by Lisa Eugene
Robert agreed to meet at his home, and as Chase maneuvered his Bentley through the affluent, North Shore neighborhood on Long Island, I stared out the window, my mind on Emmy.
Three days. She was now missing for three days and the police didn’t seem to know any more than when they’d started their search. I’d never been away from her for more than a night, and the yawning emptiness of her absence filled every facet of my existence.
I puffed on my cigarette and blew smoke out the window, watching it dissipate in the wind. I’d pulled the pack out of my purse about twenty minutes ago. Apart from the sidelong look Chase had given me, he hadn’t said a word. He knew what kind of shape I was in. He, too, was wound pretty tight. I could tell from his iron grip on the wheel.
Chase pulled into the driveway of a large brick home with a rolling front lawn and geometric slate roof. The property was carved into an area of thick woods. He killed the ignition and shifted towards me, his eyes narrowed in warning. His expression was stern, reminding me of the look he’d always worn when I’d first met him. He was in no way happy about my presence here. I’d had to twist his arm to bring me along.
“I’m hoping this won’t take long, but I anticipate Robert might be difficult given our recent history.”
I nodded and put out my cigarette before unclasping my seatbelt.
“Whoa!” Chase exclaimed, stopping my hand on the car door. “You promised you’d stay in the car.”
Calmly I turned, meeting his irritated gaze.
“And you believed me?”
The string of oaths that followed ricocheted in the car while I did my best to dodge them. Futilely, I tried to reason with him.
“Please, Chase. This might be our best chance of getting Emmy back. I can’t just sit here!”
“Dani, we talked about this!”
“I know, but I can’t just sit out here wondering what’s going on in there,” I explained. “Besides, isn’t it better to have me with you than to worry what I’m up to?”
He gawked, seeming dumbfounded, then dragged his bottom lip between his teeth in a way that pulled my gaze.
“I’d go nuts out here. I’d probably try and sneak through a window or climb down the chimney or something just to listen in,” I admitted honestly.
Gritting his teeth, he shot me a dark look. Another curse broke from his chest. “You drive me so . . . so . . . ugh!”
In one swift move, he descended on me, his lips crushing down hard on mine. He kissed me like he was punishing me, like he was furious with me, like he adored me. And I let him, loving the way he tasted and the hot, driving swirls of his tongue. When he pulled away, I was gasping.
The look on his face was thunderous, his jaw set angrily.
“Let’s go!” he snapped, getting out of the car.
I tucked my chin, suppressing a small smile as I fell into step beside him.
“I’ve known Robert for many years. He won’t make this easy. You don’t talk. Let me handle this, okay?”
He cut a glance at me, then rolling his eyes, mumbled, “At least pretend to agree.”
Holding in my smile, I looked away.
We were greeted by an older woman at the door whose face lit up with a kind smile when she saw Chase. Pulling him in for a tight hug, she said, “It’s been too long since you’ve been to the house.”
“I’m sorry,” Chase said, seeming sincere. “The campaign has kept me busy.”
“I suppose when you’re mayor of New York City, we’ll never see you,” she clucked her tongue and smiled.
Chase stepped back and introduced the older lady as Mrs. Chapman, Robert’s wife. She enveloped my hand in both of hers and her brown eyes grew sad. “I’m so sorry for your troubles. I’ve been following the news and praying every day.”
“Thank you,” I nodded.
“Well, enough of my chatter.” She turned and led us down a hall that was wallpapered in yellow daisies. “Robert is in his study.”
Mrs. Chapman pushed open French double doors that led us into a spacious room. The walls were dark, paneled with a red cherry wood. The faint smell of cigar smoke tinged the air. My gaze landed on a large billiard table across the room with a gun case nestled in the wall nearby.
“Can I offer some tea, refreshments?” Mrs. Chapman inquired.
Chase declined and with a nod she left the room and pulled the doors closed behind her. My attention turned to the middle-aged man sitting behind a large oak desk and I realized how desperate I was for his help. Given the recent strife between he and Chase, I was filled with anxiety, worried he’d laugh and toss us out.
The tension between them was thick, almost palpable. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax. Robert Chapman was an older man with an angular face, and lucid, intelligent eyes. I remembered him from the news when he’d denounced the environmentalist and lied about the Thailand factory, claiming it was safe. Since Chase’s decision to ask him for help, I’d been reading up on him.
I noticed he hadn’t offered us seats, but this wasn’t exactly a social call.
“I’ll get to the point, Robert,” Chase stepped forward. “I need your help.”
Robert responded with a raised eyebrow. “I figured as much.”
“It’s a personal matter. One that needs to be handled . . . uniquely. I’ll need the help of Los Lobos.”
I wasn’t prepared for the gruff, bitter laugh that barked from Robert’s direction. He shook his head incredulously and sat back, regarding Chase for long moments. Chase widened his stance and faced the man squarely, showing no reaction. My heart hammered in my chest at the nonverbal communication between the two men and the open animosity.
