Page 42 of Free Fall (The Quantico Files 3)

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Alex had enjoyed today. Seeing Monty was great. He’d graduated from a cast to a big boot and was getting along pretty well. And Logan had seemed almost like his old self, although she could tell he was a little tired. Had Monty noticed?

It had been a wonderful service. The praise-and-worship songs had really touched her. The sermon was about not looking at what’s behind us but instead keeping our focus on what’s ahead while we truly believe that God has a plan for our lives. She’d needed that.

Now at home for the rest of the day, relaxing on her couch with Krypto, she wondered once more why she’d been having such a struggle dealing with what happened in the warehouse. Then it occurred to her that the horror of that day hadn’t entered her mind as often since Logan told her about his brain tumor. Her concern for him had at least lessened her thoughts about what she’d endured.

Even so, last night she’d awakened suddenly, thinking she couldn’t breathe, once again trying to pull the rope off her neck. Thankfully, it took less time than usual to go back to sleep. But she really wanted the nightmares to go away completely, both the ones at night and the ones during the day.

She recalled what Pastor Bryant had told her. “You must remember that just like a physical injury needs time to get better, our internal hurts need time as well.” He was right. She was trying not to feel so guilty about having a tough time dealing with her fear.

She sighed. She hadn’t wanted to be alone after lunch, but Logan was facing a monumental journey and needed to rest. Monty was still healing from his injury. Going to church had worn him out, and he’d wanted to go home and put his foot up. To distract herself, she began going over their current case in her mind. Was their profile on target? Could she think of anything else that might help investigators?

The Abbotts’s faces popped into her mind, competing for space with all her other thoughts. Alex wanted to believe authorities would find their daughter in time to save her, but she was probably already dead. Still, she wouldn’t stop praying for Tracy and all the women who’d been abducted, hoping they’d be found alive—or at least their remains discovered.

She made some popcorn, then carried the bowl back to the couch and turned on the TV. Sometimes movies helped her mind to rest. She suddenly thought of the film that had reminded her of this case. Accessing her streaming service, she searched for the title under the name of one of its actors. When she found it, she stared at the screen for several seconds. Was watching this wise? It certainly wouldn’t help her get her mind off the case, but for some reason, she felt drawn to it.

She entered her code to pay for the movie, and then as she settled back on the couch, she noticed Krypto eyeing the popcorn. She gave him a piece before starting the film. About halfway through she began to wonder just what kind of place could hold that many women. Nothing she could think of worked.

After the movie was over, Alex concluded that it would be almost impossible to imprison several women underground unless it was in a huge basement where cells could be constructed. Whether the women were upstairs or downstairs, the structure would have to be abnormally large. Should investigators be looking for a big, secluded house somewhere in case the women were alive?

She reminded herself that after studying serial killers for years, she was fairly certain they’d all been murdered. Alex sighed so loudly that Krypto looked up at her. “Sorry,” she said softly. “I’m getting tired of seeing all the evil in this world. It’s time for a happily ever after, isn’t it? How about we find all the women alive and well? Logan’s brain tumor disappears? And all my bad dreams and fears go away?”

Although he had no idea what she’d said, Krypto sat up and licked her cheek. It should have made her laugh, but instead, she held him and cried until she had no more tears.

Monday morning Alex poured herself some cereal and then sat down in her living room to eat it. She decided to turn on channel 5 just to see what they were up to. Her mouth dropped open when she saw David Abbott. She was certain the police had warned him and his wife to stop talking to the press, but there he was.

“We have no idea how much time she has left,” he was saying. He held up a photo of Tracy, one she hadn’t yet seen. “We need everyone’s help. The police haven’t turned up anything.”

“Can you confirm that other women are missing as well? Women who look remarkably like your daughter, Tracy?” the reporter asked. Alex was surprised to see that it wasn’t Portia. Some man. She didn’t know his name.

“Yes,” David said. “Women in their late twenties or early thirties with long dark hair and gray or blue eyes need to be very careful. Stay indoors. Or at least don’t go out alone.”

“Why haven’t the police issued this warning?” the reporter asked.

“I don’t know, but the case is being bungled. That’s why we felt we had to speak out. Ask for help.” David looked directly into the camera. “If you look like our daughter, Tracy, you need to be vigilant. And, please, keep a lookout for her. If you see her, or if you see anything that might be related to her disappearance, call 703-555-2836.”

Carol Abbott, who’d been standing silently beside her husband, suddenly blurted, “Please help us. We need Tracy back. She’s our only child—our life.” She barely got the words out before breaking down, her sobs loud enough to make it impossible for the interview to continue. The reporter stepped a few feet away while someone who’d been standing nearby led the couple away.

The reporter ended with, “Again, if you have any information that might help police find Tracy Mendenhall, that number is 703-555-2836.”

The feed went back to the studio, where Portia and another man, both looking solemn, continued with other news.

Alex’s irritation at the Abbotts’s deliberate disregard for investigators’ strong admonition to stay away from the media melted. These parents were scared and desperate. They weren’t trying to ignore advice from the police and the FBI. They were simply at the end of their ropes. The longer Tracy was gone, the more they feared she’d never come home. Alex felt sorry for them. Had she failed them? If their profile was better, would Tracy have been found by now? Perhaps the others too?

The thought increased the pressure she felt. “It’s too much, Lord,” she whispered. “It’s all just too much.”

She started having trouble breathing and worked to slow her large, gasping breaths until they finally leveled out. She couldn’t keep giving in to this fear. Besides, other people had real problems. Like Logan. Like the Abbotts and Mrs. McDowell, Merrie’s mother, apparently a widow with breast cancer. Alex felt ashamed to be struggling when she wasn’t facing anything as awful as others around her were. It was time to grow up and quit being so pathetic. She put the phone down.

“You’re going to stop this,” she said to herself. She got up and carried her cereal bowl over to the sink. Then she finished getting ready for work, making herself move forward, step by step, as if she were somehow set on automatic.

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