Harlequin Romantic Suspense January 2021

by Marie Ferrarella, Regan Black, Karen Whiddon

  She forced her eyes open, then chastised herself when she realized she’d completely stopped moving again. Not just physically, but mentally. It was one thing to waste time on Katie; it was a whole other to pine away over Noah.

  Stealing another glance at the sleeping girl before averting her eyes once more, Elle moved to the window and stared out, trying to gauge the hour. The sky had cleared a little, and she was almost positive that there was a hint of dawn in the air. But it wasn’t comforting to know that she wasn’t going to be stuck in the dark anymore. It just meant that it was getting closer to the time when Trey would arrive.

  Elle clutched her hands together. Because now it was his face filling her mind rather than Noah’s, and her gut churned. She couldn’t recall the last time she felt this powerless. She needed to act. Desperately. But she was weighed down by fear and tied up by the fact that the chances of the two of them successfully sneaking off were slim. And there was no way their escape could be simple.

  When Katie had first fallen asleep, and Elle had managed to pry herself away, she’d taken a few moments to make a quick trip to the bathroom. The brief foray out of the bedroom had let her know that there was an armed guard sitting in the hall. Back in the room, she’d stolen a look through the window. And that had told her that a man waited there, too. He was chain-smoking in a Jeep with a phone in his hand. The light of the former flickered forebodingly, while the glow of the latter illuminated the outline of the rifle that sat on the dashboard.

  Trey clearly wasn’t leaving anything to chance, and even with the power still out, there was little hope of getting free undetected. Walking away from the property wasn’t going to be as easy as it had been eight years earlier. And if Elle did manage to find a way to get out of the house—either by magically overpowering every guard surrounding it, or by some kind of uber-clever trickery—there was still the matter of how to get off the property. And getting back to the city, too. The property was close to three hours outside of Vancouver, so it wasn’t as though they could just walk. Could she steal a car? Pry the keys from the hands of the man in the Jeep and take that vehicle?

  Would I even be able to put him in a state that would require prying?

  She honestly didn’t know. It was one thing to fight in self-defense. It was another to strike in cold blood. Even when the cold blood in question might be the difference between life and death. And of course, there was Katie. Elle’s eyes drifted to her sleeping form once more. She couldn’t help but wonder how much damage had already been done. What would it do to Katie if she saw her commit some atrocious act? That kind of thing would undoubtedly leave a scar.

  But then Elle let out a sigh, because she suspected that it’d take some kind of miracle to even leave the top floor of the house, anyway.

  She turned her attention out the window again, and she stared a little longer. The sky was definitely less murky now, and it made her heart thump.

  Think, Elle. There has to be something else you can—

  The door creaked open, cutting off her thoughts. She tensed. But she knew she had to turn around and face Trey, so she took a breath and spun. And it wasn’t him. Instead, it was Detective Stanley. His bulky form took up most of the doorway, and his presence was only slightly less unnerving than Trey’s would have been.

  Elle let out the breath. “Can I help you?”

  He took a half step, then stopped, and his eyes lifted past her to glance at Katie. “I think we have something to discuss. In private.”

  Most of Elle wanted to say no. She didn’t care what he had to say. She wasn’t the least bit curious. And the slightly lascivious undertone in his words made her skin crawl. But she had just enough common sense not to argue. She issued a quick, wordless nod, then followed him out. And the moment her feet hit the floor in the hallway, she realized that this was it. The miracle moment. Because not only had the guard disappeared from his post, but Elle noticed something she’d somehow managed to overlook before. Just outside her door was a familiar object. A heavy cylindrical vase. It’d clearly been set there on purpose. Probably intended to incite guilt and fear and horror. But at that moment, all it did was inspire. And before the detective could even speak, Elle had grabbed the decoration in question. And with all her might, she swung it right at his head.

  She watched him fall.

  Made sure he was truly unconscious.

  Checked that he was still breathing.

  Grabbed his keys.

