Conan’s crew was trying to circulate, but the crowd filling the aisles prevented it. They should have gone for a larger stadium, but Bakersfield didn’t offer a lot of last-minute choices. Oz fretted, but he couldn’t change anything now.
Pippa was reaching the end of the story. Several of the kids sobbed, and a couple of mothers wiped their eyes.
The musicians struck up their tune as the speckled seal barked. Pippa had updated “The Silly Seal Song” to start out as a rap tune, with lots of rhythm. The seal pounded his flippers on the rock as if it were a drum. The dancer was really getting into the gig, and Oz almost smiled. Even without Pippa’s voice, the song was a winner.
The other seals turned to watch the smaller, speckled one dancing on the rocks. Pippa closed the cardboard mock-up of a book, and the Syrene soundtrack began. The live musicians toned down to accompany the CD. Syrene’s voice soared through the auditorium—and the seals began to dance together.
Silent now, Pippa didn’t leave her post but stared over the audience, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Oz turned, too, praying a small boy would magically tumble out of the audience and run up to the stage, not knowing what to expect as the song played through its verses and the seals danced.
The ensuing silence wasn’t the reaction they wanted.
Chapter 34
Pippa hadn’t expected her hypnotic story reading to lure Donal from his keepers—if he was even here. She could only hope she had lulled them into complacence.
Like the color of her eyes on film, the full power of her Voice did not come through in recordings. She’d hoped enough of the siren quality of the seal song would survive on the CD, as the anger had on the recordings her mother heard, but a child’s song was more subtle. It apparently needed to be live to work.
She had no idea what would happen if she sang. She’d never killed an audience, though. She’d caused riots, but drunken teenagers weren’t the same as happy mothers and toddlers. The seal song might not affect adults at all.
As the final verses of the recording played, the audience remained captivated, but there was no sign of Donal. Oz’s tension and disappointment, as well as that of Conan’s search crew, practically vibrated the air.
Pippa had argued with herself for days. Weeks. When it came right down to it—she couldn’t put all these people, she couldn’t put Oz, through this intense event, this heartrending expectation, without giving all she had to give.
Even if it meant the end of her privacy and any hope of staying with Oz, Pippa couldn’t leave a lost boy out there if she had the power to find him. For once, this wasn’t about her.
Watching sharply for any movement in the crowd, finding none, she signaled the sound crew. Prepared, they lowered the recording, and Pippa began to sing into her microphone as she hadn’t done for an audience in nine years.
She poured all her own loneliness and fear into her siren Voice. The song bled from her heart, soared through the room, transmitting her heartbreak and isolation directly to her audience.
After the first few minutes of astonishment, children leaped from their seats and raced for the stage, just as if she were the Pied Piper. Mothers shouted and chased after their toddlers. Conan’s crew formed a security guard at the foot of the stage.
Someone shouted, “Syrene!” Pippa caught the flash of a camera. She continued to sing, searching for the one little boy who meant the most. Cell phones emerged, capturing the moment as children scrambled around the guards, leaving their mothers helplessly in the audience. Still no Donal. Would she even recognize him?
The film and the music would be instantly flooding the Internet. It wouldn’t take long for rumors to fly. The media would be on it within an hour. Her anonymity was shattered.
Pippa continued to sing, unleashing her siren call with all the power in her, praying one of the children scrambling to the stage was the one they wanted.
She touched their hands as they gathered around her, studied their faces, tousled their hair, and pointed at the floor, where they obediently sat cross-legged. She continued scanning the last of the children escaping the audience as she sang, praying hard for the right one.
A dark-haired boy with suspiciously light roots and wearing heavy glasses fought through the crowd of mothers to race up the stairs. Pippa’s voice stumbled upon seeing the familiar cinnamon-brown eyes behind the glass. Then the elation of recognition escaped, and her Voice soared with joy. She reached out to him, and he grabbed her hand with an Oswin smile. She shivered with triumph and rejoiced.
She hauled the boy into her lap and hugged him tight. She heard a frightened shout from the audience as she finished the last notes. Conan’s security guards closed in on the foot of the stage. Pippa didn’t look away from the little ones at her feet.
The boy wrapped his short arms around her as if he’d never let go. Her heart took him in, loved him, and sheltered him. He looked so much like his father! She wished she dared turn to see Oz’s face, but she had to stay focused. Tears filled her eyes as she slowly rose with children clinging to her clothes and cell phone flashes popping all over the auditorium.
Wild clapping filled the air, filled her soul. The shouts were louder now, closer. Pippa briefly closed her eyes against the fear, but Conan’s security guards were leaping to the stage to surround her.
The curtain dropped before the applause was done, and suddenly Oz was there, reaching out, crying his son’s name.
The boy shouted “Daddy!” and almost leaped from Pippa’s arms.
It was going to be all right.
Tears washing down her cheeks, she helped usher the children around the curtain, back to their mothers. She didn’t know why these children had responded to her song, if they were lost like Donal. She couldn’t linger to interview the parents, as much as she might like to do so. She wasn’t qualified to choose who belonged where.
