Not Dan. He believed that good things were going to happen now that Lauren was safe. He knew it. They would make lemonade out of lemons. They would get their girl the help she needed to recover and grow and become part of their family again.
Bending over and stretching his hamstrings as he laced his sneakers, he grinned. Finding Lauren changed everything. The axis of the planet had shifted. Things were going to be different from now on.
He pulled open the front door, stepped out, and paused before the lock could catch behind him.
What the hell?
The front lawn was fringed with a line of reporters, TV news vans, satellite trucks, and curious neighbors. It was not even six AM and the media army was here, reporting for duty.
The word was out.
“Holy crap.” Dan cursed at himself as much as the media. He should have known better. As a firefighter, he’d dealt with reporters on nearly every rescue he was involved in. Hell, on slow news days, they sent someone out to cover the rescue of a cat up a tree. He should have thought about this, but he’d been so bowled over by Lauren’s safe return that he’d gone blind to the world around them. Twitter and YouTube. Blog posts and TV nightly news. The media frenzy that demanded news flashes and sordid stories and human atrocities. Photos and video, even the grainy stuff shot by cell phones and amateurs.
“Dan?” Someone called from the edge of the yard. A dark figure held up one hand. “Dan, Jake Winthrop from the Oregonian. Got a minute?”
Leaving the door cracked open, Dan jogged toward Jake, who he’d spoken with a number of times. Jake had helped keep Lauren’s name in the newspaper over the past few years, and Dan often spoke with him after fires or rescues. Jake was fair and factual, no spin or glitz. Dan wasn’t so sure about the others, two of whom he recognized as on-air personalities for the local affiliates. He understood their need to do coverage, but he knew enough not to go on camera right now.
“Going for a run?” Jake asked.
“I was planning on it. Wasn’t expecting the reception committee.”
“Is it true that Lauren has been found? The sheriff won’t make any statements until after the press conference at noon, and the hospital refuses to confirm whether that was her talking with your wife.”
Dan scratched his head as the other media people on the street began to move closer, a slow-crawling wave.
“Come here a second.” Dan had said the word, giving Jake permission to step onto his property. They crossed the lawn, pausing near the old-fashioned birdbath that had come with the house. This time of year it was coated with green moss, in need of a good scrubbing.
“So what’s the word?” Jake asked.
“She was found by the police yesterday. I can’t give any details from the law-enforcement angle; I wouldn’t want to compromise the case against the kidnapper. The suspected kidnapper,” Dan corrected himself, wary of tampering with the delicate justice system that allowed criminals to walk free because of technicalities. “She’s alive and in fairly good health.” He hoped that didn’t diminish the fact that she’d suffered rape at that monster’s hands. He didn’t ever want Lauren to think that he minimized that atrocity, but he could not open that can of worms with the press.
“That’s great news, man.” Jake kept his voice low, probably less out of respect than out of a need to keep this news exclusive to his publication. A scoop, as if a person’s secrets could be served up like globes of ice cream. “How did the police find her? Do you have the suspect’s name? Was it someone you knew?”
Aware of cameras flashing and people calling from the street, Dan shifted away from the reporter. “That’s all I can say. Well, you can add that Lauren’s family is overjoyed and grateful for her safe recovery.”
“It’s nice to be able to report good news for a change.” Jake extended his hand. “Congratulations, Dan.”
They shook, and Dan made a broad wave toward the barking crowd on the sidewalk. “See you at the press conference at noon,” he called with a slow smile for the cameras. They would know from his cheerful demeanor. They would see it as confirmation of the rumors, and that was okay. Lauren was back, and he didn’t care who knew it.
“Is it a secret?” his mother had asked last night when he’d called with the news.
“Not a huge secret, but we’re keeping the information close, trying to maintain some privacy for the next few days.” Alice had agreed to keep it on the down-low, but she had agreed to contact the O’Neil side of the family, while Rachel’s mom, Sondra, was going to make sure all the Lauers were informed.
