The morning sunlight stretched across the sand-hued carpet of Benjamin’s office. He swiveled his chair and gazed out the window offering a view of the Detroit River, and beyond it, Canada. He’d slept badly. Joanne’s image clung to his thoughts and no tossing or turning would dispel the longing that wound through him. He’d kissed her, and it was too late to take it back.
The memory of the kiss was like a wonderful dream. He’d controlled his yearning for too long, and last night, he’d lost control. Joanne had stood across the room, her face bright and smiling as she gazed at the Christmas tree. Her long golden hair had cascaded around her lovely face and spread across her shoulders like molten gold.
Her beauty had swept over him like an avalanche, unexpected and unrestrained. Benjamin had always admired her lovely features—her large sultry eyes the color of a summer sky, a mouth that curved to a gentle smile, but greater still, her sweet nature, her love of life, her mothering skills, her joy of family. Those were the qualities that made her unique.
And now he’d ruined it. Their relationship would be strained. He had seen it in her face. Her eyes had widened in surprise, and her comment had sent him to the depths. We got caught up in the moment, she’d said, as if she’d already dismissed what had happened.
What could he do now?
Benjamin struggled to focus on his work. His last assignment had left him empty—a business merger. Dry, dull facts, financial figures, clauses and addendums marched through his head. He shifted the file and opened the folder, then grabbed his small digital voice recorder and pressed the record button. He begun to spew out notes for the secretary.
When his thoughts drifted, he hit the stop switch and leaned back again. He should have specialized in personal injury, or criminal defense—anything but contracts, arbitration and business litigation. Working with people rather than corporations would give him a greater sense of purpose. Though he was good at it, corporate law had been a mistake.
Greg had worked with people. His cases had weighed on him and had taken a toll on his emotions at times, but when he’d finished a case, he knew he’d changed someone’s life, hopefully for the better. All Benjamin felt he’d done was solve a problem for a conglomerate.
Mental images of Greg triggered a thought. Joanne’s phone calls seemed connected to Greg’s and Mandy’s deaths. Why? And as Joanne said, why now? After three years, what would cause a woman to ask questions about Mandy? Did she suspect Mandy was alive? What evidence did she have? Was it only speculation? And now Joanne had received those odd e-mails. He needed to know more.
Joanne’s startling comment had struck him. Maybe she wasn’t in the car. That hadn’t made sense at the time, unless—
She’d been taken out by someone. Her seat belt had been unlatched, Benjamin recalled. That fact had bothered Joanne. He’d wondered if Mandy knew how to unhook her belt. She had been a bright child, but she had also been well-behaved and had minded her parents. He didn’t believe the child would unlatch her seat belt.
So where did that leave him? The impact had undone the buckle or someone had unlatched it. Perhaps Greg had reached over the seat to—No, that wasn’t possible. Greg’s belt had been fastened when the divers found him. He couldn’t have leaned over to release it.
Another thought nudged itself free. Greg’s death had been deemed accidental, but what if…? Benjamin shook his head. He’d seen too many movies. He pushed the thought aside. Yet it hung on the fringes of his concentration. What if Greg’s death hadn’t been accidental? What if a case he’d been working on had set off a madman who wanted revenge?
Foolish. He’d gotten as bad as Joanne with that kind of thinking. Anyway, if Greg had been worried or threatened, he would have mentioned it. Or maybe not. Benjamin had already moved to Seattle. Why would Greg spend valuable telephone time discussing a speculative fear? Greg had never exhibited fear. He’d charged into his cases like a man on a mission. Fearless.
No. It couldn’t be.
Benjamin longed to have the problem-solving ability of a detective. For now, he would wait. If Joanne received a more telling e-mail or if the woman called Joanne again, perhaps something would click. Once the cops had more to go on, they’d take action.
Joanne leaned against the door frame and gazed at the Christmas lights strung on the tree. She and Benjamin had gotten no further the night before. Her heart skipped thinking of what had distracted them—the unexpected kiss that she’d accepted with every fiber of her being. The sensation had startled her, and now guilt rippled at the edges of her reasoning.
Greg had been gone three years, and she’d remained faithful to the love they’d shared despite her anguish and pain. She’d leaned on no one but herself and, finally, on the Lord. But the sorrow had put a wedge between her and God. She had tried to trust and to be assured that all things happened for a purpose, but the loss seemed too great, the hurt too deep, the sorrow too overwhelming.
Along with Greg and Mandy, she’d watched friends walk away. Her family acted tense when she visited and they never came to Grosse Pointe. This had caused her sorrow to turn to bitterness. Her heart had turned as cold as the December wind.
