The door at the far end of the office opened, and she recognized Dr. Anita Frank’s face from the profile piece she’d read in Seattle Magazine.
Dr. Frank smiled. “Ms. Rooney?”
“Yes.” Marissa stood quickly, squelching an attack of nerves.
“I have five minutes before my next appointment.”
“Thanks for fitting me in. I’ll be brief.”
Marissa perched on the edge of the love seat in Dr. Frank’s office.
“I’m here on behalf of the Holt Foundation. Our mission is to help victims of violence and their families.”
“I’ve read the materials you sent and will gladly donate to the cause. Unfortunately I have another commitment tomorrow night, so I won’t be able to attend the benefit in person.”
“Thank you, Dr. Frank. That’s very generous of you, but I was hoping for something more than money.”
Dr. Frank’s brows rose, and she eyed Marissa with curiosity. “Oh?”
“I was hoping you’d consider donating some of your time to counsel the victims and their families.”
Dr. Frank uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in her chair. Her kind brown eyes met Marissa’s, and she shook her head.
“I wish I could. I have every confidence the Holt Foundation will do great things, but I’m afraid I can’t participate. I already donate time to Child Sanctuary and the Cancer Foundation. I also sit on the board for the Seattle’s Children’s Home. Between that, my practice, and my family, my schedule is stretched pretty thin. I’d love to help you, Ms. Rooney, but I can’t.”
“Dr. Frank, there are families out there, victims like my daughter who could never afford the type of treatment you offer. Having someone with your reputation would help us attract a number of other prominent specialists to help provide critical services for families in need. Please, Dr. Frank, we need you.”
Compassion and regret mingled on the doctor’s kind face.
“I appreciate what you’re doing. I really do, but I can’t commit enough of my time to make it worth your while.”
Marissa’s hopes plummeted. She’d pinned her hopes on securing Dr. Frank as the linchpin of her services strategy. Now she’d have to reconsider. If Dr. Frank had so many other commitments, what about the list of other potential candidates? Would they be willing to donate their time?
“I was so sorry to hear about your daughter’s disappearance, Ms. Rooney. I can’t imagine anything more tragic.”
Marissa nodded in acknowledgement and forced a smile.
“Thank you for your time, Dr. Frank,” she said, rising to her feet.
Dr. Frank stood and shook her hand warmly.
“I wish I could do something more to help,” she said. “I will send along my donation.”
“Thank you.”
#
Deflated, Marissa trudged back to the Smith Tower. Hunched behind her desk, she stared at her e-mail in-box and picked at her cuticles. She should be doing research and finding other mental health professionals to approach, but she didn’t have the heart. Short on sleep and still reeling from Seth’s tortured admission, Marissa didn’t have much fight left in her.
Henry Cahill breezed into the office. Marissa looked up.
“Is Ms. Holt in?”
“She had a meeting this morning, but she should be back soon. Is there something I can help you with?”
Cahill shrugged. “Well, I’ve been trying to get hold of Detective Crawford. He sent me an image file Saturday night, and I’ve been working on it. I have something to show him, but he’s not answering his phone.”
Anxiety knotted Marissa’s stomach. She hoped he was okay. There were a dozen legitimate potential reasons for his not answering his phone, but she knew from personal experience he almost always answered. Saturday night had been the first time she hadn’t been able to reach him. Panic had brought her to his door in the middle of a rainstorm.
“I’ll see if I can reach him,” she said feebly. Cahill thanked her and left the office.
Minutes later Elizabeth Holt swept in. She settled in her chair and asked Evan to bring her some tea. Marissa wanted to tell her about her efforts to enlist Dr. Frank but decided against it. Efforts meant little. Holt was the type of woman who expected results. Instead Marissa left a message on Seth’s voice mail.
Holt glanced over.
“How are we looking for tomorrow night’s benefit?”
“Good. I’ve finalized the seating plan. The caterer is ready to go.”
“Can I see it?”
“What?”
“The seating plan.”
“Sure,” she said, and e-mailed the list to Holt, praying she wouldn’t insist on changes at this late date.
Marissa checked her phone. Still no call from Seth. She texted him.
No sooner had she set down her phone than the door burst open and Henry Cahill marched in with Seth close on his heels. Marissa closed her eyes for a brief second as relief washed over her. He was safe—dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair windblown and damp from the rain.
“Ms. Holt, we have something to show you,” Cahill said.
“Detective Crawford,” Holt said, arching her brow in a curious look. “I’m surprised to see you.”
“I hope you don’t mind I’m here,” Seth said.
Mind? Why would Holt mind? There was a subtext to their conversation Marissa wasn’t following, and as usual, Holt’s expression gave nothing away.
“Not at all. So tell me, Henry, what did you find?”
All eyes turned toward Cahill.
“Detective Crawford sent me something last night.”
Cahill set his tablet computer on Holt’s desk, and Holt leaned forward. Marissa sprang from her chair and hovered behind the group, straining to see the small screen. Her heart lurched as she caught a glimpse of Brooke.
