Noah's Rainy Day (31 page)

“What are you up to, Pierce?”

Streeter remained unmoved and calmly said, “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. You have been messing with some very nasty players. And in addition to all your busy activities in the Big Apple,
you have found time to line so many DC politicians’ pockets with your dirty money that it looks like a one-sided tennis match—they all simply look the other way in unison when a subpoena is served anywhere near your side of the net.”

Streeter had remained calm while making these allegations and now he walked slowly back to his chair. Max was shocked shitless. I could hardly contain my glee.

After a momentary tongue-tied pause, Max stuttered. “Now wait just a minute—”

Streeter did not allow him to finish. “Agent Bergen, Chief Gates, and I are not the least bit interested in your extracurricular activities. We are interested in finding little Max. I am only trying to tell you to cut the crap and tell us who your enemies are so that we can start chasing tangible leads.” After a few sobering seconds, Streeter continued, “Do you understand me?”

Melissa jabbed a finger at Max, any tenderness between them gone. “Did you have something to do with this, you son of a bitch? Tell me where he is. Tell me or I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to your guard dogs.”

“Missy, calm down.” Turning to Streeter, Max explained, “Obviously, she’s still a little upset about our son’s disappearance. She’s not thinking clearly.” He sliced a sideways glance at Melissa that was so precise it would have negated her next appointment with her plastic surgeon.

She scrunched her nose as if discovering a rotten, discarded washcloth in a forgotten corner of her mind. I noted that Melissa Williams was not silenced easily, but she still reluctantly obeyed Max. I also noted how she turned away from him, rolling her eyes every time he opened his mouth.

“You have our full cooperation. I’ll get you a list of anyone who might want to harm me or my family, might want to exact a pound of flesh from me, if you will. And Missy will, too.”

“What? I had nothing to do with this.”

“Neither did I,” Max assured her, “just like I told you last night. But someone who knows one of us might have little Max, and are you willing to take that chance?”

I noticed that their exchanged glare seemed to morph back into a genuinely tender gaze. At the mention of their time together last night? For
the sake of little Max? Either way, my conclusion from yesterday that these two really did love the boy, cared for him the best way they knew how, was confirmed.

“I’ll get a list,” she said, never taking her eyes from Max’s face.

“Good,” he said, holding her stare. “You have our full cooperation.”

“Thank you,” Streeter said. “And contact us immediately if you hear from any kidnappers.”

Streeter had told Tony and me that the LA Bureau and NYC Bureau had already ordered taps for both homes. The FBI didn’t need permission in an abduction case. And of course their hotel rooms were wired, including the room with Max’s attorney and with Melissa’s hairstylist, the only two people from their entourages who had stayed in Denver.

“Full cooperation, except we are going to continue the press conferences,” Max announced.

“Why do you insist on holding press conferences?” I asked.

“Strategy,” Max responded without pause and with overwhelming confidence. “You see, this situation calls for more than your police procedures.”

I was proud of myself for keeping my composure, even though I wanted to jump across the table and personally wipe the smug look from his face. Thankfully, my desire to impress Streeter was greater than my need to pummel the contempt out of my sister’s ex-boyfriend.

Max continued, “We needed to formulate our own strategy with our own people that will allow us to find our son. The press releases are a big part of who we are and what we do. We are going to use that to our advantage, take opportunities every chance we get, despite your … uh, advice, shall we say, to the contrary.”

Maybe my restraint was ingrained after the hours I had spent in Sister Maria’s office, waiting to be scolded about mussing my hair, ripping my pinafore uniform, and being disciplined for my unladylike behavior, after scuffling on the playground. Actions certainly do have consequences. And right about now, I wouldn’t mind being called unladylike.

Max concluded, “With all due respect, Agent Pierce, your advice is bad. We have given you ample time to find little Max.”

Streeter looked at his watch—9:43 a.m.

“Sixteen and a half hours? That’s ample time?”

“It’s nearly twenty-one hours since little Max went missing, in fact. The first twenty-four are the most critical. And you have come up with nothing, am I right?”

