She asked Gretchen to grab a sweater from the closet, thanked an MP who offered to carry the suitcase downstairs. She even smiled at Special Agent Oliver Davison.
But Justin, she ignored.
“Are we set?” Oliver asked, his gaze skirting across the bed.
The laptop Portia had been using was gone, along with the note. Justin knew who the perpetrator was. What they were hoping was to find some evidence of where he’d been holing up.
“I think so.” Portia whirled around, grabbed another photo from her dresser. This was one that had been taken in the summer—the two of them at a church picnic. She had a sunburned nose and a broad smile. He had his arm around her shoulders.
He remembered the day and the feeling that they were finally connecting, that he was beginning to understand her. That maybe they were going to be okay.
A couple of months later, he’d learned that she was the anonymous blogger. Since then, it seemed as if they were back at square one. Tiptoeing around each other, trying to figure out the steps of a dance that neither of them had ever learned.
“If you get there and find out that you forgot something, I’ll have someone bring it to you,” he offered, and she finally looked at him.
Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. She looked determined, though. Stoic. Like someone who knew what had to be done and planned to do it. No matter how much she didn’t want to.
He understood that.
He’d been that type of teenager.
“I don’t want to do this, Dad,” she said, grabbing her backpack and hoisting it onto her shoulder.
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“Then how about you explain it to me?”
“You think I don’t want to go because I don’t want to be in some weird house with a bunch of people I don’t know.”
“It’s not a weird house,” Oliver offered, taking a duffel bag that Portia had filled and zipped. “It’s nice. Your room is big, and you’ll have a nice computer setup. No internet access, but you can play games or journal. I read your blog posts. You’re a gifted writer.”
“If you’re trying to remind me that this is my fault, and that I wouldn’t have to leave if I hadn’t been so stupid, don’t bother. I think about how dumb I was every day. If I could go back and not write the blog, I would.”
“Hey, it was just a comment,” Oliver said calmly. “I’m not trying to do anything but make the safe house sound like a nice place to spend some time. Which it is.”
“Nice would be going back to Michigan. Nice is not going wherever we’re going,” she responded, turning to look at Justin. “But I’m not worried about the house or how things will be there. I’m worried about you, Dad. With Mom gone, you’re all I have left. And if I’m at the safe house, I can’t make sure you’re okay.”
“Portia—”
“I know it doesn’t make sense. You’re an air force captain and a military police officer, and you know how to take care of yourself.” She shrugged. “But I still have this feeling that if I’m with you, you’ll be safe, and if I’m not...maybe you won’t be.”
“You know what?” Gretchen said, stepping forward. “How about Special Agent Davison and I meet you two downstairs?”
She hurried out of the room, and Oliver followed.
Obviously, she was trying to give Justin a few minutes to say what needed to be said, to reassure Portia that he’d be okay. That she wasn’t going to be left alone.
“Don’t worry about it, Dad,” she said before he could speak. “I’ll go. I know you and Quinn have to go find Sullivan.”
She would have left the room, and he could have let her go. It would have been the easy thing to do. It was what he wanted to do. He couldn’t promise her he’d be okay. His job was dangerous, and every day that he did it, he took risks.
She knew that, and she wouldn’t believe any platitude he might try to feed her.
But he couldn’t let her go without offering some reassurance.
“Wait.” He touched her arm, and she stopped.
“What?” she asked, exasperated or trying to act like she was—bangs hanging in her eyes, hand on her hip, eyes shooting daggers.
“I know you’re scared.”
“Glad you finally figured that one out.” She started walking again.
“I’m scared, too.”
She stopped.
“Not about the situation with Boyd. Not about my safety,” he continued. “I’m afraid I’ll mess this up. That I won’t be the parent you need. That you’ll finish growing up, and I still won’t know your favorite color or what size shoe you wear. I’ve tried to be a good long-distance father—”
“You have been,” she said, all her exasperation and attitude gone.
“But now it’s time for me to be the kind of parent that’s right in the middle of all of it. The daily problems. The school troubles. The teenage—”
“Drama?” she cut in, brushing the bangs out of her eyes.
“That wasn’t quite the word I was going to use,” he said, and she offered a half smile.
“It’s what Mom always said. That teenage drama was going to give her a head full of gray hair.”
“Your mom did a great job with you, Portia. You’ve turned into an intelligent, strong, independent young woman. But you still have a lot of growing up to do, and it’s my job to make sure that you’re safe while you do it. The easiest and best way for me to do that is to have you in a location that Boyd can’t find.”
“But he can still find you, Dad. What if he ambushes you or makes a bomb or hires someone to hurt you?”
“I have an entire team of people who are working with me to make sure that doesn’t happen, but as long as my focus is on your safety, I’m not going to be able to concentrate like I should. You going to a safe house will keep us both safe, because it will free the part of my mind that is currently focused a hundred percent on making sure Boyd doesn’t get to you.”
She frowned. “I don’t want to be a distraction. I just want to help keep you safe.”