  And tossed her weapon-of-the-moment aside.

  For a second after it was done, Elle stared down at the dropped item, letting the regret wash over her. She studied its metallic glint. She saw how it was both beautiful and deadly at the same time. And truthfully, she’d never forgotten what that particular vase was capable of, and she’d never forgotten the nanny’s dead-eyed stare, either. But just as she had done back then, she knew she had to move on.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered into the air.

  Then she turned her back on the unconscious man and hurried back to the bedroom to scoop Katie from the bed.

  CHAPTER 17

  In a moment that felt eerily similar to the one six years ago, Elle stared down at Katie’s sweet face. She noted the way the shape of it looked so much like her own. She saw how the cap of dark hair matched her father’s now-dyed locks. And she loved her. So hard. So desperately that she wondered how she had ever lived without her and hoped to God she would never have to do it again.

  I have to save her.

  The compulsion was as strong now as it had been then. Of course, when she slid her arms under Katie this time, the little girl didn’t smack her toothless gums together and coo. Instead, she woke up and offered first a yawn, then a sleepy blink, then spoke up in a dream-tinged voice.

  “Momma?”

  “Hi, sweet pea. I’m sorry I woke you up. But we need to hurry.”

  Katie’s blue eyes immediately became more wakeful. “Are we getting away?”

  Elle nodded, and replied firmly, “Yes.”

  “I knew those guys were bad.” She paused, and a slightly saucy smile turned up her lips. “Am I allowed to say, ‘I told you so,’ Momma?”

  Elle couldn’t hold in a laugh. “Just this once. But we’re not going to let them keep us here, okay?”

  “Okay.” Katie paused again. “Momma?”

  “Yes?”

  “I told you so.”

  Laughing again, Elle held out her hand, and Katie grabbed it without hesitation. Together, they made their silent way across the floor—pausing only long enough for Katie to slide her feet into her shoes—then stepped out into the hallway. Too late, Elle realized she should’ve shielded the girl from seeing the unconscious man, or at least have warned her what to expect. But thankfully, Katie took his slightly disturbing presence in stride.

  “Is he dead, Momma?” she asked.

  Elle shook her head. “No, baby. Just asleep.”

  “Did you make him asleep?”

  “Only because I had to protect us. Which is why we need to go before he wakes up again.”

  She started to guide them around the detective. Katie, though, stopped once again.

  “Momma?” she said.

  Elle channeled every ounce of patience she had and said, “What is it, honey?”

  “Do you think he came here in a car?”

  “I know he did. He brought me here in it. Why are you—” She cut herself off as her seemingly slow brain caught up with her six-year-old’s quick one, and she dropped down to kiss the top of her mussed-up hair. “You really are a genius, aren’t you?”

  “You said we don’t use that word because it sounds pretend-shush.”

  “Pretentious,” Elle corrected automatically, stepping away, then bending down again, this time beside the fallen detective. “Remind me. What did we settle on, instead of genius?”

 
“Smart cookie,” Katie replied, sounding suitably unimpressed.

  “Smart cookie. My smart cookie. And I love cookies.” Elle finished the distasteful task of digging through Detective Stanley’s pocket to retrieve his keys, and she stood up. “All right. Let’s get the heck out of here, okay?”

  Katie still didn’t move, and she spoke again, her voice quavering. “His gun, Momma.”

  Elle glanced down. In her hurry to grab the keys, she’d accidentally left the detective’s coat open, and his weapon was on display. Its cold silver shine made Elle’s heart trip, but as she strengthened herself and started to say that there was nothing to be worried about, she realized something. It wasn’t concern driving her daughter’s statement; it was another suggestion.

  One you should’ve come up with on your own.

