She knew he’d lifted her, was shoving her into the Jeep. She thought she heard someone shouting for them to stop, thought she heard the faint sound of sirens. Then the door slammed shut, and she heard nothing but the rev of the Jeep’s engine as the man sped away.
* * *
Special Agent Henry Miller sprinted across the road, his focus on the Jeep that was speeding toward the intersection at the end of the street. His five-year-old daughter Everly was inside the vehicle. He was certain of that. He’d heard a woman screaming for help as he was heading down his in-laws’ hall to check on his daughters. The screams had been faint but audible through the nineteenth-century windows.
He’d run to the girls’ room and found the window open, frigid air wafting in. Aria had been sleeping, huddled beneath her blankets. Everly was gone.
He’d been in the house when she’d been taken.
He hadn’t heard anything earlier. Just the settling of old boards and joists as he carried his overnight bag into the guest room and unpacked for the weekend. His in-laws had been in bed when he’d arrived, the girls tucked in and sleeping. The quiet was comforting, and the house had seemed as much like home as any ever had. Like every other parent who had ever woken to find a child missing, he had had no clue that anything was amiss.
Until he’d heard the scream.
“Everly!” he shouted, his heart thundering, his brain screaming that this had to be a nightmare.
There was no way his daughter could have been taken from her room, carried out a window that had been jimmied open and tossed into a Jeep that was quickly driving away.
But he’d seen the window, the cut screen, the jimmied lock.
He spun on his heels, sprinting back to his in-laws’ house and the car he’d parked in the driveway less than an hour ago. The keys were in the pocket of his jacket, and that was still in the house. He reached the porch at a dead run, then glanced over his shoulder to see which direction the Jeep turned at the end of the road. Left toward Commercial Street. From there, it would be an easy drive out of town.
The front door flew open, and his mother-in-law, Rachelle, stepped outside, her face stark white. “Where’s Everly?” she cried.
“I need my jacket,” he responded, the words as hard and crisp as the winter air.
“Right here.” His father-in-law, Brett, shoved past Rachelle, thrusting the jacket into his hands.
“Call nine-one-one. Report a kidnapping. The vehicle is a black Jeep. Newer model. Four-door. Heading toward Commercial Street.”
He ran to his car and sped out of the driveway, the tires kicking up gravel as he turned onto the paved road. A purse sat near the curb, a phone several yards away from it. He’d seen a woman and man struggling with one another as he’d rounded the side of the house. She’d been shoved into the Jeep. Everly wasn’t alone. That didn’t make the situation any better.
He’d already lost his wife, Diane, in gunfire from a drive-by shooting. She’d been eight months pregnant with Everly and her twin sister, Aria. The surgeon had been able to save the girls, but Diane’s injury had proven fatal.
The heartache of saying goodbye to his wife had brought him to his knees. He didn’t think he could survive losing one of his daughters, too.
He rounded the corner at the end of the street, taking the turn so fast, he wasn’t sure all the tires stayed on the ground. Commercial Street was quiet as the shops that were usually bustling with life were dormant and dark, though a few exterior lights illuminated doorways and outdoor eating areas. Diane had loved Provincetown. It had been her family’s summer home when she was growing up. Now that she was gone, her parents lived there nearly year-round. Henry and the girls visited often, and they always spent the weekend closest to Diane’s birthday in town.
This was that weekend.
He’d had a full docket at work, and he hadn’t been able to take Friday off. His in-laws had picked the girls up after school and made the three-hour drive. He had finally clocked out of work just before midnight. He’d almost spent the night in Boston. He’d been that tired, that ready for sleep. But the girls had been looking forward to their yearly breakfast on the winter-cold beach—blankets spread on the sand, the sun rising above the ocean. All of them bundled up and pink-cheeked, adults sipping coffee. Kids drinking cocoa.
He hadn’t wanted to disappoint them, so he’d made the long drive, stopping a few times to drink black coffee and wake himself up. What if he’d stayed in Boston? Would he have arrived in the morning and been the first to realize Everly was missing?
He shuddered, forcing away that thought, and the fear. He needed to stay focused on the task. Taillights gleamed in the distance, as the car ahead cruised through the business district at a pace that was probably just under the speed limit. The driver had no intention of being pulled over for speeding. If he made it to Route 6, it would be easy for him to find a place to pull off the road and hide. There were small towns dotting the Cape, and plenty of places for someone to disappear if he wanted to. Henry couldn’t let him. For Everly’s sake, and for the sake of the woman who’d been thrown in the Jeep with her, he had to stop the driver before he made it out of Provincetown.
He accelerated to a dangerous speed, whizzing past shops as he closed in on the fleeing vehicle. The driver must have realized he was being followed. He took a hard turn onto a side street, the back wheel bouncing over the sidewalk. Henry did the same, easing up on the accelerator as he rounded the turn.
