Vanished: A Beautiful Mess Series Novel

by T. K. Leigh

  “No, I’m not.” He looked up and met Olivia’s eyes briefly. His focus shifted to the large expanse of the city visible behind her, the office and everything in it disappearing.

  Helplessness washed over him as he stared at the large buildings and multitude of maze-like streets. His daughter could be anywhere, and he didn’t even have so much as a small lead as to her whereabouts. He had scratched out a list of about a dozen people who he believed had the motive, means, and wherewithal to carry out such a crime, digging into their records to see if anything popped up. He had Simpson looking into whether he could track where Martin’s log in to the system came from last night, but it would take some time. Other than that, he was at the mercy of Agent Moretti and the CARD team’s investigation. If Moretti had made any progress, he wasn’t sharing the information with Alexander. Based on their conversation earlier in the day, he figured he was probably the last person Moretti would call.

  “Can you at least turn the ringer off then?” Olivia huffed. “It’s driving me crazy.”

  Reaching for the phone on his desk, he slid the ringer off, silence falling over the room once more.

  “Thank you.” She let out a breath, crossing her arms over her stomach. She rubbed her biceps, warming herself, despite the fact his office felt like a sauna. Roaming the large space, she stopped and peered at framed photos hanging on the wall of Alexander and various diplomats as if she had never seen them before. It was clear she was trying to think of anything other than their missing daughter. Alexander doubted that was possible.

  Sighing, he returned his tired eyes to the file in front of him, scanning the dossier of a former drug lord the DEA had contracted his company to track down and dispose of by any means necessary. A local liaison, who ended up being dirty, gave the drug lord a heads-up, but not before Alexander’s agents destroyed all his cocaine processing houses and coca plants. Millions and millions of dollars of product had been incinerated in the Colombian night air. The man was eventually put on trial and imprisoned, but had recently been granted parole, the circumstances behind it still vague. Even so, he was no more or less capable of pulling this off than every other person on Alexander’s list of suspects. Sure, he had the motive and means to do this, particularly because kidnapping seemed to be this cartel’s specialty, but it didn’t fit. Alexander’s gut told him he didn’t do it. Granted, he had lost what most people would consider a small fortune, but he had taken a page out of Pablo Escobar’s playbook and had buried the equivalent of the operating budget of a small country all over the place. Losing a hundred million dollars was just a drop in the bucket to this guy.

  “What’s all this?” Olivia interrupted.

  “What’s all what?” Alexander replied, not even looking up. He couldn’t afford to waste a second of time.

  “All these papers,” she answered in an even tone, masking any trepidation or unease she felt about Melanie’s disappearance.

  Alexander raised his head to see her flipping through the folder containing all the information he had been going through yesterday.

  “Background checks on Mischa,” he answered through the pang of guilt in his chest.

  “You never did invite her to Christmas, did you?” Olivia inquired in a non-accusatory tone, but he couldn’t help but hear the unspoken allegation in her voice.

  “I meant to, but…”

  “I know. Life got busy.” She cast her eyes back to the papers, the rustling the only sound in the too-quiet room. “One holiday goes by. Then another. Then it’s been a year. At that point, it’ll just seem strange to call out of the blue. I’m guilty of it, too.” Her voice grew soft as she ran her fingers across the photo of Mischa, then Rayne. “Not anymore, though,” she added in a whisper.

  “Not anymore,” Alexander repeated, then hesitated, feeling as if he needed to be completely honest with his wife regarding the past twenty-four hours. “Olivia…,” he began.

  “Yes?” She looked up.

  “You remember Landon’s fiancée, right?”

  “The redhead. Rayne. This woman, correct?” She held up the photo, pointing to a beautiful, exuberant woman who appeared to not have a care in the world.

  He paused briefly as he stared into those haunting lilac eyes. “I saw her yesterday.”

  Olivia scrunched her eyebrows. “Where?”

