“You clearly love little Max,” Streeter said, even more calmly than before. He was starting to creep me out, too. Didn’t he recognize the whack job in front of him? “What would you do if you had found little Max last night?”
“I would have …” her voice trailed off and her glance slid toward the windows. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
“I didn’t have much money. But that wouldn’t have mattered to little Max. We would have been fine. At least he’d be safe. With me. I could have eventually made it back to Manchester. In time.”
“So you thought about it? Taking him from DIA if you found him?” Streeter coaxed.
Her eyes flicked back to his face, flitting to every square inch of his rugged, granite features. “Of course. He’d be safe.”
“With you.”
“With me,” she said, raising her chin.
“And what would you have told the Williamses?”
“I …” she lowered her eyes. “I thought about it. But I doubt I would have ever found the courage to take him. I’d have called Mr. Williams. Brought little Max back home. To NYC.”
I shivered, thinking of how vulnerable parents must feel about leaving their children in the care of others, people like Judy Manning who became so openly attached that she admitted to thinking about kidnapping him. Predators came from every angle for these young, naïve children. Streeter noticed me shiver and I felt his leg press against mine to comfort me. I was grateful to him for that, for allowing me to work through my emotions as I stared into the face of evil.
Streeter added, “And what would you say to me if I told you we’d found him hurt or dead?”
She pulled her hands away from her face and leveled a glare at Agent Pierce with her beady, dark gray eyes appearing positively maniacal. She jabbed a finger at Streeter’s nose and warned through clenched teeth, “If someone so much as touched one hair on my boy’s head, I would find them and rip them apart, limb by limb, and drag them skinless. I’d let them die a slow, painful death.”
Streeter’s nostrils flared. Was that a look of amusement on his face? “Who do you think was capable of doing this to your boy?”
“I have plenty of names. Bad people. Mr. Williams does business with a lot of them. And he seems to anger everyone he works with.”
She started listing names; some were familiar from the list provided by Max earlier and some were new. Then she started in on names from Melissa’s dealings, people who had threatened her over the years in the course of being a supermodel: stalkers, crazy people, jealous people, desperate people who might take extreme measures to make their point or extract their pound of flesh from the Williamses, as Manning put it. I found it both odd and interesting that never once did she mention either Max or Melissa’s potential suspects.
When she had exhausted her list of names, Streeter said, “Well I think we’re about done here, Ms. Manning. You’ve been quite helpful.”
“You won’t be sharing what I’ve told you with Mr. Williams, will you?” she said, suddenly realizing how much she had revealed.
“Specifically, what wouldn’t you want us to share?” Streeter asked.
“That I disobeyed him,” she said, as if telling us she had contemplated kidnapping the child and moving him to England wasn’t the single biggest revelation, not to mention a crime. This woman truly wasn’t operating on all cylinders, from what I could tell. “That I flew here. On the same plane as little Max. He has exacting standards. And I’ve made mistakes in the past, mistakes that nearly cost me my job.”
“Do you think Mr. Williams’s exacting standards had any relevance on little Max’s disappearance?”
“If you’re asking me if I think either Mr. Williams or the Mrs. was capable of staging the boy’s disappearance, I can most assuredly tell you ‘yes.’”
“Tell me about the text you sent Mrs. Williams this morning,” Streeter said.
Judy Manning’s expression morphed yet again. “She’s horrible. And she should pay for what she’s done to—”
The door flew open. Melissa Williams rushed toward Judy with Max close on her canary-yellow heels. “I thought that was you! Where is he? Where’s little Max, you crazy bitch?”
Before we could stop her, Melissa had rounded the table and stood over our witness. In a flash, Judy rose to her feet and leveled a punch to Melissa’s gut, screaming, “Where’s my boy?”
Melissa reached out and grabbed Judy’s hair, yanking with both fists. Judy’s thin body was tossed to the floor like a rag doll, Melissa landing on top of the nanny in a brawl. The women went at each other, clawing and scratching, punching and shoving. It looked like a fair fight between a rabid, miniature pit bull and a giant canary. Max was trying to pull Melissa off Judy as the two women accused each other of abducting little Max.