Marissa remembered Brooke’s first date. Wearing a pale-pink dress, she had looked as pretty as a rose petal as she waited for Jesse Morgan to arrive, while Marissa had been a bundle of nerves. She’d paced the house for hours waiting for Brooke to come home that night, telling herself that Brooke was smart, that Brooke was a smart girl. She wouldn’t make the same mistakes Marissa had. When Brooke had arrived home on time, just before ten o’clock, Marissa had known she’d been stupid to worry. Brooke was a responsible kid.
Marissa stared at Brooke’s image on the screen, smiling at the dark-haired young man. Half of her hoped this would be the lead that would help bring Brooke home, and half of her feared they would never find her daughter.
She felt Seth’s gaze on her and looked over. His gray eyes locked on her face. Her heart lurched and she forced a small smile. She thought about how they’d left things Sunday morning and wondered how he was coping. He looked better than he had when he’d left the house. Less troubled. More sure.
“The photograph was taken with a cell phone the night Brooke disappeared.” Cahill’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she tore her gaze away from Seth, refocusing on the screen.
“Where did you get it?” Holt asked.
“Jesse Morgan,” Seth answered. The unexpected name caused her heart to skip. “He’s been asking his regulars at the bar for anything that might help find Brooke. One of them sent him this picture.”
Surprise turned to gratitude. She’d written Jesse off years ago as a carefree, irresponsible kid who cared about no one other than himself. But now, faced with this new revelation, she realized maybe she’d been too quick to judge.
“It’s surprisingly good quality,” Holt said.
Cahill grinned like a kid who’d just won the science fair. “Yeah, well, it was taken in low light, blurry as shit, so I ran it through a few enhancement filters, and voilà.”
“Do we know who he is?”
“Not yet. I’m running it though a facial recognition program. See how he’s looking away from the camera?” Cahill pointed at the screen. “The program works by measuring and matching generalities of the subject’s fac
ial structure. Because he’s looking away, we’re less likely to get a definitive match, but we will get a list of probable matches. From there I can set up a query eliminating potential suspects based on other criteria—age, where they live, you know.”
“Excellent work, Henry. Let me know when you have more.”
“Will do,” Cahill said, and left the room with a satisfied smile.
“Marissa, could you give me a moment alone with Detective Crawford?”
Surprised, Marissa cast a curious glance between the two before she left the office. She hovered outside the doors. While it wasn’t exactly eavesdropping, it was skirting the line. With all the noise out in the great room, she caught only a word or two of the conversation. Minutes later Seth emerged.
He stopped when he saw Marissa.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“More or less.”
She wanted to touch him, to run her hand across his raspy cheek and see if the connection between them Saturday night was still there. He stepped back, as if reading her intent. An awkward pause stretched out between them. There was so much she wanted to say, but she was afraid of saying too much. He’d made it clear yesterday morning he felt last night had been a huge mistake.
She searched for some neutral ground.
“What did Ms. Holt want?”
“She offered me a job.”
“A job?” Marissa asked, confused.
“Yeah, it seems I’m in need of one.”
Oh God.
“This is my fault. You got fired because of me.”
“No, I quit.”
Marissa blinked, wondering if she’d heard right. “You what?”
“I think maybe it’s time to do something else.”
Seth’s lips cocked into a rare half grin. Marissa was too dumbfounded to respond. He glanced down and checked his watch.
“Sorry, I have a meeting to get to.”
He left before she could say another word.
Chapter 45
Tonight was Elizabeth’s night. Launching the Holt Foundation was the crowning achievement of her brilliant career, the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, and Marissa wanted everything perfect. Elizabeth deserved as much.
Pausing at the top of the stairs, Marissa swept her anxious gaze across the ballroom. Something was wrong. As she scanned each of the tables, it took a moment to sink in. The tablecloths were the wrong color. She had specifically ordered white. These were cream.
“Everything looks lovely, Marissa.”
Marissa nodded, shooting a worried glance Evan Holt’s way.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“They’re the wrong tablecloths.”
Evan glanced at a nearby table and shrugged his shoulders.
“Maybe so, but the tables look great. Stop worrying.”
“Elizabeth will notice. I wonder if there’s time to change them.”
Marissa searched the room for the catering director. He was nowhere to be found. She started off toward the kitchen, but Evan’s hand on her arm stalled her.
“Marissa, there’s no time. The tables look lovely. Really. Let it go.”
Evan was right. Guests would arrive at any minute. She’d been so careful to plan every detail. She’d wanted tonight to be perfect. Now this.
“You’re still worrying. Can I get you a drink?”
“Me? Nothing. Thanks.”
A drink might help calm her nerves, but she didn’t dare. She was short on sleep and had an empty stomach—a glass of wine would hit her hard.
Elizabeth appeared at the far side of the room. Her black gown fluttered softly around her as she approached. Evan kissed his aunt’s pale cheek. She smiled affectionately at him, patting his hand.
“Everything looks lovely, Marissa.” Elizabeth smiled. “You’ve done well.”
“But the tablecloths were supposed to be white.”
“No matter. The cream ones work just fine.”
Evan snatched two champagne flutes from the tray of a passing waiter. Handing one to Elizabeth, he raised the other in a toast.
“To the Holt Foundation. May we have an excellent night.”