A loud argument and scuffle broke out in front of the curtains, warning she needed to flee. Pippa hoped Conan’s security was capturing a kidnapper, but she couldn’t wait to find out. Uniformed policemen rushed Oz and Donal backstage. Someone had called in official reinforcement.
Guards prevented curiosity seekers from slipping past the curtains. The crew was needed elsewhere. Left alone, Pippa calmly lay her hat on the chair. She unpinned the mic and removed the beads and then stripped to the peach tank top and biker shorts she’d worn under her skirt earlier. Producing her ball cap and glasses from her bag, she strolled through the mob backstage, unnoticed in the excitement, creating a bubble of invisibility with her tuneless humming.
Outside, when she was almost safe, a burly man rushed up to her, shoving a microphone at her face and shouting about Syrene. As Syrene, she would have panicked and shrieked until he’d groveled at her feet.
But that wasn’t who she was now. Nearly petrified that she’d been discovered and would soon be mobbed, Pippa still kept her cool and didn’t scream. Clamping her mouth shut, she used the self-defense tactics Park had taught her, disarming the microphone with the swing of her arm and then kicking sideways while her victim was off guard.
The man tumbled to the ground, holding his crotch. She wished she’d known that maneuver when the paparazzi had surrounded her. Heart pounding, she jogged for the street, scanning the parked cars for her mother’s nondescript white rental.
She’d done it. She’d performed and escaped the mob without notice. She’d feel relief later, once the paralysis of fear wore off.
Police cars were still arriving. Trying to still her racing pulse, she hummed as she passed officers rushing for the entrance. Like the crowds on Saturday, they gave her a wide berth. Control was the key. No panic, Pippa, she told herself.
Spotting the rental, Pippa increased her pace. Oz would be tied up with police and the school and whatever was happening back there. She wished she could be
part of it, could hold his hand, admire his gorgeous little boy, and hum them into relaxing. But she’d done her part. She wasn’t needed here any longer. For everyone’s safety, Syrene had to disappear again.
It didn’t matter that it broke her heart to do so. Her love was strong enough to endure the pain.
Her mother struggled out of the front seat to hug her when Pippa reached the road. “Did they find him?”
Pippa nodded. “He’s a beautiful little boy. They’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
Gloria wiped the tears on Pippa’s cheeks, studied her sadly, and then nodded. “I wish it could be otherwise,” she whispered.
There wasn’t anything Pippa could say to that. Leaving her heart behind, she stuck her key in the ignition and eased the car onto the road.
***
Holding Donal, letting him play with the Transformer while smiling like a demento and firmly rejecting anyone who suggested taking his son away, Oz searched the crowd for Pippa. He’d hoped she would be here by his side while he struggled with the police, waited for his lawyer, and reassured his crew. The terrified nanny had stopped screaming a moment ago.
He lifted a questioning eyebrow at Conan when his brother arrived, but the geek merely shrugged and insinuated himself into the crowd around the nanny his security held.
Facts and small details were beginning to emerge from Heidi’s stumbling protests, but Oz wanted them all written up in a paper file he could study later. Right now, he couldn’t concentrate on stories or guilt. He wanted to take Donal out of here and find Pippa and go home. He didn’t care what home as long as it contained his son and Pippa.
When a newspaper reporter showed up at the same time that his son started searching for the pretty lady singer, Oz knew it was time to leave. Justice rolled too slowly. Pippa and his son were more important than kidnappers or revenge.
Cops objected to his removing the boy, but Conan’s staff intervened. Oz’s lawyer showed up right behind the reporter, adding another layer of security. Oz eased out of the crowd, placing Donal on his shoulders and telling him to yell if he saw the pretty lady.
The kid got into the search, but no one had seen Pippa.
Oz found her hat and shirt laying across the chair, and his heart sank. Like a chameleon, she’d slipped into new colors. She was gone. He knew she was gone. Had known she would leave from the first shout of Syrene! in the audience. But he had hoped… She had given up her anonymity for Donal. He wasn’t allowed to ask for more. He thought he might choke on his grief and fear for her.
Nick arrived to tickle Donal under the chin. “My boys are eager to see you again, kid. Glad to have you back.”
Donal smiled shyly and buried his face in Oz’s hair.
Nick grew solemn and removed a sealed envelope from his pocket. “Pippa said to give you this. Are you going to explain what happened here today?”
“Pippa worked magic,” was all Oz said, trying not to stare at the note in horror. He tucked it into his shirt pocket, refusing to reveal his desperate need to open it.
“Don’t give me that Pippa bit,” Nick scolded in the tone of an old friend. “I’ve kept my cool and played with a straight face, but no one else in the world has that voice. With the hounds baying at the door, I suppose the note means she had an escape route planned? Was this Syrene’s leap back to the limelight? Am I looking for a new reader for the next show?”
“I told you to have an understudy lined up,” Oz said wearily. “Bring Audrey in. And no, this isn’t anyone’s leap back to the limelight. The exact opposite, in fact, so keep what you think you know under your hat, will you? I need to see that she’s all right.”
Nick scowled, but he stepped back, blocking all the other people crowding around with questions, allowing Oz to escape.