Gates attempted to intervene and Judy Manning slugged him in the mouth. Streeter was calling for back up and I heard Phil calling on his radio. Max had his arms snaked around Melissa’s shoulders. I took quick steps to do the same with Judy Manning, only I was too late.
At the instant Max restrained Melissa, Nanny Judy rose quickly to her feet. As she moved to level a powerful swing intended for Melissa’s face, Max pulled Melissa back, lost his footing, and fell backward to the floor, Melissa falling on top of him. In the commotion, I hadn’t noticed Manning grab the pistol from the holster clipped to my pants, leveling the barrel of my 9mm Sig Sauer at Melissa Williams’s beautiful forehead.
Several other pistols were pulled and aimed in a fraction of an instant, the chief, Streeter, and Phil training their weapons on Judy Manning.
“Where is he?” Manning screamed. “My son? Where did you take him, you narcissistic witch!?”
“Don’t shoot! Put it down,” Streeter growled.
“What did you do? Who took him?” Nanny Judy growled at the stunned model sprawled across her ex, and she stepped closer to the pair.
“What are you talking about?” Melissa Williams whimpered, scrabbling backward so fast her feet came out of her shoes and she bumped into Max, who also crab-crawled away from Judy Manning. “He’s not your son. He’s our son, you crazy bitch.”
“Judy, you’re not helping,” I said. “Give me my gun. Seriously. Before you do something stupid.”
“Where is he?” Judy Manning hadn’t heard a word Streeter or I had said. She had snapped. She took another step, this time twisting her foot on a yellow spike heel.
Instinct made me lunge at Judy and tackle her as if I’d been a lineman all my life. My gun discharged close to my ear as I threw my arms around the tiny lunatic, our shoulders slamming against the floor. I actually heard her head bounce against the tiles and my pistol skitter across the floor.
For several moments, nobody moved. Judy Manning lay still on the ground beside me, knocked out cold. Melissa panted as she rolled off of Max. Streeter was at my side instantly and was helping me to my feet, handing me my pistol, which I clipped back in my holster. Officers and agents poured into the room as Gates dabbed at his bloody nose and split lip.
Everything had happened so fast. An instantaneous eruption and then the room grew eerily silent. My ears were ringing, but the sounds were starting to reach through the ear-piercing shot that had deafened me.
I noticed Manning moan as she sat up, blood dripping from her head. Phil rushed to her side. In a low voice—maybe he was shouting—Phil said to Streeter, “We need medics.”
Melissa’s gaze slid from the hole in the drywall toward her canary yellow, spike-heeled shoe, and she froze in horror at what might have been if not for the nanny tripping. Max embraced her as she repeated, “She doesn’t have little Max. She doesn’t have him. Max, who does? Oh no!”
At the same time, Judy Manning was mumbling something similar. “If she doesn’t have him, who does? Who has little Max?”
In the chaos, my Quantico training came rushing back with a flood of data that made me realize who it was we should be looking for, thank
s to the insane obsession of Judy Manning. My mind raced for the first time with certainty toward the idea that little Max was not taken by his dad for monetary maneuvering in a bitter divorce as I had first suspected, was not taken by his mom for publicity as I had speculated, or by a kidnapper for ransom, but by someone with far worse intentions than Nanny Judy. I shuddered, fearing we might all be too late, wasting time focusing on those closest to the boy instead of on the real perpetrator. A pedophile. Or murderer.
Streeter’s tender embrace—his strong, warm hand wrapping around my waist—steeled my resolve to stay focused.
“Streeter, we have to hurry. Before it’s too late.”
CHAPTER 44
Noah
I HEARD FOOTSTEPS APPROACH and the door swung open. They must have been startled to see my disheveled bed empty. Dad hurried around my bed. “Noah, what are you doing over by the window?”
