“Yup.” Lauren planted her hands on the saddle horn. “I think I’ve been waiting for this all my life.”
As Rachel reached around her daughter to take the reins, she had to turn her head to avoid a mouthful of Lauren’s thick, honey-blond hair, which now smelled of lemon and flowers—a delicious shampoo. Far from the baby-faced girl of her dreams, this was a young woman in her arms, tough as leather but delicate as a spring blossom.
Gripping the horse with her heels, Rachel steered him to the left and they were off. Lauren called good-byes to Wynonna and Jazz.
The posture was certainly intimate. The horse beneath them did set their bodies to rock in a natural rhythm, and in the bowl of the saddle, Lauren had no choice but to ease her tight stance and succumb to the gentle rhythm. With her daughter in her arms, Lauren leaning back into her breasts and belly, maternal longings swelled inside Rachel. This was her child—a young woman now, but always and forever her daughter. She thought of the haloed figures Lauren had painted in the compound, Madonna and baby, and she wondered at the things Lauren understood intrinsically that had yet to be unlocked through therapy.
Spectacular scenery rolled out around them as Yoda plodded down the path. This land was one of the things that had drawn her to stay in Oregon after college—this gorgeous corner of the planet, along with a gorgeous man whom she could not live without. Lush green fields banked by gentle hills that gave way to the two majestic mountains, Mount Hood and Mount St. Helen’s—“old flat-top,” Dan called it. The slopes were punctuated by dark green Douglas firs that towered into blue sky. Many of the trees were more than two hundred years old, a fact that inspired wonder for the years of sunshine and rain synergized into their dense trunks. When Rachel had first come out west in college, she had thought of the tall evergreens as natural cathedral spires. She talked quietly about the trees, narrating the landscape as they rode. She told Lauren about her first trip to Oregon, how the plane descended over a wide river flanked by evergreens so tall they’d made her jaw drop. How she let out a whoop anytime she drove down Mirror Lake’s Main Street and found that it was so clear she could see Mount Hood ahead, a diamond in the rough, hunkered down at the end of the street like a pot of gold at rainbow’s end.
And somewhere along the gentle trail, Rachel sensed the one body they had become—horse, mother, and daughter melded together, rocking softly in unison. It was a momentary bond, a fleeting instant, but that rare quality made it that much sweeter.
With eyes wide open, Rachel breathed in the life around her and seized the moment.
Chapter 34
“I don’t know why you bothered coming.” Kevin Hawkins leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his red-and-white striped prison shirt. “I’m not in a talking mood, and you’re not pretty to look at. You’re not even FBI or a federal prosecutor. Who the hell are you again?”
“Hank Todd, Mirror Lake’s chief of police.”
“What’s that, like a chief with no Indians?” Hawkins snorted. “You’re a waste of my time.”
“Ya think?” Hank slid a folder over to Hawkins’s attorney, who slipped on a pair of reading glasses with a silent frown. The file was so thick, Hank himself wasn’t sure where to start. With the nineteen-year-old girlfriend, Gabby Haggart, who had seen Lauren on the farm but had not realized she was a prisoner? With Gabby’s sister Eleanor, whom Hawkins had tapped because she worked at an adoption agency—a place rife with eager parents who would do just about anything to locate a child in need of a home. With Hawkins’s aunt, who claimed to know nothing was going on in her backyard for six years? Or maybe Kevin wanted to hear what his friends at the Saturday market had to say about him.
“Oh, you brought paperwork?” Hawkins laughed. “And I’m supposed to be impressed?”
“You should be. It’s a detailed list of the people we’re going to depose. Basically, they’ll be preparing statements that can be used as sworn testimony.”
Hawkins rolled his eyes. “You got testimony from that shrink? Does he say I’m a sexual predator? That I need intensive therapy?”
“I don’t give a shit about your mental state. But I’ve got plenty of people who saw you taking three-year-old Mackenzie around. That puts you with one minor who’s now dead and another you kidnapped and sexually assaulted.”
