The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

  A heavy object crashed down on her head, sending blinding pain vibrating through her skull, and knocking her to the ground.

  She made a faint moaning sound and lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Hope and Edward were silent during their car ride home from the police precinct. Edward drove mechanically, and Hope sat in the passenger seat, her body angled away from her husband, her head resting against the cool windowpane.

  It didn’t take a professional to interpret their body language.

  “Joe Deale didn’t give us a damned thing, other than his connection to Bennato,” Edward finally said.

  “Neither did you. And you once had business ties to Tony Bennato, too,” Hope replied bitterly.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that there are all types of criminal acts, some dirtier than others. I realize you don’t work the streets. But you represented a major figure in organized crime.”

  Edward shot her a sideways look. “I already explained that. Besides, I hardly see the two associations as the same. Joe Deale works for the mob. I don’t.”

  “Not directly, no. But the clients you represent, and the way you do business…” Hope sucked in her breath. “I’ve turned a blind eye for so long. But your scruples, or lack thereof, really struck home when I remembered your defending Tony Bennato. No, that’s not entirely true. They struck home when I opened your safe and saw the treasure chest you’ve accumulated. You made it very easy for me to get the cash I needed for the ransom. I doubt you won the money on lottery tickets.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “My point is you’re hardly one to cast stones. Stop being so sanctimonious about my negotiating with the kidnappers. I was trying to save our daughter. I’m well aware that you don’t care for my methods. I’m not particularly fond of yours.” Hope inclined her head slightly in her husband’s direction. “Let’s put aside our dirty laundry for now and get through this crisis. Then we can deal with our differences in whatever way we see fit.”

  Edward’s jaw tightened. “Whatever you say. But our differences aren’t just professional or marital. They’re about Krissy’s abduction, as well. You’re fully committed to the idea that Felicity’s and Krissy’s kidnappings are connected.”

  “And you see no merit to that theory?”

  “I didn’t say that. Your father’s mob dealings back then, and the fact that it just now became common knowledge makes the first strong argument in favor of that idea. But it’s not the only theory. The FBI is working on several.”

  “None of which have produced any results. Now that Forensic Instincts is focusing entirely on this angle, I feel as if we might get somewhere. Joe Deale isn’t the only mob employee. Plus, he was a baby thirty-two years ago. Maybe Felicity’s and Krissy’s kidnapper was the same person. Maybe he’s Agent Lynch’s age.”

  “That doesn’t fit the BAU’s profile.”

  “Profiles are based on rigorous analysis of evidence. But they’re not exact.”

  “Neither are gut instincts.”

  “So, once again, we agree to disagree.”

  “It would seem that way,” Edward said with a not undetectable amount of scorn in his voice.

  The silence in the car resumed.

  Hope was exhausted when they arrived home. She went directly upstairs, leaving Edward to nurse his snifter of brandy. Once she was on the second floor, she stopped in Krissy’s room, just as she had the past two nights. Flipping on the light, she looked around, her gaze instinctively going to the bed, where her baby would now be asleep. Her chest gave that awful squeeze, and the rush of panic surged through her.

  Two days. It had been two full days since Krissy was abducted. How in the name of heaven could she still be…

  No. Hope gave a hard shake of her head. She couldn’t allow herself to consider the implications of her daughter being missing this long. She had to believe that Forensic Instincts, if not law enforcement, would find Krissy and bring her home, safe and sound. They had to.

  She turned off Krissy’s light and headed wearily down the hall to the master bedroom suite. She ached everywhere, inside and out. But she didn’t have the wherewithal to soak in a tub. So she’d take a quick, hot shower and slide into bed. Then she’d lie there, her eyes burning, for yet another sleepless night.

  It didn’t play out that way.

  Crossing the threshold, Hope didn’t even have a chance to turn on a lamp before she heard a thump as she tripped over a solid object. She regained her balance and reached for the overhead light switch.

  Light flooded the room.

  Collapsed in a crumpled heap on the carpet just inside the doorway was Ashley.