“You have the audacity to ask me for help?” Robert sneered angrily, pounding hard on his desk.
I jumped at the sudden outburst, but Chase remained stoic, seemingly unaffected. It was hard to discern his thoughts.
“For months you’ve been condemning me for how I handled things in Thailand. You denounced me when all I was doing was keeping Flex-Steel strong. We built this company, Chase! You and I.”
“People were getting hurt in Thailand. You crossed the line.”
“I would’ve handled it.”
“I didn’t like the way you were handling it.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical? You condemned Los Lobos so strongly and now need their help?”
“I’m doing what I need to do.”
Robert eyed him, nodding slowly. “And why should I help you? You’re trying to force me out of Flex-Steel. It’s my life, everything I’ve built. I’m supposed to just leave it all behind?”
“I’m not here to talk about Flex-Steel,” Chase said. “We have a long history, Robert. I know we disagreed about Thailand, but there’s a little girl whose life may be at stake.”
I bit so hard on the inside of my cheek I thought I tasted blood. Time seemed to slow down as I held my breath, watching Robert as his gaze swept between me and Chase. Without his help to contact Los Lobos, Kensington would get away with what he’d done.
Who knew what his plans were for Emmy. Maybe he was just trying to teach Chase and I a lesson and would return her safely, but there was no guarantee. The man was mad, vindictive, and had apparently lost his mind. I couldn’t help feeling like we were running out of time.
Robert leaned forward on his desk, resting on his elbows. His lips pinched angrily. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, my mind dizzy with the tornado of thoughts spinning in my head. He can’t say no!
A moment of stunned silence passed, then Chase said, “I’ll hand over the information I have on your dealings in Thailand. The original reports proving the pollution cover-up.”
Whipping my gaze to Chase, my jaw slackened. Caught in visual combat with Robert, he didn’t so much as glance at me. I realized this had been his plan all along. He’d known Robert wouldn’t cooperate and had planned on using the information he had on him as leve
rage. He would give it all up to save Emmy.
“If this information got into the hands of the proper authorities, losing Flex-Steel would be the least of your worries,” Chase warned.
The CEO’s eyes flared at the threat. Drumming his fingers on his desktop, he seemed to consider the offer. The seconds passed like decades.
“I’ll take my chances. The answer is still no.”
“Wait!” I yelled, my voice chopping through the crushing hostility. Robert was angry. It was his disappointment in Chase that fueled his resistance. I took a few steps closer to the desk, and spoke to him. “Please reconsider.”
“I’m sorry for your troubles, Mrs. Carmichael—honestly, but—”
“I know you have children of your own. I also know you have a son who is disabled. Emmy is autistic. She’s never been away from me. She’s out there somewhere and I pray she’s okay, but this is the worst agony that a parent could endure. Imagine if it were your own child.”
My voice shook miserably, but at this point I didn’t care. I would drop to my knees and beg if necessary. I knew he and his wife supported many organizations to help children. He couldn’t be all bad.
Robert looked away, and for the first time, I saw his features soften.
“Please, please, reconsider. We believe Los Lobos are the only ones who can find her.”
After a minute, he brought his gaze back to mine. “It appears you can be quite persuasive, Mrs. Carmichael.”
***
Chase put his foot down, refusing to let me accompany him when he made contact with Los Lobos. I’d thought since he was such a high-profile individual, the meeting place would be some closely monitored, clandestine location, but Chase was to meet his contact at the five thirty mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral right in the heart of New York City.
I paced in his apartment for what seemed like hours, growing more nervous when I turned on the six o’clock news and saw him standing on the front steps of the cathedral talking to reporters and surrounded by his constituents. He seemed relaxed, confident, answering their questions about his lack of public appearances and his plans to regain momentum in his campaign.
He took the opportunity to make another public plea for Emmy. I could tell by the tight lines on his face, his mind was preoccupied. He must’ve been ambushed by reporters after the mass, and now had no choice but to appease the crowd. A crowd, I now realized, that would make a perfect cover for anyone slipping in or out of the cathedral.
I watched about ten more minutes before anxiety forced me to turn off the television and resume my restless pacing. A half hour later, Chase walked through the apartment door and I almost toppled him over with relief.
His strong arms came around me. He squeezed me hard, sighing into my hair. I gripped his shoulders with all my strength, needing to reassure myself he was safely back home. After a moment, he walked to a credenza and pulled out a bottle of scotch, pouring a dram into two tumblers. Taking the glass he offered me, I looked into his eyes, trying to read the last few hours in his expression. Apprehension twisted my stomach with a hard grip.
“Drink,” he ordered. “You’re shaking.”
“I’ve been going out of my mind.”
“Drink.”
