Page 148 of One More Heartbeat
And my daughter and the woman I love wouldn’t be missing.
But as much as I would like to blame him for everything that happened, the way I’ve been blaming myself for what happened to Cooper and Clarke, it’s like Cassie said. The Taliban killed her husband. I didn’t. The shooter killed Emily. Austin had nothing to do with that.
I wasn’t the one who set up the explosive.
He wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger.
My phone rings.I’m sitting at my gate in the airport, my computer open on my lap, waiting for the boarding announcement.
It’s not Noah this time. Nor is it my mother or Lucas or Troy calling again.
It’s one of my FBI contacts I use when researching my books.
I accept the call, relieved to have a brief moment where I can focus on something other than the new hell I’m in. A hell that closely parallels the book I’m supposed to be working on. “Roger.”
I don’t have it in me to make my voice pleasant. It comes out gruff. Strangled. Destroyed.
I rub my hand over the crack in the vinyl seat, wishing that was all it would take to reverse time, to prevent me from getting on the plane to Tucson.
“Garrett. First, I’m sorry about everything that’s happening. This probably isn’t a good time to call, since I’m not sure if you give a damn right now about the question you asked me the other day…” He lets the rest of whatever he was going to say trail off.
According to Lucas, the news media has already released information on the alleged kidnapping of my daughter. They’ve also mentioned Zara’s disappearance, because it’s linked to Peony’s case. Emily’s name hasn’t been released yet, but details of her death have been.
If people in the airport have heard the news and recognize me, I wouldn’t know. Until Roger’s call, I’d been staring at my blank laptop screen, blocking out the world around me. I don’t even have the strength to watch the news reports, to see what kind of narrative the stations are spinning.
I’m on a thin edge, barely keeping my crap together.
Barely keeping my fears and my grief off my face.
“No, it’s fine,” I tell Roger, my voice still rough. “Did you get an answer?”
He gives me the information I need for the book. An answer that has nothing to do with the storyline involving the kidnapping of a child, because right now, that’s one of the last things I can handle. It’s also an answer that won’t require me rethinking part of the story, sending it in another trajectory. A trajectory I don’t have time for…or the energy to think about.
A young woman with strawberry-blond hair like Athena’s walks past. She doesn’t look like Athena, but that doesn’t keep my next thought from shaping itself into words. “I have a question that has nothing to do withthe book. At least not this one. And it has nothing to do with my daughter’s disappearance.”
“Sure. Fire away.”
I tell him about how Athena hasn’t received her replacement ID yet. “She requested it over three months ago.”
“It might have gotten lost in the mail.”
“I’ve thought of that too. But both the ID and her Social Security Number? I was wondering if there might be another reason for the delays. Like the government offices are backlogged, and the ID and number are coming soon. I’d rather wire her the salary than keep paying her in cash.”
The reality of what I’m saying hits with the force of a torpedo. I have a nanny, but the child she’s supposed to care for is missing. A nanny who will also be frantic about Peony’s disappearance.
My stomach cramps just thinking about how my little girl is gone and the police don’t know where she is. She must be terrified, and I’m not with her to protect her, to comfort her, to make her feel safe. I want to tear down the fucking world and find her.
“Understandable.…If she doesn’t have a bank account, where’s she keeping the money?” Roger asks.
“I haven’t asked, ’cause it’s none of my business where she’s hiding the money. For all I know, it’s in her sock drawer.”
“Any chance she’s spending it as soon as she gets it?” The question is straightforward, but I can tell his thought process is spinning through numerous possibilities. Possibilities I would be considering if this were a book I were plotting.
“If she is, she’s not buying anything I’ve seen. She’s bought clothes for herself and toys for Peony, but nothing that costs anything close to what I’m paying her.” I’ve mentioned a few times to Athena that she could be earning interest on the money, but she just brushes my suggestion off, claiming the interest she’s missing out on isn’t much while she waits for the government to replace her ID.
“Is it possible she has a gambling addiction? She could be using the money to buy a credit gift card and using that to gamble online.”
I close my laptop and wearily unfold to my feet. “Anything’s possible.”I begin pacing in the small corner area I’ve secluded myself in, away from most people. “But she doesn’t demonstrate the usual signs of a gambling addict.”
