by Debra Webb
“But…”
Fear and something resembling anger swirled fast and furiously in Melissa’s stomach. “But?” This was going to be something she wouldn’t like. She could feel it. Jonathan’s hesitation spoke volumes.
“If your brother was somehow involved,” Jonathan warned, “there will be serious consequences.”
Melissa blinked. At first his words just sort of bounced off the wad of emotions swaddling her brain. Then the realization filtered through. He was suggesting William was somehow involved with Polly’s disappearance. “What?” She couldn’t have heard him right. There had to be a mistake. The very idea was ludicrous.
Jonathan didn’t look away. His gaze held hers with the same ferocity as when she’d first found him standing outside the door. “It happens, Melissa.”
The way he said her name, with that same thick huskiness as when they’d made love, ripped open the wounds she’d thought long healed and forgotten.
“More often than you know,” he went on while she scrambled to regain her equilibrium. “These soldiers experience things…see things that change them from the inside out. Sometimes they can’t accept the idea of going back. They’ll do anything to ensure that doesn’t happen. The suicide rate is incredibly high.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t respond. Melissa knew her brother. No matter what he’d experienced, he would never, ever put his daughter in harm’s way. Never. Anyone who suggested such a thing either didn’t know him or was a fool.
“Most of the families feel that way, even after the worst has happened.”
His answer told her she’d stated her thoughts aloud. Looking down, she unclenched her fingers and swiped her palms against her jean-clad thighs before clenching her fingers into fists once more. Meeting his gaze would take some regrouping. He couldn’t be right. No way. William would never do that. He’d been questioned along those very lines the same day he’d discovered Polly was missing. He wouldn’t, couldn’t do it.
“You’re wrong.” Her gaze locked with Jonathan’s once more. “William would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat for his child. No way would he do this.”
“War changes people. Some more than others, but no one is exempt. Whether it’s visible or not, the change is there.” Jonathan took a deep breath, the rise and fall of his chest the first indication that he had even that essential human need. “The only person who can be certain of William now is William himself.”
Melissa opened her mouth to defend her brother but never got the chance.
“He’s right.”
She twisted around to look at William. The idea that he might have overheard all that had been said in the last few minutes wrenched her heart.
“Sergeant Shepherd,” Jonathan acknowledged.
“Major Foley.” William stepped past Melissa and settled into the chair next to hers.
“It’s just Foley now,” Jonathan corrected.
William made a sound in his throat, not quite a laugh. “Are you sure?”
Melissa watched the interaction between the two men, her pulse thumping in her ears. The connection between the two was instantaneous and palpable. They’d never met, yet the military connection somehow made them familiar.
One corner of Jonathan’s mouth quirked with an almost smile. “You’ve got me there. But today we’re not soldiers so let’s keep things informal.”
William gave an agreeable nod. “My daughter is my heart,” he said, his tone flat. His emotions had run so high for the past few days that his mind and body could no longer maintain the necessary energy for emotional nuances. “I would gladly die right now if it would bring her back here.”
“I have no doubt,” Jonathan concurred. “However, even the best of us have moments when we snap. Maybe do something we didn’t intend to do.” Before William could counter, he added, “Then denial kicks in and we genuinely don’t believe ourselves capable of such an act. The mind is a powerful thing. It sometimes protects us from that which we cannot bear.”
Unlike Jonathan, William’s shoulders were slumped, his usually handsome face lined with fatigue. He turned his hands, palms up. “Believe what you choose, Foley. I had nothing to do with my baby’s disappearance.” His voice cracked with the last. “My only guilt is in not being there like I should have been.”
Melissa took his hand in hers. His felt limp and cold. “You don’t have to convince anyone,” she soothed. “He just doesn’t know you, that’s all.” She glared at the man she’d called to help. “Thank you for making that call.” She squared her shoulders. “Right now William and I should get down to the command post and see what we can do to help.” Melissa didn’t care what the chief said, she wasn’t going to sit here and do nothing.
She absolutely was not going to put William through another interrogation.
Jonathan stood. “I’m glad I could help.”
Every fiber of her being screamed at her to say something, to stop him from leaving. But she wanted him to go, didn’t she? He’d made the call. William didn’t have to leave until Polly was found. Melissa didn’t need anything else from Jonathan. He should go.
William pushed to his feet, letting go of Melissa’s hand and reaching for Jonathan’s. “Sir, you don’t know how much I appreciate what you’ve done.” He shook Jonathan’s hand with a firmness that Melissa would have thought him too weary to generate at this point. “I have no qualms about serving my country.” His hand fell back to his side. “I just couldn’t go…yet.”
Jonathan nodded. “When this is resolved, let me know and I’ll make the necessary calls.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jonathan strode toward the door.
Melissa’s feet remained glued to the floor all the way up until the moment he opened the door.
She was across the room and calling after him before her brain caught up with her actions. “Jonathan.” What the hell was she doing? She should let him go!
He stopped, nearly to the steps, and turned, that ice blue gaze colliding with hers.
