Her One and Only Hero

by Sharon Hartley

  “He noticed what I was doing?”

  “He hasn’t escaped arrest this long without being aware of law enforcement’s efforts.”

  “When did he realize?”

  “Probably when you arrived in the States.” Dale leaned forward. “Have you noticed anything unusual?”

  “My daughter is missing. That is unusual.”

  “What I mean is have you ever sensed someone was following you, had the feeling someone was watching you?”

  Fran leaped to her feet. “Zarco has been following me?”

  “I think that’s a possibility.”

  Suddenly chilled, she hugged herself. “Mio Dio.”

  “What? Is there something you haven’t told me?”

  “I had a feeling several times that I was being watched. I ignored it, attributed it to stress, to worry about Bella.”

  “When?” Dale demanded. “Where?”

  She shrugged. “The first time was when I landed at JFK, then again in the Miami airport.”

  “I wonder if Zarco has been tracking you.”

  Fran wanted to throw something, but dared not lose control. Not here. She took her seat again.

  “But why would he follow me?”

  Dale met her gaze. “Think about it, Fran. I think you know.”

  “To shut me up,” she said, remembering the FBI agent in New York City who referred to Zarco as an assassin, someone who would kill when necessary. “Mio Dio, he wants to kill me.”

  “If you disappear, he’s in the clear. No one else cares what happened to Bella.”

  “Paolo does.”

  “Paolo is in Italy. By the time he made waves, Zarco could be gone.”

  “You care.”

  “But I’m a new player.” Dale nodded to himself, as if thinking his theory through. “Zarco probably wasn’t too happy when you hooked up with a law enforcement officer. Knowing I’d pick up a tail, Zarco could have put the electronic device on my vehicle to keep track of us.” Dale sat back. “I’m wondering if the trip to Tampa wasn’t deliberate, a misdirection to get us out of Miami.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Bella is in Miami. He might still be trying to get her to his client in South America. If he gets rid of you, he believes the heat will disappear.”

  “But I thought Zarco sold Bella to Atwood, and then Atwood sent her to the people in Ybor City.”

  “And where did we get that information?”

  “From—what was his name? Morales, the man who worked for Atwood?”

  “A man who knew about the horrible conditions those kids were enslaved in and did nothing to help them.”

  “But your friend Javi found the Ybor City connection with a text Atwood made.”

  “And that was just a little too easy.” Dale shook his head. “I had my doubts about Ybor City, but we had to follow the lead. It was all we had.”

  “So you think Morales lied to the FBI?”

  “Perps lie to law enforcement all the time.”

  Fran released a breath. Of course criminals lied. What was wrong with her, taking everything on faith? Why did she persist in doing that? The world had never been kind to her. Or to Dale.

  What had they done that was so wrong?

  “So what do we do now?” she asked.

  “Go back to Miami. I want to have another conversation with Morales.”

  “But Zarco is here,” she protested.

  “Maybe, maybe not. If he is, the FBI will locate him.” He stood. “Wait for me by the elevator. I’ll find Button and tell him we’re out of here.”

  Dale hurried from the small room, and Fran closed her eyes. More dead ends. More delays. And still no Bella. Where was her daughter?

  When she had awakened this morning in Dale’s arms, she had been happy for the first time in so very long. And then he kissed her and made love to her again, obliterating any rational thoughts from her mind. She choked back a sob.

  Since her daughter had run away, every morning the first thought that flooded into her brain was Bella’s disappearance, which pressed her into the mattress with such weight it was almost impossible to get out of bed. Her stomach would churn with fear and worry, destroying her appetite.

  Oh, but not this morning. This morning she had been happy, light and blissful. And hungry. Hungry for Dale. How could I do that?

  Am I giving up?

  Was her sweet daughter gone forever?

  No, please, God, no. I cannot—I will not give up on my Bella.

  Every law enforcement person she had dealt with insisted too much time had passed for a successful outcome. She had heard that implication in Button’s tone when he apologized for not finding Bella. When would she finally understand that message?

  Was it time to go home?

  With disorganized thoughts racing in every direction, Fran opened her eyes and was confronted by the image of Joaquin Zarco’s blurry face on the computer screen—the man who had devastated her life. A blinding fury made her look around the room for something to throw at the monitor. Finding nothing, she reached into her purse and her fingers closed around her sketch pad. She jerked it out and stared down at her drawing of Dale and released a sigh.

  Yes, Dale had been the model for the Searching Man of her dreams, the image that she’d envisioned for the sculpture in Milan. Dale’s physique had changed of course, had matured quite nicely, but he had maintained that masculine symmetry she remembered—and had loved—so well. She cocked her head as she studied the image she had created. Actually her memories of him were quite accurate.

  She had never forgotten Dale, even when she thought she hated him. She could never love any other man because she could not forget her first love.

  But maybe she should. Maybe she needed to let him go.

  She had believed Dale could help her, had clung to that thought as she flew to Miami.

  They had not found her, but they had made love again.

