Gone without a Trace

by Patricia Bradley

  “I didn’t talk to Robyn much during that time. She had withdrawn. I think she and Chase were having a few problems. Nothing that couldn’t be worked out, at least that’s what I thought . . .” Livy tried to shrug off the guilt that dogged her for not paying more attention to her cousin. “Looking back, I think she was depressed. It bothers me that I didn’t tune in to that when we were together.”

  “People often hide depression.”

  “Why haven’t you taken the bar exam?” She knew it was none of her business, but she couldn’t help it. The question kept bugging her, because in spite of what he said about not being organized, Alex Jennings was very put together. Maybe he just didn’t have follow-through, like her dad.

  He gave her a double look. “What?” He waved his hand. “Never mind. I know what you asked. I just can’t believe you asked it.”

  “I think that’s a perfectly natural question to ask after someone says they have a law degree.”

  His eyes narrowed. “If I answer it, do you think we can get back to this case?”

  “Forget I asked. I didn’t know it would become a federal case.”

  “Thank you.” He checked his watch. “Oh, wait. It’s almost nine, and I have to call my boss. Do you think you could take time to talk again in the morning? Or even better, do you think you could help me with this case? I really need someone local to go around with me to places like the truck plaza, and I hate to ask Sheriff Logan to take up more time with me.”

  Livy mulled his question. She had little patience for people who didn’t follow through. People like her dad. But Alex seemed sincere in trying to find Samantha Jo. Maybe she should at least give him a chance.

  “I have a job that comes first,” she said. One she didn’t really want to go to. And if Alex knew she had lost her confidence, he might take back the offer. But at least working on this case would give her something to look forward to after shuffling papers all day, or even worse, watching security monitors. “However, since I’m mostly doing paperwork right now, I’ll see if I can take off tomorrow afternoon. You’re right that you’ll get a lot more out of folks around here if I go with you.” Maybe she should tell him about the Caine shooting. No. Mr. Got-It-All-Together wouldn’t understand, and they were only going out to Johnny B’s. She wouldn’t even need her gun there. “Can you wait until after lunch?”

  “I’ll wait. I want to go back and talk to Molly at the diner and then check out Samantha Jo’s apartment again. I can do that in the morning.” He studied her for a minute. “Why are you sitting behind a desk?”

  She lifted her shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s too complicated for a two-minute conversation, and you have to call your boss. Maybe tomorrow, when we’ll have more time.” She stood. “I think I’ll get ready for bed.”

  Livy had reached the door when he called her name. “Yes?”

  “I haven’t taken the bar because I don’t want to be a lawyer.”

  She stared at him. That opened a whole new set of questions. Like why he’d gone to law school in the first place if he didn’t want to practice law. But he was already dialing his cell phone. The answer would have to wait until tomorrow.

  “Daddy, do you think Mr. Alex can find Mom?”

  Chase paused in his reading of The Black Stallion. Abby’s blue eyes held hope, the very thing he had been afraid of, and he didn’t want to crush it. Especially not right before bedtime. She’d already lost enough sleep the past two and a half years worrying about her mother. “I don’t know, pumpkin. Why don’t we talk about this in the morning? Right now you need to get your beauty rest so you can knock the socks off those fifth grade boys in your class.”

  “Aw, Daddy. Boys are . . .” She made a face. “Icky. Except for TJ. He’s not so bad.”

  How he wished Abby would keep that attitude. He smoothed back a tendril of blonde hair. She would be quite the knockout in a few years. A few short years. He dreaded the day when she told him she was too old for him to read to her. She yawned. “Why don’t we finish this tomorrow night?” he said. The issue with Robyn must really be bothering her if she couldn’t keep her mind on her favorite book.

  “Okay.” She snuggled into her pillow. Her eyes popped open. “Wait! We didn’t say our prayers.”

  She climbed out of bed and knelt beside where he sat on the bed. “God, thank you for the hundred on my test today. And for dinner tonight at Nana’s, and for . . . just everything. Bless Daddy and Nana and Gramps and Granna Martin, and Aunt Livy and that nice Mr. Alex. Would you help him to find my mom? And bless Mom wherever she is. Amen.”