The Jeep had slowed, as the driver navigated the narrow side street and headed south. Henry’s cell buzzed. He ignored it. The Jeep slowed more, turning into an alley that Henry had walked down dozens of times when he and Diane were dating.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, his heart galloping, the pace fast and erratic. He’d held Diane’s hand at the hospital after the shooting and promised her that everything would be all right, and that no matter what, he’d take care of their daughters. When the surgeon had told him Diane was brain-dead, he’d sat by her side and told her how much she’d meant to him, how fortunate and blessed he’d been to have her in his life.
And he’d promised her that the girls would be fine.
That he’d make certain they had wonderful lives.
He’d promised that they would know who she was and how much they’d meant to her.
He’d spent nearly six years working to fulfill those promises. He refused to fail now. He refused to believe that Everly would be taken from him, that she’d disappear like so many other children had. That he’d spend the rest of his life searching the faces of strangers, hoping to see his daughter.
The Jeep cleared the alley and bounced onto Conwell Street. Henry followed, the traffic light at Route 6 glowing green. It turned red as the Jeep approached. The driver slowed and then stopped. Perhaps out of caution. Perhaps out of habit.
Henry was closing the distance between them, not trying to hide the fact that he was following. He’d let the guy know he’d been seen, that what he’d tried to do under the cover of darkness had been exposed.
The light turned green as Henry neared the back bumper of the Jeep. He thought about clipping it, but worried that Everly would be hurt.
As the Jeep turned onto the highway, the back door flew open and a woman jumped out, Everly clutched against her chest. She stumbled and fell, skidding across the pavement on her knees, her arms still tight around his daughter.
She was up in a flash, sprinting toward buildings that she probably hoped would offer her cover or a place to hide. Everly hadn’t moved. She was limp as a rag doll, bouncing against the woman’s shoulder.
Henry threw the SUV into Park and jumped out, racing after her. Not caring about protocol, about securing the perpetrator, about doing any of the things he’d been trained to do. He was only worried about how still Everly was. How quiet. How completely unlike the bubbly little girl he knew her to
be.
“FBI! Slow down and let me help you,” he called as he sprinted after the woman.
She didn’t believe him, of course.
She’d been traumatized and was running for her life with a child in her arms. He doubted his words had even registered. He’d spoken to victims of violent crimes. He’d interviewed witnesses. He knew how difficult it was to process information when the brain was bent on survival.
He tried again. “Ma’am! Stop! Let me help you!”
She darted between two buildings and entered an alley much too narrow for a vehicle.
He was right behind her, catching up fast. His attention was on Everly’s arm, flopping against the woman’s back. He’d never seen his daughter unresponsive. She was always filled with energy and verve. Unlike her twin, she was outgoing and talkative, her mouth running as often and as fast as her nearly six-year-old feet.
“Everly!” he called as he finally caught up to the woman. He grabbed her narrow shoulder, yanking her backward.
She whirled toward him, her arms wrapped around his daughter, her eyes wide with fear.
“Back off,” she panted.
“I’m her father,” he responded, dragging her farther away from the opening of the alley.
“You said you were with the FBI,” she replied, trying to pull away.
“I am.”
“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t be her father and with the FBI.”
“Why not?”
She scowled. “I already called the police. I can hear the sirens. They’ll be here any minute.”
He could hear the sirens, too, wailing in the distance, shouting that help was on the way.
Only help had no way of knowing where they were, and the perp was still on the loose. “Come on. Let’s get away from the street.”
He pulled her toward the far end of the alley, past a Dumpster and pile of dismantled cardboard boxes.
Something scuffled on the cement behind them.
He glanced at the entrance to the alley as a dark figure stepped into view. Tall and lean, his face hidden by the shadows, he took a step forward and pulled something from beneath his jacket.
Henry jerked the woman sideways, shoving her behind the Dumpster. He followed, throwing himself in front of her and Everly as the first bullet shattered the quiet and slammed into the metal near his head.
TWO
A bullet pinged off the brick building, the casing dropping to the ground and rolling under trash that littered the alley. Another slammed into the ground just beyond the Dumpster they were hiding behind.
Sirens screamed in the distance, but help was too far away. The next bullet could pierce the metal and slam into Tessa, the little girl she carried or the man who’d shoved them behind the Dumpster.
“We need to get out of here!” Tessa yelled as a third bullet hit the building just above them. Bits of brick and mortar rained down, clattering onto the ground and skipping across the concrete.
“It’s okay,” the man said, pressing her into the old brick wall. She knew the alley, the buildings on either side—a barber shop and an art shop—the streets that crossed in front and behind it. She knew where she was, but she doubted the police did, and she doubted that staying where they were was going to make anything okay.
“It is not okay,” she whispered, shoving against his solid weight, the little girl still in her arms.
“It will be,” he replied.
“How do you know?”
“He’s not going to come around the Dumpster. He has no idea if I’m armed.”
“He is armed. That’s what’s going to matter to him.”
“What is going to matter to him is escaping. He might want to get rid of a witness, but he won’t risk losing his freedom to do it.”