  “Here,” he answered. “Except I didn’t realize it. I walked right past her as I headed into the building, but I didn’t recognize her.” He closed his eyes, warding off the guilt eating away at him. Lately, he had been carrying too much responsibility on his shoulders for what happened to Landon, and now Mischa. Was it his fault Rayne had spiraled downward, too? “She’s thin, pale, almost looks like she came from a homeless shelter, which would probably be a step up from the squalor she now lives in.”

  “You’ve been to her house?” Olivia stepped toward him, glued to his every word.

  Alexander nodded slightly. “When I finally realized who she was, I tracked down her address to the slums of Dorchester. As if losing her fiancé wasn’t bad enough, she lost everything else, too.” Shaking his head, he let out a slow breath. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “When did I become like this?” He looked at Olivia, pain in his eyes. “When did I become my father? How did I let that happen?”

  “What do you mean, Alex?” She walked toward him. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Just something I’ve been thinking about the past few days,” he admitted with a sigh. He rubbed his temples, then met her eyes. “Until Dave called me down to that fishing warehouse in Southie, it had been months since I’d even thought of Landon or Mischa…or Rayne.”

  “You’re extremely busy, Alex,” Olivia offered in sympathy.

  He let out a humorless laugh. “That’s the same thing my mother used to tell me when I asked why Dad was never home. He let his work consume him. Looking at everything that’s happened the past few days, all I can think is I’ve done the same thing. If I had been more involved, maybe Mischa would still be alive and Rayne wouldn’t be living—”

  “You can’t beat yourself up over this.” Olivia grabbed his hands, kneeling in front of him. “You are not your father. Do you work a lot? Yes, but I know it’s because you care about what you do. You work hard so all your employees can provide for their families.”

  “But I couldn’t even take the time to make sure Landon’s fiancée was provided for?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Alex, you did everything you could to make sure she’d be okay. You said so yourself. For weeks after the funeral, she wouldn’t allow you in to even check on her.”

  “I could have pushed harder. I could have forced her to let me in. I guess I thought since I paid all that money for the bakery, she’d be okay.”

  Olivia stood up and leaned on the corner of the desk, her brows furrowed. “How did she end up living in Dorchester with all the money you gave her?”

  Alexander shrugged. “I have no idea. I checked her bank accounts and she barely has twenty dollars to her name. She works, but her pay isn’t much more than minimum wage. There’s no record of her ever depositing the proceeds from the sale of the bakery.”

  “Did you mention any of this to Agent Moretti?”

  “What? All this about Rayne?”

  “Yeah. Maybe there’s a connection. It’s a bit curious that Rayne suddenly reappears in your life, after a year of intentionally shutting you out, just hours after her fiancé’s sister is found brutally murdered and just before your own daughter…” She turned her head, unable to say the words. She took a steadying breath, then met Alexander’s eyes once more. “I just think maybe whoever did this might be closer to the family than we want to believe.”

  “Maybe,” Alexander said, humoring her. “Or maybe she was trying to come to terms with Mischa’s death, as well. She may have simply been revisiting the past and that’s why she was standing outside this building. I’m not so sure they teach Computer Hacking 101 in culinary school,
” Alexander added, trying not to sound too sarcastic. Olivia was simply trying to offer a fresh perspective, but being able to manipulate the company’s online database, not to mention break through its firewall and various other security protocols, as well as have enough knowledge to somehow secure Martin’s thumbprint required advanced training. While it had been a year since he had last spoken to Rayne, he simply couldn’t see her being able to pull something like this off.

  “I know, but—”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Burnham,” a voice said, interrupting Olivia. “Mrs. Burnham.”

  Simpson hurried into the room, carrying what appeared to be a rather large accordion file, placing it on the desk. Olivia took this as her cue to get up and head back to the sitting area of the office. Alexander felt a hint of remorse that he shot down her theory that Rayne could have been behind Melanie’s disappearance, but so could countless other people who would actually be able to carry out something like this. While Rayne may have had the motive, she was lacking in the other criteria. Still, he made a mental note to dig a little more into her background.