“Yeah, well . . .” He faked a yawn. “So you got me on kidnapping. Guess I’ll be here a while, but there’s something to be said for three squares a day and a roof that doesn’t leak.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. Capital punishment is legal in the state of Oregon. We’ve got thirty awaiting execution.” Hank pointed to the open file. “Soon to be thirty-one.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Hank shook his head. “I know a judge who’s willing to unseal the records from those rapes you did when you were a kid. Add those to the crimes of kidnapping, sexual assault, and homicide, and you’re going to meet your maker. But don’t worry; they say lethal injection is painless. Out like a light.”
“But you don’t have Mac, right? No body, no sign that she even existed.”
“We have the records from the urgent care facility where you took her, claiming she was Eleanor Haggart’s daughter. Only because you knew Eleanor had health insurance. Oddly enough, the insurance didn’t go through when their date of births didn’t match; Eleanor was twenty, and Mac was, well, definitely not twenty.”
Hawkins shook his head. “I brought little Eleanor to the clinic. Can I help it if her mother gave me the wrong insurance card?”
“There is no little Eleanor, but there are plenty of people who saw little Mac, from the vendors at the market in Portland to your dear Aunt Vera.”
Hawkins’s jaw clenched as he shot a look down at the open file beside him.
“Nice lady, Aunt Vera. She took you in when your parents wouldn’t let you back in the house. I mean, not even back on their property. I don’t know what you did to them when you were growing up in Salem, but it must have been a doozy. They’re still refusing to speak with the police.”
“They’re crazy.”
“Be that as it may . . . you go to your Aunt Vera and she gives you a place to live, rent-free. A piece of land with a rustic cabin at the back of her farm. A rural paradise. And you repay her with this? Keeping an innocent girl there for six years. And when things get out of control and the little girl gets sick, you take her to your aunt, thinking she’ll fix everything. When the truth of the matter is, she’s not an MD, and by showing her the kid, you made her an accomplice to your crime.”
“I didn’t tell her anything—just that Mac was sick. I told her Mac was mine, but she didn’t know about Sis. Vera didn’t do anything wrong, so get her off your list. She’s good people. She’s in a wheelchair. You can’t arrest a woman in a wheelchair.”
“We can, and we will.”
“That’s my fault, but I was desperate. How was I supposed to know how to take care of a three-year-old? And she could barely breathe. I thought she was going to die in my arms.”
Hank rested his chin on his fist and scrutinized the suspect. “I think she did. And at the very least, that’s negligent homicide.” He tapped his fingertips on the table. “It’s all in the file, but it does make for some pretty dense reading. You may want to take it back to your cell with you. Check it out before lights out. I’d say it’s worth a look since we’re looking at a death penalty conviction.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Hawkins snapped impatiently. “Is it?” He turned to his lawyer. “You’re supposed to be defending me. Could I really get the death penalty?”
Marino frowned, reading. “We should discuss it in private, but yes, it is possible.”
“Shit.” Hawkins’s face screwed up so tight, his eyes nearly crossed. “Shit! I didn’t kill her, and she didn’t die. You’ll tell them that for me, right? Tell the FBI and the prosecutor. I ain’t no killer. Just a sick man with a problem.” He pressed two fingers to his temple. “Twisted from m
y childhood. Can’t help that, can I?”
“Everyone has problems. Lot of kids have it tough. Obstacles to overcome.” Hank spoke so softly that Hawkins had to lean forward to hear. “But even with problems, it’s not okay to kidnap an eleven-year-old and kill a three-year-old. Our society looks down upon actions like that. Thank God.”
Hawkins was nervous now. His eyes shifted from Hank to the file and back again, and fine beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip. “You gotta help me here, help me convince the cops that I didn’t hurt her. Maybe I didn’t always do the right thing. I’m flesh and blood, a creature of sin, like any man. But I never would have hurt a little girl.”
“You’re so full of shit. Like you didn’t hurt Lauren O’Neil?”
“Well, nothing permanent. I’d never kill a kid, and definitely not little Mac. No one could hurt her. She was a special kid, real smart. I didn’t want her to get hurt.”