“We’re scared.” She pressed her lips together a moment and fought to hold back the tears. “We…we’ve never been in a situation like this. We don’t know if the police are doing everything they can do.” She shrugged, tried to hold back some of the truth spilling out of her, but that wasn’t happening. “We ask questions and get answers we don’t understand. We try to help but they…”
Jonathan was coming back toward her, one steady step at a time, his gaze never leaving hers, not even to blink.
“They don’t know anything…” A sob halted her words. “They can’t tell us anything except to be patient and to pray.” Frankly, she was beginning to doubt her link to the Almighty. She’d about prayed herself out, about lost hope.
Jonathan stopped toe-to-toe with her. “It’s possible that what the police are telling you is all there is to tell.” He shook his head slowly, somberly. “These cases can go unsolved for years.” A shadow moved across his face. “I have to tell you, after five days, if there’s been no ransom demand, the chances of the child being found alive are slim to none.”
“Polly.” The name trembled on Melissa’s lips.
A frown line formed between his eyebrows.
“That’s her name,” Melissa said. “She’s three years old and the most precious child.” She smiled even as a hot tear slid down her cheek. “She has to be alive. I’m not willing to accept anything else. If—” Another of those halting sobs caught her words. “If you can help us, it would mean a great deal to me if you would stay.”
The morning breeze whispered across her skin, sending goose bumps scattering up her arms. She waited for his answer, prayed some more in spite of herself. Maybe he couldn’t help, but somehow, deep in her heart, she knew that his presence would make a difference. She had denied that knowledge, had told herself she’d called him just for the military connection, but that had been a lie.
She needed him right now. Melissa didn’t want to admit any such thing, but it was true.
Damn it, it was true.
“Make no mistake,” he said quietly, “I can’t promise you anything.”
She shook her head adamantly. “You don’t have to promise anything. It’s enough that you try.” Her lungs dragged in a deep, much needed breath.
Their gazes held for one, two, three beats. “All right then. I’ll try.”
Chapter Three
11:05 a.m.
Jonathan stayed on the front porch of William Shepherd’s modest home while he and Melissa argued with his apparently uncooperative wife. The windows were raised, allowing the breeze to drift inside and also permitting the raised voices to carry right out to where Jonathan waited on the ancient wooden swing.
Presley’s argument was simple. She’d been interviewed by the police twice, the family half a dozen times and she had no desire to answer questions from some friend of Melissa’s. The way she said her sister-in-law’s name suggested a serious dislike. In sharp contrast, Melissa patiently and gently urged Presley to reconsider.
Melissa.
Jonathan drew in a breath, the heaviness in his chest fighting the effort. What the hell was he doing here? He’d made the call. That was all she’d asked him to do when they’d spoken on the phone. Her brother now had whatever time he needed to resolve this terrible state of affairs. The local police seemed competent; the FBI had been consulted. There was little else Jonathan could do other than retrace already taken steps. He nudged the porch floorboards with the toe of his boot, setting the swing in motion.
And yet he had agreed to stay when she’d asked.
Because he had to.
Jonathan closed his eyes and let the memories he’d dammed years ago flood his mind. Their meeting had been nothing more than a chance encounter. He’d been on the final plummet of a serious downhill slide. Walking away from his military career under the circumstances at the time of his official exodus had plunged him into a thirty-month descent of self-pity and denial. Denial of who he was and what he’d done.
Until a midnight brawl in a bar in Birmingham had landed him under arrest and with a nasty gash as a souvenir. He rubbed at his forehead where the scar still ached whenever he thought of his former stupidity.
Registered Nurse Melissa Shepherd had been on duty at the ER that night. She’d patched him up and, after he’d made bail, she’d said yes to his offer of dinner as a way of showing his gratitude for her extraordinary patience with a less than amiable patient.
The ability to draw in a deep breath deserted him once more as the memories poured through him. No one had ever pulled him in so deeply. He hadn’t been able to get enough of touching her, of looking at her. He would have done anything for her—except put the past behind him and make a real commitment. The dreams—no, the nightmares—he’d suffered since that last military mission had prevented any possibility of moving on with his life. Jonathan Foley existed in the moment.
Even Melissa’s unconditional love hadn’t been enough at the time to help him move beyond the past. The facts listed in his official military jacket that explained the decisions—decisions he had made that protected the mission but ultimately cost the lives of good men. The same facts that still allowed him to call up a top-ranking official at the Pentagon and make things happen.
Jonathan surveyed the small yard that flanked the little house Melissa’s brother called home. The picket fence needed a fresh coat of paint. The house could use one, too, but it was a home. Maybe not such a happy home, but a home where a man and woman had made a commitment to give life together a shot. A home where a child played. The colorful sand-box beneath the oak tree, along with the big plastic, equally colorful building blocks made for climbing marked this as a home where a child lived.
Except that child was missing. Probably deceased.
Regret twisted in Jonathan’s gut.
Melissa didn’t want to consider that possibility but the chances the child was deceased were far greater than the likelihood that she would be found alive.