  Her prayer tore at his heart. Abby saw the good in everyone and everything. Sometimes he’d give anything to go back to believing good could be brought out of any situation. He clenched his jaw. Robyn had destroyed that. “Okay. Time to get that beauty rest.” He tucked her in. “See you in the morning.”

  In the kitchen, Chase glanced at the envelope on the table before rummaging through the cabinets for something sweet. It was a bad habit he’d picked up, but as he looked at the almost empty shelves, he realized it was one that wouldn’t be satisfied tonight. Tomorrow, the grocery store. With a sigh, he picked up the envelope. Divorce papers. All he had to do was sign them. He didn’t understand what was so hard about it. Robyn wasn’t coming back, and he needed to get on with his life. Not that he ever expected to marry again. He’d never trust another woman with his heart.

  Once he signed them, he’d have to tell Abby. And Kate. And Charlie. His mother already knew and didn’t approve. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth, until finally he folded the papers and put them back in the envelope. He didn’t have to sign them tonight. He picked up the legal document and took it to his office. Until he was ready, he didn’t want to risk Abby finding it.

  After Chase showered and climbed into bed, he stared up at the ceiling. Are you up there, God? Abby’s simple prayer earlier had reminded him that it’d been a while since he’d prayed. His mind flipped back to the days before Robyn left. They had argued day and night about money, her working . . . the last straw had been when she had to work the evening shift.

  “What about Abby?” he’d said. “You won’t be here when she gets off the school bus.”

  “Don’t you dare criticize the way I take care of Abby,” she’d argued back. “You know I’m a good mother. Your problem is I won’t be here when you get home, but why would you care? You never say anything unless it’s to criticize me. ‘Do you need to eat that dessert? I thought you were worried about gaining weight. Why did you buy Abby another pair of jeans? Can’t you at least stay on budget?’”

  She’d mimicked his voice, and even now, his angry words shamed him. He rolled over, but his thoughts came with him. When had their life and marriage been reduced to nothing more than hurtful words and silence?

  One thing Robyn had been right about. She was a good mother. That’s what made it so hard to understand why she left. What if she didn’t leave voluntarily? No. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of that thought. He’d rather believe she left them for the reason she left on the answering machine. I’m no good to anyone like I am. I need to discover who I am, so please, don’t try to find me.

  He clung to that message, believing she left it of her own accord. Because if he didn’t, he’d have to accept that she might be dead.

  5

  Robyn Martin shut the hall door and willed her rubbery legs to turn around. How had Will Jensen gotten into the living room of the safe house? How did he even find it? The Tennessee/Virginia state line split Bristol in half, and the shelter was on the Virginia side. Either way, it was a good thirty miles from his home in Kingsport. Outside, the fluorescent streetlight flickered and went out. Her heart rate jumped another notch. She’d asked the city to replace that light a month ago. Somewhere in the back of the house, a door opened and closed. Her director getting the woman and child out of the house.

  “I want my wife and daughter. They’re mine.”

  She wa
nted to tell him they weren’t property, but Jensen stood with his hands fisted at his side, his feet planted wide, and his eyes bulging. If he were a volcano, he’d be ready to blow. She twisted a ring on her finger, listening for the wail of a siren or some indication that the Bristol, Virginia, police were on the way. Hearing nothing, she took a deep breath. “Mr. Jensen, you seem to be a reasonable man.”

  Robyn kept her voice low and even. She ran her gaze over him, trying to detect whether he had a gun, and didn’t see anything that indicated he might be carrying. “And I’m sure you want what’s best for your family. Right?”

  Confusion edged into the man’s face. “What do you mean?”

  “You frighten them when you get angry like this. But I know you have a lot to be angry about. Losing your job, your mother dying . . . would your mother want you to frighten your daughter?”

  “How did you know—she told you, didn’t she?”