Pippa was tall and should be watching, preparing to make the break with him. He didn’t see her bright orange-red hair anywhere.
“Where’s Heidi?” Donal asked as they walked into the desert warmth of an almost-April day without any sign of Pippa anywhere.
“Heidi needs to talk to some people.” And fight a kidnapping conviction. Explaining to his son what happened to the nanny might take creativity that Oz didn’t possess. He needed Pippa’s reassuring voice and presence. The letter burned in his pocket.
“Where’s your favorite place to eat?” he asked as Donal’s face began to crumple. The kid had already lost a mother. Losing the woman who had been his substitute mother for years would be devastating. Were five-year-olds too young for therapy?
The boy brightened again. “McDonalds!” he crowed. “I wanna kids’ meal and a chawklit milkshake.”
“I can do that, big boy.” Vowing to eat a steady diet of Big Macs if that’s what it took to make his kid happy, Oz set the boy in the back of the BMW while he produced the child’s seat from the trunk.
He didn’t have another nanny lined up. He would have to learn to do all these everyday things on his own.
His head was a whirl of giddy relief that he had Donal back and his son seemed to be fine, fear that he couldn’t do this on his own, and distraction at Pippa’s flight.
With Donal strapped into his seat and playing with familiar toys, the CD player turned on to his favorite songs, Oz stole a moment to rip open the letter.
It smelled of roses. It was as brief as Pippa was laconic.
I owe you for my life and my mother. I hope finding your son pays back some of what I owe. I can’t repay you with the grief Syrene would cause. Have a happy life and know that somewhere in the vast wastelands of America, a Malcolm loves you.
Oz wanted to ball up the paper and fling it across the car. Instead, he carefully folded it and returned it to his pocket. Maybe it would make more sense later, when he was in better control.
A Malcolm loves you? The woman was crazed. But he’d known that going in.
His Bluetooth buzzed, and with a sigh, Oz clicked it on.
“The media is breaking down the door,” his receptionist in L.A. cried frantically. “What does Syrene have to do with us?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Tell them they heard an old recording. Tell them I’ll be available for interviews tomorrow. Tell them I’ve found my son and that’s today’s news.”
His receptionist cried in joy but was cut off by loud voices in the background. Oz decided it would be best not to return to L.A. until after dark.
Pippa was right. All hell was about to break loose. She was better off disappearing if she didn’t want to return to that life.
He’d need the nanny’s story to see if being a Malcolm really was dangerous. It might be best if he kept Donal hidden a while longer.
Not daring to turn off the phone in case Conan had an urgent message, Oz steered the BMW out of the lot, wondering where to go after McDonald’s.
Wondering if he could find Pippa and have a wonderful life with a hardheaded, slippery Malcolm or if he had to go on only half living.
He checked the mirror to see his son and verified that retrieving him was worth losing his heart and soul.
Chapter 35
Gloria stood in front of the hotel window overlooking the carnival lights of Las Vegas and shook her head. “Disney World for adults?” she suggested. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Which told Pippa of all the things Gloria had missed while trapped in a nursing home or hiding in Mexico. Her mother had lost half her life. That could be rectified, if she wanted it. Pippa set down their suitcase and looked around for the television remote.
“I’m not certain the people who need bright lights and noise for amusement are exactly adults, but close enough.” Collapsing on the luxurious bedcover, Pippa flipped on CNN—the place where Vegas-like adults got their entertainment news, she figured.
Sure enough, there it was. Callers were giving their opinion on
whether or not the mysterious singer for the new TV kids’ show could actually be Syrene, the missing rock star. Oh right, like that was earthshaking vital news. The story came accompanied by tinny sound, blurry videos of her hat, and images of children clambering onto the stage.
The story shifted to the news that five-year-old Donal Oswin, the subject of a national search a year ago, had been returned to his father after being kidnapped by the nanny. Lots of Nancy Grace wild speculation as to the whys and wherefores of his appearing during the television performance, light on facts. Maybe the morning papers would tell her something she didn’t know.
Pippa switched off the channel, smothering the ridiculous desolation she felt at seeing Donal’s happy face flash across the screen. He had been riding Oz’s shoulders, but the photo had only caught Oz’s tousled blond hair and the crinkle of his brow—probably with laughter. She wished she could be a fly on the wall when they returned home. She wanted to share their happiness, if only for a brief few minutes.
“Call him,” Gloria urged, turning away from the window. “There’s no reason to break it off so abruptly.”
Pippa gestured at the television. “I’m the subject of national speculation right now. You want Oz to lie in front of Nancy Grace and tell her he has no idea where I am? Or worse yet, why Donal came running when I sang?”
“We need to hear the nanny’s story,” Gloria persisted. “Maybe there’s a simple explanation, and you can let him know you’ll return as soon as the uproar dies down.”
“Syrene will never be invisible,” she reminded her mother. “I’ll get in touch when they’ve had time to sift through facts and lies,” she promised. “In the meantime, want to explore Vegas nights or wait until morning?” She tried to sound upbeat, as if this were only a temporary break, a vacation.
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