Tears burned in her eyes now and the tree lights became prisms. The one joy she’d experienced these past few weeks had been Benjamin’s return, and now she feared the kiss would strain their relationship.
He’d apologized, and she’d passed the beautiful experience off as a frivolous moment, a meaningless event. The kiss had been so far from meaningless that Joanne couldn’t even think after it happened. Her rash response knifed through her as the words left her lips. Why hadn’t she admitted she’d enjoyed the moment, that Benjamin had become her mainstay since he’d come back into her life and that she’d always admired him as a person and respected him as a dear friend.
Didn’t friendship make the best base for romantic relationships?
She brushed the tears from her eyes. Preparing a lonely dinner no longer appealed to her. Instead Joanne crossed the room, drawn by the heady scent of pine and the twinkle of the lights.
Boxes beside the tree were filled with ornaments she’d normally have shoved back into the carton. Today she opened a lid and pulled out a clear ball with the manger inside. Looking closely at the loving scene, Joanne felt her heart twist in sorrow. “Round yon virgin, mother and child…” The Christmas story filled her mind. When Mary looked at her newborn Son, she knew the truth, but until she experienced it, Mary had no concept of the pain and grief her mother’s love would endure.
Joanne could never compare herself to that kind of sorrow, but she had known the grief of losing a child, and now new hope had wiggled its way out from the hidden places in her mind.
As she pulled out each ornament and gazed at it, her mind shifted from Mandy to Benjamin, a rapture of sweet and sorrowful thoughts, leaving her yearning for a distraction.
As she hung a pink and gold angel on an upper branch, the telephone rang. She hoped the caller would be Benjamin, with something to take her mind off her heavy thoughts.
But on reaching the phone, she glanced at the caller ID and her heart stopped. Blocked. She gathered courage, noting the time, then picked up and said hello.
This time the silence lasted only moments. “I’m afraid for my life.”
The statement nailed her to the floor.
“Who are you?” Joanne asked, keeping her voice as steady as her pounding heart would allow.
“That’s not important. I am positive your daughter is alive.”
Your daughter is alive. The words caught her and wrapped with such strength around her chest, Joanne couldn’t breathe. Before she could speak, the woman continued.
“I have to get away. All I need is enough money to get far away from here so he’ll never find me.”
“Who? Get away from who?”
“If you can give me the fifty-thousand dollars I need, I’ll tell you where to find your daughter.”
“What?” Sobs ripped from Joanne’s chest. Mandy. Alive. Could it be? She’d sensed it. She’d felt it in her heart. She’d heard the whispers of her daughter’s cry. But—
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I must do it this way for our safety.”
Her safety and who else’s? Did she mean Mandy? “How do I know you’re telling me the truth? I don’t know you. You’re a voice.” Her legs quaked and she grasped the wall to stay upright. Be strong, she told herself. Extortion. People will say anything.
She gathered her courage. “I have no proof you truly know where my daughter is. Prove it to me, then talk to me about money.”
“I don’t have much time. He’ll find me.”
The line clicked and went dead.
“Who are you?” Joanne cried, pressing the telephone against her ear as if the contact would keep the line open.
A mechanical voice broke in. “If you are trying to make a call, please hang up and try again.”
The telephone slipped from Joanne’s hand and bounced on the end of the cord like a yo-yo until it spiraled to a stop.
Disbelief flooded her, drowning her reason and hope to the depths of despair. She knew she should call the detective. Her sensible mind told her it was the only thing to do, but her heart told her otherwise. The woman might tell her where to find Mandy, but if Joanne called the police, she might lose the chance forever.
Fear rose in her as she grappled for logic.
Ransom. Her daughter was worth more than all the money in the world, but what if the woman was lying? She should call the detective.
Joanne stared at the dial pad, her finger poised over the buttons.
Donna’s hand felt riveted to the receiver. Her palms were damp with perspiration, and she glanced through the telephone booth’s dirty windows, fearing she’d be traced. She always blocked the calls, but she knew that technology today could probably locate her anyway.
At least she’d been smart enough to change phone booths. A chill ran through her from the winter wind that slid through the small structure’s gaps. Donna slid open the door and stepped into the bitter air. She eyed her watch and realized she’d better hurry to the neighbor’s for Connie. The woman never asked questions, and Connie didn’t, either, because she loved to visit the neighbor’s daughter.
She slipped into her car and started the motor, her mind flying in crazy directions. She had to prove to Joanne Fuller that her child was alive. But how? A recent photograph came to mind. Any mother should recognize her child even three years later. But how could she give Mrs. Fuller the photograph? She’d thought about writing to the mother, but tracing a letter seemed too easy. She couldn’t use the mail.
