In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3)

by Irene Hannon

  "Of course we are!" Bright spots of color burned in Rebecca's cheeks. "We have her doll. We know she was in St. Louis. She may still be there. And maybe this woman can help us some more.

  "I'm afraid not:" Nick hated to dampen her enthusiasm, but he had to be honest. "This is a new experience for her too, and she couldn't offer us anything else:"

  Rebecca's shoulders drooped. "At least we have the doll:" She examined the photo once more, again holding it close to her face.

  "Did you forget to put your contacts in, Rebecca?" Colin brushed a wispy strand of hair off her forehead.

  "Yes. But I can see well enough to recognize Megan's Raggedy Ann:" She stroked the photo of the patched face with the lopsided smile, her features softening. "May I get the doll back at some point?"

  "Of course, Nick assured her.

  "It was mine as a child. That's why it's in such bad shape. I practically loved it to death, or so my mother tells me:" A smile of remembrance whispered at her lips. "Megan loves it as much as I did. She won't go to sleep without it. I gave it to Bridget, our two-year-old, when she was born, but she was never interested in dolls. She's more into finger painting"

  "That's because she's artistic, like you" Colin gave his wife a squeeze. "Rebecca did the watercolor over the mantel, he told the two agents.

  As Nick turned to give the pastoral scene a polite perusal, he saw Rebecca moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue and tuck her hair behind her ear.

  Jolted by the familiar gesture, he froze.

  Rachel did the exact same thing when she was nervous or embarrassed.

  Refocusing on the woman seated opposite him, Nick took a closer look. Rebecca O'Neil and Rachel Sutton did share some physical characteristics. They were about the same height, had the same body build and eye color, and both had brown hair with glints of auburn. However, the two women didn't look anything alike. Different noses, bone structure, chins. Even the shape of their faces was dissimilar.

  But Rebecca O'Neil did remind him of someone ... and suddenly the connection clicked into place.

  She bore a marked resemblance to the woman in the photo on Rachel's mantel.

  To Rachel's mother.

  In fact, she looked more like Rachel's mother than Rachel did.

  And though the two younger women didn't resemble each other, they were similar in other ways. They shared the same gestures. They both had vision issues. Both were involved in music. Rebecca danced; Rachel had always wanted to. Both had artistic talent. Rebecca had once taught music; Rachel still did.

  It couldn't all be coincidence.

  Yet Rachel had said she had no relatives.

  "Mrs. O'Neil:" The room went silent, and Nick realized he'd interrupted a conversation. "Sorry. I wanted to ask if, by any chance, the name of the woman who found the doll might be familiar to you. Rachel Sutton"

  Rebecca frowned and shook her head. "No. It doesn't ring any bells. Why?"

  "You remind me of her in many ways. Do you have any relatives in the St. Louis area?"

  "Not that I know of. My dad was an economics professor at the University of Missouri in Columbia, but he took a position at Northwestern soon after I was born. My mother's family was from Boston, and she only had one unmarried sister who died a few years ago. My dad was an only child, like me. He grew up in Wisconsin. I don't have any relatives at all, other than my mom. She lives here in town. My dad passed away three years ago"

  Dead end.

  "Anything else, Nick?" Matt asked.

  "No" Nick closed his portfolio.

  "Do you need this back?" Rebecca indicated the photo of the doll.

  "No. We can print off some more:"

  "Will you be concentrating your efforts in the St. Louis vicinity now?" Colin asked.

  "We'll be working the case in multiple areas:'

  Matt's evasive answer didn't get past Colin. "Does that mean you don't think she's in St. Louis?"

  "She may be, Nick stepped in. "The restaurant was in a neighborhood. Not the kind of place you'd patronize if you were passing through on the highway. That may or may not be significant. But I can assure you the FBI will do everything it can to check out any leads related to this case:" He handed him his card. "Call me anytime if you have questions:"

  He didn't tell the parents about the plans being made even as they spoke to dredge the waste center where the dumpster from the restaurant was always emptied ... in case the abductor had tossed in more than the doll. They didn't need to start envisioning that possibility.

