Her One and Only Hero

by Sharon Hartley

  “But it is dangerous,” Fran said.

  “It can be. But so can almost anything that’s fun.”

  She lowered her arms and finally looked at him. “I am sorry.”

  He reached for her hand and squeezed. “Don’t apologize.”

  “I should have been more aware of what was going on in Bella’s life.”

  “None of this is your fault, Fran.”

  “I wish I could believe that.” She took a deep, shuddering breath and released his hand to rummage in her purse. She found a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

  Dale remained quiet to give Fran time to compose herself. He surveilled the area but identified no threats. No vehicle had exited with them, and he remained convinced they weren’t being followed. The couple at the picnic table started packing up.

  “Do you want to use the ladies’ room?” he asked.

  She blew her nose and nodded. But she didn’t exit the vehicle.

  Dale waited. He didn’t want to rush her.

  “What do you think would have happened if we had known I was with child?” she asked, her voice soft, not looking at him.

  The question startled him. “You mean before you flew home to Rome?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve thought about that a lot,” he said.

  “You have?”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “All the time,” she said. “I try not to, but...” She trailed off and shrugged.

  “I wouldn’t have let you leave,” he said. “I would have insisted we get married.”

  She swallowed hard and didn’t reply, working the tissue in her lap.

  “What would your answer have been?”

  “I would have been so happy to become your wife.”

  “Yeah, I thought so.” He nodded. “I wish we’d known.”

  “Only two weeks,” she said. “That was the difference.”

  “Two weeks,” he murmured. A couple of lousy weeks and their lives would have turned out totally different. He wouldn’t have gone to Iraq, so might not be a cop. She’d still be an artist, but in America. Or maybe they’d be multinational. Would they have had other children? Would they still be married?

  “But we did not know,” she said. “And now it is too late.”

  Too late? Dale opened his mouth to object, but kept quiet. Now wasn’t the time to argue with Fran. She was too fragile, beating herself up over circumstances that weren’t her fault.

  And maybe she was right. He didn’t want to believe it was too late for him and Fran, but maybe too much time had passed. They’d become different people, had grown in separate directions. Her life was about beauty and art. His was about danger and stopping criminals She’d hate the ugliness he brought home every night.

  He watched the couple load their blue cooler into their rusted camper. The young man said something, making the woman laugh. They seemed happy. Were they?

  Fran opened her door, exited the vehicle and Dale followed.

  “Fate has been unkind to us,” she said as they walked together toward the bathrooms.

  “Fate?” Dale snorted. “I don’t believe in fate.”

  “No? Considering what happened to us, how can you not?”

  “I believe you shape your own life,” he said. “You take the hand you’re dealt and make the most of it.”

  She shot him a confused look and placed her hand on the door to the ladies’ room.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Let me check the room before you go in.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “It’s a precaution, probably not necessary.”

  She stepped away from the door. He entered and found the room empty.

  “All clear,” he told her.

  “Grazie,” she murmured.

  “Prego,” he answered, the only word he knew in Italian besides spaghetti. “What?” he asked when she didn’t enter the bathroom. “Is my accent that bad?”

  “If you do not believe in fate, then we are responsible for our own actions,” she said. “Does that not make what happened to us, to Bella, totally our fault?”

  “It’s not that simple.” He stepped closer and cupped her cheek. “Why do we need to assign blame, Frannie? What good does that do?”

  A tiny smile bloomed on her mouth, but quickly faded. “You are sweet,” she said.

  “What happened is not your fault.”

  He pressed his lips to hers, intending the kiss to be light, but it developed into a deep, soul-wrenching connection that he didn’t want to end. But Fran stepped away and pushed inside the ladies’ room.

  Dale sighed as she disappeared. If Fran believed it was too late for them, then it probably was. She was losing hope. That much was obvious. If they didn’t find Bella soon, it wouldn’t matter if her parents lived on the same side of the ocean or on the moon. There’d be nothing but heartache in their futures.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  FRAN GLANCED AROUND the sparsely furnished room she’d been escorted to so she could observe the second questioning of Morales. Several padded chairs were arranged around a table that contained three computer screens. Grateful for the solitude, unsure what she was doing, she collapsed into one of the chairs.

  She checked her phone and found another text from Milan demanding to hear from her. She closed her eyes. Her patrons were threatening to declare her in breach of contract for not revealing her progress.

  But she had nothing to reveal.

  Fran tossed the phone on the table. What could she tell them? She could not deal with Milan until she knew about her daughter.

  Dale had driven directly to the FBI headquarters. She had no idea where she would spend the night. They hadn’t discussed a hotel, but maybe she could stay with him at his home. But perhaps it would be better if she flew back to Rome. She was only complicating matters here if Dale was correct that Bella had been abducted because of her.

