by Irene Hannon
"I understand:" He flipped off the news program and patted the bed. "Come over here. I can at least try to keep you warm"
Crossing the room, Rebecca paused by the crib the hotel had provided. Bridget was sleeping, her golden ringlets framing her sweet, innocent face. Rebecca stroked her daughter's smooth, perfect cheek, her throat tightening with tenderness. Since Megan's disappearance, Rebecca had hovered and fussed over Bridget far too much. Even her daughter was growing tired of it. When this was over, she'd have to remember not to smother her daughters.
Plural.
Because Megan was coming home.
After adjusting the blanket over Bridget, Rebecca continued toward the bed, tapping in Rachel's number as she scooted beside Colin and settled back against the headboard. He put his arm around her, and she snuggled close. The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
After the fourth ring, voicemail kicked in.
Colin was right. Rebecca sighed and tamped down her disappointment as she closed the phone. The exercise was probably a waste of time. Wherever Rachel's cell phone was, there was little chance anyone was going to hear it.
Nevertheless, she intended to keep calling.
Just in case.
Gary Feltrop came to an abrupt stop as he crossed the fallow field adjacent to the two-lane country road, his breath forming frosty clouds in the clear night air. He'd heard the faint buzzing sound a few minutes earlier, as he'd headed out to make sure the nose pump he'd fixed this morning for the cattle in the back pasture hadn't clogged up again, but he'd been unable to identify it.
It was closer this time, however. And though muffled, it was very recognizable.
A phone was ringing.
Puzzled, he looked in the direction of the sound and scanned the deserted field. The moonlight provided enough illumination to verify that he was the sole occupant. Besides, who but a cattle farmer would be out at nine o'clock on such a bitter night?
Yet the intermittent sound continued.
He took a few steps toward it.
The sound stopped.
He halted.
Lifting his arm, he swept the beam of his flashlight over the area. Two theories came to mind. Someone was hiding behind the abandoned well, or a trespasser had dropped the phone while crossing his field.
Trespassers didn't worry him. He'd caught the local high school kids taking a shortcut across his fields on a few occasions, but they never hurt anything.
Someone hiding behind the well on a cold night like this, however-that was a bigger concern.
He circled the well from a distance, keeping his beam fixed on the crumbling stones. Years ago, the shallow, hand-dug well had provided water to a long-gone house that had stood near a country lane. The lane had disappeared too, and the now-dry well had long outlived its usefulness. He ought to tear it down, fill it in. He would, one of these days.
His circuit complete, he moved closer. Nobody there. He could check the field for the lost phone in the morning.
Sweeping the beam of his flashlight over the stones, he noted that a few were missing. That was new. The thing must be falling apart. Pretty soon it would cave in, leaving a dangerous hole in the ground. One more chore to add to his to-do list. He shook his head and tugged his cap lower over his ears. On the positive side, though, it wouldn't take much to demolish this pile of rubble. And there ought to be plenty of room in the pit for all of the stones.
To verify that, he leaned over the opening and flashed his light into the dark void.
Frowned.
Squinted.
What was that gold, shiny thing reflecting in the bottom, half buried by the stones from the surrounding wall that had fallen in?
Digging his glasses out of his pocket, Gary slid them on and looked again.
It was a decorative buckle. On what appeared to be a woman's purse.
What in the world was a purse doing in the well?
He peered in, wishing his light was stronger. The well was only ten or twelve feet deep, but the dark mud walls absorbed the light. Yet he could make out a flap of beige peeking up from among the rocks. It looked like canvas. The kind used for a tarp. And it was clean.
Meaning someone had thrown this stuff into his well recently.
Very recently.
And whoever had done it sure hadn't been up to any good. At the very least, the purse was stolen. At the worst ... well, he'd watched enough cop shows to know that lots of bad stuff happened in the world. Here in rural Missouri, though, he hadn't seen much of it.
He doubted whether the local police chief had, either. Joe was a good guy, and his laid-back style worked great in farm country. But Gary was pretty certain he wouldn't appreciate being awakened on a Sunday night to come check out what he would assume to be a stolen purse. Better to fish out the purse himself and take it over to Joe in the morning. He had to go into town anyway to pick up a few supplies.
After a quick, cold hike to the barn and back, he dropped a grappling hook into the dry well, snagged the strap of the purse, tugged it out from beneath the stones, and hauled it up.
Just as it reached the top, the phone in the side pocket began to ring again.
No longer constrained by the dirt walls, the sharp jangle reverberated with startling clarity in the still night air. Gary almost lost his grip on the hook but managed to snag the purse before it slipped back into the recesses of the well.
As the phone continued to ring, he stared at it, unsure what to do. This was the third time he'd heard it ring in the past fortyfive minutes. It could be someone trying to reach the owner of the purse. Someone who cared. And was worried. A father, perhaps? Or a husband?
Gary was both. He could empathize. So he followed the dictates of compassion.
He answered the phone.
