by Tara Leigh
Millions that hadn't been seized by the Feds because she'd already stashed them in numbered accounts overseas before her husband's arrest. Under the name of Francis Hughes.
As Francis, Nina had been pushing to invest in Jolie’s planned jewelry business with the intention of laundering her dirty money through the company so that she would have access to millions in clean, untainted cash once it was a stable, profitable entity. But now that I'd entered the picture and threatened her status quo, she'd decided to scrap her plan.
Francis Hughes had merely been a scarecrow.
I was furious with myself for not catching Nina's deceit immediately. Between the foreign component to her fraud and being blindsided by fatherhood, I hadn't been playing with a full deck.
What I really needed was a crystal ball. Or a fortune teller. Some way to predict Nina's next move. Because she wasn't going to admit defeat and hand over her cash. Or her daughter. My daughter.
She'd stolen money, and she'd stolen Romy.
Nina Chapman was no better than my father. A liar. A cheat. A criminal.
I wanted to destroy her.
She was also the only mother my daughter had ever known.
Rock, meet hard place.
48
Jolie
My hands were shaking as I FaceTimed Romy.
No answer.
I sucked in a few breaths, trying to quell my spiraling anxiety. Romy was probably having a snack, chatting with Nina about her day.
I opened my wallet, called a few more cards. Tried Romy again.
Again, no answer.
I reviewed my social media sites, scrolling through the pictures Eva had been posting, trying to care about the high level of engagement she’d achieved in such a short time. She really was doing an outstanding job. But I couldn’t summon any enthusiasm. Not until I knew Romy was okay.
I tried again.
No answer. Again.
Something wasn't right. It didn’t have anything to do with Tripp’s lack of transparency or my empty bank accounts.
I'd been fighting the disconcerting sense of unease all day, but I couldn't ignore my intuition anymore.
I pulled up the Find My iPhone app. I'd bought Romy a phone for her birthday last year, so we could talk as often as my crazy work schedule permitted. Nina hadn't been particularly pleased, but she allowed it. And because I’d linked Romy’s account to mine, I could track Romy's location.
Less than a minute later, I knew exactly where Romy was. Or at least, where Nina was taking her.
And it terrified me.
49
Tripp
“We’re not going to lose Romy. I’ll never let that happen.” I spoke the words into the headset allowing Jolie and me to communicate in the helicopter on our way to JFK International Airport.
Jolie had called me frantically an hour ago, saying that she’d pinged Romy’s location and our daughter was just a few miles from the airport. She didn’t need to state the obvious—that Nina was attempting to take Romy overseas, and that if she succeeded, there was a chance we’d never see her again.
I’d only just met my daughter, and no one was going to take her away from me.
My first call was to charter a helicopter, which was the fastest way to get out of New York City.
My second call was to the lawyer I’d hired the day I met Romy, one who specialized in international adoptions. He was working on obtaining an injunction preventing Nina from taking Romy out of the country, and said he’d be on the phone with airport security before the judge’s signature had dried.
But Jolie and I needed to arrive at the airport before Nina realized the trap we’d lain for her. If she got back into her car with Romy, they would be a lot harder to find.
Jolie’s troubled eyes flicked toward me for a brief second before looking back out the window. The agony in her expression was undeniable. Visceral.
I felt it in my bones.
I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to look at me. By allowing me back in her life, she had risked Romy.
And now she may have lost her.
Jolie would never survive it. Would spend a lifetime blaming me for it, rightfully so.
And I would never forgive myself. Ever.
I shot off one more text as we descended, and when the doors opened, we ran, half-bent, toward the waiting shuttle cart. Getting to the Delta Terminal seemed to take forever, but I’d already discovered Nina’s itinerary and booked two seats on the same flight to Barcelona. I knew Spain wasn’t her final destination though. There was only one country within driving distance of Spain that had no extradition treaty with the United States: the tiny principality of Andorra, located in the eastern Pyrenees mountains and bordered by Spain and France.
According to Jolie, Andorra had been Nina’s favorite vacation spot, and she’d traveled there often during her marriage to Chapman, ostensibly to ski, although I had recently learned that she’d taken full advantage of the country’s tax haven status.
No amount of money or celebrity could dispense with security restrictions, but it did get us to the front of the line. The second Jolie and I leapt off the cart, a Delta agent appeared behind an unoccupied desk and waved us forward. I shoved the ticket confirmation along with our passports across the counter. Hopefully we wouldn’t have to use them.
As fast as her fingers tapped the keys, I urged them faster. “There is a bit of a delay with the flight, but they will be opening the gate for boarding shortly. You should hurry.”
“Come on.” I took Jolie’s hand, looking around for the cart that was supposed to take us all the way to the gate. JFK was a sprawling, inefficient morass of an airport, and one of the perks of chartering a helicopter was the helipad-to-gate personal driver.
Neither cart nor driver was anywhere to be seen.
Without another word, Jolie and I broke into a run, making it only as far as the security checkpoint before coming to a screeching halt. At least a hundred people snaked through the roped-off queue that zig-zagged a dozen times in front of several security scanning machines. “Oh no.” Jolie pointed at a row of monitors hanging above our heads, listing arrival and departure information. “Their flight is boarding. We don’t have much time.”
