The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

  And dreamed.

  Not about Krissy. About her stuffed panda, Oreo.

  Dragging her fingers through the damp strands of her hair, Claire struggled for total recall. Krissy had been a mere wisp of presence in the dream. But Oreo—Oreo had been vivid. He’d been tangled in the bedcovers. Lonely. Crying. Sad for his best friend and her pain. Wishing his other best friend was here. Maybe together they could make Krissy smile. Maybe her eyes would light up like they always did when the three of them played—after it was bedtime and the lights were out and Krissy’s parents thought she was asleep.

  For God’s sake, Claire thought, she was personifying a stuffed animal. Ryan would be laughing his ass off at this one.

  How could a toy feel? Or weep? And why had Krissy been so faint in the dream? Almost nonexistent?

  Mentally, Claire reached out, trying desperately to drag back the rapidly evaporating images. But they were gone.

  They weren’t arbitrary. They meant something. She was sure of it.

  Now she had to figure out what.

  Hutch wasn’t happy.

  Not just because the kidnapping investigation hadn’t turned up a damned thing so far. But because it looked as if this stuck-in-neutral situation wouldn’t be shifting into gear anytime soon. And soon was all they had.

  The facts just weren’t coalescing into a viable profile. Not for a ransom kidnapping. Nothing to suggest a serial predator or an attempt at human trafficking. And, so far, no concrete evidence against any of the potential suspects who might be seeking revenge against the Willises.

  To make matters worse, he had the distinct feeling that Casey was onto something—something other than her belief that Krissy’s kidnapping was connected to Felicity Akerman’s. The latter part she’d discussed with him. He thought it was a long shot. But he also knew that the Bureau didn’t have the resources to chase after it—not when there was a five-year-old girl out there enduring Lord knows what. So in the unlikely event that Casey’s long shot had merit, Hutch was comfortable leaving it in the hands of Forensic Instincts.

  No, this was something more. Casey had another bee in her bonnet. He hadn’t gotten a thing out of her last night in private, nor this morning in public. No surprise there. As intimate as they were, as close as they’d become over the past year, he was a Fed and she was an independent consultant. Their goals might be the same, but their methods sure as hell weren’t.

  Which meant nothing good. If Casey was onto something, but had no proof; if she thought her team could get what they needed through nonkosher means, she’d be off and running without a word.

  And that worried him—a lot.

  Casey wasn’t exactly off and running, but she was keeping a close eye on behavior that had first presented itself after her team meeting last night and before Hutch’s arrival at one o’clock in the morning.

  As per usual, she’d checked in with Hope Willis before turning in. The phone call had been odd. Rather than pounding Casey with questions and clinging on to her every word, as Hope usually did, she’d asked very little of her. In fact, she’d been downright curt, her voice high-pitched and agitated, rather than pained and tear filled. She’d cut the conversation short, practically hanging up on Casey.

  It was definitely uncharacteristic. Not unheard-of, given the circumstances. Mothers of kidnapping victims often ran through a gamut of emotions. Sometimes those phases of emotions included anger at those who were trying to help but, as yet, had come up empty. People like Casey, who was an easy target, were perfect for lashing out at. That wouldn’t have been off-putting, nor would it have offended Casey in the least.

  But this was different. It wasn’t only what Hope had said, or even how she’d said it. It was what she hadn’t said, and the veiled quality of her tone.

  Something was up. And Hope wasn’t ready to tell Casey what.

  Had she found out about Edward and Ashley, or was it something to do with Krissy?

  The question had plagued Casey all night.

  She’d headed up to Armonk at a reasonable hour of the morning, right after verifying with Ryan that he’d successfully arranged for a morning fire drill at Joe’s work site. A diversion that had allowed him to place the tracking device inside Joe’s car and the chip in his cell phone—which Ryan’s spies had revealed Joe constantly misplaced and then scrambled to find. They could now monitor all of the guy’s movements.

