3

So if the woman in your room really is Shannon Bliss, what’s the plan?” Paul Falcon asked, settling on the couch next to his wife in their hotel suite.

“She would like to go home,” Matthew began, choosing a soda and dumping it over ice. He needed the caffeine to give himself a second burst of energy. “That’s the starting premise. What steps get taken in the next forty-eight hours depends in part on that case file and what the situation looks like in Chicago.”

“Has she told you anything about what happened? Is there a case to peel back at this point? A name? Location? Time period involved?” Paul asked.

“She’s shared a few facts I can tell you once DNA confirms her identity,” Matthew replied. He settled into a chair across from the couch, feeling the fatigue of the long day setting in. Paul would be the right person to see that Shannon got justice for what had happened to her. The sooner Matthew could introduce the two of them, the stronger the likelihood this situation would unfold to the good. But that wasn’t going to happen in the next twenty-four hours.

His phone chimed. He looked at the screen. The initial DNA panel was ready. He used the FTP code and sent the comparison panel stripped of any name reference on to the lab to have the comparison done. He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Ten minutes, fifteen, he was going to know. He looked back at Paul. “Shannon wants to meet only with her brother initially, not the rest of her family or friends. What do you think? Can the brother meet her and sit on the news he knows she’s alive?”

Paul shared a look with Ann, who finally shook her head and replied, “Maybe. Anything is possible. But the practical answer is he can’t. We’re less than five months away from the vote. He can’t talk about her as missing once he knows she’s alive; it would be political suicide for him to lie. He can’t avoid questions about her when he’s made a point of talking about his sister’s case, appealing for information in most every public speech he’s made. If he suddenly stops talking about her, the press will know something is up and start aggressively pushing. He’s in a no-win situation. If she’s revealed to be alive before the vote, he’ll be accused of unfairly taking advantage of the public attention surrounding her return for his own political benefit. If her story has dark corners to it and the news of her return is held until after the vote, they’ll say it was hidden to avoid discussing his dysfunctional family history.”

“Best case for the brother, she doesn’t make contact with him until after the vote,” Matthew realized.

“Which creates its own complications for why she didn’t get in contact with her family once she came forward,” Ann said, “and why you or I didn’t say anything once her identity was confirmed. Today has already become day one in the articles that are going to be written about her reappearance. And this case has got book material written all over it, even before I hear what happened to her over the last eleven years.”

Ann had written enough books to know what she was talking about on that score. “The timing of events will get scrutinized,” Matthew concurred. “Day one—she shows up, and we confirm she’s in fact Shannon Bliss. Day two . . .”

“That’s the question. We can keep under wraps for a few days the fact she’s alive and has returned. Beyond that, this is not so simple. You could admit her to a private hospital, tell her brother she’s alive, let him announce it and where she’s at, but say he’ll make no further comment until after law enforcement concludes the investigation and medical personnel give their okay . . . hopefully stretch that out to get past the vote before she appears. That’s probably the cleanest way to keep the public onslaught of interest away from her.”

Matthew liked it even as he realized it wouldn’t be possible. “I suspect Shannon’s not going to voluntarily admit herself to a private hospital that has good enough security to keep the press out—she’s not going to willingly go back inside a secured environment, even a comfortable one. Maybe we can arrange a meeting with her brother, and then she disappears and stays out of the state until after the election. He can announce her safe return, that she’s recovering in a private location, and he’ll have nothing further to say on the matter until after the election.”

Ann thought for a moment but shook her head. “Anything that vague, the press will crush him for more information, and anyone else they can hammer on, so the number who know anything at all about Shannon Bliss and her whereabouts needs to remain a very small group. And it had better be a good hiding place—they’ll be looking for her with great intensity. The press will reach from Theo to me because I pulled the case file, but I’m good at saying no comment. Your friend at the missing-persons registry will get identified because he accessed her records, but if he can hold the line, maybe the press can’t reach through him to you. If we can keep the press away from you, there’s a chance we can keep them away from her. You become the buffer.”

Matthew hesitated. “That’s good in theory, but the problem with wanting to stay beneath the radar—you start realizing how impossible it is to actually do that for any length of time. Tucking her somewhere no one finds her for five months when the press has a reason to be looking for her—it’s not going to be simple.”