  Perhaps it was her passion for Dale that caused all the trouble in her life. Maybe she needed to stay away from him.

  He appeared in the doorway again with a phone to his ear, likely wondering why she hadn’t met him at the elevator. Tears blurred her eyes as she gazed at him. What was it about this one man that she found so compelling? He was like an opiate to her system. Now that she had him in her life again, she couldn’t get enough.

  How could she walk away from him? He was all she’d ever wanted. She didn’t possess that kind of strength.

  Could she fly back to Italy and leave him behind? It would take the heat off the monster, but she would never see Dale again. For Bella’s sake, to keep her alive, maybe that was what she must do. Or was this a crazy woman’s thinking? How could giving up and going home bring Bella back to her? She shook her head. That made no sense.

  And why did she believe Dale would want her to stay? He had said no such thing to her. Her return had done nothing but bring chaos into his life. Her insistence he help her find Bella had wrecked his police career.

  She was so weary of the dead ends, of not knowing anything, of doors being slammed in her face. Where was Bella? Was she even still alive?

  Dale lowered the phone and turned his intense green gaze on her. “What’s wrong?”

  Feeling as old as time, she came to her feet clutching her purse. “Nothing. Everything.”

  * * *

  WANTING TO GET back to Miami ASAP, Dale set the cruise control two miles per hour over the limit on the drive across the state. He checked the rearview constantly, on the lookout for a tail. After informing Javi of the latest developments, the agent had agreed to set up another interview with Morales. The Bureau had doubled down on the search for Zarco, reissuing the alert at all airports.

  What would be the best approach to that second interrogation? Inform Morales they knew he’d lied or trap
him into several more?

  “You are quiet,” Fran said.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you. Do you need to make a stop?”

  “No. I want to ask you a question.”

  “If you want to know what I’m thinking, I’m plotting how to approach my conversation with Morales. I want to get that interview right.”

  “That is not the question I want to ask.”

  Something in her tone caught his attention. He shot her a look, but she stared out the front of the car, her hands folded in her lap.

  “You can ask me anything, Fran.”

  “Do you promise to tell me the truth?”

  “Wow,” he said. She now had his full attention. “That’s a loaded question.”

  “Why? Do you often lie to me?”

  “Okay. What’s going on?”

  She reached for her bottle of water in the console and took a long drink.

  Damn. Something was seriously up with Fran. She’d been strangely quiet since leaving Tampa. He should have been paying more attention. He should have asked what was wrong. She probably thought he didn’t care.

  But he did. He cared too much. He wanted to prove to her how much he cared by finding their daughter and then convincing her to remain in the States at least for a short while so he could get to know both mother and daughter better. One step at a time. What happened after that would take care of itself.

  “Promise me that you will be honest,” she said.

  Shit. Sometimes little white lies were a guy’s best friend. But not with Fran. Not today. Not ever. She’d confessed that she’d never stopped loving him. She wanted to know if he felt the same. He should have already told her. Why hadn’t he?

  “I promise.”

  “Do you believe there is any chance that we will find Bella alive?”

  Dale swallowed hard. He hadn’t seen that coming. Damn, but he wished he hadn’t promised to be honest. How could he tell Fran the truth? The truth would destroy her.

  “Your silence is giving me an answer,” she said.

  “There is always a chance,” he said.

  “Everyone has told me that it was too late, that she was gone, that the first forty-eight hours are when most abducted children are found.”

  “And statistically that is true. For most missing children.”

  “You think our daughter is dead, don’t you?”

  “I think we have to keep looking until we know with certainty.”

  “Mio Dio,” she whispered. “Tell me the truth. Please tell me what you believe.”

  “I can’t, Fran. I don’t know what I believe, and that is the truth.”

  She closed her eyes.

  “If you had asked me two days ago, I probably would have told you to go back to Italy, that the statistics tell me our daughter is gone forever. But Zarco is playing games with us for a reason. Why didn’t he just slip out of the country and evade the heat? He’s been doing that for years, yet he is still here. Most importantly, why did he follow us to Tampa?”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I don’t know anything, but I can tell you that Zarco hasn’t stayed out of prison this long by making mistakes, and he made a mistake following us to Tampa.”

  “Why was Tampa a mistake?”

  “He showed his face, made himself vulnerable, which was stupid, and believe me, Zarco isn’t stupid. He must have had a damn good reason to take such a huge risk. The only reason I can think of is Bella is worth a lot to him. She’s such a valuable asset that he’s willing to take chances, dangerous chances that might get him caught. So my theory is a client somewhere is dangling a lot of money for her.”

  “But why? What is so special about Bella? I mean, yes, she is a beautiful girl, special to me and anyone who knows her. But Agent Rivas called her a ‘type.’ There must be many types like her. Why would Zarco be willing to take such a chance for one girl?”

  Dale sucked in a breath. He really didn’t want to go there. He’d promised to be honest, but didn’t want Fran to probe his theory too deeply.

  “This is all hypothetical, Fran.”

  “But your theory does not make sense to me.”