  Casey’s original plan had been to further interview Vera Akerman in order to flesh out more of the details that Patrick had run by her and the team last night—including all the people who’d been in the Akermans’ lives at the time that Felicity was abducted. It was the only way to get a full picture of the past.

  Now, Casey had two reasons for her trip to Armonk.

  The first reason fell through. Unfortunately, Vera was in no condition to talk. The stress of what was happening had taken its toll, and she was in her room, heavily medicated on doctor-prescribed sedatives, and under strict orders to rest. Hope was sitting with her, so she, too, was unavailable.

  That’s when things started getting weird, and the second reason for Casey’s trip had taken shape.

  Walking past the Florida room, she’d spotted Ashley, alone in the room, visibly overwrought as she paced back and forth. Not the way she’d been when Krissy first disappeared. Then, she’d been emotionally freaked out and in shock.

  This time she was bouncing off the walls.

  First, Hope. Now, Ashley.

  It was more than enough.

  With that in mind, Casey strolled into the Florida room. “Ashley?”

  The nanny’s head snapped around. “Ms. Woods. I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “Clearly not. You look like you’re vibrating. Has something happened?”

  A heartbeat of a pause. “If you mean, is there any news about Krissy, then no. So if I’m vibrating, that’s why.” Ashley gave Casey a stricken look. “It’s been way more than twenty-four hours. Whatever they’re doing to that precious little girl…it makes me sick just to think about it.”

  Casey heard the genuine hysteria in Ashley’s voice. But she also picked up on her initial pause. She also picked up on the interesting fact that Ashley spoke about Krissy’s captivity without mentioning that being missing so long usually meant not just torture or sexual abuse, but death.

  “Do you know something more than you’re saying, Ashley?” she asked quietly. “More than you knew the last time we spoke?”

  The girl glanced at her with eyes as wild as a frightened bird. “Are you back to suspecting me? Because I swear on my life, I’d never harm Krissy.”

  “And, as I said last time, I believe you.” Casey decided it was time to win Ashley’s trust. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

  Sitting down with Casey looked like the last thing Ashley wanted to do. But she lowered herself dutifully onto the lounger, her back ramrod straight. Casey followed suit, making sure that she faced Ashley so as to watch her expressions, while leaving enough distance between them so the younger girl didn’t feel as if her space were being invaded.

  “Do you want to ask me more questions about Krissy?” Ashley began. “Because I told you everything I know and—”

  “Actually, I want to reassure you,” Casey interrupted. “I have no intention of sharing your secret.”

  Ashley turned white. “My secret?”

  “Yes. I won’t tell anyone—including Judge Willis.”

  Now Ashley looked bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

  “Obviously not what you thought I was talking about. Is there some secret you and Judge Willis share? One I should know about?”

  “No.” Ashley answered a little too quickly. “That’s why I’m confused. What secret are you referring—”

  “Your relationship with Edward Willis,” Casey supplied. “I know that you two are romantically involved.”

  “Oh God.” Ashley sagged into the cushions. “How did you find out?”

  You just told
me, Casey thought silently. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that I know. And I’m not here to judge you. Nor to tell the authorities or Judge Willis. So you can stop freaking out.”

  Ashley blew out a breath. “I appreciate that more than you can imagine. I don’t expect you to understand. I never wanted to hurt Judge Willis. And I’m not naive enough to believe this is going anywhere. It just happened. Once. Then again. And before I knew it…let’s just say there’s something incredibly compelling about Edward. His power. His passion. I do believe that what we have is real. I’m not a diversion. But I’m not a forever either. So I hold on to the moments we get, and do the best I can to shove aside my guilt.”

  “Like I said, I’m not judging you,” Casey replied. “On the other hand, I am doing you a pretty big favor by keeping quiet. So I think I’m entitled to a favor in return. Like your telling me what’s going on with Judge Willis, and how you factor into it.”

  Silence.

