Beyond Revenge (The Ransom Series)

by A. T. Douglas

  I’m convinced when we turn the corner at the dining area that she’s going to be there. Morgan will be standing there waiting for me, and this will have all been a joke or a dream. We escaped and made it back to the Whitford household to gather Morgan’s things so the two of us could start our life together.

  I round the corner, excitement sparking life in my blood as I hear the trickle of the sound again. Then my eyes meet hers.

  Morgan’s mother. I recognize her from the pictures on the wall, her long dark brown hair unmistakable.

  With one look at me, the smile on her face fades, the laughter snipped out to silence. She drops the magazine she was reading onto the counter and cowers back against the fridge behind her.

  I must look absolutely fucking crazy right now.

  “Sorry,” I say quickly, putting my hands out in front of me and stepping back a couple feet. I try to shake her laugh out of my head before returning to meet her gaze. “You just sound so much like her. Your laugh.”

  Either my words or my tattooed and rough appearance have upset her, because it takes only a moment for the tears to well up in her eyes and for her head to drop into her hands before her entire body starts shaking from the force of her sobs.

  There’s nothing I can do but stand there as Robert takes his wife in his arms, soothing her cries with his hand on her back and giving me a nasty glare over her shoulder.

  How much more pain can I possibly cause this family?

  She eventually pulls herself together, stepping back from Robert and wiping the tears from her eyes before looking at me again. “Sorry. I get like this when I’m reminded of her.” She crosses the kitchen and offers her hand to me. “I’m Cindy.”

  I’m completely taken aback by this woman’s actions. She wants to shake my hand? After everything I’ve done, she’s greeting me like I’m a normal human being and not a monster? Did Robert even tell her what I told him last night?

  I accept her offer, grasping her hand lightly in mine. Her skin is warm and, in a strange way, comforting. “Leo.”

  Cindy smiles at me, though the expression doesn’t reach her tearful eyes. “I hear you’re going to help get our girl back.”

  Part of me wants to think that she’s including me in the “our” of her statement even though the likelihood isn’t high. It doesn’t lessen my resolve, though. “We’ll find her. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Our hands release, and she steps back from me. She grabs a coffee mug from the cupboard and fills it from the coffee pot. “Robert told me you’ve tried to protect her. He told me about… the possibility of a baby, and that it was Morgan’s decision.” She offers the steaming cup to me, her hand shaking slightly. “Will she make it through this alone? Does she have anyone else to look after her?”

  Guilt pierces through me. This poor woman is offering me coffee while discussing the fate of her daughter, a fate I have very much played a part in and affected.

  I accept the cup, and when she motions to a small tray of sugar cubes and creamer, I politely shake my head. “She’s strong. She’ll get through this.” I take a moment to think about how to answer Cindy’s second question. “I don’t think she’ll be alone. The man who was trying to help us is likely with her or nearby.”

  Robert looks at me questioningly. “Who is this man?”

  “Jack Pearce. Mark’s friend of many years. He’s a doctor, so I’m sure Mark will want to keep him close to her.” I can hardly look at them as I finish the thought. “Mark will need him for what’s coming.”

  It takes a moment for my words to register with Robert. Cindy understands instantly, shutting her eyes long enough to take in and release a deep breath.

  When she has composed herself again, Cindy motions me to the table. “You both need to eat something if you’re going to have any chance at finding our girl.”

  Something stirs within my chest, breaking through my numbed heart. Maybe I am included in the “our” of her statement.

  It’s strange to be taking a seat next to Robert at the dining room table with my cup of coffee as I’m being served bacon and eggs for breakfast, preparing to talk about how to track down a psychotic criminal mastermind and the innocent young girl he stole from us. We eat in silence until the table is cleared, making space for the wealth of information I’m about to pour out of my mouth and spill everywhere.

  I spend the entire day describing in detail everything that happened when Morgan was held at the prison and Mark’s headquarters. There were moments in which I could tell I was making Robert and Cindy uncomfortable, but we all knew these were things they needed to hear. They’ve been waiting months to find out what happened to their child, and as much as it was painful for me to relive some of those memories, for both good and bad reasons, I did what I could to shed light on what happened to Morgan, telling them not only of what Mark did to her, but also about how we fell in love.

  Cindy was tearful throughout, though she never broke down and fully cried. Robert was stoic and hardened against my stories, just as I expected he would be. He asked endless questions and took notes the entire time. He pulled out a map for me to mark the locations where Morgan was held, both in New Mexico: the prison out in the desert and the headquarters in a town on the western edge of the state.

  Robert grilled me about Mark’s other locations, his faith in my honesty waning when I told him there were none. Mark wasn’t one to have multiple houses or headquarters throughout the country. His most recent base of operations was in New Mexico. Even if he did have another location and held her there, he’d never take her somewhere I’d know about. Wherever he’s hiding her, it’s completely off the radar and unknown to me.

  But someone on his crew has to know something.

  “We need to go at them, every one of Mark’s guys on the street. Put me in a room with them, and I’ll make them talk. They may not know exactly where he is now, but someone will have information about where he went after he took her from me.”