Back in the house, Dan switched on the television and started a pot of coffee. The Today Show wouldn’t be on for another twenty minutes, so he was stuck with local news. The grinder whirred through the traffic report. Then there was live footage from a news copter, showing Mirror Lake in the corner.
He shut off the water and took a closer look at the screen as the rhythmic chop of an overhead helicopter began to reverberate around the house.
“Here’s the live aerial shot of Mirror Lake, where reporters are waiting to speak with the O’Neil family.” The camera zoomed in, leaving the lake area and coming in closer and closer on Wildwood Lane, until the people and trucks in the street were evident. They switched to a reporter on the ground, Lucy Chong. With a colorful orange jacket and pink hat, Lucy appeared bright and perky in front of the neighbors’ thick green laurel hedge.
“Just moments ago we saw Dan O’Neil, a local firefighter and the kidnap victim’s father, emerge from his home. There was no statement, but he seemed in good spirits, leading us to believe that the news is true . . .”
The reporter went on to say that Rachel O’Neil, mother of the kidnap victim, was seen at a local hospital the previous night talking to “this young woman who some speculate to be Lauren O’Neil.”
On the screen was a grainy photo showing Rachel guiding Lauren, one arm around her shoulders. The glare of the hospital tiles caused distracting light in the photo, and Lauren’s face was shown in an opaque profile, thank God. Right now, Lauren needed privacy. It was too soon to have her image plastered on every media outlet.
So someone had snapped a shot of them at the hospital. Probably when Rachel had returned last night, judging by the jacket she was wearing in the photo. Well, they would have to be more careful from now on. Would the police give Lauren a guard? Hawkins was not a threat right now, but the media, they could be a problem.
He checked the alarm system on the wall, wondering if Lauren would be coming home with them. He wanted her close, but now came the question of the media feeding frenzy. Had she been recovered from captivity only to be sequestered in this house, unable to take a step without being dogged by a different sort of jailer?
Chapter 17
The task force filled the conference room at the hospital, requiring extra chairs for some folks to sit away from the table, against the wall or windows. The organized chaos reminded Paula of a legislative hearing, where aides sat behind the big cheeses and everyone sought to make some important statement “for the record.”
Just as long as we remember who we’re here for, Paula thought as she hugged her coveted cup of coffee. Her third. Someone had brought a few big takeout vats of coffee to the meeting. God bless that anonymous donor.
From the head of the table, her boss at DHS, Truman Flores, pointed at task force members as he delegated assignments to the Mirror Lake police, Federal Bureau of Investigation, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children, and the small team of therapists who had been brought in to work with Lauren and her family. Overnight, Truman Flores had grown some pretty big balls. In the midst of all these government agents and law-enforcement types, Truman stood out with his ringed ear and thin, gray pigtail. Considering his usual tendency to sit back and “let it flow,” Truman was on fire today, and at the moment, Paula was feeling the burn as he took her to task in front of the entire task force.
“You should have deferred the case to someone
with more experience,” he said sternly.
Paula stood her ground, looking him in the eye. “I am so sorry it happened this way.” A lie, a blatant lie, but Truman wouldn’t know that. “I figured, when in doubt, do your best.”
“No one is questioning your dedication,” Truman told her.
They wouldn’t dare, she thought, wiggling her toes at him under the table.
“But you don’t have the credentials to counsel a client with issues of this complexity.”
“So true.” Paula nodded in easy agreement. “But I was the one on call yesterday, and when the client reached out to me, I couldn’t tell her to hold on until someone better qualified came along.”
Across the table, DHS’s consulting psychiatrist arched his eyebrows in amusement, and Wynonna Eagleson, the reunification specialist known around the office as the Horse Girl, cracked a wry smiled.
“Still, she’s bonded with you.” Truman, a terrier with a squeaky toy, couldn’t let it go. “And at the moment that’s precluding her from making any meaningful attachment with our more qualified psychiatrists. It looks bad for us, and we can’t afford that. The entire nation is watching this case.”
