by Kim Karr
My head snapped back as if Miles could read the sign even after we passed it. “When I went to see Tommy in prison and he told me he suspected O’Shea had killed his wife, he said something I totally disregarded as babble.”
“You know the police have no evidence that leads to O’Shea. He has a tight alibi, so chances are it was babble.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, but that’s not what I’m saying. Tommy told me the Priest had taken Lizzy.”
Route 2 was ahead and Miles eased off the gas. “I’m not following.”
“What if all this time we thought Lizzy abandoned O’Shea, she hadn’t really left him but she’d been held captive?”
Miles’s head nodded slowly. “I’m following you now, but what about the videos? They were filmed last month.”
I sighed. “I know, but if those men were tests of some kind?”
“And she failed.”
“She’d have still been held. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“What about when we saw her on the hotel footage with Tommy?”
“Maybe she’d gotten free and that’s why she was sneaking around. Why she was trying to contact Elle, but not Michael. Why she didn’t see her kid.”
Miles nodded. “It makes sense. It also makes sense that the Priest was the man behind the door in the videos.”
“And the one calling Elle.”
Miles nodded again.
“We have to find the Priest.”
“Another visit to Michael?”
I nodded. “Once we get back. What other choice do we have?”
“Not many. I’ve exhausted my resources. They’ve all heard of him but no one has seen him, nor do they know where to find him. I can bring in some guys from the Gang Unit, but it’s going to cost you.”
“However much, I don’t care.” I checked my watch, the one my grandfather Ryan had given me, and for once was thankful for the trust fund he’d set up for me, for the fact that money would never be an obstacle in getting Elle back.
“And Patrick?” he asked.
“My old man is set to meet with him this afternoon.”
The rain had stopped about thirty minutes ago. Finally. And was replaced by blasting sunshine. With the change in weather, we arrived at the wildlife refuge in record time considering we were coming all the way from the East End.
A blue-shirted county sheriff’s deputy was blocking the way down the road, the road the Mercedes was found abandoned on.
Miles rolled down his window. “Hey, man. Can you let me pass?”
Rolled-up sleeves, buzz cut, and iron face, the guy appeared at the open window. He took a swig of water from a plastic bottle he was holding and then shaded his eyes and peered in. “Miles, my man, I thought the car looked familiar.”
Miles held his hand out and the two shook.
“I’d love to help you, but I need to know why.”
Miles nodded in understanding. “The woman who was driving that car is a personal friend and I’m trying to help find her, private work.”
The deputy pounded the hood. “I don’t have to tell you not to touch anything.”
Miles gave another nod.
“Carry on then, and if I can be of any help, let me know.”
It was crazy how police connections worked.
Two uniforms comparing paperwork on the dirt road gave the tow truck driver a thumbs-up. Since Elle was reported missing, and the car she last drove was found abandoned, crime scene investigation was on site. Just as we pulled up, their vehicles started rolling away, as did the other sheriff cars. “Keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking,” Miles warned.
I paused and then said, “Yeah, sure.”
He opened his door and cruised over to them.
I followed.
The remaining guys were both young, had to be fresh out of the academy when Miles retired. “Hey, Miles Murphy. Not sure if you remember me—”
The uniform with a build like a boulder stuck his hand out. “Miles Murphy, of course I remember you, you’re a legend. Took a round in a gang turf war in the West End and lived to tell the story.” He turned to the other officer, who was even broader shouldered and more barrel chested. “You remember the story, don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course I do. How can we help you?”
Miles lowered his chin and nodded toward the clipboard in the linebacker’s hand. “I’m working the case of a missing woman and she was last seen driving the Mercedes you just towed off. Find anything that might help me find her?”
There was no hesitation in his response. “Nothing really. Small amounts of blood were found and we’re sending them off to the lab, but CSI initial analysis showed two different blood types. Purse, laptop, and wallet for a,” he glanced down, “Gabrielle Sterling were found, which rules out a simple mugging. There are signs of a struggle but really, not much more.”
Suddenly, the sun seemed blazing hot even though it was only April. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. I couldn’t move if I were asked to. What if someone just took her and we never hear a word about her again? What if she just vanished? Who would care—other than me? O’Shea would move on like he had since his wife went missing. Elle had no family to speak of—except for that little girl she loves. The one she adamantly wanted to keep safe. Who would make sure Clementine was safe?
Somehow, some way, I knew I would.
Miles’s expression was blank. “Anything else I should know about that might lead me to where the perp came from?”
The other cop scratched his head. “No, that’s about it. But leave me your number. If something comes up, I’ll give you a call.”
“Hey, thanks, man, I really appreciate the help.”
The two officers nodded and the linebacker said, “And if you come across anything, you’ll let us handle it, right?”
“Yeah, of course.”
The other one indicated me with his finger. “Who’s this, by the way?”
The Sheriff’s car that was blocking the road started down the path.
Miles blew off the question. “We’d better let you get to it. Thanks again.”