  Robert looks at me from across the table, rubbing his fingers under his chin, deep in thought. “You know I’m not letting you do this alone, right? I’ll need to go with you, and New Mexico is hours away.” He stands up and grabs his cell phone from the counter. “I’m going to call in some vacation time. They’ve been pushing me to take some time anyway since this all started. We leave first thing in the morning.”

  Just the thought of getting out of here to start the search is enough to spike my blood with eager adrenaline. Waiting until dawn is going to kill me. I’m ready to do this now.

  Robert pulls a pair of handcuffs out of a cabinet in the living room and hands them to me. “We have a spare room you can sleep in, but you’ll handcuff yourself to the bed frame. Do you understand?”

  I wish this man would trust me, but I understand his cautiousness. “That’s fine.”

  “I’ll take him to the room,” Cindy chimes in.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You don’t know–”

  “I’ll be fine, Robert. Go make your call.” After a moment of hesitation, Robert reluctantly agrees, and Cindy motions for me to follow her. “This way, Leo.”

  We reenter the hallway with the photos on the wall. Multiple doors line the long space. We walk past a bathroom and the master suite before arriving at two closed doors at the end of the hall. While Cindy opens the door on our left, I’m drawn to the door on our right. There’s nothing particularly special about it except for the small wooden object hanging on the door. It’s the size of a Christmas ornament and in the shape of an M.

  “This is her room?” I ask breathlessly. Up until this moment, I hadn’t even considered the fact that there would be tangible pieces of Morgan in this house.

  Cindy nods slowly. “We haven’t been in her room much since she was taken. Even after all these months, I refuse to disturb it. I have to believe she’ll be back in there someday.”

  My hand involuntarily reaches out to grasp the handle. “Is it okay if–”

&
nbsp; “You can go in.”

  I hold in a breath as I open the door. My heart seems to stop completely as I turn on the light and take in the room that is so Morgan. The walls are covered with magazine clippings, barely letting the white walls show through underneath. They are words, phrases, and pictures that seem randomly chosen, but I can tell they are carefully selected, making a statement, evoking different emotions. I see in each one of them, in their chaotic but orderly beauty, all the complexities I’ve seen in Morgan.

  The pink and yellow bed sheets are ruffled and hanging off the bed, likely left just as they were the last morning she woke up in this house. Books are piled high on her desk and nightstand. Her dresser is strewn with all sorts of makeup and jewelry. Colorful clothes and an overflow of shoes spill out of her closet. It’s the quintessential teenage girl’s bedroom. It’s only missing the girl.

  “You really care about her, don’t you?”

  My body jumps slightly at Cindy’s sudden intrusion into my moment with what exists of Morgan in this room, but I remain silent. I don’t have to answer her question. She already knows the truth.

  I notice a high school yearbook seemingly discarded on the floor and can’t help picking it up. I flip through the pages, inhaling the fresh printed paper smell. There are bookmarks where Morgan appears in the pictures: the varsity basketball and volleyball teams, the debate club, a group of fans cheering at homecoming, and even a close-up shot of Morgan with her arms around the shoulders of two friends, full-on grins and laughter visible in that frozen moment of time.

  I can’t take my eyes off that last picture.

  “This is what I took away from her,” I say quietly. “She had a wonderful life, and I ruined it.”

  “Mark ruined it,” Robert counters from the doorway, slipping his phone into his pocket, “and she may have looked happy in those pictures, but she wasn’t completely content. She always wanted more space and freedom than I was willing to give her.”

  I nod and smile solemnly. Morgan would be relieved to know that her dad understands this about her. It would help ease her guilt about all that’s happened. I just wish she was in this room to hear it.

  I flip to the back of the yearbook and see that every inch of space is covered with scribbles and signatures, people congratulating Morgan and saying they’ll miss her and that they should keep in touch. An entire army’s worth of people signed her yearbook. That’s the full extent of how much the people in her life cared about her.

  As I’m closing the book to set it back down, something falls out from between the last few pages. It’s a wallet-sized photo of Morgan, her dark blond hair in perfect placement just past her shoulders, her body expertly posed up against a tree in a white V-neck shirt.

  I set down the yearbook on the floor where I found it and pick up the fallen photo with a trembling hand, panic rising in my chest the longer I stare at it.

  I need to be with her. She never should have been taken again. We were supposed to be together and safe, but I can’t even protect her now. I don’t have a fucking clue where to find her.

  A soft touch pushes my hand toward me until I’m clutching the picture against my chest. I turn my head to see Cindy standing next to me. She maintains the hold of her hand over mine for a moment and smiles at me, though I can see the tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Why don’t you keep that?” she offers.

  I’m rendered speechless, though I’m not sure if it’s from the fact that this woman is being so caring toward me or if it’s because I get to take a piece of Morgan with me. I’m happy to embrace both things.

  It takes a moment for me to clear the constriction in my throat before replying. “Thank you.”

  3

  Her Loyalty

  ∞

  She stayed by my side.

  The only one.

  My unwavering supporter

  when the rest of the world forgot about me.

  I was ready to falter until she came to me,

  bled for me,

  suffered and sacrificed.

