Making Her Way Home

by Janice Kay Johnson

  “I’m not leaving you alone, but I’m starved. I can do a stir-fry.” He turned to look at her, caution finally making an appearance. “If that’s okay.”

  Stunned, she finally nodded. He was going to cook for her? Again?

  She tried to get up and help, but when he scowled, she sat back down. He did ask where things were. In no time he had rice cooking and was slicing first the vegetables he found in her refrigerator and then the chicken. He located soy sauce, brown sugar and who knew what else. Once the chicken started sizzling in the wok, it smelled so good her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten much of a meal in days.

  Cupboard doors opened and closed. “You holding on to those cashews for anything?”

  “No.”

  In less than half an hour, he set serving bowls of rice and the stir-fry on the table, got plates and silverware and said, “Let’s eat.”

  They both dished up. She didn’t try to start a conversation, but knew he was watching her as they ate. Beth was almost embarrassed by how much she put away. It was lucky he’d made massive quantities, because she wasn’t the only one eating a lot; he was on his third serving.

  Not until she pushed her plate away and was cradling her coffee cup in both hands did either of them speak.

  Beth knew she had to get this out now. “I’m sorry for what I said this morning.”

  He frowned at her. “That I was deliberately trying to humiliate you?”

  “That, and telling you to get out. Saying not to come back without a warrant.”

  “You had reason to be upset. I couldn’t blame you.”

  Beth shook her head. “I want you to do anything you can to find Sicily. I know you had to get this out of the way.”

  He didn’t say anything, and she wondered what he was thinking. She supposed a part of her was waiting for him to say, “You’re right, I had to do it, but now I know you didn’t have anything to do with Sicily’s disappearance.” But he didn’t. And she realized he still couldn’t be sure.

  “I should have handled it with more…grace,” she admitted.

  “I understood.”

  Well, that was something. Maybe it was better that she didn’t know what he thought of her. Her clients and even her employees considered her to be unshakable, smart, creative, organized beyond belief, with a memory like an elephant. They admired her. Even liked her, though the relationships never quite reached the point of real friendship. She didn’t care, because friends got to know each other better than she wanted anyone to know her.

  She swallowed an unexpected bubble of laughter. Look at her now—there was an excellent reason she kept to herself. Mike Ryan undoubtedly had her pegged as nuts. He was probably puzzled as to why she wasn’t institutionalized. Yeah, he’d been horrified by her childhood, and he undoubtedly did understand why she’d had a mental breakdown an hour ago, following the one she’d had yesterday. She cringed to think of the TV lying broken on her living-room floor. Had she really done that?

  When you got right down to it, the guy had been incredibly nice to her. The rage her story awakened in him seemed genuine. And this need he had to feed her was downright touching.

  But he’d ease out of her life as quick as he could while still being nice, as soon as Sicily was found.

  The words dead or alive whispered in her head, and she quit feeling sorry for herself and went back to being terrified for the child she’d sworn to protect.

  Mike’s voice intruded in her brooding. “In the interview, she said you had ‘temporary’ custody.”

  Startled, Beth said, “I heard.”

  “If your sister named you, why would your mother say that?”

  Now she could think about it dispassionately. “Because people might wonder why they didn’t bring their beloved granddaughter into their own home? And how lucky they are now that someone else looked irresponsible, not them.”

  “Yeah, I caught that. Hard to miss,” he added drily.

  She met those blue eyes. “I told you my relationship with my parents—the reason it’s so bad—doesn’t have anything to do with Sicily disappearing.”

  “You’re probably right, but we can’t be positive yet. It sure as hell has everything to do with the mess Sicily’s mother made of her life.” He’d evidently pulled himself together, too, because the merciless cop voice was back.

  “I had something to do with that, too,” Beth felt compelled to say.

  “No. You’re not responsible, Beth. That ball is a hundred percent in your parents’ court.”