  “I’m sorry it took so long, but here’s everything you requested on Vincent Moretti.”

  Alexander raised his eyebrows. “This is his file?”

  “Yes, sir. Well, his is relatively small. Model student all through high school. Went to a community college for two years, then transferred to a state school. Studied criminology, then went straight into the police academy. He graduated at the top of his class and worked as a beat cop before being promoted to a detective in the Family Justice Division. He was only there for a short period of time before being recruited by the FBI. All this before turning thirty. Pretty impressive, if you ask me.”

  “Right.” Alexander eyed him. “Then what’s the rest of this?”

  Simpson paused for a beat. “Turns out Vincent Moretti’s father used to work here.”

  Alexander’s eyes widened. “For the company?”

  “Yes, sir. In this office, as a matter of fact.”

  “I don’t recall anyone with the last name Moretti working here. Was it before my time?”

  “He was here for a few months after you took over. And you wouldn’t recall anyone with the last name Moretti. Vincent took his mother’s maiden name when his parents divorced approximately eighteen years ago. His father’s name was Joseph Mulligan.”

  Alexander flipped through the papers on his desk, allowing the information to soak in. “That name sounds familiar,” he commented. While he liked to think he knew everyone who worked for him, it simply wasn’t possible. The company had offices all across the country and around the world, hiring hundreds of people from administration to field agents.

  “He was shot approximately six months after you took over. He was on his way to his son’s baseball game and was gunned down. A mob boss had put a hit out on him to prevent him from testifying in conjunction with one of his cases here. I’m still digging for details. Suffice it to say, Mulligan never made it to the baseball game.”

  Alexander leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Everything began to make sense. “So that’s why this guy hates me. He thinks it’s my fault his dad died. The second he got to my house, he acted like he had a permanent stick shoved up his ass.” Returning his attention to the papers in front of him, he flipped through them before eyeing the time.

  “Thanks for this, Simpson. I’ll let you know if I need anything else.”

  “Certainly, sir. I understand how it looks as if I could be involved, considering how your system was hacked into. Like I told Agent Moretti, I’m more than happy to answer any questions and have an independent analyst go through all our computer systems.”

  “I appreciate that, Jamie,” Alexander responded. “I could be wrong, but my gut tells me you’re not the type to do something like this.”

  “Yes, sir.” Simpson nodded, heading toward the door before facing Alexander once more. “Oh, and there’s one more thing I probably should point out.”

  “What’s that?” Alexander asked, getting up from his chair and organizing all the scattered papers on his desk. He opened the drawer and placed the file in it.

  “Vincent Moretti minored in computer science. Before he was put on the CARD team, he was in the Cyber Division.”

  Alexander slammed the desk drawer closed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  December 19

  12:15 PM

  ALEXANDER RUSHED INTO THE conference room in City Hall, Olivia eyeing him with concern as she struggled to keep up with his long, determined strides. During the short drive there, he had refused to say a word.

  With fierce eyes, he scanned the large room, the smell of coffee and doughnuts making him nauseated. Several FBI agents and other officials were assembled, many of them discussing the upcoming press conference and what information should be released. But Alexander was only looking for one person.

  “Mr. Burnham.” Agent Moretti glanced up at him briefly, ignoring his rabid demeanor, then returned his attention to a group of agents, all of them looking over a stack of papers he held in his hand.

  “When were you going to tell me?” Alexander bellowed.

  The room went still. His face grew red as he yanked at his tie. His wild eyes, disheveled hair, and scruffy chin gave him a crazed appearance, like a man at the end of his rope. Olivia pulled on his arm, giving him a questioning look, but Alexander didn’t budge, his eyes remaining zeroed in on the agent.