I had rolled out of my bed and inched my way across the floor to the full-length picture window in my room again. My favorite spot. When Mom and Dad bought the home seven years ago, Dad had suggested they install a window that was all the way to the floor so that when I was lying on the floor in my room, I could see outside and enjoy the sunlight. Here I was. By the window. Only this time, it was the boy I wanted to see.
My dad and mom stood watching me tap on the window with my awkwardly contracted and contorted fist.
“You should be exhausted. You usually sleep for a day or longer after a seizure like that, Noah. Are you okay?”
I didn’t smile. No, I was not okay. I was exhausted from the seizure. I heard my doctor say that every five minutes of my major seizures was the equivalent of running a marathon. Hell yes, I was tired. And hell no, I wasn’t okay. Maximillian Bennett Williams II was right next door and I had to get someone to listen.
I arched my back and flipped myself over onto my stomach. Lifting my head and shoulders and propping my weight on my thin elbows, I craned my neck to see into the neighbor’s yard below from my second-story window vantage point. I had been waiting for what seemed like an hour to see if the boy would come out to play again. Or come to the window. I was looking for an image, a shadow, or any movement at all in the neighbor’s yard below.
I was worried about the little boy and hoped to relieve some of my concerns by seeing him again. Unfortunately, I’d seen nothing. The creepy man had warned him about not playing outside. What had he done to punish little Max?
I heard my mom bend down beside me. “Noah, do you want to tell me about it now?”
I smiled briefly.
“Emma went with Auntie Elizabeth and Uncle Michael, so I’m all you’ve got. I’m going to have to figure this out. Yes and no questions? Or five fingers?” My mom paused, then asked, “Questions?”
I did nothing.
“Spell it out?”
I smiled.
She sighed. “Okay, let’s see. First finger. Yes?”
I flicked my eyes up.
“All right, first finger is correct. Now first knuckle? Nope? Okay it’s not ‘A.’ The second knuckle? No wait, valley between is next. The valley? No?”
This was going to take forever. I told myself to be patient. But it was hard.
While she asked, plucking through to last knuckle “G,” second finger, first valley “I,” third finger, second valley “R,” I finally inched my way close enough to the window to show them. On second finger, third knuckle “L,” my dad finally said, “Girl?”
My eyes flicked up.
“Emma?”
I did nothing.
“Girl, but not Emma. Someone at school? No? Next word?”
I was going to look up, but then decided we might be here all day and I had already lost time, although I didn’t have a clue what time it was.
In exasperation, Mom asked a question that did not have a yes or no answer. “Noah, what’s the matter with you?”
I had to do something. I had to answer her question quickly and with conviction. I knew what I should do, but I still didn’t want to do it. It was going to hurt and the very thought of it made my eyelashes flutter. It may cause another grand mal seizure, which I wasn’t sure my body could take. I was exhausted and sore and this would only make things worse. But my mom needed an answer. Quickly.
I closed my eyes, anticipating the noise and pain and I flung my head against the window with a loud thud. The window didn’t break. I had never done anything like this before, but it seemed the only thing to do.
Startled, my dad fell to his knees beside my mom. “Noah!”
I lifted my head and smiled at them, releasing a moan of happiness that I had finally gotten their attention. I squeezed my eyes shut again as I flung my head against the window a second time.
My mom rolled me over on my back and scolded me. “Noah, stop that. You could hurt yourself. What has gotten into you?”
I could feel my dimples deepen as I smiled widely and rolled my eyes upward. I had their full attention. I arched my back and flung my arm against the window, my knuckles striking the cold pane of glass with a small thud. My hand hurt. I moaned with a laugh and repeated the trick.
Confused, Dad asked, “Noah, do you want to go outside?”
I did not smile. Trying to stay focused, not to mention the head banging, was giving me a headache.
Mom spoke to Dad as if I wasn’t even there or couldn’t hear them. “Gabriel, Noah has never woken up this quickly after a seizure, never rolled out of his bed after a seizure. He knows how much it hurts to hit his head, yet now he’s intentionally flinging himself at the window. Maybe we need to take him to a doctor.”