“Thanks to a slip or two from the hospital,” Paula said, glad to change the subject. “Any word on who sold that photo of Lauren and Rachel O’Neil to the AP?”
“That was unfortunate.” Karen Rosenberg, the efficient but maternal ER doc who had caught Lauren’s case, shook her head. “That’s the problem with everyone having a cell phone on them. I don’t think we’ll ever be able to pinpoint the source.”
“A story this monumental was bound to get out sooner or later,” Truman said. “Now it’s just a matter of protecting Lauren and maintaining her privacy.
“But the media should be reminded that Lauren is still a minor, and the victim of a heinous crime. Of course, her name and image were released years ago to facilitate the search. But now, her image should not be used without her permission.”
Hank agreed, and one of the agents from the FBI backed him up. They agreed to make this point at their noon press conference.
Truman leafed through is papers. “What’s the lodging situation? Is she going to be discharged today?” Truman directed the question at Dr. Rosenberg.
“Unless her morning labs show abnormalities, she’ll be released,” Karen said. “Her walking cast needs to stay on for at least six weeks, but we’ll be following up in four.”
Truman was shuffling papers. “And where are we taking her after discharge?”
“Her parents would like to have her home,” Paula answered, “though that’s problematic for a few reasons. One, Lauren needs time to assimilate.” That was putting it mildly; last night, the girl had tried to sneak out of the hospital and return to that rat hole of a compound. “And the media camp outside the O’Neil house is not going to give Lauren the feeling of security and safety we want her to have.”
“We can put an agent on her for round-the-clock protection.” The heavyset man with dark hair and a dark suit who offered this was from the FBI. Stephen Good-something. Paula had written “Goodenough” on her notepad to remember how to say it. “But setting her up in the O’Neils’ house is just going to attract more attention to the place. The family will have no privacy at all, and it won’t be easy to guard the subject there. Another house would be better. Anyone looked at rentals?”
“I can do that,” Paula offered. She had promised Lauren to stay with the girl as long as allowed. If Lauren was housed in a rental with an FBI agent for protection, DHS would probably want a rep with her, too. Paula wanted to be that person. Granted, some aspects of this case were way over her head, but if she was treading water, she wasn’t alone. Who in this room had handled a kidnapping at all, let alone one in which the victim had been held captive for years? She would leave the protocol up to her boss and the capable FBI agents; her angle was to take care of Lauren. She had gained the girl’s trust, and she was not going to let her down.
Hank Todd, the Mirror Lake police chief, leaned forward to catch her eye. “Talk to me after we wrap up here. We know some of the lake houses that are unoccupied right now, and I’m sure some of the owners would be glad to help. We might be able to make something happen for you.”
Paula nodded. “Will do. Thanks.” The chief held her gaze a moment longer, long enough for her to notice that his eyes were an exquisite shade of sea green, the shade of a Caribbean cove or a smooth piece of sea glass. Something twinkled in her chest as Hank leaned back into the line of men. Something sweet. A crush? At her age?
After all these years, attraction certainly chose an inopportune moment to strike. Well, maybe someday. Right now, she needed to get back to Lauren and find a safe house. If Truman would ever wrap up this meeting.
“Now, about the press conference.” Truman looked over his reading glasses at Hank. “What do you think, Chief? Do you want to moderate, or should I?”
Paula took a sip of tepid coffee to stop folks from reading her dismay. Was that what this was about? Truman saw his first big photo op—his ten minutes of fame?
Hank said he was happy to defer to the FBI kidnapping specialist to introduce the case. The federal agent thanked Hank but told him it was really his bailiwick. Once again, Paula tuned out, focusing only on Hank’s broad shoulders and wise green eyes. She had no interest in the press conference. When it happened, she would be miles away, probably at the hospital with Lauren, whom she could see right now in her mind, sobbing. Such a heartrending sight, to wake up last night and find the girl sobbing in her mother’s arms.