  “Oh my God.” Hope dropped to her knees, shaking Ashley in a reflexive motion. “Ashley! Ashley, can you hear me?” She leaned sideways toward the door, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Help! Somebody help me!”

  There was a pounding of footsteps, and Special Agent Dugan burst into the room, Edward at his heels. They both instantly saw Ashley’s limp figure.

  “Call 9-1-1,” Dugan instructed Edward, whose entire face had gone white. The agent crouched down, gingerly examining Ashley. “I’ve got a pulse,” he announced. “It’s strong and steady. I don’t see any indication of a puncture wound, and there’s no pool of blood. That means no knives or guns. And no contusions around the throat, so no strangling.” He paused as his hand lightly touched the back of Ashley’s head, and withdrew with blood on his fingertips. “She was struck from behind with a heavy object. She’s bleeding, and she’s got a whopper of a bump.” He paused, spotting the weighty sculpture lying on the floor. “There. That must be the weapon. No one touch it—it’s evidence. In fact, don’t touch anything in this room. There might be fingerprints.”

  Hope complied, staying perfectly still on her knees on the floor. Meanwhile, Edward was supplying the necessary information to the emergency operator.

  As he hung up, Ashley gave a low moan and began to stir.

  “Ashley.” Very gently, Hope stroked her cheek. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

  Slowly, groggily, Ashley opened her eyes. “Judge Willis?” she asked in confusion. She tried to sit up, and groaned in pain, her hand automatically flying to the back of her head. “My head…it’s killing me.” She turned white when she saw the blood on her hand. “Oh God…”

  “It’s okay,” Hope told her soothingly. “You took a hard hit. But you’ll be fine. The EMTs are on their way.”

  “EMTs?” Ashley blinked. “What happened?”

  “You tell us,” Agent Dugan instructed. “Someone obviously got into this room and assaulted you.” He frowned. “Whoever it was must have come up the back stairs. I was in the living room.”

  “What about the burglar alarm?” Edward asked. “I thought we activated it before we went out. And, even if we didn’t, all the doors were locked.”

  “I have no answers for you yet, Mr. Willis. But, I assure you, we’ll find them.”

  “All I remember was hearing a noise and going to check into it,” Ashley told them, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain. “Krissy’s room was empty. It looked as if it hadn’t been touched. When I got down here, I stepped in…and that’s all I remember. No—there was a blinding explosion of pain in my skull. I saw colors, lights. I felt like I was going to throw up. After that, I must have lost consciousness.”

  “Did you see your assailant?”

  “No.” Clearly, Ashley was struggling to remember. “Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow. I heard breathing. I never had the chance to turn around, or even to react.” Another groan. “I’m sorry.” She held both sides of her head. “It just hurts so much.”

  “I’m sure you have a concussion,” Dugan said.

  “And maybe some internal bleeding.” Edward glanced impatiently at his watch. “I wish the paramedics would get here.”

  As he spoke, the sound of sirens reached their ears, and a minute la
ter the EMTs rushed in. They took Ashley’s vitals, lifted her onto a stretcher and carried her out to the ambulance.

  “I’ll ride with you,” Hope said at once.

  “No.” Agent Dugan stopped her. “Once ERT has checked the crime scene, I need you here to see if anything is missing.”

  “I’ll go with Ashley,” Edward offered. “I’ll keep you posted on her condition. You keep me posted on what your Evidence Response Team turns up, and if the bastard who broke in here took anything that could lead us to Krissy. He sure as hell didn’t risk getting caught for nothing.”

  “I agree. He took quite a risk.” Dugan was frowning, his professional gaze scanning the room, as he pressed a speed-dial button on his phone. “Very soon we’ll have a full house, and hopefully some answers.”

  Casey and Hutch practically collided into each other in the front doorway of the Willis house.

  “So Hope Willis called you the minute she got home.” Hutch’s words were a statement, not a question. And it wasn’t a happy one.

  “Of course she did. She’s my client,” Casey replied curtly.

  “Not now, you two,” Grace said, urging them into the house. “Later, you can kill each other. Now, we have a job to do.”