  "We're going to find her, you know." Rebecca took her husband's hand and directed a steady, confident gaze at the two agents. "And she's going to be okay. I'm her mother. I'd know if she was-" she faltered, took a deep breath-"if there wasn't any hope. God is going to bring her home to us, safe and healthy. I have absolute confidence in that:'

  "We'll do our best to make that happen, Mrs. O'Neil" Matt rose and motioned to Nick. "We'll be in touch with any news:"

  As the two agents shook hands with the parents and headed back to the car, Matt turned up his collar against the biting wind and shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat. "She's never given up. Prayer has been her coping mechanism. You have to admire her faith:'

  Nick agreed. But his thoughts were more on coincidence than creed. Wasn't it logical that two women who shared so many characteristics would somehow be related? What was the explanation for the onset of Rachel's persistent uneasiness on the exact day and hour Megan had been snatched? Why did Rebecca O'Neil bear such a strong resemblance to Rachel's mother?

  It seemed he now had another mystery to unravel in addition to the kidnapping.

  And he didn't intend to rest until both were solved.

  "Mom? Did I wake you?"

  "No, honey. I was up" Jeannette Pearson switched the phone to her better ear, trying to disguise the weariness in her voice. She didn't want Rebecca worrying about her too.

  Tightening her flannel robe against the morning chill in the brick bungalow she'd called home for thirty-three years, she slid a cup of decaf instant coffee into the microwave. Warmth had been as elusive as sleep during the past few nightmare weeks. She couldn't seem to chase away the coldness in her house-or her heart. Steadying herself with a hand against the Formica countertop, she blinked back the tears that had been only a breath away since the day her precious grandbaby had disappeared.

  "We had some news this morning, Mom. A new lead. The FBI has Megan's doll:"

  Hope surged in Jeannette's heart. Maintaining her grip on the counter, she worked her way over to the table in her eat-in kitchen and sank onto a chair. "Where?"

  "In St. Louis"

  "Do they think Megan is there?"

  "It's possible. The agents warned us not to get our hopes up, but I have a feeling this is a breakthrough"

  "Where did they find the doll?"

  "They didn't. A woman dug it out of a snowbank in a restaurant parking lot and brought it to their office. Here's the weird part. She told them it gave her bad vibes"

  "And they believed her?" Jeannette would have expected the FBI to write the woman off as a nut, though she was grateful they hadn't.

  "I don't think so. Not at first. They've had the doll for three weeks. They didn't realize it was Megan's until an agent in St. Louis noticed it in one of the photos we gave the FBI:"

  "Do they think this woman might be connected to the kidnapping?"

  "No. Colin wondered the same thing, but they've checked her out and she's okay. Here's another strange thing, though. She told them she's been feeling uneasy since the day Megan was taken"

  A tiny flutter of alarm quivered at the base of Jeannette's spine. "How odd:"

  "There's more. The agent from St. Louis said I reminded him of her, and asked if I had any relatives in St. Louis. We don't, do we, Mom?"

  "None that I know of." Jeanette's response was automatic-and truthful. A lot of years had passed. People moved all the time, especially in today's world.

  "That's what
I told him. But he kept watching me. It was rather disconcerting"

  The tingle moved higher on Jeannette's spine. Was it possible? No. The odds against such a coincidence would be astronomical. Yet a small flicker of uncertainty, a prod of intuition, compelled her to ask the logical follow-up question. "Did they tell you the woman's name?"

  "Yes. Rachel Sutton"

  Jeannette's lungs froze. As she struggled for breath, the familiar blue morning glories on her kitchen wallpaper faded in and out of focus.

  "Mom? Mom, are you there? Are you all right?"

  Rebecca's anxious voice reached into the darkness that was sucking her down and tugged her back to the light. "Yes. I'm fine, honey." The words came out shaky and faint.

  "You don't sound fine. Listen, I'm going to run over, okay?"

  "No. I just need my morning cup of coffee, that's all:"

  "Are you sure? You're taking your medicine, aren't you?"

