Page 71 of Mia Amata

“I wanted to name her after you. Jayden is close to Jacob and, well…”

“Lee is my middle name. Are you sure?” he asked.

“Only if you like it. If you don’t, we can discuss some other names,” I said, watching him.

“Jayden Lee Vance. I love it. I feel honored that you want her to be named after me.”

“How could I not want to name her after you? You have accepted her as your own. She should be named after her father.” Jacob’s eyes welled up; he pulled me close to him.

His voice was hoarse as he said, “Thank you for making me a father, for letting me love you and our little girl.” He ran his hand over my belly. His timing was perfect, at that very moment Jayden Lee kicked.

He pulled back, his eyes wide with amazement. “Was that what I think it was?” he asked.

“Yes, it was our daughter,” I said, smiling. “I think she approves of her name.” As if voicing her agreement, she kicked again.

“Hey, there little girl,” Jacob said, rubbing my belly.

Chapter 23

Allen never did accept that his wife, Megan, died in the car accident. He refused to believe it until he saw her dead body in a coffin. That was the only way she could leave him, dead. Oh, he played the part of the grieving widower and took an extended leave from work. His coworkers thought he was mourning, he let them believe it. Told them he might even take a small trip to get away from things for a little while. What he was really doing was looking for his wife.

Allen had been a police officer for 10 years, the last 6 of those spent as a homicide detective. In those years, he made relationships that helped him be highly successful in his job but weren’t necessarily sanctioned by the department. He was reaching out to some of those contacts in his search. He looked for information on the thief first, to see if he had done anything like kidnapping in the past. All the reports he had on this guy showed he was a petty thief, taking Megan’s car was the biggest thing he ever tried to pull off.

His arrest record showed most shoplifting of alcohol and cigarettes, or small items he could pawn easily for money. What little family he had left said he had a problem with alcohol and had been homeless at the time of the accident. Allen didn’t think that this petty thief had the brains or even the desire to kidnap anyone. Allen also didn’t find anybody that the thief hung around with that had the brains or would even think about kidnapping someone.

Allen’s next step was to reach out to a computer hacker that he knew. This was a kid that he could have arrested for a crime but didn’t. The kid was so grateful that in return he would help Allen with cases when he needed him. Grateful or scared, since Allen still held the evidence that would put the hacker away. Either way, Allen didn’t care as long as he got the help he wanted when he needed it.

He took his laptop to the kid, telling him he wanted a program that automatically searched the web for keywords or even pictures that were similar to one of Megan. It took him a couple days to figure it out and work out the details. A program looking for keywords was easy, but pictures took a little bit more work. He finally got it up and running, setting it up to run constantly, sending alerts to Allen on leads that he would check out, either eliminate or investigate further. In the few months, since Megan’s disappearance, he had investigated almost 50 photos that were close to Megan but turned out not to be her.

During this time, he also gathered equipment he would need when he found her. Night vision goggles, weapons, dark clothing, untraceable smartphones, rope, duct tape, gloves, Army MREs, tent, sleeping bag, cash, and whatever else he thought that he would need. He purchased a car with cash, parking it in a storage unit in the next town over. Everything he needed was already packed in the trunk of that car. He was ready to go on a minute’s notice when he found her.

If she was still alive, he would find her, then he would make her pay. He really had believed that she would come back to him on her own, couldn’t believe that she didn’t. Stupid bitch. She was his, and she knew it. He would never let her go.

The morning that Megan/Mattie left with her new husband on her honeymoon to Alaska, Allen was in his basement looking at a wall that he had covered with maps and photos. His computer was on the desk behind him running the program as normal. Drinking a cup of coffee, he searched the wall looking for the next clue he needed. His computer dinged behind him, another hit from the web search. He took a sip of his coffee as he sat down to check out this one, probably another dead end, but he researched them all.

He pulled up the information. It was a small wedding announcement from a small town newspaper over 1,700 miles away for Mattie Austin and Jacob Vance. He read the announcement in anger. This couldn’t be his Megan, she wouldn’t be that stupid. At the bottom of the column was a picture of the bride and groom, not a professional photo but one that someone took from their cell phone of the happy couple after the wedding.

The woman in the photo didn’t look like Megan at first. Short dark hair and a small tattoo behind her ear, he almost dismissed it. Then he looked at the report produced by the program. It compared all sorts of points and took measurements of ears, the nose, the distance between the eyes, and things that couldn’t be changed with makeup or hair color. The report claimed there was a 97% possibility that this was Megan. He cropped and enlarged the picture of her, then printed it. He looked closely at the picture on the computer while it was printing. He looked at her eyes in the blown-up version, and he knew. It was Megan.

He stared at her, gripping his coffee cup. Not only had she left him, but she married someone else, illegally! He stood up, pacing back and forth. She couldn’t legally marry; she was still his wife. Mattie Austin? He looked at the photo on the computer again, then clicked back to the one with her new husband. Jacob Vance.

This man was with Allen’s wife. He was touching her. Making love to her. He’d kill both of them. He threw his coffee cup hard against the far wall of his office, which shattered when it hit. He paced for a while longer, trying to calm down. He had work to do.

He grabbed the photo from the printer, tacking it to the wall behind his desk. He sat down at the computer, reading the announcement again. According to it, the happy couple went on a honeymoon to Alaska. He clenched his fists. He pulled up the newspaper the announcement had come from and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen.

He started writing down notes. Mattie Austin. Jacob Vance. He added the name of the newspaper, researched it, finding the name of the town it was from. He pulled up Google Maps, plotting out how to get there from where he was. He printed that map, also saving it to his favorites, so he could pull it up in the car. He then grabbed his cell phone and dialed a number. He waited a few minutes, then someone answered.

“It’s me,” he said. “I need an address.” He listened, “Jacob Vance, lives in a town called Moose Lake, Minnesota.” He listened a couple minutes longer, then picked up the pen and wrote an address down on the pad. “Thanks,” he said and hung up.

He leaned back in his chair, tapping the pen on the paper. He thought for a couple minutes, then printed the announcement including the picture of Megan with her new husband. He put the map, announcement, and pictures in the folder. He grabbed his briefcase, putting the folder in it with the pad of paper and pen. He turned off his laptop, putting it in the briefcase also.

He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, unlocking the bottom drawer where he pulled out a large envelope. From there, he took out a set of car keys, which he put in his pocket, a smartphone that was untraceable. He took his other cell phone, placing it in the drawer after he shut it off. He put the envelope in the briefcase. The last thing he pulled out of the drawer was a pistol in a holster.

He unsnapped the holster, pulling the gun out. It was a Glock G-series 9 mm, smaller than what he carried as a detective, only about 4 inches tall, 6 inches long. The serial number had been filed off, so it was untraceable. He reached back down into the drawer, pulling out two extra magazines and extra rounds. Each magazine only held six rounds, so he took extra, but he knew he would only need two.

He put the extra magazines and box in the briefcase. He examined the gun, ejected the magazine, put it back in, and then put the gun back in the holster. He put the gun in the briefcase for now, he had some traveling to do before he would need it. He had larger weapons waiting for him in the storage unit. He shut the briefcase and headed up the stairs. He grabbed his jacket and headed out to his car, locking up the house behind him.

Driving to the next town, he turned into a set of buildings containing storage units. He drove slowly through the property, there was no one else around. His unit was one of the last ones on the lot. He unlocked the padlock, pulling up on the door, sliding it open to reveal a car. He took the keys out of his pocket, popping the trunk.

---