“Whatever you decide, Paul and I can help you with the Chicago logistics,” Ann offered. “John Key can arrange a secure place for you to stay. I’ll put a call in to him to put that in motion. You won’t want to be in a hotel if the press somehow gets wind of this. And as far as a location for that family reunion, why don’t you consider using our home? It has good security, it’s neutral ground, it’s a comfortable place to have a conversation. A candidate for governor making a social call on the head of the Chicago FBI office at his home would not signal anything out of the ordinary to the press. Paul and I can slip away and go see friends for the evening.”

“It might be best if I made that first call to her brother,” Paul suggested, “and arrange the meeting. It will keep your name out of this until you’ve been able to meet the brother face-to-face and reach an understanding with him.”

“That’s a gracious offer and perfect for what we will need.” Matthew thought about the coming week and went straight to his top concern. “The situation I’d like to avoid at all costs is my daughter getting badgered by the press for information about where I am and if Shannon is with me. If the press gets to me, I may need to step away from this just to keep Becky out of the public limelight. Can you give me some options for Shannon if she and I need to split up?”

“We can plan some contingencies,” Ann agreed. “There are safe places Shannon could go, safe people outside of her family who could help her. Rachel and Cole would be ideal. Bryce and Charlotte. We’ve got friends who have some experience that would be relevant to her situation.”

“I’d appreciate it if you could lay some groundwork with them in case it’s needed.”

“I’ll put together several options you can run by Shannon.”

Matthew’s phone chimed again. He tugged it out of his pocket. The DNA comparison results were in. He read the text message, sent a thanks, looked across at Ann, then put his focus on Paul. “The FBI lab results are back. DNA confirms she’s Shannon Bliss. And from what she’s told me so far, this ended for her sixteen days ago.”

Paul winced. “Have you ever heard of someone walking free after eleven years?”

“No. Someone helped her. She’s not yet talking about who.” Matthew pulled Shannon’s list from his pocket, scanned it to see what else he would be comfortable sharing. “She arrived in Atlanta two days ago. This is day sixteen of freedom. She doesn’t want to talk about it. The rest of what she wrote is more directed to me.” He slid the list back in his pocket. “She goes by the name Shannon White. I think she’s got a room in this hotel or one nearby, probably some luggage or at least some things she’s picked up—her clothes looked new, as did the sandals. She’s probably got a room key and cash in her pocket. She’s not carrying a handbag. You’ll be able to find her on hotel security if you backtrack the sixth-floor video when she was waiting for me. She says she’s traveling alone, that no one is a concern here in Atlanta or Chicago, but that will change once it’s known she’s alive. She seems physically to be in pretty good shape, outside of being acutely tired.”

“It says a lot about how she got free of this that they think she’s dead,” Paul remarked. “What she can tell us will put one or more people in jail for life. Even those who helped would be looking at a decade or two of jail time. That’s reason to cause her harm, to keep her from talking with us, to not let her testify.” Paul sat forward. “It’s interesting she chose this law-enforcement conference, this hotel, to make her first contact. Did she say why she chose you?”

“Becky. She had an old newspaper clipping from the Boston Globe from the day my daughter was rescued.”

“Shannon’s been in Boston,” Paul said, interested.

“That’s my guess. She dodged the question rather than say yes or no.” Matthew passed over his phone with her photo. “What else?” Matthew asked, more for himself than them. “She said she didn’t have a valid driver’s license, which might imply she has a false one, but I’ve no idea what state you would look in. I’d say run her current photo through the entire system and see what shows up, but I don’t want that photo out there yet.”

“She’s what . . . twenty-seven now?” Paul asked.

“Yes. She appears to have a good hold on her emotions for now—either that or she can show you what she wants you to see. I think she has a mental checklist for the chronology she wants everything to proceed on, and she’s simply going to balk if pushed to take another course.”

Paul handed the phone to Ann, who studied the image long enough to memorize it, then handed back the phone.

“One immediate suggestion,” Paul offered, “is to build a photo array of people she can trust with names and contact numbers. Start with us. Take a photo. Show it to her. Give her our contact information. Go track down your friends at this conference and put the word out if Shannon calls, she gets helped, no questions asked.”

