In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3) (21 page)

Twenty-five minutes later, as Matt pulled up in front of the white-clapboard Colonial the couple called home, the door
opened to reveal a man with his arm around a woman's shoulders. The distraught parents, who had obviously been watching
for them, radiated an almost palpable anticipation.

"See what I mean?" Matt said under his breath as they traversed the brick walkway.

The man pushed the storm door open as they approached
and ushered them inside. About five-ten, he looked to be close
to forty, with a haggard face and premature flecks of silver in
his dark hair. "Agent Carson, it's good to see you" He nodded
to the man and extended his hand to Nick. "Colin O'Neil. This
is my wife, Rebecca"

"Nick Bradley" Nick shook hands with each of them. The
man's grip was firm, but he could feel a quiver in the woman's
delicate fingers. She was about five-four, with the high cheekbones of a classic beauty and the turned-up nose of a pixie. An
interesting combination. Her short brown hair, soft and fluffed
around her face, was touched with auburn highlights. The dark
smudges under her eyes offered a stark contrast to her pale
complexion, and she was painfully thin.

When Matt had said they'd been through hell, he hadn't been
exaggerating. It was obvious the trauma of the kidnapping had
taken a heavy toll on both parents.

"Please, come in. Make yourself comfortable:" Colin swept
a hand toward the living room, where upholstered couches
flanked a fireplace mantel topped with long tapers in brass
candlesticks.

The two agents took one couch as the parents perched across
from them. Colin clasped Rebecca's hand and leaned forward.
"You have new information?"

Matt tipped his head toward Nick, giving him the floor.

Withdrawing a file from his portfolio, Nick flipped it open.
"This was found in St. Louis three weeks ago and turned over to the FBI. Yesterday, we realized the significance." He laid the
computer-generated print of the Raggedy Ann doll on the coffee table between them. "I happened to notice what appeared
to be orange yarn at the very bottom of a picture of Megan in
the FBI file. I asked for the full shot and discovered we had a
match"

Rebecca leaned close to examine the printout. "You found
Megan's doll!" She gasped and snatched up the paper, clutching
it against her chest. "Where? How?"

While Nick explained, he observed the young mother. In
person, the sense of familiarity was even stronger. Yet he was
certain they'd never met.

"You mean some woman turned the doll in because she got
a bad feeling from it?"

At the cautious question from Colin, Nick transferred his
attention to the baby's father. "Yes. We discounted it-until we
made the connection to the kidnapping. This woman has also
been uneasy since the day and hour your child was abducted"

"Are we talking ESP here?" Skepticism edged out some of the
hope in Colin's eyes.

"We don't know how to explain it," Nick replied.

"I don't care what the explanation is, as long as it helps us
find Megan" Rebecca leaned forward, her features taut. "What
does this discovery mean in terms of the case? Do you think
this woman might be involved?"

"No. We checked her out, Nick said.

"And I'm afraid the discovery doesn't mean much:" Matt gentled his tone. "The St. Louis office is questioning employees at
the restaurant where the doll was found, but it's unlikely anyone
will remember anything significant. That's why I told you earlier
that we're no closer to finding Megan than we were before"

"Of course we are!" Bright spots of color burned in Rebecca's
cheeks. "We have her doll. We know she was in St. Louis. She may still be there. And maybe this woman can help us some
more.

"I'm afraid not:" Nick hated to dampen her enthusiasm, but
he had to be honest. "This is a new experience for her too, and
she couldn't offer us anything else:"

Rebecca's shoulders drooped. "At least we have the doll:" She
examined the photo once more, again holding it close to her
face.

"Did you forget to put your contacts in, Rebecca?" Colin
brushed a wispy strand of hair off her forehead.

"Yes. But I can see well enough to recognize Megan's Raggedy Ann:" She stroked the photo of the patched face with the
lopsided smile, her features softening. "May I get the doll back
at some point?"

"Of course, Nick assured her.

"It was mine as a child. That's why it's in such bad shape. I
practically loved it to death, or so my mother tells me:" A smile
of remembrance whispered at her lips. "Megan loves it as much
as I did. She won't go to sleep without it. I gave it to Bridget, our
two-year-old, when she was born, but she was never interested
in dolls. She's more into finger painting"

"That's because she's artistic, like you" Colin gave his wife a
squeeze. "Rebecca did the watercolor over the mantel, he told
the two agents.

As Nick turned to give the pastoral scene a polite perusal,
he saw Rebecca moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue and
tuck her hair behind her ear.

Jolted by the familiar gesture, he froze.

Rachel did the exact same thing when she was nervous or
embarrassed.

Refocusing on the woman seated opposite him, Nick took a
closer look. Rebecca O'Neil and Rachel Sutton did share some
physical characteristics. They were about the same height, had the same body build and eye color, and both had brown hair with
glints of auburn. However, the two women didn't look anything
alike. Different noses, bone structure, chins. Even the shape of
their faces was dissimilar.

But Rebecca O'Neil did remind him of someone ... and suddenly the connection clicked into place.

She bore a marked resemblance to the woman in the photo
on Rachel's mantel.

To Rachel's mother.

In fact, she looked more like Rachel's mother than Rachel
did.

And though the two younger women didn't resemble each
other, they were similar in other ways. They shared the same gestures. They both had vision issues. Both were involved in music.
Rebecca danced; Rachel had always wanted to. Both had artistic
talent. Rebecca had once taught music; Rachel still did.

It couldn't all be coincidence.

Yet Rachel had said she had no relatives.

"Mrs. O'Neil:" The room went silent, and Nick realized he'd
interrupted a conversation. "Sorry. I wanted to ask if, by any
chance, the name of the woman who found the doll might be
familiar to you. Rachel Sutton"

Rebecca frowned and shook her head. "No. It doesn't ring
any bells. Why?"