Back in the car, it took all I had not to lose it.
My head felt heavy.
My vision slightly blurry.
My heart strained.
Memories of Elle burned in my eyes. The way she’d wiggle out of my hold. Blow me a kiss as she went off to work. Laugh on the phone.
She was so full of life.
The landscape blurred as we headed back to Boston. We were about halfway when Miles broke the silence. “Let’s head over to the address Elle gave you yesterday.”
“There’s no point to that,” I muttered, staring straight ahead.
“Well, we’re going anyway.”
I shrugged.
He kept on. “Do you think it takes a special dye to make roses black?”
I shrugged again, gaze on the landscape now. “I’m not . . . I don’t . . .” I had to clear my throat, try again. “I’m not sure.”
“We need to get a sample of the rose petals, have the dye run, and then query that to see what stores sell it.”
I didn’t look at him and muttered, “There could be hundreds.”
“It doesn’t matter. At least it’s a starting point. Also, the Mercedes was found out in nowhere land. Why?”
“Who knows? The perp could be west, north, south, or back in Boston and trying to throw us off for all we know.”
“Yeah, but like I said, it’s a starting point.”
I looked at my watch. She’d been missing twenty-four hours. Things weren’t looking good. “A starting point.” My laugh was harsh.
The car swerved to the side of the road.
“What the fuck?”
Miles got out, came around to my side, opened the door, and yanked me from my seat.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
He shoved me.
I shoved him back.
With his hands, he took ahold of me. “
You are Killian McPherson’s grandson—act like it, for fuck’s sake. The Killer would be rolling in his grave if he saw the shape you were in over a chick.”
“Fuck you.” I shoved him harder.
He moved toward me and put me in a headlock. “She’s just a chick. Either decide you want to find her or give up, but don’t fucking waste my time.”
“She’s not just a chick!” I shouted.
His hold got tighter as I struggled to free myself. “Then what is she?”
“The woman I love!” I managed to scream.
He released his hold of me and started back for the car. “Then start acting like it.”
With my hands behind my head, I paced the side of the road, and then with new resolve got back in the car. “Let’s do this. Let’s find her.”
His cell rang. “Murphy here,” he answered.
Silence.
“Organic soil amendments?” he questioned.
“Yeah, okay, thanks for letting me know.”
“What’s going on? I asked.
“Initial lab results have identified either compost or manure in the carpet fibers of the trunk, the backseat, and the driver’s floor mats.”
I looked at him questioningly.
“Fertilizer, like the kind used to grow plants and flowers.”
My mind snapped back to the memory I had the other day of the story my gramps had told me.
“Holy fuck, that’s it.”
“What’s it?”
“How fast can you get us back to Boston?”
I knew where she was. All we had to do was figure out where the fucking greenhouse was that Mickey O’Shea had held Punchy Leary captive. Elle had to be there.
Morning faded into afternoon.
Hours passed.
I paced, feeling like a storm growing stronger and ready to lash out.
Miles worked tirelessly on searching county records for greenhouses. There were way more than we had suspected, and none were deeded to Mickey O’Shea.
He was going through the list again, in more detail.
“Fucking A,” he bit out.
I was behind him in an instant. “What?”
“There’s a greenhouse about fifty miles east of Sudbury owned by a Rose Corporation. Do you think it could have any connection to Rose O’Shea?”
“Yes, it has to. Let’s go.”
“It’s a good two hours away, Logan. Let me call the Sudbury Sheriff’s Department and see if they can send someone closer.”
“No, I want to find her.”
He stood and gripped my shoulder. “You did, but you have to let someone else get her. Someone closer. Someone with authority.”
Gearing up, I stared at him, daring him to stop me.
He stepped closer. “Logan, listen to me. I know you’re going crazy right now, but her life could depend on this. We don’t have any backup. We don’t know what we’d be walking into. Let the authorities take care of this.”
“Make the call.” I conceded.
Although I hated to admit it, he was right.
ELLE
My fingernails bit into my own skin.
Digging, gouging, tearing, trying to free myself.
I was an animal being held captive.
No, I was a girl, a good girl.
Wait, I was a woman.
As I rose to consciousness, I wasn’t sure how long I’d been here. I wasn’t sure about anything. The only thing I was certain of was that more than likely I was going to die, and it was going to be sooner rather than later.
Muted voices were incomprehensible, but I didn’t care anymore. I was shrouded in darkness and I couldn’t fight it anymore. It wasn’t my choice. My body was making the decision for me. I hadn’t eaten. I’d been injected with insulin at least three times that I knew of. My confusion was evidence that hypoglycemia was setting in. It was a symptom I knew well. One I’d helped my mother overcome many times. Except, I knew the outcome when untreated. And it wouldn’t be long before my brain shut down.
Far in the distance, I thought I heard sirens. No, I wanted to hear sirens. I wished I heard sirens.
Suddenly, the voices became clearer. “Get the fuck out of here, now.”
“What about the girl?”