Matthew saw immediately why he needed Paul and Ann’s help. He should have thought of that step himself. “That’s a solid idea. I’ll get it done tonight.”

“I’ve got a phone you can give her,” Ann offered, getting to her feet. “Give me a second. I think it’s in my briefcase.” She looked at her husband. “That birthday gift for your nephew?”

“If it’s not in your briefcase, it’s in mine.”

Ann found it and returned. “A basic phone, as he likes to hike and keeps losing them. There’s a thousand minutes prepaid on it. You might as well have her unwrap it. Blue wrapping paper is probably not her color, but I doubt she’s had a lot of gifts recently.”

Matthew accepted it with a smile. “She’ll appreciate it.”

Ann took a seat beside her husband. “Do you think she might be willing to have breakfast with us here in the suite?”

“I can offer, but I’m not prepared to pressure her.” He looked over to Paul. “I don’t mind you backtracking hotel security video on her, learning what you can, but I’d like your word you won’t follow her if she leaves this hotel.”

“I’m comfortable with that, at least for the first few days,” Paul assured him. “We spook her, our chance of arresting who did it drops below fifty percent. She’s chosen to trust you. That’s where this has to start. I’d simply ask that you let information flow both directions without much delay when you know something.”

Matthew nodded his thanks. “That’s not a problem.”

“The cold-case detective who currently has the case is Theodore Lincoln,” Ann told him. “You’ll like Theo. He’s thorough and careful and the right mix of patient cop and calm detective. He’s the one you want Shannon to talk with when she finally agrees to have a conversation with law enforcement.”

“I’m thinking I’ll give her that case summary report you printed out and then ask her if she’d like to speak with the guy who wrote it.”

“That might work,” Ann said. “Just for my own curiosity—how are you feeling tonight, Matthew, about all of this? Her sudden appearance, her choosing you?”

He grinned. “Notes for a book?”

“Humor me.”

“I’m deeply aware there is no margin for error right now. Shannon’s in the initial euphoria, the joy and relief of freedom stage, showing the first signs of the fatigue that comes on the downslope of those emotions. She’s like a fine-blown glass vase that has a hairline crack running through it, and someone just picked it up. The die is already cast. Set the vase down too hard and it’s going to shatter. Ease it down and apply some glue, it holds together. If she doesn’t shatter in the next six months, I’ll have been a help to her. But I can’t predict how this is going to go. I’m concerned I’m too much in the dark about what happened that I could make matters worse, because I’m working blind about what she’s been through.”

“She doesn’t know how fragile she is,” Ann stated quietly.

“I don’t think she has a clue. After the fatigue will come the nerves that rip apart on sounds, smells, motions . . . all the memories and the nightmares are going to hit. Freedom lets the past have room to reappear in full Technicolor, no suppression allowed, and she’s not going to be able to avoid it.”

“You’ll get her through. She needs to trust someone. She chose you.”

“Let’s hope she made the right choice. I’ll call you in a few hours with an update on her plans. She may want to stay in Atlanta for a few days; she may ask that we head toward Chicago. Besides her request that we drive rather than fly, that situation is still evolving.”

“Ann and I will get up to speed on the details of the case file,” Paul told him. “Whatever you need, Matthew, just ask. You’ll find mountains can be moved with a case that’s going to turn high profile once the public knows she’s alive. We’ll clear what we can for you.”

“I appreciate that more than I can say,” Matthew replied. “I’ll ask one thing tonight. Since Shannon wants to drive, and you two are scheduled to fly back, could you pull Theodore Lincoln into a room, tell him she’s alive, and work out who’s going to handle the investigation that’s coming? I’m thinking four people—you two, Theo, and myself—is plenty to be in the loop while we’re still gathering the details. Make that five, as Gregory at the missing-persons registry knows.”

Paul nodded. “We’ll probably call Theo at his home from the plane. Since Shannon showed up in Atlanta, the FBI can already claim jurisdiction if necessary. But it won’t be. Theo has the Chicago police resources, we’ve got the national ones, and we know how to collaborate when it’s in both our interests. Something this high profile—and still a black hole for what will be uncovered—neither department is going to want sole ownership. We’ll work out a shared investigation and have it formalized before Shannon arrives in Chicago.”