  “She’s worried about you. And I am too. The Bristol police are on their way. If you’re still here when they arrive, you will be taken to jail. You don’t want that, do you?”

  He opened and closed his fists. “They’ll take my side.”

  “Will they? Did they the last time?”

  Indecision crossed his face. A faint siren wailed. “You don’t want to be here when they arrive,” she said.

  His tongue darted out, swiping his lips. “You tell her . . . you tell my wife I’m coming back. You tell her that.” He whirled around and stalked out the door.

  Robyn made it to the sofa before her legs turned to jelly. She braced her elbow on the sofa arm and supported her head with her hand and took deep breaths. Within a minute, the drive filled with police cars. Still trembling, she pushed herself off the sofa and forced herself to walk to the door he’d left open. She had to let them know Jensen had left the premises.

  “He’s gone,” she called. Another car pulled in front of the safe house, and her director climbed out, followed by Jensen’s wife and daughter. Maybe Jensen wouldn’t return tonight. By tomorrow, his family would be at another safe house. Hopefully one he wouldn’t find.

  Two hours later, Jensen’s wife and daughter had been moved to another safe house, but Robyn couldn’t get the nine-year-old girl off her mind. Small for her age, but a spunky little thing. Like Abby. The thought ambushed her just as the kettle she’d set on the stove whistled. She shoved the thought from her mind as well as the one that came after it. She couldn’t go home.

  Robyn turned the eye off and picked up the kettle, halting with it halfway to her cup as the lock in the door clicked. She relaxed as the director of the safe house entered the kitchen. Besides being the director, Susan was her best friend in Bristol.

  “You startled me. I didn’t think you’d get back so soon.” Robyn poured boiling water over a bag of herbal tea, releasing the peach-flavored scent.

  Susan Carpenter kicked off her shoes and placed her purse on the table. A satisfied smile stretched across her brown face. “The transfer went quicker than I expected. Is there any more tea?”

  Robyn pushed the tin toward her, then took her cup to the table. A few minutes later, Susan joined her, easing her bulk into the chair.

  “You did really well tonight. Handled the situation like a pro.”

  “Thanks.” In the past two and a half years, she had spent enough time in therapy and classes to handle any situation. Any except going home to Logan Point.

  Susan’s phone dinged, and she checked it. “Oh, how sweet,” she said, and looked up. “My daughter put the new baby’s picture on Facebook. See?”

  She handed Robyn the phone. “She’s beautiful.” Robyn scrolled through the other photos of the baby, then looked up. “Do you mind if . . .”

  “No, feel free.”

  In spite of the resolve she’d made the last time she went to her cousin’s Facebook page, she typed Livy’s name in the search bar and waited for her page to come up. For some reason, the photos Livy posted were visible even though Susan wasn’t friends with her cousin. Her heart almost stopped when a picture of Abby materialized. She must have been in a playful mood, posing like a 1950s calendar girl. She shut her eyes. Why did she do this to herself? It only made not seeing her daughter worse.

  “Don’t you think it’s time to set things right?” Susan’s voice broke the quiet in the kitchen.

  Her fingers sought the wedding band she’d had repaired after the doctors cut it off in the ER. “I can’t.”

  “What happened to you was not your fault.”

  “I’m not completely blameless. Chase tried to get me to quit Johnny B’s.” She looked up from the phone and brought her hand to her face. “The man said he would kill me if I ever told. Almost did, anyway.”

  “Still no memory of him or what happened?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing’s changed since the last time we talked about this. The only thing I remember is hanging around Johnny B’s for a little while after I’d gotten off from work. I was drinking a soda, somebody asked for more ice, and everyone else was busy, so I took care of it. The last thing I remember is not feeling well and thinking I might be taking the flu.”

  “He probably put GHB or rohypnol in your drink and then followed you outside.” Susan squeezed her hand. “I know I sound like a broken record, but it wasn’t your fault. Go home to your family. Let them help you heal.”

  The image of a hawk with its talons extended flashed in Robyn’s brain. Her stomach cramped, and sweat broke out on her face. She hugged her arms to her chest.

