Dark Hope (36 page)

But the pleasant warmth, the aching desire, wouldn’t stop. It built and built without any hope of release, the exquisite longing inside of me turning into nothing but pain. The heat of the fire grew. It hollowed me out; it was burning me up. I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything. I was melting—melting under his touch, melting away from his brilliance and heat.

“Fire.” It was the only word I could get out through my labored breath, so low I wasn’t sure he would hear it. I was already fading away, the pain too much to bear.

The faint smell of something burning slipped into my consciousness.

Henri?
My mind reached out, waiting for a word of advice, some help, but none came—just a doubling of the pain that already seemed unbearable. Through my eyelids I could see the bright white light that was consuming me, turning me into nothing. My body began to shake, but it no longer felt as if I was connected to my arms and legs as they thrashed. Even the pain seemed to go
away, replaced by emptiness as I began to drift away. My thoughts were becoming erratic as random flotsam from my life popped in and out of focus.

For one instant, everything seemed to stop.

Then I hit a wall of pain like a freight train. A shrieking wail filled my ears. I couldn’t tell where it came from. I didn’t care. I just needed to get away, away from the pain and the horrible smell of burnt flesh.

“Hope! Hope! Stay with me!” Michael’s voice, at once stern and scared, reached out to me through the light, pulling me back to the pain. I could feel his rough hands on me, every touch stabbing me through with pain. He was jostling me, picking me up. I tried to push away—I couldn’t bear his touch, couldn’t bear to feel anything against me—but I couldn’t even move my limbs anymore.

The sound of rushing water came out of nowhere.

Was that a brook? How did we get outside?
I thought to myself.

Another blast of pain racked my body as I was plunged into ice. The coldness soothed and burned at the same time, pricking like thousands of tiny needles. The light behind my eyes was fading. Where was I? What was happening? I couldn’t open my eyes.

From far away, I could hear Michael talking to me, repeating the same words over and over, but nothing made any sense. I didn’t want to be here; the pain was too great. I just let myself fall into the black void of unconsciousness, happy to escape.

fifteen

M
ona drummed her fingers on the conference table. She knew she had no right to be annoyed with her boss, Clayton. He was dropping everything to come in on a weekend; she shouldn’t be quibbling over him being a few minutes late. But the presence of her lawyer, trying to discreetly check his watch every few minutes, kept reminding her that time was slipping away.

“Sorry, sorry,” Clayton intoned with his vaguely patrician accent as the glass door to the conference room swung open. “I know I’m late, but I come bearing gifts, so hopefully you’ll forgive me.”

He pulled a drink carrier loaded with coffees from behind his back.

“Oh, God bless you,” Mona sighed, suddenly aware of just how exhausted she was. “I so need that caffeine.”

“And that’s not all. I brought my friend, Special Agent Hale from the FBI. Come on in here, John.”

A tall, lean man in a windbreaker strode into the room, hand outstretched. “John Hale, ma’am.”

“I’m Mona Carmichael, and this is my lawyer, Arne Haverty. Thank you for coming, Agent Hale.”

“Please, call me John. May I?” He gestured to a chair. Mona nodded and he sat down. Clayton took his customary seat at the head of the table and folded his hands.

“John’s an expert in parental abductions. I filled him in on what I know, Mona, but I think it might be best for you to start from the beginning so that John knows what we’re working with here.”

Mona nodded. She hated to talk about her past with Don. Hated the whole story. But she knew Clayton was right.

Her lawyer piped up. “Everything will be considered privileged, of course.”

“Of course,” the agent assented. “And simply background.”

With that reassurance, Mona began.

“Over ten years ago, my daughter was abducted. After a few days we recovered her, unharmed, but the whole incident marked the start of the unraveling of my marriage to Don. He became obsessed with Hope’s safety—”

“Hope, that’s your daughter?” John interrupted. Mona noticed he was jotting rapid notes in the little pad of paper he’d taken out of his jacket pocket.

“Yes, my daughter. She’s fifteen, now. Actually, sixteen. Her birthday was yesterday.” She reached into a cavernous purse and pulled a photo out of her wallet, sliding it across the table to the agent. “It’s a little old.”

The agent murmured his thanks and glanced at the photo. “I see the resemblance.” He handed the photo back to Mona. “So, your husband—Don Carmichael, is it? He became obsessed with Hope’s safety?”

“Yes. It got to the point where he couldn’t hold down a job, he was so unwilling to let her out of his sight.”

“Did he ever say why he was so fearful? It is a natural reaction to be more cautious after a kidnapping, but typically people don’t go to that extreme.”

“I don’t really understand it myself. I think that because we never knew for sure who had taken her and could never confirm that the person we found burned to death at the motel where we recovered Hope really was her abductor, Don was afraid someone was still out there and that she was still at risk. He became quite religious and took that to extremes, as well.”

“How long did this go on?”

“It probably went on for two years before I couldn’t take it anymore. We never officially divorced, but we’ve been separated ever since.”

“You never divorced?” John paused on that and looked with undisguised curiosity at Mona. She flushed, knowing how odd that might seem. She struggled to explain it even to herself sometimes. She looked at Clayton. A note of sadness crept into his eyes before he looked away.

Poor Clayton. Patiently waiting all this time for things to change.