The flashing red letters scratched at my corneas. Jolie was probably right. We weren’t going to make it. We would have to go to Europe, and hope that Nina stayed in Andorra long enough for us to find her, and that it wasn’t just a calculated bluff on her part.
Jolie’s eyes filled with tears and I drew her toward me, pressing her face into my shoulder. “We have a lot of balls in the air right now. One of them is going to work. We will not lose Romy, I swear it.”
Jolie nodded, sniffling as her cheek rubbed against cotton. As gently as possible, I pried her away and went up to the head of the security line. “Listen, my daughter is—”
The burly man adjusted his belt to accommodate the straining belly beneath his uniform shirt. “You need to cut the line?”
A flare of hope surged. “Actually, yes. I—”
“That’s not how this works, sir. I need you to step back in line.” He glanced at my hand that had been reaching into my pocket for my wallet. “And if you’re about to do what I think you’re about to do—stop right there before I have to get my boss involved. You won’t be getting anywhere then.”
My neck warmed as I realized I’d been about to bribe a TSA agent. Fucking crazy. Airports were one of the few places in New York City where a handshake with a hundred in your palm wouldn’t get you anything but arrested.
I walked back to where Jolie was still waiting in line, grateful to see that she had moved quite a bit. Pulling her against me, I tried reaching the lawyer I’d tasked with preventing Nina from taking Romy out of the country again, but my call went straight to voicemail.
The two of us anxiously watched the progress of the people in front of us, willing them to walk faster, talk faster, take their shoes off and electronics out faster.
/> Hurry, hurry, hurry.
Minutes ticked by, and the status of our flight remained ‘Boarding’.
Finally, we got to the conveyor belt that fed into the security screening machines. Jolie threw her purse and shoes inside a gray bin, I emptied my pockets into another, then snapped a shoelace in my hurry to get my shoes off.
Three people in front of us to go through the standing x-ray machine.
Then two.
One.
Jolie jumped inside. “Ma’am, step back. The light was still red.” Her anxiety was a live wire, as frantic as mine. But she stepped back, waiting for the light to turn green before stepping onto the footprints drawn onto the rubber floor.
They waved her through and I waited for the green light, then followed the same procedure.
Beep.
“Sir, step back. Did you remove your watch and—”
I looked up at Jolie who was waiting on the other side. “Go!” I yelled, yanking at the Patek Philippe I’d forgotten about. “I’ll catch up.”
Jolie didn’t waste any more time, taking off at a sprint. Legs for days. I hoped they would make it in time.
The moment the security agent waved me through, I bounded after Jolie. Leaving behind her designer purse, my hundred-thousand-dollar watch, our shoes and phones. All of those things could be replaced.
Our daughter was all that mattered.
Of course, the assigned gate was at the other end of JFK’s mile long terminal. It felt like I was back on a lacrosse field, running and running and running. Dodging and feinting to make my way toward the goal. Right now, my only goal was my daughter.
My heart was pounding, my breath coming in short, sharp pants. I passed designer stores and duty-free shops, fast food and sit-down restaurants, coffee counters and magazine kiosks and tourist traps.
Kennedy International Airport was as much a mall as a transportation hub.
A crowded one.
I finally got to the designated gate, spotting Jolie standing with two airline employees, clearly waiting for me. “Tripp! They won’t tell me whether Romy is on the plane.”
I immediately realized the dilemma. How could we board the plane without being sure Romy was on it? Nina had years to plan exit strategies and escape routes. She’d likely planted a number of false leads for us to follow. What if we had taken her bait? “You have to make an exception. Our daughter—”
“Sir, we can’t violate privacy rules.”
“You have to.” My tone was harsh, insistent.
The airline employees glanced at each other, one of them saying, “We have to close the doors now. Then we’ll call security and—”
“No,” I interrupted, turning to Jolie. “Get on the plane. I’ll stay here. If she’s not on the flight, I’ll have her by the time you land. I promise.” It was a promise I didn’t know I could keep, but I made it anyway.
Jolie’s face was a mask of fear as she gave me a hard kiss and then bolted through the door to the boarding bridge. She was shoeless, purseless, holding only her passport and ticket. I had contacts in Europe, with one phone call I could—
Fuck. My phone.
I turned around, ready to sprint back to security so I could begin making calls. To Lance, so he could help me track Nina by any means necessary. To my adoption lawyer, so he could send proof of my paternity to anyone that needed it. To Vance, so he could pull strings on his end to ensure Nina didn’t leave the country—if she hadn’t already.
50
Jolie
“Ma’am, you have to calm down.”
“I am calm,” I lied. “I just need to know if my daughter is on this plane. Please, just let me walk down the aisle, I’ll be quick. Please.”
“You can do that, just as soon as we get in the air and the captain turns off the—”
“No!” I shook my head furiously, trying to move past her. Of course Tripp had booked seats in first class. I had no idea if Romy was in one of the rows behind me. “It will only take a minute, I—”
Another uniformed flight attendant appeared behind her. “Ma’am, please take your seat. We’ll be underway in just a bit.”