  She glanced at the computer screen which showed an empty room waiting for Morales. According to Dale, Morales had been transferred from the county jail into a holding cell somewhere within this building. Would he give them any new information? That seemed unlikely, but Dale remained optimistic, perhaps overconfident in his interrogation skills.

  She, however, could not help but believe this interview would go nowhere. She closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind of such negative thoughts. Since Bella had disappeared Fran had remained optimistic, often forcing herself to remain hopeful.

  At what point did she give up? Her stomach cramped at the thought of ending her search, which meant abandoning any chance of finding her daughter. I can’t give up. But maybe I need to go home. If I get away from Dale, maybe I can think more clearly.

  Fran startled when the door opened. Dale stomped into the small space, jerked a chair toward him and straddled the seat. Something had happened that he was not at all pleased about.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She sensed he was making an effort to be pleasant for her sake. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Javi is going to conduct the interview.”

  “Why can you not sit with him like last time?”

  “Protocol,” Dale said. “No. Make that politics. My lieutenant wanted to know what was going on, made a phone call and that got the special agent in charge involved.”

  Fran nodded. She understood politics all too well. Her father and her ex had lived and breathed politics. “So you are now banished from the interrogation room.”

  “But it will be fine. Javi is good.” Dale released a breath, smiled at her and squeezed her hand. “Sorry to be a grump. How are you doing?”

  She shrugged, and looked away from his intense green gaze. How could she admit to Dale how conflicted she was—her confusion about him, about the search for
Bella? Oh, mio Dio, if Dale’s theory was correct, her art had caused her daughter’s abduction. Her entire world, her very reason for existence had been turned upside down and yanked inside out. She couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t get her balance.

  Every time she thought she had a grip on her new circumstances, something else cataclysmic happened. Like making love to Dale or discovering she was now the target of Bella’s abductor. Or realizing that she needed to go home, that perhaps her presence here was doing Bella more harm than good.

  “Hey,” Dale said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she whispered, knowing that her weak response would prompt more questions.

  “Did something happen while I was gone?”

  “It’s just I’ve been thinking.”

  “And?”

  She worried at her bottom lip. Dale would never understand why she wanted to go home.

  “What’s wrong, Frannie?”

  Before she could answer, noise from the computer screen made them both turn to watch Morales shuffle into the interrogation room accompanied by another man who urged him to sit. Morales wore an orange uniform and his hands were shackled. He appeared bored.

  “Here we go,” Dale said. He scooted his chair to face the monitor.

  Fran nodded, relieved at the delay. She needed more time. She needed to figure out a way to explain to Dale why she had to leave Miami. But how could she when she didn’t fully understand it herself?

  Agent Rivas entered the view a few moments later and tossed a file onto the table.

  “Good afternoon, Senor Morales,” he said.

  “You again.” Morales glared at Agent Rivas. “What am I doing here?”

  “We have a few more questions for you.”

  “Yeah? Well, guess what? I will not answer any questions unless my lawyer is here.”

  “You want an attorney?” Rivas asked. “We can appoint a public defender.”

  “Shit no.” Morales leaned forward and placed his shackled wrists on the table. “I already got an attorney, a good one, too. Mr. Atwood arranged for her services, so I ain’t saying nothing to you without her here.”

  “Got it,” Rivas said. He grabbed his file and left the room.

  Dale released an expletive, one Fran hadn’t heard him use before, at least not in her presence.

  “So what does this mean?” she asked.

  “It means Atwood doesn’t want his henchman to talk.”

  “And you cannot make him?”

  “Not in this country. Not yet anyway.”

  “So we wait for the attorney?”

  Dale shook his head. “No point. The lawyer won’t let Morales say anything that would incriminate her client, and that would be anything that would help us.”

  “Why did he allow himself to be brought here if he was not going to answer questions?”

  “The trip got him out of his jail cell for a few hours. He was happy to come.” Dale sat back in his chair, staring at the monitor. “There must be more of a connection between Zarco and Atwood than we thought.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because it appears to me as if they’re working together to cover up any link to Bella.”

  “Can you interrogate Atwood again?”

  “I’m sure the Bureau will keep at him, but unless we get something else on Atwood, he won’t make a deal. Why should he? He knows we haven’t got any proof of his involvement in Bella’s abduction. He hired counsel for Morales so we wouldn’t get any.”

  “So that’s it?”

  Dale nodded. “Morales will be taken back to Dade County Jail.”

  “What do we do now?”

  Dale looked away from her. “I don’t know, Fran. I honestly do not know.”

  She blew out a breath. Another dead end.

  “Maybe the FBI will apprehend Zarco in the Tampa area,” he said.

  “Maybe this, maybe that. I am so sick of all the maybes.”

  “I know it’s hard.”

  “Be honest. Do you believe the FBI will catch Zarco in Tampa?”