  Her heart did a tuck and roll. He could weaken her. The realization kicked the turmoil that seemed to be her new norm up a notch. I can’t be weakened.

  “You don’t think this is a setup.” He seemed to be thinking it out as he spoke. “A way to get Sicily out of your hands. To make you look so bad, or feel so guilty, so responsible, you won’t deploy your armament.”

  “You mean, did they have her kidnapped so that when she’s found they can go rushing to clasp her to their bosoms?” What a horrifying thought. “I can’t imagine.” But she couldn’t be sure, either, Beth realized. She knew her parents, and yet she didn’t. They were not quite human, she had understood that long ago. Was there any chance that Rachel’s very public death, and the implication that it had been suicide, had damaged Laurence Greenway’s reputation? And that he’d decided the damage could be bandaged over by the sight of him and his wife tenderly taking on responsibility for their ten-year-old granddaughter, with her big solemn eyes and her unnatural gravity.

  “Oh, God,” Beth whispered.

  “It’s a thought, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She’d had to push the word past a lump in her throat.

  “A likely one?”

  A scheme like that would be twisted, hateful, cold-blooded. All of which her parents could be. “I don’t know,” she admitted, then winced. One more thing she didn’t know.

  But there was no hint of irony in his expression. “It’s time I go visit your parents again.”

  On a rush of alarm, she said, “You won’t mention…?”

  In the act of standing with his plate in one hand and a serving bowl in the other, he raised his eyebrows. “The big guns you haven’t yet rolled out? No. But I’ll hope to be watching when you use them.”

  That warmed her. The sensation stayed with her while he helped her clean up, carried her television to the garage, and even after he left. It was as unfamiliar as the way he’d held her. As the kind note she sometimes heard in his voice. She was suspicious of this warmth, as if she were a cat circling a puzzling but irresistible object that had appeared in its territory.

  But it feels so good. He might think she was crazy, but he believed her. Maybe even believed in her.

  * * *

  SICILY ATE YET ANOTHER cheeseburger and French fries with hunger but no enthusiasm. God, was that all he ever ate? She wondered if this was lunch or dinner or even breakfast. All she knew for sure was that it wasn’t the middle of the night, because didn’t most Burger Kings close at, like, ten o’clock? And the food was warm. Plus, she thought there must be one nearby. She bet he didn’t like leaving her here alone very long. Although what he thought she could do, Sicily couldn’t imagine. Claw her way through the wall with her fingernails?

  She lay on her side curled in a ball. She was spending most of her time that way. Sometimes she made herself get up and walk around the room, but then she felt like one of the big cats at the zoo, pacing, pacing. She had always felt sorry for them. Now she never wanted to go in the cat house again.

  If I ever get out of here.

  She felt weird. Lightheaded. She’d really believed she could get away, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. He kept surprising her. It was hard to stay alert, when so many hours passed between visits. Sicily was beginning to hope, a lot, that he’
d called her grandparents and asked for ransom. If they paid, he’d let her go, wouldn’t he? He didn’t look like a killer.

  How would I know what a killer looks like?

  If he was her dad, it was less likely he’d hurt her. Please don’t let him be my dad. But wait. If he was, that might mean she was safer.

  But oh, she didn’t want a father like him.

  The thought sneaked in that he wasn’t much different from the guys her mom was always bringing home. She used to look at them and think, I’m glad he’s not my dad. For some reason she never thought that, if these were the kind of guys Mom liked, maybe her father was the same. Because her dad was a rock star. Well, almost a rock star. He’d been somebody really cool when Mom met him.

  Mom, she admitted now, had pretty sucky taste in men. Mostly she went for guys who liked to party and who knew where to get the drugs she liked. She almost always worked, but at things like waitressing. When she got fired because she overslept too many times, she’d only shrug. There was always someplace else that would hire her.

  We got by okay, Sicily thought defensively, as if someone was criticizing her mom to her face. She didn’t like knowing she was the one thinking bad thoughts about Mom.