The tears I’d managed to hold back until now got the best of me, coursing down my cheeks. “You don’t understand. My daughter—I need to know if she’s on this flight.” I turned around to face the back of the plane. “Romy!” I yelled. “Romy, sweetheart, are you here?”
There were at least a hundred pairs of eyes on me, and more than one camera phone pointed my way. But I didn’t care. “Romy!” I tried again to push my way past them but they remained in the aisle, blocking me.
“Ma’am, we can’t pull away from the gate. We’ve alerted security, and they’re on their way.”
My chest was heaving, but I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my lungs. The axis on which my world circled had collapsed beneath the weight of my tears.
Sharp splinters of agony pierced through my heart.
This was all my fault.
I deceived Tripp.
I abandoned Romy.
I backed Nina into a corner.
Worst of all, I arrogantly believed all my wrongs could be made right.
I was wrong. So wrong.
There was movement behind me, then my hands were pulled behind my back and locked together. Meanwhile my soul thrashed, completely untethered.
I howled, twisting my neck to see that a police officer and a uniformed TSA agent had taken the place of the flight attendants. “You are being offloaded from this plane. Please calm down and don’t make this any more difficult—”
“Nina! Nina, don’t do this!” I struggled against them. “Romy, please! Wave, say something. Let me know if you’re here!”
51
Tripp
Taking off the way I’d come, I nearly collided with a stone-faced man in a dark suit. “Mr. Montgomery.”
I’d been about to dart around him, but the airport credentials hanging from his neck gave me pause.
“There’s no need for security,” I gritted out. “I’m heading back for my things right now.
“Mr. Montgomery, I’ve had that taken care of. Please come with me.”
Jesus Christ. I didn’t have time to explain what was going on to a goddamn rent-a-cop. I started walking ahead. “It’s fine. I’ll get them now. No need to make this an issue.”
His strides were as long as mine. “There won’t be an issue if you don’t make it one.”
Another thought struck me as I warily eyed the man. Had Nina done something to prevent me from getting on a plane today?
With what I’d learned about that woman, I wouldn’t put it past her. Including adding my name to the no-fly, terrorist watch list.
But, if that was the case, I never would have gotten through security. And she would have done the same to Jolie, who was sitting on a plane right now.
So then—what the fuck?
Before reaching the area with the x-ray machines, he led me to an unmarked door between a magazine kiosk and a smoothie bar.
A woman who had appeared to be browsing the display of tabloids was evidently waiting for our approach, because she reached for the doorknob and quickly pulled it open, then pushed it closed behind me without a word.
We traveled down a long hall and through another doorway, pausing only for someone to hand me a bag with what Jolie and I had left behind in our rush to the gate. The noise of the busy airport had disappeared and I could hear the sounds of an office from behind closed doors—ringing phones, clicking keyboards, Xerox copiers—although they barely registered above the loud thud of my heartbeat pulsing in my ears.
I felt like a rat in a maze. Except that I doubted I was being led to a chunk of cheese.
This didn’t make sense.
“Where are we going?” I barked, my throat tight and my wrists tingling, as if a pair of handcuffs would be snapped on them any minute.
He didn’t answer, continuing his purposeful gait down another corridor.
I finally came to a halt. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going any further until you—”
“Tripp!” A door was thrown open and Romy came hurtling at me from one of the small rooms lining the hallway.
Instinctively flinging my arms out, I gathered Romy against me. She looked up with wet eyes. “Do you know where my mom is?”
Yes. I did. But not the one she meant.
A guilty vice locked around my ribcage as I realized that Jolie must know by now that Romy wasn’t on the plane.
“I’m going to find out,” I assured her, turning back to the man who’d brought me here. “Where is—”
Before I could finish my question, the bag I was holding gave a distinctive buzz. I reached into it for my phone, swiping at the screen when I saw that it was Nathan Vale. “Nina Chapman was apprehended prior to boarding her flight, without incident. An officer is with the child—”
A piece of information I would have preferred to have fifteen minutes ago. “I’m with her now,” I broke in.
“Good. Your lawyer assured me he was in route with the appropriate paperwork allowing for the release of the minor.”
I blew out a heavy breath, a sigh of relief. “I appreciate the call.”
Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I planted a kiss on Romy’s dark head. “We’ll be out of here soon.”
“But, what about Mom?” Romy looked confused, her voice tremulous. “We can’t leave without her.”
A harried looking woman came up behind Romy, one hand extended toward me, the other holding a briefcase that had seen better days. “Hello, I’m with child services. I was told we have an abandoned minor child in need of—”
Bitterness clawed at my throat. “There has been no abandonment. My lawyer is on his way.”
“And you’re the father?”
The buzz of the office faded to silence. No ringing phones or clattering keyboards, no hum of the air vents or buzz of the intercom. There was only a stranger and the question she’d asked hanging in the air, reverberating in my heart. There was only my daughter and the confusion swirling in her silver eyes, eyes that matched mine.