It made sense, but that didn’t make her feel any less like a sitting duck.
She shivered, her body smashed between the wall and the man.
She hated the feeling of helplessness that brought, the memories that clawed at the back of her mind. Other dark mornings and late nights when fear had made her cower and beg. When she’d fled Patrick, she’d promised herself that she would never do those things again. That she would fight or go down trying to.
She tried to move, but the man was a solid mass of muscle and sinew, all of it focused on keeping her where she was.
“Let me go,” she demanded, her voice shaking.
She hated that as much as she hated feeling helpless.
He stepped back, just enough to let her breathe. She inhaled cold air and baby shampoo. She’d done what she’d set out to do. She’d kept a child from being kidnapped. Now, she wanted to go to the diner and get back to the familiar routine of prepping for opening. That felt safe to her, and it felt more right than staying in the cold alley waiting for the police to arrive.
“I need to get to my job,” she murmured.
“Your boss will understand if you don’t show up,” the man said gently, reaching for the little girl and taking her from Tessa’s arms.
“You don’t know my boss.”
“No. I don’t,” he said, his attention on the child.
“He’s counting on me to open the diner.”
“The police will want to speak to you first.”
“They can find me at Ernie’s.” She knew it was unreasonable. She knew that she needed to stay where she was. The police would want to speak to her. She’d have to give a statement. There’d be dozens of questions about what had happened and what she’d seen.
But, all she wanted to do was walk away.
Just like she’d done three years ago.
She knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Running from problems never did. Her grandmother used to tell her that. The one person in her childhood who had actually cared, Hester had done her best to give Tessa a firm foundation on which she could build a better future.
It had taken way too many years for Tessa to do that.
“The police will know where that is,” she continued.
“You’re in shock. You’re not thinking clearly. If you were, you’d realize that the best thing for you and my daughter is to wait here until police and medics arrive,” the man said in the calm and patient tone she would have used with a screaming toddler tossing biscuits on the floor of the diner.
“Is she really your daughter?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry this happened to her.”
“Me, too,” he responded, frowning as he looked at the little girl. “She’s never this soundly asleep. Everly?” He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
“Her pulse is good. I checked in the Jeep.”
“Thank you for doing that, and for saving her.” He shrugged out of his jacket and spread it on the ground, stepping far enough away that Tessa could have left if she’d really wanted to. He laid Everly on the coat, checking her pulse and then running his hands down her arms and legs.
“No breaks,” he murmured, reaching into his back pocket and tossing a phone in Tessa’s direction. “Can you call nine-one-one? Give the police our location and ask for an ambulance. Make sure they know this is related to the report of a kidnapping.”
She made the call, her hands shaking, her voice trembling. When the operator asked for her name, she hesitated before giving it. She’d worked hard to create a life she could be proud of, one she thought that God would approve of and that her grandmother, who’d died when she was fourteen, would have applauded. She was risking that by allowing herself to be drawn into someone else’s drama. The fact was, in the past, she’d done things she wasn’t proud of. None of the people in her new life knew that. None of them really knew her. Not the real her. She wanted to keep it that way.
But, she also wanted to help.
She wanted to make certain that the person who’d tr
ied to kidnap Everly didn’t try to kidnap another child. She wanted to do the right thing, because it was right. Even if it cost her everything she’d worked for.
She crouched next to the man and his daughter, watching as he checked the little girl’s bruised shins and bare feet. He pushed up the sleeves of her nightgown, turned her arms so the exterior building lights fell on them. There was a smudge of blood on one arm, and he paused, studying it for a moment.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Puncture wound. She was drugged.” He took off his flannel shirt and tucked it around Everly, his face hard, his expression unreadable. He had a five-o’clock shadow on his chin and dark circles beneath his eyes. Short hair. Muscular build. Even if he hadn’t told her he was with the FBI, she’d have guessed he was law enforcement or military.
“Your wife must be worried sick,” she said, imagining the girl’s mother waiting at home, praying that her daughter would be returned. “Maybe you should call her and let her know you found Everly?”
She handed him the phone, and he tucked it into his pocket. “Her mother died the day she and her twin were born.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.
“Thank you. It was difficult. Some days, it still is. Diane was a wonderful person. She would have been a great mother. I wish she would have at least had the chance to meet her daughters.”
“I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to grieve her loss while trying to take care of two newborns.”
“They were in the NICU for a while, and my in-laws were a huge help. By the time I brought the girls home, I had people lined up to step in and help out. I’m very fortunate in my friends, and I’m very fortunate tonight ended as well as it did.” He touched Everly’s cheek, tucked the shirt around her a little more tightly.
Police lights flashed on the pavement and a radio crackled. Help had arrived. Soon half the population of Provincetown would be aware of the attempted kidnapping. People would be congregating on the street, trying to get a look at the girl and her rescuers. There would be local reporters jockeying for position, trying to get the best photo and the best answers to the most insightful questions.
Lone Witness Page 2