“You make that sound easy when I can guess the politics that will be involved,” Matthew commented. “I’d also like to preempt whatever information she might need about her friends and family. Could I ask you to do a background update—who’s been married, divorced, had children, passed away, and so forth—among her family and friends, so she has a sense of the current world before she arrives?”

“I’ll be glad to do that,” Ann said.

Matthew glanced at his watch. “I need to get back. I’m relieved you two came to the conference so I didn’t have to try and explain over the phone what’s going on.”

“We weren’t planning to come,” Paul mentioned, “as our schedules have been hectic, but we both felt a last-minute nudge that we should fit this trip in. Probably a God-arranged decision.”

“Given how many things are falling in place to deal with this situation, I’m certain God is orchestrating much of this,” Matthew agreed. He lived his life depending on God to influence how events unfolded. “Ann, was there anything in that case file that mentioned Shannon’s religious background? She’s going to need someone to talk with, preferably from her home church.”

“I’ll pull the file and get you the name of the church she attended. I remember she was a regular attendee with the youth group, because the cops looked for some kind of problem with an adult that might have originated there.”

Matthew found it helpful to know Shannon had a faith background. “How this has affected what Shannon thinks about God and what she believes will lead to some difficult conversations. I’ll need to find someone who can help her work through those issues who is more skilled at it than I am.”

Paul glanced over at Ann. “We know someone who might be able to help with those questions,” he replied.

Matthew took out his phone and snapped the photo Paul had suggested of the couple, Paul’s arm casually draped across Ann’s shoulders. Not much explanation would be needed when he showed it to Shannon, Matthew thought, glancing at the image before pocketing his phone. The photo practically shouted that these two people were comfortably married.

Ann retrieved for him the case summary report she’d printed out and walked with him to the door. “Try to get some sleep at some point tonight. This is going to be a marathon, not a sprint.”

Matthew smiled. Ann knew him well. He’d run nine Boston Marathons since his daughter went missing. The first ones to gather national media attention—Cop runs for missing daughter—the later ones as celebrations of her return. “I’ll work on that. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“We’ll be up for a few hours. If there’s news, don’t worry about the time.”

“Thanks, Ann.” Matthew headed back down to rejoin Shannon.

Shannon woke just after one a.m. Matthew was stretched out on top of the first bed, reading the report Theodore Lincoln had written. He let himself glance over, make a single sweeping assessment, before turning back to the report. He spoke quietly. “The room key for across the hall is on the desk if you’d like to use that room. DNA is back and confirms what you already know. You can now prove in a court of law that you are Shannon Bliss.”

She set aside the blanket he’d draped over her, pushed to her feet. She walked into the bathroom, turned on the tap, came back with a glass of water. “Have some aspirin with you?”

“The shaving kit on the dresser.”

She found the bottle, popped off the top, dumped a couple into her hand. She leaned against the desk. “What are you reading?”

“A summary of the police investigation on your disappearance. Have you read the old newspaper accounts, looked up online information about the search to find you?”

“No.”

“Not curious?”

She shrugged. “If they had figured out what had happened, they would have found me. So whatever is out there is only speculation and a description of what did not happen.”

“Your family paid a ransom to get you back.”

The drink in her hand stilled, then deliberately lifted so she could finish drinking the water. “I gather it was a convincingly done con job.”

He shifted his head on the pillow as he studied her, trying to read the subtle expressions on her face. He could hear several layers of emotion in her voice, almost a flat factual curiosity. He would have liked to sit up, but he risked her retreating from the conversation if he moved. “Probably. They didn’t catch who made the call or received the money.”

“It was a con. I was on the West Coast forty-eight hours after I was taken, in Washington State.”

“Who with?”

She shook her head. She picked up the room key he had arranged, then retrieved her sandals, carrying them with her rather than slipping them on. “I’ll call you when I wake up. Maybe we can have a late breakfast and then get on the road?”

“If you like. We need to talk some about ways to avoid the press interest, given your brother’s running for governor. Once he knows you’re alive, this will get complicated for him.”