But the tears had done Lauren good. Paula was a firm believer in flushing the system and crying out small pangs of pain, the way the body worked splinters out of the skin. This morning, Lauren had agreed that she felt a little better, but she wished that Rachel O’Neil hadn’t come around with the clothes.
“Don’t you like the clothes?” Paula had asked.
“The outfits are beautiful. I don’t remember anything so nice since the black bomber jacket I was wearing when I was kidnapped. It’s Rachel that’s the problem.”
Paula had cocked her head to one side, encouraging, listening.
“She wants to be my mother, but I don’t think I can see her that way.” Lauren’s amber eyes had been heavy with guilt and shame. “I feel sorry for her, but I can’t do what she wants. She’s not my mother anymore.”
“Legally, she is. You may not feel a bond, and that’s understandable.”
“I hate the way she looks at me. Like . . . like I’m a sick kitten.”
“Pity?”
Lauren nodded. “I hate pity. I’m not a victim. I survived, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Yes, you did. You’re a survivor, girl, and you have every right to be proud of that.”
Paula had let Lauren vent, but made a few notes on it later. For now, the O’Neils were going to have to understand that Lauren needed her space. And down the road, the reunification specialist would have her work cut out for her.
Chapter 18
Although Rachel sensed that Lauren did not want her family here, taking up space and sucking the air out of her hospital room, she held tight to the arms of her chair and tried not to stare at her beautiful daughter. Every time she sneaked a peek, her eyes misted over. In her lavender hoodie and black capri jeans, Lauren looked seventeen again. Her face had traces of a tan and the pink tint of health, and her hair was clean and brushed to a nice shine. The same honey gold hair as her father. Rachel had to restrain herself from wrapping her arms around Lauren like a manic octopus and never letting go.
“I don’t understand why I need to watch this.” Lauren yanked the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands. Her leg with its orange cast was elevated, even though she said that was annoying. Still conscientious, still following directions. Rachel used to think that was how you raised your children—to obey orders; now she wondered if she and Dan should have encouraged defiance.
“I don’t understand why we can�
�t be on TV.” Sierra slumped in a chair, her cell phone poised in front of her. “If the press conference is about Lauren, she should be there.”
“Should I?” Lauren asked.
Rachel had noticed that she seemed to be more open to Sierra’s ideas than she was to her parents’.
“No, you should not be on television right now,” Rachel said.
“But she’s famous!” Sierra insisted.
“She’s famous because someone kidnapped her.” Dan rubbed his chin, choosing his words carefully. “We don’t want to glorify the crime. And if you go on television, you’ll lose your anonymity. Everyone will know who you are. Right now, we’d all like some privacy and peace.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind going on TV,” Sierra said. She was in that phase where she had to get the last word in. Rachel worried the cuticle of her thumb as she looked from her younger daughter to the older one. They had missed Lauren’s rebellious stage. When she’d been taken from them, she had been polite and respectful. Back then, the crisis of the moment was her fierce resistance to the after-school program, which Dan and Rachel had thought necessary since neither of them wanted their children home unsupervised. “Please?” Lauren had begged. “I’ll walk right home and I won’t have any friends over. I won’t answer the door or stop anywhere after school. Please, let me come home. I hate sitting in a classroom with those babies.” She and Dan agreed that she had made a valid argument and she was trustworthy. They had agreed to let her walk home. On her own.
It had taken years of therapy for Rachel to accept that it had probably been the right decision. A child could not thrive and grow in a bubble; she needed room to grow.
“Okay, let’s watch.” Dan held up a hand for quiet. “It’s starting.”
It was the oddest thing, watching a nationally televised press conference about your daughter on television. She and Dan would have been permitted to make statements about Lauren’s recovery; however they had opted for privacy. Lauren’s celebrity had come under terrible circumstances; her return was a matter for personal celebration. Her fame, well, one could only hope it would diminish over the years to come, allowing her to live a healthy, normal life.
And Then She Was Gone Page 9