  Until the last moment my eyes gazed upon her,

  she fought for me.

  ∞

  By the time Robert walks into the guest bedroom to get me the next morning, I find myself exhausted. I feel run-down and disheveled inside and out. Robert doesn’t look much better. I wonder if he’s had even one restful night of sleep since his daughter was taken.

  I don’t know how he’s done this for four months. It’s been less than two days and I’m already a wreck without Morgan.

  Robert observes me as he unlocks the handcuffs, allowing me to sit up properly on the bed. “This is what it feels like. The empty feeling. The lack of sleep.” He walks toward the door and looks back at me wearily. “It doesn’t get much better.”

  It irks me that he’s making me feel guilty about the four months he’s already had to spend away from his daughter, but it’s impossible to be angry with the man. He’s right. I’m experiencing exactly what he’s had to endure, and I’ve only had a small taste of it.

  “There’s a clean towel for you on the counter in the bathroom. Breakfast will be ready in ten.” He walks out the door without another word.

  I rub my hands over my face drowsily before heading to the bathroom for a quick shower. By the time I’m dressed and in the dining room, Cindy is just bringing plates of pancakes and sausage to the table. When our eyes connect, she smiles at me.

  Breakfast is quiet again. I’m still not completely comfortable being in this place. It doesn’t make sense for me to be here, especially without Morgan. I wonder what Mark was thinking when he left me here. He must have thought Robert would turn me in. Maybe he expected Robert to kill me as he threatened to do over the last phone call at the prison.

  I doubt he expected the washed-up criminal and the decorated detective to combine forces against him.

  We don’t waste any time getting out the door. Robert loads two large duffel bags into the trunk of a black sedan. One bag sounds soft, most likely clothes and supplies, but the other makes loud clinking sounds as he moves it. I suspect he has a small arsenal in that bag.

  I’m about to move around the car to the passenger side when Cindy approaches me and grabs my arm. She gives me a serious look, staring at me with a glint of fear and uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Please bring her back, and keep an eye on him, too.” She nods to Robert near the back of the car.

  It’s scary to know that she’s entrusting these tasks to me. She’s relying on me to put her family back together again, and I have to try. It’s the least I can do after everything I’ve done to them. “I will.”

  And then she hugs me.

  I wasn’t ready for the embrace, not expecting it in the slightest, but she holds me there tightly. She grasps on to me as if I’m the only piece of her daughter left and she’s about to let me slip through her fingers.

  Morgan is the only other person who has shown this kind of affection toward me in years. It only makes me miss her more.

  When Robert’s heavy footsteps approach from behind us, Cindy instantly pulls away. With one glance at Robert, I can tell he still doesn’t fully trust me and that he thinks I have no business touching his wife, even if she’s the one who initiated our embrace.

  “Get in,” Robert instructs, and I don’t hesitate to comply.

  As I get settled in the car, I can’t help watching their goodbye. Cindy kisses her husband for a long moment, holding both sides of his face as tears rush down her cheeks. He holds her in his arms, caressing her back, giving her comfort. I can’t hear the words he’s saying, but I know what they would be. I’ve said the same things repeatedly to Morgan since the moment I met her at the prison. It’ll be okay. We’ll get through this. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.

  Except it isn’t. Everything is far from fine.

  I have to look away, staring out the passenger side window at the stone wall that separates the Whitford’s yard from their neighbor’s
property. The modern houses continue one after the other around the cul-de-sac. Everything is so domesticated here, completely foreign to me.

  A couple minutes pass before the driver’s side door opens and Robert takes his seat. Cindy waves goodbye to us, the sadness on her face replaced with a genuine smile as we back out of the driveway. I smile back at her, hoping I can keep my word to bring her daughter back home and into her arms.

  Robert doesn’t say a word to me as we drive for hours. It’s a painful silence knowing that he has a lot to say to me but can’t or won’t speak any of it.

  In the silence of the vehicle, I take the time to think about where we’re going, who we’re going to talk to, who I can threaten to tell me where the hell Mark is. Anger starts to overwhelm me as I sit in the seat. I need a wall to smash my fist into, or maybe Mark’s face.

  It’s what I thought about all night: what I will do to him when we find him.

  I start to feel a little nauseated when we leave Arizona and hit the New Mexico border. I’m heading right back into the heart of it, back to retrace my steps with Morgan, to find someone or something to help us.

  We arrive in the town where Morgan and I met Jack’s friend, Tony Russo, who ultimately betrayed us. After directing Robert through a few wrong turns, I finally see the building where it all happened. My heart races as we approach it. Some unreasonable part of me thinks for just a second that Morgan could still be inside, that they may have taken me from this place but not her.

  By the time we’re parked a little further down the street, I’m about ready to run out of the car and tear down the walls of this place. Anger flows through me, overpowering the disappointment I still feel that I so stupidly fell into Mark’s trap here.

  Robert moves to the trunk and digs through the bags. He pulls out a large knife and sticks it into a sheath already attached around his belt with his firearm. The Glock 9mm pistol has hardly left his side since my arrival at the Whitford household.