Elizabeth sipped champagne, her eyes drinking in every detail of Marissa’s appearance, from the beaded bodice of the golden gown to the flowing gossamer skirt. She lowered her glass, looking pleased.
“You look like Cinderella dressed for the ball.”
“Would that make you my fairy godmother?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I suppose so.”
Marissa cast her gaze down the stairway toward the lobby, where guests pooled in the foyer. Her stomach gave a nervous flutter.
“Here we go,” she said, heading for the stairway.
For the next half hour, Marissa greeted guests, directed traffic, and ensured everything went off without a hitch. The frantic pace kept her focused. And when the mayor and his wife arrived, she greeted them warmly and handed them off to Evan, who escorted them to the head table.
“I see you’ve landed on your feet, Ms. Rooney.”
Marissa silently groaned. The last thing she needed on top of the stress of making sure the benefit ran smoothly was Paige Benoit’s hateful remarks.
“Ms. Benoit, what a surprise. I don’t recall seeing your name on the guest list.”
“Mr. Regis encouraged the staff to attend. What a surprise to find you playing a central role in Ms. Holt’s benefit.”
“Thank you for coming,” Marissa said.
Benoit’s gaze slid slowly over her. Marissa knew that look. Benoit was trying to make her feel cheap. Unworthy. Like a whore dressed up in someone else’s clothes.
“That’s quite a dress, Ms. Rooney.”
Two weeks ago Benoit’s words might have made Marissa feel small, but now they glanced off her without leaving a scratch. Marissa almost felt sorry for the woman. She wondered where such bitterness stemmed from. Benoit looked like she was going to say more when Evan arrived at her side. He eyed her former boss with the same chilly professional air he’d shown Marissa the first time they’d met.
“Ah, Ms. Benoit. So glad you could make it. Allow me to show you to your table.”
With a broad sweep of his hand, Evan gestured toward the staircase. Tossing one last corrosive look Marissa’s way, she followed him into the ballroom.
“She’s right. That is quite a dress.”
Marissa spun on her heel at the sound of his voice. Her breath caught as she came face-to-face with Seth. He looked handsome dressed in a tuxedo, the black jacket emphasizing his broad shoulders and fit physique.
“Thank you. It’s Elizabeth Holt’s dress.”
“I’m sure it looks better on you.”
A twinkle of amusement flashed in his gray eyes, and she remembered he’d said something similar about the police T-shirt she’d worn the morning after. Did he remember it too? Looking up into his face, she thought maybe he did.
“You know what I mean. She sent it to me, along with the shoes.”
She lifted the hem of her skirt, revealing the delicate matching sandals for his inspection. Seth inclined his head toward her, his voice soft, his breath fanning her cheek.
“You really should get better at accepting compliments.”
Marissa blushed. A few blonde curls escaped the intricate knot at the back of her neck and tickled the side of her face. Seth’s hand reached toward her, like he might sweep the hairs away from her cheek, and her breath caught.
Marissa stared at the river of twisted scars running down the side of his face. All warriors have scars. When she looked at his, she saw something beautiful—the story of a husband willing to sacrifice himself to save his wife. How many men have loved so much, lost so much, and still survived? Pain could have destroyed him, but it hadn’t. No one had ever loved her that way.
His hand stalled inches from her face, and Marissa released her breath. He stepped back. All she had to do was reach out and take his hand. All she had to do was bridge the gap between th
em. Marissa looked into his gray eyes, as turbulent as a stormy sky, and knew he wasn’t ready yet. Maybe he never would be.
“I know we need to talk, but this isn’t the right time.”
“I know,” she said, more sad than bitter.
Tonight was about Elizabeth Holt and the foundation. So Marissa pushed back her need to resolve things between them. She would wait. Seth was worth that much. And more.
Marissa watched him dissolve into the crowd. Catching her breath, she turned as the next set of guests entered.
Loss was still an open wound for Mary and Kevin Covey. Every cell in Marissa’s body felt their pain. She would never forget the horror of seeing their daughter’s body laid out on a metal table. Tears welled in Marissa’s eyes. She blinked them back, holding her hand out to Mary. Mary took it.
“Thank you for coming,” Marissa said, her voice thick with sorrow.
Kevin took her other hand. She searched for something to say—some comfort she could offer—but there were no words for the hell the Coveys were going through.
“How are you holding up?”
The Coveys clung to each other, two victims adrift in a sea of agony and grief.
“It’s been really hard,” Kevin said, curving an arm around his wife’s slumped shoulders. “Any news on Brooke?”
Marissa shook her head. Kevin studied her with sad, solemn eyes. He knew. He knew what she was going through, and for a moment, she felt less alone.
“We’re praying for you,” Mary said, sagging against her husband’s frame.
Marissa said nothing. She’d stopped believing in God years ago. She hoped Mary found comfort in her faith, and the strength she needed to get through this nightmare.
Marissa squeezed Mary’s damp hand and let go. Her heart ached with the weight of their loss. Her chest tight, she pulled in a shuddering breath. She needed a few minutes alone to regain her composure. She needed some fresh air. Turning, she crossed the lobby, heading for the entrance.
In the Dark Page 25