  They went upstairs to find ERT packing up to leave, and Hope speaking to Don Owens and several CARD team members, along with SAs Peg Harrington and Will Dugan, and Sergeant Sam Bennett of the North Castle Police Department.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Hope’s face flooded with relief when she saw Casey. Her reaction came as no surprise. It was very common for Forensic Instincts’ clients to develop a personal attachment and to cling to them as a lifeline.

  “What happened?” Hutch demanded.

  Dugan filled him in on the events of the evening. “ERT found no fingerprints on the jewelry box, or on any of the remaining jewelry inside. Also, none were found on the surfaces we know the intruder touched when he removed the locket and the perfume. None on the dresser. None on the makeup table. Whoever broke in here must have worn gloves. ERT double-checked everything. They took the jewelry box with them for a more extensive examination. But I doubt they’ll find anything. This kidnapper knew what he wanted, maybe even the exact locations of the items in question. He came prepared. He went straight for what he needed, snatched the locket and perfume, and left.”

  “A bottle of perfume, and a locket,” Casey murmured. “Interesting.”

  “What does it mean?” Hope was shaking from head to toe. “He didn’t touch any of my expensive jewelry or anything else of value.”

  “Tell me about the locket,” Hutch instructed. “Did it open? Was there a photograph inside?”

  “The locket was heart shaped. There were two photos inside. One of Krissy and one of me.”

  “And the perfume?”

  “It’s my regular scent—Joy,” Hope supplied. “I almost always wear it. I kept the bottle in plain sight.”

  Hutch leaned his head back and drew a sharp breath. “He was right here under our noses while we were all at the police station.”

  “Quite a risk he took,” Grace added thoughtfully. “A pretty daring—and desperate—act.” She turned to Hope. “I know you’re badly thrown by this. But there’s a big upside. It tells us that Krissy is probably alive.”

  “I agree.” Hutch nodded. “The kidnapper took personal things—things that would remind Krissy of you. That suggests he’s trying to put her at ease, to soothe her. Which not only means she’s alive, it means he’s struggling to make her happy. That’s not the act of a killer, not when you combine it with the risk he took coming here, knowing full well that the task force is all over this case.”

  “He waited until we all cleared out,” Don said. “That means he’s watching the house.”

  “We expected as much.”

  A nod. “He caught Will Dugan alone and on the phone. It was the only time in the past two days that he could get in and out without running into an entourage of law enforcement. Once again, it emphasizes that we’re not dealing with an amateur. Every step he takes is well thought out and painstakingly executed.”

  Casey turned to Sergeant Bennett of the North Castle P.D. “Can I give Claire Hedgleigh a call? I know she’s working for you on this case. Maybe she can pick up on something from the scene.”

  “Good idea.” Bennett nodded. “But I’ll take care of contacting her.”

  Claire arrived a short time later. She was still bothered by all the loose, unconnected threads of her visions, none of which she could weave into a cohesive braid. Now, she was stunned by the brazen act of the kidnapper, breaking into the Willises’ house—again. But she was eager to get to the master bedroom to see if anything came to her—anything that would integrate her flashes of insight.

  “How’s Ashley?” she asked as soon as she entered the room. “Is she badly hurt?”

  “No. Just a concussion,” Hope supplied, visibly relieved by that aspect of the equation. “No internal injuries. Some deep cuts and a nasty lump on the back of her head, though. The doctors are keeping her overnight for monitoring, just to be on the safe side. But we’ll be able to pick her up tomorrow so she can recoup at home.”

  “Guilt,” Claire pronounced abruptly. “I’m sorry to interrupt you. But I’m picking up on an overwhelming sense of guilt in this room.”

  “That would be mine,” Hope said grimly. “I should have been here to prevent this.”

  “None of this was your fault,” Casey responded at once. “Nor was it Ashley’s. It’s too bad that Agent Dugan was on the phone. But no one could anticipate this.”

  “I’m pretty pissed off at myself, as well,” S.A. Dugan responded. “I can’t believe someone got by me.”

  “This is a big house and there are back stairs,” Claire murmured, still half inside her own head. “But there’s another energy here. A new one. The kidnapper’s.”