  Sometime during the night—or day, or whatever it was—she admitted to herself that she liked living with Aunt Beth better than she did with Mom. She didn’t exactly feel at home, but she liked that Aunt Beth was neat, too, like Sicily was, and that she planned meals a week in advance and wasn’t always looking at Sicily when they got to the store saying, “Do we have any milk?” Sicily had started making grocery lists when she was, like, five. She’d learned a long time ago to count in her head, too, so that she knew whether they could afford that hamburger or not before she or Mom put it in the cart.

  And she liked the stuff Aunt Beth had bought her. If she could have Mom back, she thought fiercely, she wouldn’t mind that all her clothes came from thrift stores and the collection the school kept for poor kids. But since having Mom back wasn’t an option, she did like her new clothes.

  Pulling the thin comforter tighter around herself, she wished she hadn’t worn shorts to the beach. She’d really, really like it if she had on jeans now, and at least a T-shirt that covered her shoulders. And socks, too.

  Except, she had a dim memory of a fairy tale where this man wasted his three wishes because without thinking he kept saying things like, “I wish I’d remembered to grab my coat before I went out the door.” And then he’d have his coat on, but he hadn’t meant that to be an actual wish.

  So I won’t be that dumb. I won’t wish for anything but to get away. To go home to Aunt Beth.

  * * *

  “AND WHEN DID YOU GET THIS demand for a ransom?” Mike was furious on so many levels, he couldn’t count them. Laurence Greenway hadn’t been thinking about his granddaughter or his daughter when he’d failed to contact police immediately. He’d been thinking about himself, which was apparently all he knew how to do.

  Greenway didn’t bother to hide his dislike or disdain. “This afternoon. It came a couple of hours earlier, but I hadn’t checked messages. My wife and I had agreed to speak to a television reporter.”

  It was now eight-thirty in the evening. The message had been left as early as midday. Greenway had heard it as much as six hours ago. Mike didn’t even try to hide his disgust. “And, knowing we were searching desperately for Sicily, you kept this news to yourself because…?”

  “We were instructed not to involve law enforcement.” Beth’s father neither sat down nor invited Mike to do so, although he’d led him to the living room. Rowena hadn’t put in an appearance. “We had to consider the possibility that we would have more success recovering our granddaughter if we followed instructions.”

  “Mr. Greenway, as a wealthy businessman you have surely considered the risks of you or your wife being kidnapped and held for ransom.”

  The other man gave a grudging nod.

  “I presume you’re also aware, then, that many if not most hostages are not freed once the ransom is paid. They’ve seen too much, heard too much. They can identify their captors. The moment the money changes hands, the life of the hostage holds no value to the kidnapper.”

  “That’s why we’re turning to you now.”

  “And yet you didn’t phone me. You’re telling me because I happened to show up on your doorstep?”

  The two men exchanged a hard stare. Mike finally shook his head. “It’s time we involve the FBI. They’re the experts. They’ve got resources I don’t.”

  Greenway gave a clipped nod.

  “First, let me hear this demand.”

  “Very well.” He removed his phone from his belt, brought up voice mail, listened for a moment then said, “It’s on speaker.”

  A nondescript male voice said, “I have Sicily. You want her back? I figure you owe me some bucks for your precious grandkid. Here, Sicily, talk.” There was a small pause. The slightest click? They could hear someone breathing. The man’s voice, muffled but edgy, ordered, “Do it.”

  Mike tensed. Before his mind’s eye, he saw the girl’s face, too grave, too old for her years, the cheekbones and mouth and poise that promised this duckling would become a swan, given half a chance. He had never in his life despised anyone the way he did the man standing here, pretending he gave a damn about that little girl.

  “Grandma and Grandpa, he says he’ll do something bad to me if you don’t pay him a million dollars.” Her voice was not shaky the way Mike might have expected. “I know that’s a lot of money….” She gasped, as if… Goddamn it, as if the guy had shaken her or cut her with the razor edge of a knife blade. She finished in a hurry, more rattled this time. “Please will you pay him so I can go home to Aunt Beth.”