“And he got custody of your daughter?” John’s question interrupted her reverie.

Mona looked across the table at Clayton, willing him to look at her. Their eyes connected. So many times they’d gone over this, trying to understand what they could have done differently.

“Don managed to convince the judge that my job would take me away too much, that it wasn’t a good home environment for Hope.”

“And you didn’t reveal what you knew about his obsessive behavior?”

Mona flushed, looking down at her hands. “At the time, I was embarrassed for him. For us. And I guess I thought that even
though I couldn’t live with it any longer, it was really quite harmless. I could provide for Hope’s financial well-being and make sure nothing went wrong.”

“Did he ever mention anything specifically linking his religion and his worries about Hope?”

Mona frowned. “No, not that I can remember. Do you think they are related?”

“Not necessarily. But there is always a chance that your husband has come up with some conspiracy theory. If you haven’t heard him say anything, there’s probably nothing there.” He looked down at his notes and tapped his pen, thinking. “So you’ve been apart for a long time. And now you have custody, as Clayton told me. You came back last night and Hope had disappeared?”

Mona nodded, her heart racing with alarm as she recounted the events of last evening and this morning. “I haven’t been able to reach her for at least a day. Her phone kept going straight to voice mail. Don says he doesn’t have her, but it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Mona, if Don took Hope, where would he take her?” John asked.

“Back home to Alabama, I suppose.”

Clayton and John looked meaningfully at one another.

“What?”

“Are you sure there is no other place he would take her? An old family home? Some place he used to live before he met you?” John pressed her.

Mona waved a hand dismissively. “He’s not that creative. Besides, he’s lived his whole life either here in Atlanta or in Alabama. He has no family left to speak of. I don’t know where he could go. Why?”

Clayton cleared his throat. “The FBI found your car, Mona, but not in Alabama. It was in long-term parking at Hartsfield-Jackson.”

“At the airport?” Mona was stunned. “That bastard. Acting all innocent, like he never left home.”

“You spoke with him?” John leaned into the table, eager to hear her answer.

“Yes. I called him demanding to speak to Hope. He claimed not to have her, not to have even seen her for weeks.”

“Landline or cell phone?”

“I called his mobile.”

The agent broke into a grin. “We can trace his signal from your call records and track him down.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I just need your number and his.”

“Don’t you need a warrant for that?” Arne broke in, ever cautious.

“Location data is not protected in the United States. Besides, I would focus on recovering your client’s daughter first, worry about admissible evidence later.”

“Maybe you can locate them with Hope’s phone,” Mona added in. “When I called her, it went straight to her messages, but maybe that was enough of a signal to track her, too.” Mona scribbled the numbers down on a piece of paper and slid it across to him. “What else? There has to be more we can do.”

“We could issue an Amber Alert,” John said, “but I gathered you wanted to keep this quiet if you could.”

Clayton nodded. “My firm doesn’t like to draw unnecessary attention to itself. And Mona would prefer this to be discreet. She is a very prominent partner, very high profile with the business press. It would be a media zoo.”

“The media can help, though. Make it tough for him to hide.”

“What if the car is a decoy? What if he moved it there to throw us off the trail, and he really is in Alabama?” Mona asked.

John nodded. “It’s easy enough for us to check out his home, see if he’s there. He might have put your daughter somewhere else, though. He has a job now?”

Mona snorted. “Yes, I guess you can call it that. His court-appointed lawyer just informed me a few weeks ago. He works in a fast-food restaurant. I think he’s been there for a month, maybe two at the most.”

John grinned. “That’s perfect. They have cameras all over those places, plus electronic clock-ins and -outs for all employees. I can talk to the corporate security people and get them to give me the records. At least then we’ll be able to eliminate possible alibis for your ex.”

“Can you do that?” Arne looked distinctly nervous, pulling at his starched collar.

“Relax,” John said, flashing an all-American smile. “They’ll want to cooperate behind the scenes to prevent a big stink if the whole thing goes public.” He turned to Mona, adopting a more serious tone. “In the meantime, I’ll get my team to search flight manifests out of Atlanta for the last two days. We’ll see if we turn up anyone even remotely resembling them. We’ll find your girl, Mona. I promise.”

“Everything quiet, John,” Clayton spoke, looking troubled. “No press. Not unless we have no choice. I’ll let our media relations team know, but for now, if they are asked they will respond with ‘no comment.’”

He peered down the table. Mona was still in her high-backed chair, ashen.

“Mona? You okay?”

She looked up, startled, as if she was surprised to be spoken to.

“He wouldn’t hurt her, would he Clayton?” Her eyes searched Clayton’s for reassurance. “He might be crazy, but he still loves her. Right?”

Clayton returned her gaze and stretched his hand across the table. Mona placed her hand in his open palm. His big hand enveloped hers, giving it a squeeze. Arne and John looked away, knowing there was nothing they could say right now that would make Mona feel any better.

sixteen

I
stayed wrapped in the safety of darkness for who knows how long. I was on a never-ending arc of pain, cycle after cycle stretching my body to its limit. Each time the pain reached its peak, I came close to regaining consciousness. I would hear snippets of things going on around me, enough to make out that I was still with Michael but that someone else was there with us, too. There was a faint, incessant beeping in the background. Other than that, an ominous hush seemed to fill the room.