  But she shoved away the admonishment as quickly as it came. Yes, she should’ve thought of the car and the weapon on her own. In retrospect, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t. But the six years that she’d spent protecting Katie had all been evasive. They’d been hiding. Elle’s brain was accustomed to running and hiding. That was second nature to her. But going on the offensive wasn’t even third or fourth nature to Elle, and her focus had been lasered on getting Katie to a safe space. All of her instincts urged her to bolt rather than to prepare for a confrontation. She was all flight, not fight. And acknowledging that made Elle realize something. It was exactly what Trey would be expecting. So she needed to find a way to do the opposite.

  “Momma?” Katie’s hesitant prod alerted Elle to the fact that she’d momentarily frozen.

  Forcing a measured breath, she bent down a third time so that she could look straight into those blue eyes that were so like her own. “We need to change the plan a little bit. And it might not make much sense, and it might seem a little scary, but I’m going to ask you to keep being brave for a while longer.”

  Katie sucked her lower lip in, but she nodded her agreement anyway. “I can do it.”

  “That’s my girl. It’s not even a big thing that I need you to do,” Elle said, trying to make herself believe the statement, too. “Come back into the room, and let me show you a hiding place.”

  “We’re not leaving?”

  “We are,” Elle said firmly. “But first there’s something I need to do to make sure we’re safe.”

  “Okay,” Katie replied, the trust in her eyes clearly outweighing her fear.

  Elle fought a wave of choking guilt, but she stuffed it back, straightened up and took Katie’s hand. She led her into the bedroom, then guided her to the closet and opened the door.

  “You want me to get in there, Momma?” The question was heartbreaking.

  Elle did her best to pretend that it wasn’t. “Think of it like hide-and-seek, but Momma is the only one who’s allowed to find you.”

  “But you already know where I am.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh.” Katie tilted her head thoughtfully. “So…am I hiding from the bad guys?”

  The breath left Elle’s lungs with a violent whoosh, and she was surprised that her reply managed to come out sounding reasonably normal. “I don’t want you to worry about them. Just concentrate on being as quiet as you can be, baby. You can even curl up with a blanket if you want, and go back to sleep. But can you do me another little favor?”

  “What?”

  “Give me one of your shoes and the hair tie from your wrist.”

  “That’s weird, Momma.”

  “I know. But do you think you can do it anyway?”

  Katie nodded solemnly, and as she set out to comply with the request, Elle did her best to set up the closet as a refuge rather than as a prison. She grabbed a pillow from the bed, and a fleecy blanket from the chest near the footboard. She tucked both into the small space, mentally crossing her fingers that whoever inspected the room wouldn’t note the oddity of the missing items. Once that was done, she pulled Katie in for a hug so hard that the little girl let out a squeak. And finally, she helped Katie settle into the newly cozy-fied closet. But for a second, the sight of her little body—all tucked in and deceptively comfortable in appearance—made Elle sick to her stomach. The last thing she wanted was to subject Katie to being stuck alone in the dark, trapped in the teeny tiny, claustrophobia-inducing space. But she forced herself to do it. She had little other choice.

  Blowing a kiss toward her favorite, little round face Elle whispered, “I love you,” and closed the door. She let herself have a moment. She ran her fingers over the wood, and she stared at the panels, willing Katie to be strong and praying that her plan wouldn’t fail. Then she straightened her shoulders, steadied her resolve and marched out of the room. She paused only long enough to snag the detective’s gun.

  And it felt wrong. Really wrong. But just the same, Elle knew it was right. Because for the first time in all her years, she was going to confront Trey Charger head-on. She just needed to use a trail of metaphorical breadcrumbs to lead him as far away as possible from Katie first.

  * * *

  Noah stared at the computer, frustrated by the lack of digital information available. He’d rephrased the same simple question in multiple ways with the same results—almost nothing.

  Who is Elle O’Malley?

  There was no solid answer. In fact, there wasn’t anything he could even call a hint. Yeah, it was true that when he’d typed it up and pressed enter the first time, he hadn’t been expecting much. But he’d hoped for something. Even just a sliver that would lead him down a path to understanding. Instead, his search had yielded watered-down, internet soup. There were a few social media profiles. None of which belonged to his Elle O’Malley. There was a popular chain of ladies’ clothing shops in Alberta, owned by a woman of the same name. Clearly not related.