“So go to the safe house. Follow the rules. Cooperate with the people who will be guarding you. Trust me and the team to capture Boyd.”
“And trust God to keep you safe?” she asked quietly. “I did that with Mom and look what happened.”
“Sometimes we can’t understand His plans, Portia. But we can always count on the fact that He’ll take difficult situations and use them for our benefit. If we let Him,” he responded, repeating words Corbin had said to him years ago.
“Mom used to say that, too—God can make the toughest times into the biggest blessings. If she were here, I’d ask how her dying could ever be that.” She sniffed, a tear sliding down her cheek.
He wiped it away, pulled her into his arms. “Honey, I’m not going to pretend that I understand God’s ways. But I know this—faith is never wasted. Your mother was one of the most faith-filled people I know, and she wouldn’t want you to doubt God’s goodness because of what happened to her,” he said, knowing it was true. Justin had admired Melanie’s work ethic, her drive, her parenting skills, and he’d admired her faith. She’d become a Christian after Portia’s birth, and she’d never wavered from the conviction that God had used one of the hardest times in her life to show her the truth about His love.
“I don’t. I just want to know that He’s not going to let you be taken from me, too.”
“He’s not.”
“Do you really believe that?” she asked.
“Yes. Like I said, faith is never wasted. Whatever happens, you’re going to be okay. I promise.” It was the best he could do, the most honest he could be, and he could only hope the truth was what she wanted.
She nodded, stepping away. “I know. I love you, Dad. I’ll follow whatever stupid rules they have at the
safe house, and I’ll pray for you every day. And when this is all over, we’re going to plan that trip to Michigan. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“See you later, alligator.” She offered the words they’d said to each other when she was in elementary school.
“In a while, crocodile,” he responded, surprised and pleased that she’d remembered.
She grinned, kissed his cheek and walked away, her backpack bouncing, her shoulders straight. She was her mother’s daughter.
But she was his daughter, too.
He might not have spent as much time with Portia as he’d wanted during her formative years, but he’d supported Melanie’s parenting in every way he could. Not just with finances. He’d been a willing ear, a second opinion. He’d been there when Portia had ear tubes put in, and when she’d had her tonsils out. There had been dozens of times when he’d taken leave to be there for her and Melanie, and he’d like to think that the confident young woman who’d just walked out of the room had learned some of her strength from him.
Maybe his father hadn’t rubbed off on him.
Maybe he could be what he’d wanted when he was a kid—the kind of parent who listened and who really heard, who offered support and encouragement along with the parameters for right living.
He called Quinn to heel and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
* * *
Gretchen had never liked goodbyes. When she was a kid, her father’s air force career had meant a lot of them. Her brothers had grown up and gone into the military, and she’d found herself saying goodbye to them, too.
She preferred hello.
Or see you later.
She tried not to watch as Portia threw her arms around Justin one last time. She tried not to listen when she made him promise to be careful. But, of course, they were all standing in the foyer of Justin’s house, crowded together, and she couldn’t help but see and hear father and daughter say their goodbyes.
She had a lump in her throat, and she wasn’t even going to pretend that she didn’t.
“You’d probably better go, Captain. If Boyd is watching the team that’s tracking him, he’ll notice if you’re not there. We don’t want him to realize we’re moving Portia,” Special Agent Davison said, putting a hand on Portia’s arm. “I’ll get her to the house safely. I’ve got three agents there, and your team is sending in some MPs. She’ll be safe.”
“I’m counting on that,” Justin said. “Follow the rules, Portia. It’s the only way to stay safe.”
“I will, Dad,” she promised, sniffing back tears.
“Ready?” Gretchen asked, opening the door and letting cool air drift in. She didn’t want to rush Justin, but Oliver was right. Sullivan knew the team’s routines. He’d been observing them for months. If Justin wasn’t around, he’d wonder why. The last thing any of them needed or wanted was for him to return to Justin’s place looking for him. If he saw Portia leaving, he’d follow. Maybe he’d be spotted. Maybe not. The guy was slick, and he was smart. He might launch an attack before the transport reached the safe house.
She frowned, stepping out into the darkness, a cold breeze ruffling her hair. She scanned the yard, her arm throbbing in time with the beat of her heart. She still had the makeshift sling Justin had given her, and she adjusted her arm to try to ease the pain.
There were still several MP vehicles parked near the curb. Yellow crime scene tape had been strung around the bushes where the bodyguard had been found. An MP was taking photos of the area, and the evidence team was still working. She’d like to think that Boyd would keep his distance. Most criminals would. But Boyd wasn’t most criminals. He was a psychopath and a narcissist. A guy who believed he was too smart to be caught.
“And that’s going to be your undoing,” she murmured.
“What is?” Justin asked, and she swung around to face him.
“I was just thinking about Boyd’s arrogance, about the fact that he doesn’t believe he can be caught. That’s what’s going to lead to his capture.”
“You’re worried he’s coming back here, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think he will while all this activity is going on, but I do think he’ll be back if he doesn’t see you out searching for him.”
“He may be off base, Gretchen.”