Then I heard her grow still. I held my breath, hoping she was catching on. I really really wanted to shout, There’s a girl next door who is not a girl at all. It’s the missing boy from the airport. Call Auntie Liv. The man is getting mean. Hurry! Of course, nothing came out of my throat. Not even a gurgle. I was too tired.
“Look. That’s where Emma said Noah was sitting earlier when he became so upset. See his chair tracks? Noah, is this about earlier today? What upset you?”
I squealed. I could barely contain myself. They were finally getting it. I could communicate. I kicked my legs, arched my back, and opened my mouth wide. I struggled to smile, but knew they understood. I was saying yes. My whole body was saying yes.
My mom asked, “And something happened out there today to upset you, right?”
I squealed again and arched my back even higher before relaxing back to the floor in anticipation of the next question.
Dad pointed. “Footsteps in the snow. On the other side of the fence. There are little footprints all over the yard and one large set of footprints from the back door to the fence and back again. Looks like a child was outside with our neighbor sometime since last night, since it snowed until early this morning when I shoveled Mrs. Parrent’s driveway and walk.”
“You’re right!” My mom asked, “Noah, was the neighbor man outside today?”
I smiled.
“With a girl? The girl Emma said she saw? Was that the girl you were trying to tell me about earlier with the five-finger method?”
I smiled.
“There’s a girl after all.” My mom asked at the same time my dad asked, “Do you want to go play with the girl?”
I smiled and my moan no longer sounded joyous.
“Did something happen? Something bad?” Mom sounded worried.
I smiled, but it wasn’t happy.
“Did the neighbor man say something mean to you, Noah?”
I vividly recalled the man calling me a vegetable, but I didn’t want my dad to veer off track, so I suppressed my smile. Of course he was mean to me, but that’s not the point! I screamed in my head.
“Did the neighbor man say or do something mean to the little girl?”
Kidnapping is mean. Keeping little Max prisoner is mean. Everything about this man was mean. Wasn’t it obvious? I smiled and whimpered. I couldn’t see their expressions, but I hoped they
were horrified enough to call the police.
“Did he hurt the little girl, Noah?” my mom asked.
I had to think about that. I concentrated really, really hard and smiled. Weakly. It was the first lie I’d ever told my parents, which nearly broke my heart. But it had to be done.
CHAPTER 45
AFTER THE EMTS DOCTORED Chief Gates’s face and strapped Judy Manning on a gurney, Tony charged her with assault with a deadly weapon and intent to murder before she was hauled off to the hospital. Max and Melissa Williams staggered out of the makeshift headquarters in retreat to their hotel room, both appearing more like whipped pups than the global superstars they were. With everyone gone, we fell into our chairs as if we’d been carrying the weight of the world.
“Could this get any worse?” I asked.
“What in the hell was that all about? Am I misunderstanding what just happened or do none of these three have a clue where the boy is?” Gates asked.
Streeter shook his head. “I don’t think they do.”
“That’s not good, is it?” I asked.
Streeter eyed me, the shake of his head nearly imperceptible.
“I’m sorry, Streeter, for letting her get to my weapon. It will never happen again,” I said.
He plowed his fingers through his short, white hair. “It appeared to me that Judy Manning was the aggressor here; she threw the first punch.”
“There was a fight?” Jack asked, poking his head through the door, carrying boxes of pizzas, which instantly made my stomach growl.
“Melissa Williams stormed into the room talking smack, and Judy Manning had had enough. She snapped. Threw a few punches and got ahold of my gun,” I explained. Jack set the boxes on the table.
“Your 9mm? Everybody okay?” Jack asked, studying my face.
Rubbing his bandaged jaw, Gates said, “It may hurt to eat that pizza, but okay.”
“What happened to you?”
“Nanny Judy happened,” Gates said.
“She hit you?”
Noah's Rainy Day Page 29