  "Every day:" Since her heart attack two years ago, Rebecca had fussed over her like a mother hen, reversing their roles. Not that Jeannette was complaining. She'd heard plenty of horror stories from friends whose children only gave them a perfunctory check-in call every few weeks. Rebecca, on the other hand, called or visited daily-sometimes twice a day.

  Now Megan's disappearance had added to the worry that weighed down Rebecca's slender shoulders. Jeannette wished there was something she could do to smooth the furrows from her only child's brow, to wipe away the shadows under her eyes as she'd once wiped away her daughter's childhood tears.

  "I don't mind coming over, Mom"

  At Rebecca's comment, Jeannette forced herself to refocus. "I know, honey. But there's no need. I'll call you a little later, after I'm more awake. Okay?"

  "Okay."

  Rebecca didn't sound convinced, but Jeannette was glad she'd relented. She needed some time alone to recover from her shock and think things through. "I love you, honey."

  "I love you back"

  Pressing the off button on her portable phone, Jeanette set it on the table. They always ended their calls the same way. With an expression of love. Her friends had often remarked on Rebecca's kind, caring nature, crediting it to her and Stan's parenting skills. And there was some truth to that. She and Stan had lavished love on their only child, who had come into their lives after both had given up hope of having the family they'd always wanted. From the instant they'd held her in their arms, Rebecca had added joy and light to their days. They'd always considered her a precious gift.

  The microwave pinged, alerting Jeannette that her coffee was ready. Gripping the edge of the table, she pulled herself to her feet and crossed the faded linoleum. For years, Rebecca had been after her to update the house. In recent months, however, her daughter had changed tactics, urging her instead to sell the place and move to a condo.

  But Jeannette hated change. Always had. She had a good life, for the most part, except for the increasing reminders from her seventy-four-year-old body that time was passing. Why upset the applecart? If life was good, why change it? You could end up making things worse instead of better.

  She retrieved her coffee, pausing to finger the gaudy potholders Rebecca had woven in a craft class the summer before she entered third grade. They'd hung in a place of honor beside the stove for more than twenty-five years. Continuing toward the table, she lingered in front of the refrigerator, where a dozen magnets held photos of happy times, some so old the color had faded.

  Taking her seat again, she ran her hand gently over the worn pine surface where she and Rebecca and Stan had shared thousands of meals. Where laughter and conversation had flowed. Where homework had been done and after-school snacks devoured. Where she and Stan had shared end-of-day chats over a cup of coffee after Rebecca went to bed. Fresh-brewed in those days. Not instant.

  Jeannette stared into the dark depths of her mug. Things changed, that was the truth of it. No matter how hard you tried to hold on to a perfect moment, it passed. People grew up. Got married. Died. Change happened. Period.

  And not all of it was bad, like Stan's death had been. While the black hole that it had left in her life would never be filled, Rebecca's marriage had brought many blessings. Instead of losing a daughter, she truly had gained a son. Colin treated her with the same respect and consideration he showed his own mother. And out of that marriage had come the incredible gift of grandchildren. Bridget and Megan not only helped fill the empty place in her heart left by Stan's death, they added sunshine to her days. Once again, she had begun to taste the sweetness life could offer.

  Until Megan disappeared.

  And that brought her back to Rebecca's bombshell.

  Rachel Sutton.

  What a bizarre twist of fate. Never could she have imagined that a choice she'd made decades ago would come back to haunt her, bringing with it new decisions and the daunting specter of change. And her feelings about it were the same as they'd been for thirty-five years. The notion of sharing her secret still scared her to death.

  Lifting her mug with unsteady hands, Jeannette took a sip of her coffee. Stan had never understood her fear. Especially once Rebecca reached adulthood. He'd often encouraged her to reconsider her decision. Yet he'd respected her wish to maintain the status quo.

  In truth, Jeannette didn't quite understand the fear herself. She supposed, if a psychiatrist dug deep into her background, a cause would be lurking there somewhere. Maybe it was connected to her studious, introverted best friend, who'd told her once that she always felt like an outsider in her boisterous family. Or perhaps the memory of her aunt and uncle's distress when her cousin had run away from home at eighteen to "find herself" was somehow to blame for her anxiety. But the cause didn't matter. The fear was there, no matter the source.