"You remind me of her in many ways. Do you have any relatives in the St. Louis area?"

"Not that I know of. My dad was an economics professor at
the University of Missouri in Columbia, but he took a position
at Northwestern soon after I was born. My mother's family was
from Boston, and she only had one unmarried sister who died a
few years ago. My dad was an only child, like me. He grew up in
Wisconsin. I don't have any relatives at all, other than my mom.
She lives here in town. My dad passed away three years ago"

Dead end.

"Anything else, Nick?" Matt asked.

"No" Nick closed his portfolio.

"Do you need this back?" Rebecca indicated the photo of
the doll.

"No. We can print off some more:"

"Will you be concentrating your efforts in the St. Louis vicinity now?" Colin asked.

"We'll be working the case in multiple areas:'

Matt's evasive answer didn't get past Colin. "Does that mean
you don't think she's in St. Louis?"

"She may be, Nick stepped in. "The restaurant was in a neighborhood. Not the kind of place you'd patronize if you were passing through on the highway. That may or may not be significant.
But I can assure you the FBI will do everything it can to check
out any leads related to this case:" He handed him his card. "Call
me anytime if you have questions:"

He didn't tell the parents about the plans being made even
as they spoke to dredge the waste center where the dumpster
from the restaurant was always emptied ... in case the abductor had tossed in more than the doll. They didn't need to start
envisioning that possibility.

"We're going to find her, you know." Rebecca took her husband's hand and directed a steady, confident gaze at the two
agents. "And she's going to be okay. I'm her mother. I'd know if
she was-" she faltered, took a deep breath-"if there wasn't any
hope. God is going to bring her home to us, safe and healthy. I
have absolute confidence in that:'

"We'll do our best to make that happen, Mrs. O'Neil" Matt
rose and motioned to Nick. "We'll be in touch with any news:"

As the two agents shook hands with the parents and headed
back to the car, Matt turned up his collar against the biting wind
and shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. "She's never given up. Prayer has been her coping mechanism. You have to
admire her faith:'

Nick agreed. But his thoughts were more on coincidence
than creed. Wasn't it logical that two women who shared so
many characteristics would somehow be related? What was the
explanation for the onset of Rachel's persistent uneasiness on the
exact day and hour Megan had been snatched? Why did Rebecca
O'Neil bear such a strong resemblance to Rachel's mother?

It seemed he now had another mystery to unravel in addition
to the kidnapping.

And he didn't intend to rest until both were solved.

"Mom? Did I wake you?"

"No, honey. I was up" Jeannette Pearson switched the phone
to her better ear, trying to disguise the weariness in her voice.
She didn't want Rebecca worrying about her too.

Tightening her flannel robe against the morning chill in the
brick bungalow she'd called home for thirty-three years, she slid
a cup of decaf instant coffee into the microwave. Warmth had
been as elusive as sleep during the past few nightmare weeks. She
couldn't seem to chase away the coldness in her house-or her
heart. Steadying herself with a hand against the Formica countertop, she blinked back the tears that had been only a breath
away since the day her precious grandbaby had disappeared.

"We had some news this morning, Mom. A new lead. The
FBI has Megan's doll:"

Hope surged in Jeannette's heart. Maintaining her grip on
the counter, she worked her way over to the table in her eat-in
kitchen and sank onto a chair. "Where?"

"In St. Louis"

"Do they think Megan is there?"

"It's possible. The agents warned us not to get our hopes up,
but I have a feeling this is a breakthrough"

"Where did they find the doll?"

"They didn't. A woman dug it out of a snowbank in a restaurant parking lot and brought it to their office. Here's the weird
part. She told them it gave her bad vibes"

"And they believed her?" Jeannette would have expected the
FBI to write the woman off as a nut, though she was grateful
they hadn't.

"I don't think so. Not at first. They've had the doll for three
weeks. They didn't realize it was Megan's until an agent in St.
Louis noticed it in one of the photos we gave the FBI:"

"Do they think this woman might be connected to the kidnapping?"

"No. Colin wondered the same thing, but they've checked her
out and she's okay. Here's another strange thing, though. She told
them she's been feeling uneasy since the day Megan was taken"

A tiny flutter of alarm quivered at the base of Jeannette's
spine. "How odd:"

"There's more. The agent from St. Louis said I reminded him
of her, and asked if I had any relatives in St. Louis. We don't,
do we, Mom?"

"None that I know of." Jeanette's response was automatic-and
truthful. A lot of years had passed. People moved all the time,
especially in today's world.

"That's what I told him. But he kept watching me. It was
rather disconcerting"

The tingle moved higher on Jeannette's spine. Was it possible?
No. The odds against such a coincidence would be astronomical.
Yet a small flicker of uncertainty, a prod of intuition, compelled
her to ask the logical follow-up question. "Did they tell you the
woman's name?"

"Yes. Rachel Sutton"

Jeannette's lungs froze. As she struggled for breath, the familiar blue morning glories on her kitchen wallpaper faded in
and out of focus.

"Mom? Mom, are you there? Are you all right?"

Rebecca's anxious voice reached into the darkness that was
sucking her down and tugged her back to the light. "Yes. I'm
fine, honey." The words came out shaky and faint.

"You don't sound fine. Listen, I'm going to run over, okay?"

"No. I just need my morning cup of coffee, that's all:"

"Are you sure? You're taking your medicine, aren't you?"

"Every day:" Since her heart attack two years ago, Rebecca
had fussed over her like a mother hen, reversing their roles. Not
that Jeannette was complaining. She'd heard plenty of horror
stories from friends whose children only gave them a perfunctory check-in call every few weeks. Rebecca, on the other hand,
called or visited daily-sometimes twice a day.