  Casey rose. “I understand your loyalty to Judge Willis.” That in itself was incongruous, given the girl was sleeping with Hope’s husband. Casey refrained from saying that aloud—although she did pause long enough for the irony of her statement to sink in. “But consider this. I’m not prying. But I think your secret has to do with Krissy. And since I honestly believe that my team is the Willises’ best chance of getting Krissy back alive, I suggest you share it with me. No one and nothing is worth protecting if it endangers that child’s life. Think about it. I’ll check back with you a little later.”

  As she walked out of the room, Casey could feel Ashley staring after her, fighting some internal battle.

  Casey hoped the right side would win.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sidney Akerman parked his car in a grassy area just three blocks from Plainview Elementary School. He slumped down in his seat, shutting his eyes and wondering if he’d ever escape the pain and consequences of his past. The agony and fear were excruciating.

  A quick sidelong glance at his glove compartment. There was a flask of whiskey in there. He could almost taste it, feel its effects as it numbed him up. So far he’d resisted opening the top and taking that first purging gulp. The flask had sat in the same spot for the past eight days.

  He didn’t want to become a drunk again. He’d kept his job for almost ten years now. He liked it. He liked being around the kids. He knew all the reasons why. And he knew he’d lose it all if he took that first drink.

  But the way things looked right now, he’d lose it all anyway.

  He had a couple of hours before he had to get back to the school for his afternoon maintenance work. Maybe he’d get up the guts to call his AA sponsor and get the support he needed. Maybe the story he’d told the Feds would satisfy them. Maybe he could keep his freedom after all.

  Not that he’d ever be free.

  Abruptly, the passenger door of his car swung open, and a solid man of about his own age hopped in.

  “Hello, Akerman,” he greeted him. “It’s been a long time.”

  Sidney felt his insides go cold. Yeah, it had been a long time. But this was one face he’d never forget.

  “Agent Lynch,” he managed. “What are you doing here?”

  “So you do recognize me.”

  “Of course I do. But I don’t get it. I thought last week’s visit had taken care of any questions the FBI had for me. And why would they send you, of all people? Just to torture me by conjuring up the worst memories of my life? Besides which, aren’t you retired yet?”

  Patrick’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “The Bureau spoke to you?”

  “Don’t look so surprised.”

  “I am. I didn’t even know they’d tracked you down.”

  “A guy from the Organized Crime Squad came to my apartment. Come on, Lynch, cut it out. How else would you have found me?”

  Organized Crime Squad? That was a new one to Patrick.

  “It wasn’t easy,” he replied carefully. “But I assure you, I didn’t use Bureau resources to do it. I am retired, just as you suspected. I’m acting as a consultant on this case.”

  “Why would they need a consultant? I told them everything I knew. And you were on the Violent Crime Squad. When did you make the switch?”

  Patrick took a second to study Sidney Akerman’s face. The man had aged terribly, thanks to the alcohol. With his stooped shoulders, heavily lined face, and bags under his eyes, he looked as if he were seventy-five, rather than in his early sixties. He also looked frazzled about the FBI hassling him. But he didn’t look frantic, like a man who’d just found out that his granddaughter had been kidnapped—something Patrick would expect regardless of the estrangement between Sidney and his family.

  “I never worked Organized Crime,” Patrick informed him. “I’m not here about whatever new trouble you’re in. I’m here about your granddaughter.”

  “Krissy?” Sidney jerked around to face Patrick. “What about her?”

  “So you do know she exists.”

  “I’ve followed every detail of Hope’s life since the day I walked away. Her appointment to the bench, her marriage, the birth of her daughter—everything. Why? What’s happened to Krissy?”

  The man looked so stricken that Patrick actually felt sorry for him—and for the news he was about to deliver.

  “She’s been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” Sidney choked on the word as if it were poison. “Oh God, no.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “When? When was she taken?”

  “The day before yesterday. Outside her school. Someone pretending to be Hope picked her up and drove off with her. There’s been no word since. All of law enforcement’s involved, from the locals to the FBI. I’m surprised you didn’t see the media coverage on TV.”