  Dale ran a hand through his hair. “No. I doubt if he’s still in that area.”

  “You have no more leads right now?” she asked. “Nowhere else to look?”

  “I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “Not until we get a break.”

  “A new lead?”

  “Right.”

  “And where will that come from?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Fran looked at the computer monitor which showed the empty room again. Empty. Exactly the way she felt. Hollow.

  “You should go back to work.”

  “I have until tomorrow morning.”

  “Why wait? What would you do besides hold my hand until you must report?”

  “I might think of something.”

  “Another maybe?” she asked.

  “I guess, yeah. Come on, Fran. Something will break. It always does.”

  “I don’t want you to waste any more of your time holding my hand. I realize now that is what you have been doing all along. You never believed we would find Bella, did you?”

  Ignoring the question, Dale reached for her hand and squeezed. “I don’t consider holding your hand a waste of time.”

  “But it is unnecessary.” She gently removed her fingers from his. She had to tell him. She had to tell him now before she lost her nerve.

  “I am going home.”

  “Home?” he demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “You mean back to Rome?”

  Fran took a deep breath. She had tried her best to find Bella, had done everything she could think of at great personal cost, but she had failed. Their daughter was gone, either dead or sold into a life of unimaginable horror.

  “I will catch the next flight.” She shrugged. “I am already packed.”

  Maybe if she went home, Zarco would move Bella. That was her last hope.

  If she was still alive.

  Fran swallowed a sob. “Please take me to the airport.”

  * * *

  IN THE PASSENGER seat next to him, Fran spoke into the phone in rapid Italian. Then she remained quiet while tapping her pen on a notepad. After more arguing she said, “Grazie,” and jotted notes.

  Dale shot her a look, but she refused to meet his gaze. They were stopped at the last red light before the turn into the bustling chaos of Miami International Airport. She’d contacted her travel agent to book her on the next available flight to Rome, first class of course, but it sounded as if she couldn’t find any seat before morning.

  He’d argued with her all the way to the airport, but she refused to change her mind. He didn’t understand the urgency for going home today.

  “Can’t get out until tomorrow?” he asked, hoping they had one more night.

  “I am booked on the last flight to JFK tonight at ten thirty, but there are no flights to Rome until morning.”

  “Sounds like a miserable night in New York.”

  “I have done it before.”

  “What’s one more day?” Dale demanded. “Why leave right now?”

  She shook her head. “What good will one more day do?”

  “Maybe we’ll get a break.” He heard the wheels spinning in her head and wanted to kick himself. She needed more than another “maybe.”

  “How much longer should I wait?” she asked.

  When he didn’t have an answer, she said, “It is time. You know I am right.”

  He didn’t want her to go. Not like this. He’d thought they had more time, but she was giving up on Bella. Like she gave up on him thirteen years ago.

  But he had given up on Fran, too. Eventually. How long should she wait? The case was at a standstill, and the odds remained stacked against them finding their
daughter. Fran’s life was in Italy. His was here. Was he never going to see her again? That thought made him want to throw something.

  How could this be happening again?

  He punched the accelerator too hard, and the wheels squealed as his vehicle lunged through the intersection.

  “My flight leaves in three hours,” she said. “You can drop me off at the curb.”

  “Like hell I will. I’m waiting with you.”

  “That is not necessary,” she said.

  “Yes, it is. Did you forget you’re a target now? I’m staying by your side until you get on that plane.” And I want to get on that plane with you. He blinked. Where had that thought come from?

  When she didn’t reply, he shot her a glance. She’d closed her eyes.

  What the hell? She didn’t want him to wait with her? Well, too damn bad.

  He parked, removed her luggage from the back and they walked toward the terminal without speaking, him trailing her suitcase on wheels while she pulled a small carry-on. They’d retreated to the awkwardness that had surrounded them when she’d first reappeared in his life. He thought they’d worked through all the resentment and heartache and found each other again.

  But no. It was like last night had never happened. They’d become strangers again.

  What had gone wrong?

  When they arrived at the terminal, he handed Fran’s luggage to a porter. Fran asked him to check it through to Rome.

  Dale watched her interact with the airport employee, hating her forlorn expression. But why not wait a few more days? Had he done something to drive her away?

  The baggage handler handed her a claim ticket and said, “Terminal D. Your flight to JFK is on time.”

  “Grazie,” Fran murmured as she slipped the man a tip.

  Still wondering what had caused the change in Fran, he took her roll-aboard and they entered the noisy terminal packed with fellow travelers. They checked the huge electronic board for Fran’s gate and headed toward the closest security checkpoint. Fran presented the electronic ticket on her phone, and Dale showed the agent his police badge. He’d left his Glock locked in his SUV. Without prior approval, he couldn’t get through Transportation Security Administration’s checkpoint with a weapon.