There was no reason to hang around the scene. Nick knew that. The FBI, joined by detectives from the local police force, had questioned every member of the hotel staff who had been on duty at the time of the abduction, but no one had seen anything. They'd also checked the security tapes for the ten minutes before and after Rachel had been forced to walk out of view, identifying anyone they could from the cars they'd driven. They'd managed to contact most of those people, and none of them had noticed any out-of-the-ordinary activity, either. The ERT effort was yielding zilch too.
So what was he supposed to do, go home and sleep?
Right.
A disposable cup of coffee appeared in front of his face.
"I filched some from the hotel:" Mark took a sip as Nick accepted the offering.
"Thanks" He took a gulp of the brew. The hot liquid scalded its way down his throat. "Look, you don't need to hang around. You can take my car if you want to and I'll grab a ride with someone later"
"I'm in for the duration."
Nick flashed him a grateful look. "Thanks."
"We'll get this figured out"
"I know"
Neither voiced the obvious worry.
Will we be in time?
Nick's BlackBerry began to vibrate, and he pulled it from his belt. "Bradley."
"Matt Carson:" The Chicago agent dispensed with the niceties and moved straight to business. "We may have a break on the kidnapping:"
The coffee cup flexed as Nick tightened his grip. "I'm listening"
"A call came in about ten minutes ago from a guy who thinks his ex-wife might be involved. I'm en route to his house, ETA about ten minutes. I'd like to pull you in by conference call when I talk to him. Will that work for you?"
Motioning for Mark to follow, Nick began striding toward the hotel. "Yeah. I'm at Rachel Sutton's abduction site with Agent Mark Sanders. We'll find a place and both sit in on the call. Who is this guy?"
"He's legit. A tenured chemistry professor" The agent named the university. "His record is clean. The ex-wife's name is Debra Kraus, and she's living in the St. Louis area. He didn't have an address. You might want to start tracking her down"
"I'll take care of it. Call me as soon as you're set"
Without breaking stride, Nick filled in Mark, who'd fallen into step beside him. As he finished, his BlackBerry began to vibrate again. He recognized the caller ID.
"Rebecca, we have a-"
"Nick, a man answered Rachel's phone!"
At her semi-hysterical tone, Nick came to a dead stop. "What?"
"I've been calling and calling her number, and he just answered it." The last word came out on a sob.
"Rebecca, start over. Are you talking about her home phone or her cell?"
"Here ... I'll let you talk to Colin"
As the phone changed hands, Nick's heart began to pound.
"What's up?" Mark asked.
"I don't know. I'm hoping Colin will make more sense"
"Nick? Colin here. Rebecca's been calling Rachel's cell phone every fifteen minutes, and a guy just answered. A farmer, I think, by the name of Gary Feltrop. Lives near a place called New Melle. He was out working with his cattle and heard the phone ringing. He fished it out of ... it was in the bottom of a dry, abandoned well:"
The breath whooshed out of Nick's lungs, and he had to force himself to ask the next question. "Was anything else in there?"
"Yes. A piece of fabric he thinks might be a tarp. But there are rocks on top of it. Like the wall of the well caved in-or was pushed in."
"Hold a second, Colin"
Hitting the mute button, Nick tried to breathe.
"What's wrong?" Mark frowned and moved closer.
"Rebecca's been calling Rachel's cell. A farmer in New Melle just answered. He found it in a well:"
A muscle twitched in Mark's jaw.
"Colin? Give me the man's name and phone number" Nick signaled for Mark to get out his pen and notebook, then dictated the information as Colin recited it. "Okay. Sit tight. We also have a break in Chicago we're investigating, thanks to the news story. Tell Rebecca we're following up on everything"
As the line went dead, he changed direction, heading for his car instead of the hotel. "Can you make the calls while I drive? We need the ERT and K-9 unit at this guy's farm in New Melle ASAP. And we need our people to see what they can find out about a Debra Kraus. I have to leave my line open for the call from Carson'
Before Nick finished, Mark was punching numbers into his BlackBerry.
Five minutes later, as Nick sped west from the city, the Chicago call came through and he briefed the agent on the situation in St. Louis.
"Anything else in the well?" the man asked.
"We're heading that way to check it out:" Nick could hear Mark talking to the farmer, issuing instructions. His fingers clenched on the wheel.
"I'm with Allen Harris. He's okay with the conference call. You want to proceed or wait?"
"Let's proceed. I don't want to waste any time. If we have to pause for a couple of minutes as I get updates, I'll let you know"
"Okay. I'm putting you on speaker" There was a click, then he spoke again. "Professor Harris, Special Agent Nick Bradley is on the line from St. Louis and may ask a few questions as we go along:"
"No problem"
"Please tell us what prompted your call tonight"
"The article in the Tribune this morning. And tonight's newscast. I'm afraid this may be a red herring, and I apologize in advance if it is, but something doesn't feel right and I'd never be able to live with myself if someone died because I was afraid to be embarrassed:"
"We appreciate that, Professor Harris, Matt assured him. "Can you be more specific when you say something didn't feel right?"