For the first time, Hawkins’s words and tone seemed genuine, his eyes earnest. Hank almost believed him. Almost. His logical mind reminded him that trusting Hawkins was like playing with fire. Brush too close to the flames, you get burned.
“You didn’t want Mac to get hurt, so you saved her? How’d you manage that?”
“I just did, okay? And she’s better off for it. She’s free from this mess, living a better life.”
Like, in heaven? Hank frowned. “You’re saying you killed her.”
“No! You gone deaf with those big ears? I would never kill her. I sent her to a better place, that’s all. And that’s all I’m saying.”
Rolling his fingers on the table, Hank considered the possibilities. Had he sent the little girl to live with his parents in Salem, his brother the traveling rodeo rider, or Aunt Vera? Doubtful, because the task force had checked out Kevin Hawkins’s relatives. Anyone with the last name of Hawkins had been wrung out and hung out to dry.
If Mac wasn’t dead, then who else would he have given her away to? Some scalawag in Hawkins’s small circle. Or had he tried to make some money on an illegal adoption? It was intriguing that the girlfriend’s sister, Eleanor Haggart, happened to work for an adoption agency.
“So you gave her up for adoption. Or better yet, you realized you could make money on the deal.” Hank was pleased at the way the suspect’s face seemed to implode. It appeared that he’d hit a vein. “Did Eleanor Haggart’s agency broker the deal? And where’d you put the money, Kevin? You don’t have any bank accounts in the area, and we never uncovered your wad of cash stuffed under a mattress or inside the van.”
A cool glaze dropped over Hawkins’s eyes. “I got nothing else to say.”
“I think you do, if you don’t want to revert back to that murder charge. Three strikes and we’re looking for lethal injection.”
“She was adopted, okay? She’s safe somewhere, and I didn’t kill her.”
“But where? You want to save your skin, we need to prove that you didn’t hurt Mac.” Hank knew his logic defied the “innocent until proven guilty” precept, but neither Hawkins nor his attorney lodged an objection.
“What if I don’t know where she is?”
Hank tapped his fingers on the table again, realizing the gesture seemed to rattle Hawkins. “Are you suggesting you trusted someone else to handle the whole deal? Even you wouldn’t be that stupid.”
“I’m done here.” Hawkins scowled at his attorney, who had watched the exchange with only a trace of distaste. “And you’re useless.”
As Hank watched the prisoner march to the door of the conference cell and call for the guard to open it, he wondered if he’d been wrong. Maybe Hawkins was that stupid. Maybe he’d given Mac up to someone else to broker the deal. You handle the deal, as long as I get my money. Blood money.
Chapter 35
Sprawled on her left side, sketching lake scenes with her right hand, Lauren was the first to see the police chief making his way down to the dock. “Hank’s here,” she said, rhythmically tapping her cast against the dock.
“Oh, good.” Paula put the cover on the box of pastels they were using and rose from her cross-legged position on the dock. “He’s just in time to save me from overdoing this lily pad. Monet would roll over in his grave.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” Lauren said. She didn’t care that Paula’s objects looked thick and cartoonlike, because the warm, bright colors always filled her heart with light.
These days, a visit from Hank Todd was a daily occurrence, as he liked to personally deliver updates on the case against Kevin Hawkins and the mystery of what had happened to Mac’s remains. Having gotten over her fear of a person in uniform, Lauren had come to like the kind bear of a man, probably because she realized that Paula liked him, too. When she’d asked about it, Paula had gazed at Lauren over her glasses and admitted that she did like Hank. “He’s good people. I have to say, the more I get to know him, the more I like him.” And they’d left it at that.
Recently, Lauren had wondered if Hank Todd might want to start keeping Paula company when Lauren had to leave her. Not that Lauren wanted to think about moving in with the O’Neils, but both Paula and Wynonna had told her that it was the right thing to do, an important step in reunification. “A stepping-stone to your future,” Wynonna had said, pointing to the glowing purple “future” candle in the gazebo. In her therapy sessions with the family, Lauren had come to see their good intentions. Sierra had a talent for reducing problems to their emotional core, and Dan was so good-natured he reminded Lauren of one of the ranch dogs, a golden lab who had taken to following her around to protect her.