Melissa and her family didn’t deserve this horrific pain. Unfortunately Jonathan doubted he would be able to make it right. He would try. He owed Melissa that. She had given everything she’d had to give and he’d walked away.
He’d let her down just as he had his team two years prior to that.
His work as an Equalizer now allowed him to do what he couldn’t do over five years ago for his team, what he couldn’t do for Melissa three years back. Make a wrong right.
Maybe if he could in some way make this tragic wrong right, he could forgive himself for hurting Melissa with such nonchalance.
He had to try.
The screen door opened and Melissa leaned out. “You can come in now.”
Jonathan pressed the soles of his boots against the porch floor, stopping the swing and simultaneously pushing himself up.
“Just one thing.” Melissa looked embarrassed. “Presley has a serious hangover. She’s a little cranky so tread lightly.”
“Yeah.” Jonathan forced something as close to a smile as he could produce. “I got that part.”
He immediately regretted the words. Melissa’s look of weary exasperation had him rethinking his lack of tact. When she turned and went inside, he followed.
The interior of the house was as humble as the exterior, and equally in need of attention. Toys lay scattered about, but the glaring theme was disorderliness. Under the circumstances it was expected, but Jonathan sensed the house had always been untidy. Clearly, living up to “Suzy Homemaker” standards was not on Presley’s agenda.
Presley Shepherd, twenty-three according to her DMV record, currently had auburn hair. Her DMV photo showed her as a blonde with a brazen blue streak down one side. She was dangerously thin and quite happy to show off as much of her slight frame as possible. The shorts and tank top were two sizes too small even for her.
“Presley,” Melissa said, “this is my friend Jonathan.”
The missing child’s mother peered up from her perch on the sofa, her gaunt cheeks making her eyes appear inordinately large. “Let’s just get this over with. I have stuff to do.”
William indicated the end of the sectional sofa farthest away from where his wife lounged. “Please, have a seat, sir.”
Jonathan waited for Melissa to settle first, then lowered onto the upholstered sofa beside her. The brush of his arm against hers made him flinch. Thankfully she didn’t seem to notice.
“What do you wanna know?” Presley demanded. She combed her fingers through her hair and looked him up and down as if she’d only just realized he was male.
“Why don’t you walk me through the night Polly went missing,” Jonathan suggested.
Presley rolled her eyes.
“I know this is hard,” Melissa said softly, “but we have to try every avenue.”
Jonathan was amazed by her patience. He wasn’t so sure Presley deserved so much slack. He didn’t need a shrink to analyze this woman. Her indifference and self-absorption were glaringly evident and, based on what he’d read of her background when he’d looked into the characters related to this drama, likely related to her neglected childhood.
“William and I had a big fight.” Presley glanced at her husband, who looked as miserable as he no doubt felt. “Polly was asleep. I didn’t want her waking up with us fighting again so he went to his folks’ house for the night. No big mystery.” She threw her hands up. “Same old, same old.” She made eye contact with Jonathan only once and only briefly as she spoke.
“Again?” he asked.
Her pale face scrunched into a frown. “What?”
“You said,” Jonathan clarified, “that you didn’t want Polly to wake up with you fighting ‘again.’ Have you been fighting frequently?” He glanced from Presley to William and back. “Since he returned home on leave?”
Her thin, pointy shoulders hunched. “I don’t know. Yeah, I guess. We always fight.” She looked to her husband. “It’s just the way we are.”
William sai
d nothing.
Jonathan moved in a different direction. “According to the police report, there was no sign of forced entry. Did you ensure the door was locked after he left?”
She twirled the fingers of her right hand in her hair. “Course. I’d be stupid not to.”
William cut a look at her but quickly glanced away.
Jonathan let several seconds lapse before broaching the next question. He wanted both of them to squirm a moment. William’s posture and outward expression never changed. Presley’s, on the other hand, became more agitated. She changed positions on the sofa twice and tugged at her skimpy blouse.
“Besides yourself and William who has a key to your house?”
William looked to Melissa. “You have one.”
Melissa nodded. “I keep it in the key box at home.” To Jonathan she added, “It’s on the wall by the back door. That’s where we hang the keys.”
“No one else.” William turned to Presley. “Right?”
“You’d know better than me,” she said, incensed. “You got the locks changed the last time you were home.”
Jonathan considered her statement a moment as she and her husband discussed the issue of keys. “Why did you have the locks changed?” he asked, the question directed to William.
“Presley was being harassed by this jerk,” William said, “and I was about to be deployed for six months.” He shrugged. “I was trying to protect my family.”
“Worked out real good, didn’t it?” Presley snapped.
A new layer of agony settled deep into William’s features.
“Blaming William or yourself won’t help right now,” Melissa said in that same gentle tone. “Is there any possibility someone else had a key? One of your friends maybe?”
Presley shot up from the sofa. “I knew this was the way it would be.” She planted her hands on her narrow hips. “I’ve been through this crap with the cops already. I don’t need to go through it with you. Everybody knows that retard Stevie took Polly.” She glared at Melissa. “He probably got the key from your house. You let him hang around all the time like he’s family or something.”