“Maybe, but everything I’ve learned about him says differently.”
“What do you mean?” He walked down the porch stairs, calling for Quinn to follow.
“You’re his main target, and he wants to see you suffer. Knowing that Portia is in danger is fear inducing, and Boyd is the kind of person who revels in instilling fear. He’s going to want to know that he’s accomplished his goal—that you’re terrified for Portia, that maybe you’re even losing your focus.”
“If that’s what he wants, he’s going to be disappointed. I may be afraid for my daughter, but I haven’t lost my focus,” he said, popping the hatchback of his SUV and giving Quinn the signal to jump in. “Let’s head out. If he is hanging around, I want to get him away from Portia.”
He closed the hatch and opened her door, waiting as she climbed in.
“I know your shift ended an hour ago, Captain,” he said, leaning down so they were eye-to-eye. “I can take you back to the station if you want to clock out. I don’t expect you to work 24/7.”
“I expect it.” She buckled her seat belt.
“You got twenty-five stitches in your arm. I think a little time off is in order.”
“I think the guy who caused me to get the stitches needs to be in jail, so how about we not waste time arguing about whether or not I should go home?”
“We’re not arguing. I was stating a fact.”
“So was I.”
He stared into her eyes, and at first it was nothing. Just the two of them looking at each other. Like any other time during any other shift.
But then, she felt it again. That shift in the air, that strange feeling that they were connecting in a way she hadn’t expected and didn’t want.
He frowned, backing away and closing the door. Not speaking as he started the engine and pulled away from the house. They were both professionals, and they both behaved in ways that reflected that. But there was tension that hadn’t been there before. Some unspoken thought that filled the space between them.
She didn’t break the silence, and when they finally reached Boyd’s abandoned vehicle, she was relieved.
She exited the SUV before Justin turned off the engine and hurried to the abandoned vehicle. It was a small Dodge. Two doors. Dark colored. Nondescript. The front license plate was in place, and she walked to the back of the vehicle, noting the blown-out tire.
An officer was walking around the car. Tall, with dark hair and broad shoulders, he had a bloodhound beside him.
“Lieutenant Donovan?” Gretchen called, recognizing the explosives expert and his dog, Annie, immediately.
“Captain Hill,” he responded, saluting as she approached.
“Find anything interesting?”
“We didn’t find explosives,” he responded. “That’s generally the most interesting thing to me and Annie.”
“You searched the vehicle?”
“The front and back seat are clear. Console has been cleaned out. Nothing in the glove compartment. We found a single red rose in the trunk.” Nick opened it, stepping back so that she could look inside.
A rose had been left there. Dark red petals. Long stem. No note, but Boyd might not have had time to leave one. He’d been on the run, but he’d still wanted them to know that he was in control.
“He was taunting us,” she said, taking out her flashlight and shining the beam into the trunk’s dark corners.
“He definitely wanted us to know it was him,” Nick agreed.
“It’s not like we had any doubt,” Justin said as he jo
ined them, Quinn at his side. The Malinois didn’t approach Annie. Both were too well trained to do more than look at each other.
“I searched the cabin, your house and the empty property. Not even a hint of explosives or accelerants anywhere,” Nick said. “I’m thankful for that. Put enough explosives in a residential area, and you can injure a lot of people.”
“Currently, Boyd’s focus seems to be on injuring just me.” Justin glanced in the trunk, then walked around to the driver’s door and opened it with a gloved hand. “You said the interior is empty.”
“Yes. He cleaned out any identifying documents. There’s no title. No insurance. Not even a crumb on a floor mat. I thought maybe he’d stolen it from a used car lot, but we ran the plates. It belongs to an airman who lives a couple of miles from here. She’d left the keys in the ignition when she went inside with some groceries. He stole it from her driveway.”
“When?” Justin asked, signaling for Quinn to find the scent and search. The dog sniffed the front seat, the steering wheel and the door.
“Two nights ago,” Nick replied.
“So, he’s been on base and ready to take action since then.” Gretchen wasn’t surprised, and she wasn’t happy. He’d planned the kidnapping, and he’d executed it perfectly. His error had been in playing games with Justin. Giving clues. Drawing him into the woods and assuming that he’d go there alone.
“Looks that way.” Nick said something to Annie, and the bloodhound sat, her long ears swinging gently as she moved. “Now he’s on the run, but I have a feeling he’s not going far.”
“Why do you say that?” Justin asked as Quinn sniffed the ground near the car. Nose down, tail up, he seemed to catch the scent immediately.
“I was in basic training with him, remember? He never liked a challenge. He liked things to be easy, and when they were, he bragged that it was because he was superior to the recruits who were struggling. When they weren’t, he wanted to quit.”
“And you think things are getting difficult for him?” Justin asked.
“Definitely. We’re closing in, and he knows it. I don’t think he’s going to enjoy the feeling of us breathing down his neck, and he’s going to be very unhappy about losing his kidnapping victim.” He frowned. “Sorry. Losing your daughter, Captain.”
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