  “A kidnapper with a conscience,” Hutch muttered. “More personal traits.”

  “Not just personal—feminine,” Claire amended. “My sense is that the intruder was a woman. She came specifically to get the special items that would ease Krissy’s separation anxiety.” A furrowed brow. “It’s a female’s energy—not dense or heavy like a man’s would be. More light and airy.”

  “So you think the alpha male who’s running the show sent his female accomplice to do the dirty work.” Casey pursed her lips and nodded. “It makes sense. He’d get his desired results, and he wouldn’t be the one taking the risk.”

  Hutch was scowling. “None of this feels right. A mobster with a grudge. One who demanded, and got, ransom money, but is still not satisfied. He also doesn’t seem to want an eye for an eye. He wants Krissy alive, but is showing no signs of returning her—just as Felicity Akerman was never returned or recovered. What’s this man’s end goal? Just to make Sidney Akerman’s family suffer?”

  There were no ready answers.

  “Are you sure nothing else was taken?” Claire asked Hope as she moved slowly around the room. She paused next to the empty space on the dresser. “The jewelry box was in this spot?”

  “Yes,” Peg confirmed. “ERT took it for evidentiary purposes. And, according to Judge Willis, nothing else was taken other than what we’ve discussed.”

  “Just the locket was taken from the jewelry box? You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” Hope verified. “I checked the box three times. All my jewelry was untouched.”

  “Do you have a red stone? A ring, a necklace, maybe earrings?”

  Hope shook her head. “I have an opal necklace that projects a variety of colors. But none of them is red.”

  “A ruby.” Claire stated it with certainty. “It’s a ruby.” She brushed her fingertips over the spot that had held the jewelry box. “And it’s not in the box that was here. Do you keep jewels anywhere else in the house?”

  “No. I’m not really a jewelry person.”

  “What about Krissy? Does she have any ruby studs, or fake ston
es that look like rubies?”

  “She doesn’t have any jewelry, much less rubies. She doesn’t even like rubies, other than the name. It’s the one she gave to—” Hope stopped, her breath catching in her throat. “Ruby,” she whispered. “I never thought of that. I never checked…”

  “Ruby?” Grace demanded.

  “Krissy’s stuffed robin.” Hope was already halfway to the door. “She plays with her and Oreo all the time.”

  By the time everyone had reached Krissy’s room, Hope was standing next to the shelves beside Krissy’s bed and was gazing at the top one, a stricken expression on her face.

  “She’s gone. Nest and all.” Slowly, Hope turned. “Oreo and Ruby are like an imaginary family to Krissy. Oreo and Ruby are best friends, and Krissy is their nanny, like Ashley is to her.”

  “That explains my dream,” Claire murmured. “It’s why Oreo was crying. And who he was missing. Ruby.” At the puzzled glances aimed her way, Claire explained the specifics of her dream.

  “Once again, an attempt to make Krissy feel less lonely, more normal,” Sergeant Bennett concluded. “Nice work, Claire.” He was well aware that the FBI—particularly the BAU—was on the fence about Claire’s abilities. He couldn’t miss this opportunity to drive home the legitimacy of her gift.

  Casey spoke up. “Not just more normal, more at home. The kidnappers are trying to recreate the securities of Krissy’s world. Her mother’s scent. A locket with pictures of the two of them side by side. And Krissy’s two closest inanimate friends in the world, the ones she keeps with her at night in the haven of her bedroom. These people want her to want to stay where she is, not just to tolerate it.”

  “A willing captive,” Claire agreed. “Which she hasn’t been until now. She’s desperate to come home. The kidnappers are hoping to win her over.”

  “Oh, God.” Hope sank down onto Krissy’s bed. “What if they’re unsuccessful? Krissy is so strong willed. What if she fights them? What if they hurt her?”

  “Hope—stop.” Casey sank down beside her. “Let’s cling to the fact that Krissy is alive and that the kidnappers are trying to soothe her. It buys us a little time to figure things out. Let’s not waste that time panicking.”