She half smiled. “Jeff likes complicated. I’ll let you two figure it out. I’m going to like any situation that involves as few people as possible knowing where I am. Don’t expect my call to be early. I’m not setting an alarm.”

“Sleep as long as you can.” He picked up the box with the phone and sat up on the edge of the bed. He’d unwrapped Ann’s gift and configured it. “Before you go—this is for you. Sorry for the poor re-wrap job.”

She unwrapped the box and took out the phone, genuine surprise highlighting her face.

“There are photos in it, names, contact numbers—all of them good friends of mine and people you can trust,” he explained. “If you call and say it’s Shannon, you’ll get helped, no questions asked. They’ll do whatever needs done and take good care of you because you’re my friend. You can trust them not to pry.”

She turned over the phone. “I didn’t expect this.”

Matthew offered a relaxed smile. “The first of several useful gifts I intend to pass along. Don’t hesitate to use it if you’re in a situation where it would help.”

Her hand tightened around the phone. “Thank you, Matthew,” she whispered.

“I hope you have calm and pleasant dreams tonight, Shannon.”

“That’s a nice hope.” She nodded and disappeared from the room.

He closed the report and set it aside. Washington State. He’d read nothing in the case summary that indicated any focus there. He picked up his phone, ignored the time, called Ann to have her scan the first weeks in the case file for anything that pointed to the West Coast or Washington State. Had Shannon been out West this entire time? Had she gotten to freedom and instinctively headed as far away as possible, only stopping when she reached the East Coast?

Shannon seemed confident the ransom demand had been a con job, someone taking advantage of her disappearance. That implied only a limited number of people—possibly two or three—were involved with her abduction, and they had all been with her on the West Coast, leaving no one behind who could have made that ransom demand and pickup. If it had not been a demand from her actual abductors, had her uncle not only taken some of the ransom money but been behind the ransom call itself?

Matthew finished the call with Ann, got ready to turn in for the night, shut off the room light. As the still of the night settled around him, he found himself replaying some of the early days with his daughter. “God, a question,” he said softly into the darkness. He focused on one memory in particular. He and Becky were playing a game of Scrabble so they would have something else to do while they talked, could use it as a reason not to say anything when either needed time to just think. Becky had been just beginning to give him facts about what had happened on the day she was taken.

“What’s happening inside Shannon right now?” he asked God. “Is she wanting to talk, but hesitant to do so because she’s seeking to avoid having a wave of questions come at her when she offers those first facts? Or is she reluctant to say anything and trying to find ways to accommodate me? Like with the list she handed me—I think she put it in writing so she would not have to say one word beyond what she had decided to say. She just now mentioned Washington State. Did she want to do so, or is Shannon’s true preference right now to say nothing and she’s trying to stay in my good graces by offering a few details?

“It worries me, Lord, if the information is coming because she feels like it’s currency she can use to keep me from being annoyed with her silence. I can accept the details if she wants to talk—I do need them—but I can also accept the silence if she needs that for a time. Whatever she needs is how this has to unfold. That was a turning point in Becky’s recovery, her freedom to share or not share as she wished. I wonder if I’m on the wrong footing with Shannon already. It’s a dreadful feeling.”

Just putting it into words was enough to bring some clarity. Matthew turned on the light, got up and crossed over to the desk, pulled over a blank sheet of paper, and wrote a note.

Shannon—

I like lists too.

I like glazed donuts and cream-filled chocolate-topped ones.

I like clams and scallops and Boston clam chowder.

My daughter is my best friend.

I want to hear your story when you are ready to share it.

I will listen to whatever you want to say, whenever you want to say it.

I’m in no hurry.

I can handle your silence.

I don’t mind tears.

Only when you are ready to talk about something should we do so.

I want to see arrested those who did this to you.

I have room for another friend.

If you choose me as a friend, you’ll find you can trust me.

He found an envelope and folded his page, slipped it inside, wrote her name on the top, dressed, walked across the hall, and slipped the envelope under her door. God had this figured out. What Matthew didn’t know about how to handle matters with Shannon would fill an ocean right now, but God understood her and what was going on. He wasn’t going to have to navigate this alone. Matthew returned to his hotel room, went back to bed, shut off the light, and this time sleep came.