“Leave her.”
Oh, God.
“Don’t leave me,” I tried to scream.
But the sound of a car’s screeching tires and the silence in the room told me they were gone. And that I was all alone.
Logan’s face flashed before me. I spoke to him. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m just not strong enough.
The whistle of sirens seemed to be closer.
Hope rose in my heart.
There was the sound of a door.
More voices.
Talk louder. I can’t hear you.
Then my body slammed against something hard and I heard a thud. I think it was me. I wanted to open my eyes. To see where I was, but I just couldn’t.
I was weak.
More hands were touching me. I wanted to scream. I did scream, but I don’t think anything came out.
Words were echoing all around me.
The moon was strangling the sun—no, the sun was strangling the moon.
Tires were spinning.
I was in a car.
No, I was on a train.
Another thud.
I could see.
Lights were bright above me.
I was moving again. Fast. Really fast. I was back on the train.
Or had I been in a car?
This time I focused on only one of my senses—hearing, for now. I concentrated hard and when I did, I could make out what was being said.
“She’s in and out of consciousness.”
“Drug overdose?”
No, I don’t do drugs. I was trying to talk. Could they hear me?
“I don’t think so.”
No, they couldn’t. “Call Logan. I need Logan,” I said.
“How’d she get here?”
“Sudbury Sheriff’s Department brought her in.”
They weren’t listening to me.
“Symptoms?”
“Sweating, tremors, palpitations.”
“Pupils?”
“Dilated.”
“Sounds like insulin shock. I need a CBC, stat.”
A pinch.
“Her pulse is steady.”
Was I in a hospital?
Yes, yes I was. But was it too late?
I couldn’t think anymore.
And then everything went black again.
Time passed. I had no idea how much or how little.
There was an incessant swooshing noise that woke me up.
My eyes flew open.
I felt a bit drunk.
Yet still, I could see things. There wasn’t a mask of darkness around my head anymore—the blindfold was gone.
I could hear things more clearly—they were no longer muffled.
The sounds were coming from machines.
One in particular making that beeping noise that made me want to scream. I’d heard it only once before—when I was in the hospital having my kidney removed and ended up barren.
It was tall and obnoxious and it stood beside me, blinking red numbers, and it was then that I noticed the long plastic tube that ran up from the back of my hand to the pole.
Panic gripped me.
Where was I?
I was on my back, propped up. The material beneath me was utterly foreign. It was white and stiff, and smelled faintly of bleach—I wasn’t on a hard, damp ground anymore.
I wasn’t in heaven.
I wasn’t in the fiery pits of hell.
I was in the hospital.
How?
My head pounded as I tried to remember what had happened. I struggled to sit all the way up. I needed a phone. I had to call Logan.
Everything was a scattered mess in my head; even his number was a jumble. I was dizzy, light headed, and still I reached for the phone
that should have been beside my bed but there wasn’t one there.
I glanced around.
The small amount of rectangular blue sky I could see through the slats of the blinds to my right told me it was daytime. I had no idea what day it was, though, or how long I’d been here.
Clementine. Would she have been waiting for me?
Anxious, I folded the covers back as gently as I could and sat on the edge of the bed. I had to find a phone. I glanced down. My fingernails still had some dirt under them; my legs were clean but bruised, my arms the same. I touched my face. It stung—my lips, my cheek, my nose.
The pole worked well as a crutch for support and I wheeled it into the bathroom before I would make my way into the hall. I looked in the mirror to find a bandage across my cheek; my lips were cut and bruised, and my nose looked slightly burned.
A murmur of voices from outside my door put me on alert. I hurried back to my bed, my pulse skipping.
Who was coming?
When the door handle turned, I held my breath, hoping it was Logan.
But how would he know where I was?
Familiar eyes greeted me. As if I’d been struck by lightning, my body jerked. His eyes. They were the same icy blue eyes as the man who had taken me.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
The room began to spin.
My fingers gripped the sheets.
The noise coming from the machine now sounded as loud as a hammer and I wanted to smash it.
My breathing felt irregular and I took a huge breath. Blinking a few times, I talked myself off of the ledge. Of course, I knew it wasn’t Michael who had abducted me. It couldn’t have been. I’d have known if it was.
Still, fear crept around the periphery of my mind.
“Elle, you’re awake.” He rushed over to me, his cell ringing as he crossed the room.
“Where am I?” I asked. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion and I wasn’t sure my words would make sense.
His arms were around me and he was hugging me.
I felt nausea rise in my throat, but swallowed it down.
His cell rang again. The ringing of the cell phone was agitating. Still ignoring it, he pulled back and grabbed my hand as if relieved to see me. “You’re in a hospital in Springfield.”
An anxiety I couldn’t name formed in my chest. I tried not to flinch but I did, and I ended up pulling my hand back. I closed my eyes and attempted to reject the feeling that he had anything to do with my or my sister’s abduction, but in this moment, he was a stranger. Nothing made sense.