  If Stan were here, Jeannette knew what he'd say. And he'd be right. Holding on to her secret when the life of her granddaughter might hang in the balance was unforgivably selfish. From the instant Rebecca had mentioned Rachel's name, Jeannette had known what she had to do.

  But first she'd spend an hour seeking strength and courage from the Lord.

  `Are you still getting calls about that article in St. Louis Scene?" Marta took a bite of her hamburger and slid the bag of fries across the table toward Rachel.

  "They've tapered off." Rachel slid the bag back without succumbing to temptation and speared some lettuce and a chunk of meat out of her chicken Caesar salad. "Nick said it would be old news pretty fast, and it's been four days"

  "Speaking of Nick ... I was afraid he'd invite you to some little French cafe again and you'd stand me up"

  Rachel played with her fork. "Not for a while"

  Marta looked around the crowded fast-food outlet and lowered her voice. "His impromptu official visit yesterday didn't put an end to your relationship, did it?"

  "No. But it's on hold for a bit:' Everyone at both schools where she taught had known within hours that the FBI had come calling. A wry smile twisted Rachel's lips. The grapevine was alive and well in the world of elementary education.

  "Can you talk about it?"

  "Sorry. They asked me not to"

  "That's okay. I'm married to a cop, remember? I know all about discretion and confidentiality and not compromising cases. I'm just glad their visit didn't dampen the romance"

  "I'm not sure I'd call it a romance at this stage:"

  "Trust me, it's a romance. The man invites you out to a cozy cafe for lunch, sends you roses, makes you glow-romance, no question about it. And that reminds me ... I want to hear all about the weekend you described to me yesterday as amazing. We only had five minutes, and I've been dying to hear the details"

  Smiling, Rachel toyed with her lettuce. "It was perfect. We went to the Botanical Garden. Took in a movie. Ate dinner on The Hill. And that was just Saturday. Oh, and did I mention he cooks a mean eggs Benedict?"

  Marta swallowed and stared at her. "He cooked for you? Wow:" She shook her head. "I've been married ten years, and the one time Joe tried to fix d
inner we had to call the fire department:"

  "Very funny."

  "No. Very true. The neighbors still talk about it. What did you do on Sunday?"

  "We went to church, and then he drove me to the hotel and stayed for tea while I played"

  "You went to church. And he went to tea" Marta mulled that over as she munched on a French fry. "This is serious, Rachel:"

  "It's too soon to be serious"

  "It might be too soon to buy a marriage license, but it's not too soon to know it could be serious. I knew Joe was the one on our first date. Sparks flew from the beginning. They still do. How are you and Nick doing in the sparks department?"

  A flush warmed her cheeks. "I'd call it more like an electrical storm. On my end, anyway"

  Marta wadded up the wrapper from her burger and dropped it in the bag, grinning. "Yep. Romance with a capital R. And all thanks to a bedraggled Raggedy Ann doll. What a story to tell your grandchildren."

  As Rachel followed Marta out, she considered her friend's final comment. Although the foster system had taught her to be cautious about jumping to conclusions or expecting too much, deep in her heart she had a feeling Marta might be right.

  And as soon as Nick was finished with the O'Neil case, she intended to find out.

  "Mrs. O'Neil ... Sorry to delay you, but do you have a minute?"

  Balancing a foil-wrapped muffin on top of a covered dinner plate, Rebecca secured the magazines tucked under her arm and shifted toward the voice.

  Dismayed, she watched as Doug Montesi, the reporter from the Tribune who'd been covering the kidnapping case, unfolded his long, lanky frame from an older-model car in front of her house. He was nice enough, and he seemed to have integrity, but she was anxious to be on her way. She hadn't liked how her mom had sounded this morning, and she'd picked up a strong undertone of tension when her mother had called back and asked her to stop by. Besides, she'd been diligent about following the FBI's advice to limit her contact with the press to official public statements.