“Sixteen hours thirty minutes since the FBI has been involved. Twenty-one hours since little Max was taken. Four and a half hours lost because you and the airlines decided not to involve the authorities,” Streeter responded. I leveled my gaze on Max.

“You see, my original strategy was to call in the best from the Bureau to find my son. But if this is all the best can do, well then …”

Streeter said, “You requested Agent Bergen. Three weeks out of Quantico.”

I didn’t take it personally. Streeter was making a point. But it didn’t make me want to pummel Max any less, the arrogant prick.

Melissa glared at Max. “I knew it. You liar. You told me she was the best. What else have you been lying to me about?”

Max paused, staring directly into Streeter Pierce’s unwavering eyes. “I thought maybe Agent Bergen would have amounted to something by now. She was the most determined in the litter. But I was wrong,” Max replied. The contempt he held for me was obvious; although, I found it amusing that there might be a veiled compliment hidden in all the shit he was spewing. Until he added, “More like the most pigheaded. You are a mess, Liv. You look like you’ve been in a back-alley brawl. And lost.”

I couldn’t argue there. The scratches on my face were healing, but a few bruises had surfaced since yesterday and I wasn’t looking very sophisticated wearing a man’s suit pants and rag wool sweater. But I wasn’t about to take the bait. I was just too smart for that. I grinned, knowing this would be an unexpectedly maddening response to all his barbs.

Streeter held his gaze with Max and warned, “Keep this professional, Williams.”

“Oh, Agent Pierce. Don’t you understand?” I asked, uncrossing my arms and leaning back. “This is Max being ‘professional.’ Dominance through intimidation. And not only am I not the least bit intimidated, but I also find it quite amusing.”

Melissa scoffed. I saw the flicker of anger in Max’s eyes before he said, “Be amused. But I didn’t become as successful as I am without backup plans
or by assuming someone else could do the job that I wanted done. My son’s too important to me for that. So, I implemented my backup and called for a press conference while you made me wait. Now, I am in control.”

Just as I was afraid I had disappointed Streeter with my interjection—something he might view as getting too personal or emotional—Streeter rose to his feet and placed his massive hands on the flimsy, plastic folding table, thick fingers splayed. He leaned close to Max, who sat comfortably in his chair on the other side. Max appeared amused. Streeter’s eyes fixed fiercely on Max. I wouldn’t want to be Max. Streeter’s voice was steady and commanding as he spoke. “You may have a strategy, Mr. Williams, but we have a job to do. That job is to find your son and bring him back unharmed, if at all possible. We do this for a living, and whether you two like it, we will continue to do our jobs, despite your efforts to the contrary. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly,” Max answered through his flashy smile.

“I understand your frustration and can only imagine your impatience. But you need to understand this. It’s been less than twenty-four hours. We’ve been working around the clock. We request your continued assistance to find your son and to approach this situation with a unified strategy. Without that, there is no reason for me to keep your names from sailing to the top of our suspect list where they belong.” Streeter leaned closer to Max, who stared back at him with an impish grin. Softly yet sternly, Streeter growled, “In the future we will not be making any more requests. Instead, we will give orders. And if either of you deliberately goes against the orders of the FBI again, we will consider it obstruction of justice. Which is a felony. Do you understand me now, Mr. Williams?”

Max’s grin faded. “Don’t threaten me, Agent Pierce. You’re not even lead investigator. Agent Bergen is.”

“Wrong. I am. I don’t care who you know. Oh, and it’s not a threat. It’s a promise. And I keep my promises.”

The flicker of anger I’d seen earlier in Melissa’s eyes had grown into a raging wildfire. “Where is he, Max? Did they take little Max for the money? They did, didn’t they?” Melissa asked Max.

“Missy, darling, how would I know?”

“You’re the one surrounding yourself with a bunch of crooks and thieves.”

“Unlike Aldo?”

“Aldo’s not a thief.”

“This is not my fault, Missy. You can’t blame me for this one.”

She stood up and turned on her three-inch, canary-yellow heels and slammed her fists on her waist, staring down at him. “I can and I will. My lawyer said that Christmas was my holiday and that meant little Max should have been with me no later than Christmas Eve morning. So it is most certainly your fault.”