The problem was Rachel. Mom. It was awkward, thinking of her that way. When Lauren pictured herself moving into that house on Wildwood Lane, she found it hard to breathe because of Rachel. Her need to control things could zap the air from a room.
“Everyone needs to feel some sense of control in her life,” Wynonna had pointed out.
“But why does she need to control mine?” Lauren had asked. She had argued that the house would become another prison, except that instead of being ruled by Kevin, she would be controlled by Rachel.
Wynonna understood. “Children are expected to obey their parents. That’s part of the social order. But in that model, the parents take care of their children, giving them food, shelter, and love.” She had pointed out that Lauren was close to an age of independence. “In a year, you will legally be permitted to leave home and make your own decisions. Not that I advise it for you yet, but the need for independence you’re feeling is normal for a young woman your age.”
Lauren had argued about that. She didn’t want to be independent; she wanted to stay right here in the lake house with Paula. Lauren didn’t care if that was unrealistic. She didn’t want to hear that the agency money and donations would run out, and that the FBI was going to transfer Bija to another assignment, now that it was clear that Kevin had acted alone and Lauren was no longer in jeopardy. Lauren had been through too many changes in her life. She was going to stay here as long as she could.
Now Paula brushed her hands against her boxy gray shorts and gave a wave. “Howdy.”
“Ladies. I see you’re taking advantage of the beautiful day.” Hank’s square chin and broad smile reminded her of a happy parrot.
Trying to be graceful with the orange clunker on her leg, Lauren pushed herself up to a cross-legged position and leaned back into the late afternoon sunshine.
“I just came from the state prison.” He squatted down on the dock so that his eyes were level with Lauren’s face. “I talked to Kevin, and I have some news.”
The thought of Kevin made her bristle. Part of her therapy included learning more about the real Kevin Hawkins—as much as she could stand. But in the last few weeks, as the many ways he had wronged her gelled in her mind, her curiosity and odd loyalty to Kevin had given way to revulsion. “What did he say?” she asked in a dull voice.
“He’s changed his story on your daughter.”
“Mac?” It still hurt to say h
er name, unless Lauren was half asleep, in that dreamlike state where she believed that Mac was still alive and that she would come running in the door any minute to report that she had spotted a rabbit in the garden. Or tired Mac, crawling into Lauren’s arms and twirling Lauren’s hair around her fingers while she sucked milk from a sippy cup.
“It turns out that Mac didn’t die at the hospital, as he said. We think he took her to an urgent care clinic on Boones Ferry Road, where she was given antibiotics and released.”
“What?” Lauren closed her sketchbook as jumbled memories pricked her mind. Worries about Mac’s terrible cough. Her little blue lips. Fury when Kevin plucked her from her weak arms. Guilt over letting go, letting her little girl slip from her arms. She never understood why she had let him take Mac that night; she supposed she was all mixed up and delirious, as she’d been burning up with fever, too. Still, when she looked back, she hated her weakness. What kind of mother was she, letting someone take her child away?
“I don’t want to give you false hope,” Mr. Hank went on, “but there is another possibility the police have been exploring.”
Paula peered over her square, black glasses. “You think Mac is alive?” When he nodded, she pumped a fist in the air. “By golly, I had a feeling. This is good news.”
“Mac is alive?” Feeling as if someone had just tossed her in the air, Lauren scrambled to her feet, wobbling a little when she remembered the walking cast. “I need to see her! That’s . . . that’s the most wonderful, awesome news.”
She could see her little girl, chubby cheeks and blond curls, giggling with delight. She thought of Mac splashing in this lake. She would have to learn to swim, of course. And the good wholesome foods she could have—fresh fruits and vegetables. And the horses and dogs at Spirit Ranch! She could imagine her daughter rolling the ball to Ludwig, Wynonna’s golden retriever, who would roll the ball right back to her. Mac would laugh and clap at that. And Sierra and Dan and Rachel . . . a family. Finally, Mac would have a real family.
And Then She Was Gone Page 19