  “Assume the client is a wealthy man, powerful, like a god in his probably developing nation —wherever the hell he lives. Maybe the client has something on Zarco, something that puts Zarco more at risk than arrest. Maybe the client is getting impatient.”

  “That’s a lot of maybes, a lot of assumptions.”

  Dale shrugged. “I told you it’s a theory.”

  “And your theory does not explain why this highly skilled international trafficker would be willing to take such a risk specifically on Bella.”

  “No,” Dale agreed.

  “Why not just find another—what did you call it—asset for his client?”

  Dale didn’t answer. To be honest would shatter Fran, and maybe he was wrong. God, he hoped he was wrong. He had no proof, only a gut feeling after reasoning out Zarco’s behavior—exactly the way Fran was doing right now.

  When she remained silent, he shot her a glance and quickly returned his attention to the road, praying she’d let the discussion of his half-baked theory go. He didn’t want to tell her the last of his assumptions, the one that completed the picture, and hoped she didn’t figure it out on her own.

  “So there must be something special about Bella,” Fran said. “But what? No one but me, Paolo, her friends and teachers know her. What irony that you, her own father, do not even know her.”

  Dale dared not look at Fran. He kept his focus on the asphalt rushing underneath his wheels. He felt her eyes on him.

  “It is because of me,” she said.

  “Fran—”

  “Oh, mio Dio, you think this wealthy client knows my work and wants Bella because she is my daughter.”

  Dale sucked in a breath, hating the shrill sound of desperation in Fran’s voice. He needed to pull over, but the shoulder wasn’t safe on this stretch of Alligator Alley. The next rest stop was close, and he’d wait for that.

  “But I am not famous,” she said. “Yes, I have received a few good reviews in magazines, but few people outside of art circles in Italy know my work.”

  “Are you sure about that? I checked out your website. Your work is displayed all over the internet.”

  “There is nothing about my daughter on my website. It is only to sell my work.”

  “Bella is mentioned on your social media accounts.”

  “Social media? No. I have nothing to do with that.”

  “You don’t make the posts?”

  “When I first started to sell, Paolo hired an assistant to set something up. He said such matters were important for PR. I pay no attention to that nonsense.”

  “Millions upon millions of people do. Maybe someone else is paying attention to your platform.”

  “My platform?”

  “Anyone interested in your work would have searched for you on social media. Fans are curious, they always want to learn more about people they admire.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I cannot believe Paolo would allow a photo of Bella to appear.”

  “There are no photos.”

  Fran muttered something that sounded like relieved Italian.

  “But your profile reveals you have a daughter.”

  “So you think some sick fan of my work wanted Bella because—because she is my daughter?”

  “It is only a theory. I have no proof, and I’m sorry I told you about it.”

  “I insisted.”

  Dale shot her a look. Tears slid down her cheek. She stared straight ahead. Just as he feared, Fran was coming unglued at the idea that Bella’s abduction had happened because of her.

  “This is not your fault, Fran.”

  Truthfully, how much did
his parents know about his youngest sister’s social media activities? Unlikely they paid much attention. He sure didn’t know what she posted online. He hadn’t thought about checking out Bella’s social media activities until the first night in Tampa when he found her photo on the Web. It wouldn’t have made much difference, but he should have done it sooner.

  He’d learned social media wasn’t as harmless as he’d thought.

  “I should have been paying attention to what Bella did online,” Fran said. “I know she has a profile, but I never looked at it.”

  “I did.”

  Fran sucked in a breath. “And there are photos of her everywhere?”

  “No, and that surprised me.”

  “Paolo warned her about that.”

  “Good man. He likely understood your celebrity could put Bella at risk.”

  She muttered in Italian again, and then added, “But I am not a celebrity.”

  “Get used to it, Fran. You are. Maybe not in this country yet, but in parts of Europe people know your name and can find you with a simple search.”

  Spotting the rest stop exit, Dale drove into a parking lot with only one other vehicle, an old Volkswagen camper. He braked to a stop. The area featured no facilities except a bathroom and a few concrete picnic tables in the sparse shade of newly planted oak trees. A young couple sat at one of the tables enjoying a meal. A bright blue cooler sat on the ground beside them.

  With the engine still running to keep the A/C going, Dale turned to Fran, who stared at the couple. She looked miserably unhappy, obviously blaming herself for Bella’s abduction. What could he say to make her feel better? He wanted to hold her, but his vehicle featured a huge console that separated the bucket seats.

  She brushed tears from her cheeks with her palms. “So with no photos, Zarco could not find her on social media?” she asked in a hopeful voice.

  Dale sighed, wishing he could lie to her.

  “Bella has friends,” he said. “And her friends posted photos of her. Not many, but a few.” Enough.

  “So I was right. It is my fault. I ignored the danger to our daughter.” She buried her face in her hands.

  “You could not stop your daughter’s friends from posting on their pages,” Dale said. “Social media is a normal activity that kids the world over are having fun with these days. Adults, too.”