  “My TV’s broken. And I’m not much of a news watcher.” Sidney’s robotic answers were that of a man in shock. “I can’t believe this is happening—again. A nightmare, repeating itself. Hope must be a wreck. And Vera…that poor woman has been through hell. First, our daughter. Now our granddaughter. She had a nervous breakdown before. How is she going to survive this?”

  “Not well,” Patrick replied flatly. “She’s heavily sedated. And your daughter is sick to death.” A pause as Patrick took in the entirety of Sidney’s reaction. “You really didn’t know a thing about this until now.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Why is the Bureau interested in talking to you? What’s your connection to Organized Crime?”

  Silence.

  “Look, Akerman, we can do this any way you want. But I’m thirty-two years and hundreds of sleepless nights invested in this case. I’m not going away. Not until you tell me every goddamned thing you know. Because I happen to think these two kidnappings are connected.” A purposeful pause—and a glint of fear and guilt in Sidney’s eyes. “I can see you think so, too. So we’re going to talk. About then. About now. About everything.”

  Patrick pulled out his copy of Krissy’s photo, shoved it in Sidney’s face. “Have you seen a picture of your granddaughter lately? She’s a beautiful, exuberant child. Or she was, until yesterday. God only knows what’s happened to her since then.”

  Slowly, Sidney reached out and took the photo. “She has Hope’s eyes,” he managed, tears gliding down his cheeks. “And her smile. The way she’s wrinkling her nose—it’s like seeing Felicity again. Oh Lord, what have I done?”

  “What have you done?” Patrick was all over that like white on rice. “Why? Did you have something to do with Krissy’s abduction? Did you do something to precipitate it? Does that tie into why the Bureau’s Organized Crime Squad is grilling you?”

  Sidney dragged his arm across his face, wiping away his tears. Then, he shoved the photo of Krissy aside and threw his hands up in the air. “I can’t take this anymore. I’m done. I played Russian roulette last time, and I lost. I’m not risking it again. Do whatever the hell you want to me. Send me to prison and let me rot there. Just find Krissy.” He turned to Patrick. “Ask me what you need to
.”

  “This Organized Crime investigation—it’s related to the kidnapping. Just Felicity’s, or Krissy’s, too?”

  “Both.” A ragged sigh. “Here it is, short and sweet. When you and I first met, I was the accounting and business manager for a construction company.”

  “I remember.”

  “The owner of the company, Henry Kenyon, was an old college buddy of mine—I told you that, as well. What I didn’t tell you was that Henry had a major gambling problem. He was in the hole for hundreds of thousands of dollars. He paid off his debts and became partners with the wrong people.”

  “The mob?”

  “Yup. A handful of them invested in Henry’s company. Their involvement was a closely kept secret, known by only a few members of their ‘family.’ They kept it that way so they could fly under the FBI’s radar. It worked, because it never came up in your investigation.”

  “So we’re talking money laundering,” Patrick surmised.

  “Exactly.” Sidney’s voice quavered. “I didn’t want any part of it. But Henry was close to the edge. I couldn’t turn my back on him. So I did what I had to. I kept my mouth shut for as long as I could stand it. Then I told Henry I was out. He passed that along. A few days later, Felicity was kidnapped. I lost my mind. I was up your ass while you were investigating. I prayed I was wrong. Then, I got a phone call from those bastards. They said they’d killed my kid, and that I had no one but myself to blame. They threatened me, said that if I opened my mouth, Hope would be next, followed by Vera.”

  Patrick let out a low whistle. “So that’s why you dived into a bottle and fell off the map.”

  “You bet. It was the only way I could think of to keep my family safe.” A bitter laugh. “For all the good that did me. Here it is, over thirty years later, and the FBI just got some mob guy to flip and give them damning info from the seventies—including the lowdown on Henry’s company. Henry’s been dead for fifteen years, so the FBI agent came to me for confirmation. I denied everything, told them I didn’t know what they were talking about, and that if Henry did anything illegal, I didn’t know a thing about it.”