck to the nearest service station. During the ride I almost freaked out because inside the truck seemed so familiar. While the trucker saw to my tires, I explored the sleeper part of the cab. I’m almost certain my abductor kept me prisoner in a sleeper cab.”
Gone without a Trace Page 10