When she had learned where Joanne worked, she’d thought about contacting her there. One day she’d stood outside her office building after dropping Connie at school, thinking she’d say something and then make her escape, but that had been the dumbest idea she’d ever had. She’d seen those police artists, the ones who sketched faces so close to the real features that anyone could identify the criminal. She couldn’t take a chance.
Donna headed home on Telegraph Road through the heavy Dearborn traffic, then turned onto Cherryhill. She made a left, pulled up in front of the neighbor’s house and gave a toot. The woman opened the door, and in minutes, Connie dashed toward the car, a sweet smile on her face.
A blast of cold rushed into the car when Connie opened the door. She slammed it shut and gave Donna a hug.
“Did you have fun?”
“Yep. We played with games and colored. I colored you a picture.” She giggled and reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a ragged sheet torn from the coloring book.
Donna took the paper in her hand and her tension faded. A colorful butterfly sat on top of a flower. Connie had used every crayon imaginable to create the bright kaleidoscope of the bloom. “It’s beautiful.”
“It’s for you.”
“Thank you,” she said, bending down to kiss the girl’s cheek. The touch of her soft, icy skin against Donna’s lips brought home a truth. She’d just talked with Connie’s real mother—asking for money. She felt sick over her actions, but things could be no other way. She couldn’t walk away from Connie, and for all the child knew, Donna was the best and only mother she had. Her stepdaughter loved her, and she loved the girl more than life itself.
Donna tucked the torn sheet onto the dashboard and pulled away from the neighbor’s house, but as she neared her own, icy fear gripped her. Carl’s car stood in the driveway. He’d come home early.
Where had she gone? She needed an excuse, some logical reason. She grasped at possibilities. It was too late to turn back and pick up groceries from the store. He’d probably been watching her from the window. He had become suspicious, and his unexpected appearances sent her bones rattling in her body.
“Daddy’s home,” Connie said, but her voice had lost its lilt.
“I see,” Donna said, trying to sound noncommittal. “You run right upstairs and change your clothes, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, concern in her soft voice.
Donna eased her car around Carl’s in the driveway and pulled to the back. He’d parked closer to the road, and Donna wondered if he planned to leave again. Maybe he’d dropped home to pick up something he’d forgot.
As soon as the door opened, Donna knew she’d been wrong. Carl glowered at her from the kitchen table, his hand clenching a beer bottle. She pushed Connie behind her.
“Where have you been?” he growled.
“I ran an errand.”
“You’ve got your nose stuck into things that don’t involve you, don’t you.” He jumped up, flipping the table on its side, and shot toward her with such speed that she couldn’t duck.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, pushing Connie toward the hallway door.
“Where are you going?” he bellowed at the child as she tried to escape his wrath. He caught Connie’s arm and pulled her around to face him. “What are you two up to?”
Connie’s face twisted as sobs ripped from her throat. “Nothing,” she said. “I was coloring.”
The child was innocent and Donna had dragged her into her scheme without realizing the consequences. “She’s done nothing, Carl. Let her alone.”
“Tell me what you’re up to, and I’ll let her go.”
Donna reeled. What could she say that would stop him from hurting her or Connie? “It’s someone’s birthday coming up, Carl.” She motioned with her head toward Connie.
His face twitched as he thought, then he released Connie’s arm and gave her a shove. The child fell to the floor, tears rolling down her face. When he turned back to Donna, Connie bounded up and scampered out of the room.
“I’m not sure about you,” Carl said. “You’re sneaky.” He circled the table and came toward her. “You’ve been snooping and sneaking around here. I don’t trust you anymore. You’re a stupid woman. That’s why I married you. Don’t try to get smart on me, Dumb Donna.”
“I’m not smart, Carl. I’m dumb, and I know it, but it’s Connie’s birthday in a few days, and I wanted to price some toys and then talk with you.”
Her legs trembled as she stood near him with nothing to cling to but her determination to get free of his bondage. Carl was cruel, and as far as she could figure, a murderer. He could as easily kill her as Connie.
“Get out of my sight,” he said, giving Donna a shove.
She hurried from the room and into their bedroom, closing the door and sinking onto the bed. She tried to control the spasms of fear that gripped her.
Donna knew she could call the police, but she had no idea whether Carl had them on the take or if they’d laugh at her. Domestic violence—so common, so ignored. He’d be released in an hour, and she would pay for it. Donna knew she’d be left in a worse situation than now.
Her best plan was to escape. All she needed was the money from the Fuller woman, then she’d take Connie to Canada or Mexico. Maybe California. Someplace he’d never find them.
But she needed to prove to Joanne Fuller that Connie—Mandy—was alive. She sensed that the mother’s love would come through, and then Donna would make her escape with Connie.