  “Take a deep breath,” Susan said. She grabbed a paper towel and wet it. “Here, put this on your face.”

  Her stomach heaved. “Pan!” She motioned with her hand, and Susan grabbed a pan, shoving it under her chin. Seconds later, her supper came up.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Susan handed her another wet towel.

  Robyn pressed the towel against her lips. She shook her head. “Not your fault. I saw . . .” She licked her lips and tried to make sense of what she’d seen. “It was a bird. Like a hawk, and it had its talons like this.” She formed her hands into claws. “Like it was grabbing something.”

  “Do you still think the man had a tattoo?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever he gave me wiped out so much of that night. I don’t even remember him beating me, or you helping me, only how bad I hurt when I woke up in the hospital here in Bristol.”

  She picked up Susan’s phone again and opened the Facebook app. Abby’s laughing face appeared, and she choked back tears. “I wish I could go home. But what if he’s there, waiting for me? Even here, I don’t feel safe.”

  “I don’t think he’d recognize you if he saw you. You look nothing like you did thirty months ago.”

  Robyn eyed her friend. She may have lost weight and colored her hair, but she was pretty sure anyone from Logan Point would recognize her.

  “Hand me my phone.” Susan took the phone and said, “Smile.”

  In spite of herself, Robyn smiled, and the camera flashed. “This is dumb.”

  “Just wait.” Her friend scrolled through her photos. “This is you a month after you came here.”

  Robyn looked at the photo. Yeah, curly red hair, overweight, big nose that she’d always hated, only bigger because it had been broken. In her mind, that was the way she still looked.

  “Now look at what I just took.”

  She scrolled to the photo Susan indicated. Blonde hair now and straight as a board, courtesy of a flat iron. When her jaw had been wired shut, the pounds melted off, and she now wore a size six instead of a sixteen, and the big nose—it was gone too. She’d had so much trouble breathing after the man smashed it a plastic surgeon had offered to repair the damage. The nose she’d always wanted was the only good thing that had come out of that night.

  She’d trade it for the old one in a heartbeat just to go back to the day before it all happened and make different choices. Quit her job like Chase had been bugging her to. G
o back to school. Any number of choices.

  “I’ll loan you my car. You could go back and check things out. No one would have to know who you are.”

  She stared at Susan, an idea formulating in her mind. If she could just see Abby, know that she was all right. She looked at her photo again, really seeing the difference. It was time to stop seeing the old Robyn when she looked in the mirror, and start embracing the new one. If she went back, no one would recognize her. She could slip into town and slip back out.

  “What will you do for a car?”

  “I can drive the van. Go, Robyn. Set yourself free.”

  Free. Would she ever be free? Not as long as that man was out there. But if she could just see Abby one more time . . . She breathed a deep breath through her nose and exhaled. “Okay. First thing in the morning.”

  He searched the internet like he had every night for two and a half years, typing in every variation of Robyn Adams Martin he could find. He’d thought Robyn would be grateful that he’d saved her from those men at the grill. But she’d fought him and had escaped. But he would find her, and when he did, she would be punished.

  He even checked Olivia Reynolds’s Facebook page. Reynolds had made her photos public. Only one reason the detective would do that. Reynolds knew her cousin was out there somewhere, and she thought if Robyn saw pictures of her daughter, maybe she would come home.

  Outside, north winds howled, moaning through the trees like banshees. Or was that . . . He better go and see. He shut the computer down and shrugged into a down coat, feeling the pockets for the syringe. Satisfied, he hurried to the barn, stopping once to pick up a rock.

  The voices had made him build the cage—a place to keep the one they chose to replace Sharon. He’d argued. He didn’t need a replacement. It was better to turn the mothers loose with a warning to quit their waitress jobs. But they wouldn’t listen and chose Tina.

  He shifted the rock to his left hand. Thinking about the waitress from Gulfport made him sad. At least he’d learned a few things because of her. Blackout windows, and he’d reinforced the cage. And he no longer unlocked the door unless the girl was knocked out.