  Moretti remained hunched over the table, flipping through a file for a protracted moment, then faced him with an annoyed expression.

  “Tell you what?”

  Alexander stood tall, widening his stance. “Did you not think I’d look into your background? I found out about your father. I get it. You don’t like me because you think it’s my fault he was shot. So… What? You use all the training you’ve received on the CARD team and working cybercrimes to take my daughter, then be the first on scene to steer me in the wrong direction? You made me accuse my right-hand man, all the while standing by, knowing he wasn’t the one to blame! Why?”

  “Alex…” A hand grabbed his arm. He glanced at the short, graying blonde woman standing to his left, a questioning look on her face.

  “Your brother doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Moretti said defensively to Carol, then faced Alexander. “I understand how stressful this situation can be, but throwing baseless accusations around will not bring your daughter back.”

  “Baseless?” Alexander retorted. “You had the motive and means to carry this out! So tell me, Vincent Moretti. Where were you this morning around 12:30?”

  He shook his head, avoiding Alexander’s eyes, his face growing flush. “I don’t have to answer that,” he hissed through clenched teeth, then turned around, walking away.

  “Why? You think you’re above the law?”

  “I am the law!” Moretti shouted, spinning back toward him, leaning his hands on the table as he took a defensive stance. “And it’s something I’m damn proud of! I’ve had to work for everything. Everything!” He slammed his fist on the table. “I didn’t have the luxury of simply being handed a multi-billion dollar company! And you think I’d jeopardize my career over my distaste for you?” He narrowed his eyes at Alexander, the animosity he had toward him painted in every crevice on his face. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” he sneered. “I’m going to find your daughter, regardless of my feelings toward you. My reputation is worth more to me than that.”

  Alexander stared at him for several long moments, absorbing his words. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a feeling he wasn’t getting the whole story.

  “Alex, listen to him,” Carol begged, tugging on his arm and bringing him out of his thoughts. He met her green eyes. “Remember what’s at stake here. You need to focus on doing everything you can to help find Melanie. Okay? Starting a fight with the lead on her case isn’t the way to do that. Stow that famous Burnham temper of yours for a minute and lear
n to work with him.”

  Glaring at Moretti, Alexander nodded reluctantly. “Fine.”

  He allowed Carol to lead him and Olivia toward a corner where his mother, brother, and Dave were assembled. He shook his head. Unable to bite back what he wanted to say, he spun back around.

  “I’m sorry he died, but I didn’t pull the trigger.” He pointed to his chest, then at Moretti. “You of all people should understand that.”

  “You think I blame you for his death?” Moretti glowered at him. “I’m not that naïve,” he scoffed.

  “Then why all this hostility toward me?” Alexander asked, baffled. “I haven’t done anything—”

  “Bullshit,” Moretti roared, standing tall once more. “Bullshit, Mr. Burnham. You pretend to care about your employees, but all you see are dollar signs. My mom left my dad because he was always working…for your father. She gave him an ultimatum — his family or his career. I guess it’s not a big surprise which he chose. At least he was still making good money and had no trouble paying those alimony and child support payments. Until he died, that is. And you…,” he sneered, a disgusted smile crossing his face as he scowled at Alexander with venom in his eyes, “with your flashy cars and designer suits… You denied my mother any death benefits because they were no longer married at the time. You didn’t care that she could barely make ends meet without those alimony and child support payments. So, to answer your question, that’s why I don’t like you. Ever since my mother was forced to sell the house she raised me in and move us to a one-bedroom apartment, I was determined to do everything in my power to make a better life for myself and for her.”

  Alexander was dumbfounded. The man Moretti described sounded like a horrible person, not like the man Alexander thought he was. He prided himself on caring about his employees, paying them what he believed to be a very generous salary. Was he really as self-centered as Moretti made him out to be? He couldn’t remember making a decision to deny death benefits to the family of one of his employees. He never got involved with those types of things. That was what his lawyers were for.