Max said, “It’s not my fault if some lunatic snatched our son. And I’ve never dealt with a kidnapper before. But what we have to do is quit ripping each other apart and focus. I can only assume that whoever did this wants money. Why else would they want a kid?”

I added, “He’s right. You have to work together on this. It might be the difference between little Max coming home alive and …”

“And what? What? Do you think he’s dead?” Her pleading eyes were fixated on me.

When I didn’t answer, Melissa shuddered, her bare, sculpted shoulders twitching, before she sat back down, wrapping herself in her thick, white fur coat and warning, “Okay. I’ll cooperate. I’ll try to stay focused on what’s best for little Max. But if anything really has happened to that kid, I’m going to sue your ass for everything you have.”

Max grinned. “You already did, dear. Don’t you remember all the depositions we’ve given, visions of alimony plums growing bigger with every harsh word? And then who do you think will be paying for those sunny excursions to Papeete? Aldo?”

“I hate you,” she hissed.

“That’s not what you told me last night, dear.”

“I was crazy with grief.”

So they
had
reunited.

“You hate that even Aldo can’t afford you. Now, why don’t you be a good girl and start preparing yourself to be the distraught and grieving mother, rather than the bitter, greedy ex.”

Turning to me, Melissa said, “See what I have to live with?”

I was just glad it wasn’t Ida who was asking me that.

Noah

MOM LIFTED ME INTO
her arms and carried me upstairs to take a quick nap before lunch. The excitement from Christmas morning was exhausting.

I felt my hair brush against the doorframe of my room, and my legs involuntarily stiffen the more I focused on relaxing. Mom could barely maneuver me. I focused hard to relax. But the excitement of the morning—unwrapping presents, eating so much candy, listening to Christmas music—made it nearly impossible for me to relax my body. Plus every time I thought about the missing boy’s laugh, I’d start laughing again, which made it almost impossible to relax. It seemed the more I tried, the worse it got.

My mom walked sideways through the door and dropped me on the bed.

I should have fallen right to sleep, since I had hardly gotten any last night. But I didn’t. I daydreamed for a time about when this would end. When diapers became a thing of the past. When I could go to the bathroom by myself. When I didn’t get embarrassed in a crowd, just because I had to go but couldn’t get myself to the bathroom or have the privacy for
pooping, like most people. I didn’t like that I needed my mom or dad to notice, to act, and to change my mess.

Worse, I never saw an end to my dependence.

I decided I shouldn’t be thinking about this on Christmas. So I started thinking about the missing backpack and the fifth grader named Clint from our school, the kid the adults refused to speak about. It was all hush-hush, leaving us kids to make up stories about him having his leg eaten by a bear. I tried to remember if he liked playing with cars and eating Milky Ways. And at some point, I started talking out loud. I forgot that my mom had turned the monitor back on, and I suddenly realized she’d know I wasn’t napping and would come get me.

I was right.

I heard her soft footsteps on the stairs and my door open. “You just don’t want to miss a thing today, do you?”

She was right. I didn’t.

Mom carried me back down into the kitchen where my wheelchair waited like a faithful steed. I heard Uncle Michael say that once. I thought it sounded funny. Especially when he told me a steed was a horse. I’ve always wanted to ride a horse. The swing that Santa brought me makes me feel like I’m in a saddle riding a horse, or walking on the moon. I love it! That’s another reason I should be exhausted and take a long nap, but I don’t want to.

Mom buckled my harness and belt, placed my feet in the stirrups, and washed her hands. I heard her ask Emma, “Where’s your dad?”

Emma shrugged. “He was here a minute ago.”

The front door opened and closed quickly. I knew who it was before I heard my dad’s voice call, “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!”

Emma stomped out and said, “Dad, that is getting so old.”

“But don’t I look like Santa?” He pointed to the snow that crusted his dark beard and eyebrows. He patted his large stomach. “And I’ve worked hard on this belly, put away a lot of groceries to try to convince you.”

“I’m not,” Emma sassed.

Mom called back, “Thanks for putting the breakfast dishes in the sink for me.”

Dad came in, shivering. “That was Emma, not me.”