"Yes. My ex-wife, Debra Kraus, was desperate to have a baby. It was like an obsession. In fact, to be honest, that's the only reason she married me. But things didn't work out. In our three years of marriage, she had two miscarriages, both of which devastated her, and she had life-threatening complications during her third pregnancy. When that ended badly, well, she lost it'
"Define `lost it," Nick interjected.
"At first she refused to believe she'd miscarried again. She was convinced the baby had been stolen from her. And she'd sit in the nursery for hours, singing to a doll and pretending it was her baby. I dragged her kicking and screaming to counseling, but she didn't respond well. And it was a battle to get her to take her medication. I don't think she ever fully accepted the fact that her final pregnancy didn't produce a child"
"Why do you think she might be involved in the O'Neil kidnapping?" Matt asked.
"A colleague of mine ran into her in St. Louis a few days ago. In an area called Chesterfield-I checked with him on the location before I called you. She had a baby with her, and she told him she was watching it for a friend. But the thing is, she had no friends here. She's a loner. And during her treatment I discovered she's had mental health issues her whole life"
"What kind of issues?" Nick pressed.
"Episodes of depression. Instability. She also had a nervous breakdown in college that forced her to drop out. At least that's what her father told me. I tracked him down when I was desperate to figure out what was going on with her. He wasn't any more specific than that"
"How long have you been divorced?"
"A year"
"Any chance the baby your colleague saw her with could be her own child?"
"No. She had a condition called placenta accreta during her last pregnancy. She lost the baby and had to have a hysterectomy. And she would never be approved for adoption, given her mental health history."
"Do you know where we can find your ex-wife?"
"No. I had no interest in staying in touch. But she's a paralegal, if that helps. That's the odd thing. She's able to function on the job. The psychiatrist who saw her called her problem delusional disorder, just as your profiler did. He said people who suffer from it can often perform well occupationally, that their bizarre behavior is confined to their delusion. I assume she's still working in that field"
Mark, who had been conversing in a low voice, motioned to Nick.
"Matt, I need to put you on mute for a minute" He depressed the button and glanced at Mark.
"Mr. Feltrop pulled out the stones with a grappling hook and lifted up the tarp. He says there appears to be clothing and a few tools underneath"
"That's it?"
"Yeah"
"What kind of clothes?"
"The only thing he can identify for sure is a greenish-blue coat"
Rachel's. But at least there was no body.
"Okay." The word came out hoarse, and he cleared his throat as he turned off the mute button. "Professor Harris, in your opinion is your ex-wife capable of violence?"
"I don't know. Maybe. If she's angry enough, or delusional enough"
"Would her father know where she is?"
I doubt it. They've been estranged for years'
"We'd like to check in with him anyway. Do you have a contact number?"
"Yes. As of a year ago, he lived in town. That may have changed:"
"We'll start there, Matt said. "I'll get the information from you in a minute. Nick, any other questions?"
"Not now. But Professor Harris, we may need to get back in touch"
"I'll help in any way I can"
The line clicked, and when Matt spoke again the conferencecall echo was missing. "I'll check out the father."
"And we'll try to track down Debra Kraus. She fits the profile our people developed. Call me if you come up with anything"
"Will do"
Both Mark and Nick finished their calls within seconds of each other.
"What do you think?" Mark asked.
"I think Debra Kraus is a key suspect. According to her ex, she has some very serious mental issues, not to mention delusions about motherhood that could translate to violence if she feels threatened. What have you got?"
"The ERT and K-9 unit should arrive about the same time we do. No record of a Debra Kraus in the phone listing. We're trying utilities now. Both in St. Louis county and outlying areas."
"Considering the number of legal firms in St. Louis, tracking her down that way on a Sunday night would take a long time, Nick"
Too long.
The unspoken message came through loud and clear. In this weather, exposure to the elements would be deadly for a clothed person, let alone one who had little protection from the cold. The classy silk blouse and black skirt Rachel wore for tea provided barely adequate warmth indoors in frigid winter weather.
"We need to get a helicopter on standby to do a thermal sweep once we isolate an area, in case she's outside" Nick did his best to maintain a calm, professional tone, but Mark knew him too well.
"Already done:" Mark put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll find her, Nick. We've had two good breaks. I think we're close. And I'm praying:"
"I am too"
For most of his life, Nick had relied on prayer to guide him, to comfort him, to sustain him.
Tonight he hoped it would do even more.
He hoped it would save the life of the woman who was fast laying claim to his heart.
"Hey, Marsha, look at this" Kristal stopped reading her psychology textbook and called over her shoulder to her roommate.
"What?" Marsha picked up her soda and ambled from the kitchen to the living room.
"It's a story about the O'Neil kidnapping" She motioned to the TV as a photo of the baby flashed on the screen. "They think she's in St. Louis:"
"I know. That reporter from St. Louis Scene suggested she was here a while back"
"But now the psychic from that article has been kidnapped. Turns out she's the sister of the baby's mother. Identical twins, separated at birth"
"No kidding:" Marsha sat on the arm of the couch.
"Anyway, don't you think that baby looks an awful lot like the one you watched this afternoon?"
"Danielle?" Marsha tipped her head and studied the photo on the screen. "That one's younger. And the hair color is wrong."