  There was a pause and a shuffling sound. “Get the money together,” the scum said. “Cash, not new bills, not sequential. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Play it again,” Mike said.

  “What?”

  “I want to listen to it again. I don’t think she was on the phone with him. I think he’d recorded her.”

  Greenway looked momentarily startled, but was too smart not to grasp the implications. Without a word, he brought it back up again. Neither of them so much as breathed while the message played again.

  “All right,” Mike said, “I have to make some calls. I’ll need to speak to my captain before I contact the Bureau.”

  “Very well.” Did the jackass look chastened? Mike couldn’t tell. And why would he? He hadn’t rescued his daughters. What would motivate him to save the granddaughter he scarcely knew?

  Reputation, that’s what. Political power. Beth and Rachel had suffered unseen, unheard. They had therefore been meaningless to this man. Sicily’s predicament, in contrast, had become a headliner.

  Left alone in the study, Mike made his phone calls. Within an hour, a team of federal agents had arrived at the Greenways’ home. Their machinery rolled into action, as they set to work tracing and analyzing the call.

  For all practical purposes, Sicily’s abduction had been taken out of Mike’s hands.

  When he excused himself to step outside, one of the four agents gave him a surprised look—you’re still here?—and then an absent nod. Standing on the portico, he dialed Beth’s number, hoping she hadn’t gone to bed.

  “Mike?” The breathless quality of hope couldn’t be hidden. “Have you heard anything?”

  Suppressing his stab of pleasure that she’d called him by his first name, he said, “Your parents received a call demanding ransom.”

  There was a breathless silence. “Oh, God.”

  “It’s better news than hearing nothing.”

  Her intake of breath told him she got it.

  “Beth, Sicily spoke on the message. She said she hoped her grandparents would pay so she could go
home to you.”

  The sound she made was barely audible, but, as if he could see her, he knew she’d clapped a hand to her mouth to silence a sob. It was a moment before she could speak at all, and then it was urgently. “I need to hear it. What if it’s not her? Would my parents even recognize her voice?”

  “Your father says he’s pretty sure it’s her.” Mike had already made the decision not to tell her that he believed Sicily had been recorded. It could mean nothing—the kidnapper didn’t want to take a chance she’d yell out something before he could cut the connection. But there was an uglier possibility: that he’d recorded several messages and then had no more use for his troublesome child hostage.

  “Please,” Beth begged. “Let me hear it.”

  He explained about the FBI’s Child Abduction Rapid Deployment—CARD—teams, and told her that he would have brought them in by morning even if there’d been no ransom call. “The father is still a possibility, but otherwise we’re looking at a stranger abduction. We need them,” he said, even though he hadn’t been thrilled to make the decision. As lead on an investigation, he’d never had to work with the FBI, but they had a reputation for sweeping in and taking over. Sweeping in so vigorously, Eddie had said once, that he’d felt like some dust whisked out of the way. Like most cops, Mike was enough of a control freak to dislike the idea. But he was damned well going to do what was best for Sicily. He repeated now for Beth what he’d told her father. “I guarantee they’ll be wanting to talk to you.”

  “Does that mean…” She stopped, started again. “Does it mean they’ll be taking over and I won’t see you again?”

  “Yes and no.” He gazed at the garden, lit by strategically placed spotlights. “They’ll likely be running the show, and for good reason. But they won’t expect us to step out of the investigation, either. They may bring in other jurisdictions. If there’s reason to suspect Sicily is being held in Seattle or King County, for example, those departments will come on board.”

  “I suppose my father is demanding the best.”

  He heard her ambivalence and smiled ruefully. “It never hurts when someone as prominent as your father is involved. In this case, I don’t think it matters. The abduction of a child is always taken seriously. And Laurence Greenway may be hot stuff in state politics, but he has no influence on the FBI’s funding.”