  But there has to be some kind of footprint, he told himself. No one is that invisible.

  Idly, Noah scrolled down the current list of results, wondering if he should give up. Or at least close out the search to try something else. Except as his finger hovered over the delete key, something at the bottom of the digital page finally caught his eye—a link to some kind of online forum.

  He stared for a moment, then read the headline aloud, trying to figure out how it might fit. “Missed Encounters.”

  The post was years old, and it struck Noah as odd. With his forehead creasing in curiosity-infused puzzlement, he gave the seemingly out-of-place link a click, and was immediately routed to a specific ad. His brows split out of their frown, then shot up as he scanned through it.

  You call yourself Elle O’Malley. You are a natural blonde. You have blue eyes, and the saddest smile. I believe you may have accidentally left with something that belongs to me. It would give me the greatest pleasure if I could find you and get it back.

  Under any other circumstances, the brief paragraph might’ve seemed innocent. A man looking for a woman he’d met only briefly. Just long enough to catch her name. Maybe she’d picked up his cell phone by mistake. Or grabbed his scarf as she’d hurried off to work. Noah could think of a dozen scenarios where something like that might happen. Yet he was sure that none of them was true.

  Wanting to find evidence to back up what his instincts told him, he read the words again. Slowly this time. Dissecting their flaws.

  First was the phrase “call yourself.” It seemed strangely put. Deliberately so. The more natural phrasing would’ve been—at the very least—in the past tense. With that in mind, Noah tapped his thumbs on the lower edge of the keyboard and considered the next oddity. It was the use of the word something. Wouldn’t someone in desperate search of a missing item go out of his way to be specific? Especially considering the use of a specific name. The omission was clearly unrelated to a need for secrecy. Finally came the closing sentence. The words “greatest pleasure” were dripping with intimacy and violence—they were a dark promise. One that made No
ah grit his teeth to keep from slamming a fist into some unsuspecting, inanimate object.

  Exhaling, he leaned back from the computer and thought about what his next move should be.

  “‘You call yourself Elle O’Malley,’” he murmured.

  Then an idea struck him, and he pressed his fingers to the keyboard again, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it before. Women who escaped from abusive relationships didn’t keep their husbands’ last names. Why would they want to?

  “Who is Elle Charger?” he wrote.

  A tenth of a second later, a new selection of links appeared on the screen. For a moment, he felt let down. There wasn’t much change from the offerings. More social media, some suggested spelling corrections, and four ads for phone chargers. The last bit made his mouth twist into a wry smile, but the rest of it just made him shake his head.

  Frustrated, he tried a third search.

  Elle Charger and Trey Charger.

  The computer stalled, and Noah swore, then pulled back from the desk a little. He felt like he was trying to solve a riddle—except it was a riddle where he hadn’t been given any of the clues, and he was just hoping to stumble upon the answer. His foot was starting to throb again, too, and that didn’t help at all. He eyed the pain pills that the doctor had given him. He knew he was going to have to take one eventually. Right then, though, he wanted to be clearheaded enough to keep searching. So instead of the meds, he grabbed the mug of coffee—also provided by the doctor—and he took a hearty slurp, then closed his eyes.

  Who is Elle? he thought.

  Noah’s sister had been right. The first thing he did when he got a new client was to take a look into what made them who they were. Although his strict rules didn’t really include a not-working-for-criminals clause, he did take it into consideration. Even putting morality aside, he had no desire to be inadvertently caught up in some crime, labeled as an accessory, then tossed into jail. But he hadn’t had a moment to stop and explore Elle’s past. He hadn’t even felt like he needed to. Not until Norah pointed out the oversight. Now it seemed a little crazy to have so thoroughly jumped in without a single bit of verified background. And that wasn’t even factoring in the video and the dead nanny.