Downing the liquor in one gulp, I let it work its way through my body, beating down the urge to cough up an organ. Chase took a sip, grabbed my hand and guided me to the couch.
“Everything went as planned,” he said, taking another sip.
“What about the reporters? That mob?”
He nodded. “I’m starting to think even that had been planned. Los Lobos used the crowd as their cover. They probably tipped off the media I’d be there.”
“And your contact?”
“I got this.” Pulling a flip-top cell from his pocket, he placed it on the table.
Frowning, I jerked my gaze from the phone to his face.
“I never actually met with anyone,” he explained. “I found the phone in the confessional booth where they said it would be, and that’s how we communicated.”
“And?” I asked anxiously.
“They’ll start their search for Emmy.”
“That’s it?” I yelled, frustrated. “No plan, no promises, no time-frame?”
Chase massaged his deeply furrowed forehead with the tips of his fingers, eyeing me steadily. “That’s not how these things work.”
“What the fuck? Just how do they work?”
“Just relax,” he said, pulling me against his muscled chest.
I could hear the rapid fire beats of his heart. He wasn’t as calm as he appeared to be. I bit my lip to net the volley of questions I wanted to lob at him. He was quiet, contemplative in a way that made me uneasy. Was he having regrets? He was putting a lot on the line. He’d even agreed to Los Lobos’ million-dollar fee. If it ever got out that a political candidate had ties with a group of criminals, he’d be finished. He’d given up more today than I had any right to ask. Slowly I pulled back, keeping our fingers laced.
“Chase, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, bringing the back of my hand to his lips.
Shaking my head, I considered the magnitude of his generosity. Genuine gratitude made my eyes damp.
“The money you’re putting out, postponing your campaign, the risks you’re taking dealing with these people. If you get caught—”
“Dani, please—”
“Even the information you handed over to Robert. You spent months trying to collect that stuff on him.”
“What’s important here is that we find Emmy. I’d give anything for her safe return.”
Clearing the gravel from my throat, I admitted, “I’m used to jumping life’s hurdles alone, used to toughing things out and dodging all the shit that comes at me. I’ve never had . . . never . . .” My voice trailed off, whittled away by emotion.
“You don’t have to do it alone. We’re in this together.”
“Entwined in this nightmare,” I mumbled.
His blue eyes met mine. “I don’t mean just this, Dani. We’re in life together. We jump the hurdles together—you, me, Emmy, starting with this one.”
I was speechless, the man in front of me robbing my words with his brave optimism. He’d been at my side all the way. I remembered Wanda’s words and my heart softened. My emotions were all over the place today. I was scared, worried, angry, and I ached for my daughter, my mind straddling optimism and despair. I wrapped my arms around Chase and squeezed hard.
After a moment, he pulled away.
“We just have to be patient now,” he said. “They’ll find her.”
“Do you think they’ll start with Kensington?” I inquired hopefully.
“I’m not sure how they’ll proceed. I suppose they’ll start by covering the same tracks the police and the FBI did.” He raked his fingers through his hair, then cut his eye at me. “Promise me you’ll stay away from Kensington. He’s a dangerous man.”
I blinked, surprised. “Does that mean you believe me?”
“Kensington is a powerful man, and powerful men can be ruthlessly vindictive. I’m just saying to stay away from him. Let Los Lobos take care of this.”
Studying his face, I snagged my bottom lip between my teeth. My skin prickled with disquiet. “What are you not telling me?”
He emptied his glass before setting it with a clunk on the table. “Kensington had you investigated. He’s had someone following you for months. You were right. I found out the surveillance in my office was his.”
“Oh my God. He’s sick.”
Palms up, he said, “That doesn’t prove he took Emmy.
“It proves he’s got a beef with me.”
“His beef is with me. Dani, stay away from him.”
My sigh was heavy, my thoughts spinning wildly.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
“Wait.”
Bouncing my knees restlessly, I trained my gaze o
ut the window. That word was a curse to me.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“When are you coming home?” My mother asked, worry sharpening her gaze. “How long will you stay with that man, Danielle?”
That man.
Forcing my lungs to draw a deep breath, I slowly brought my gaze to my mother. This had been brewing all week, a simmering pot of weary head shakes, wry jabs, and caustic sighs. This was the first time she’d asked outright, but I’d known it was coming.
“Don’t you think it’s time you came home? You’ve had nothing but trouble since you met that man.”
As explosive as I felt, I didn’t want it to be my mom who set me off. My life had been riddled with trouble before Chase had stepped into it. And even though I still couldn’t see myself with him long-term, he was the only one making life a little brighter, a little easier—especially in the past week. Mom hadn’t approved of Chase from the beginning, and distrusted him even more now.
Lowering the paper, I scanned my apartment, almost surprised to see it empty. There were usually people in and out of the small living area, either law enforcement, or volunteers. Someone, probably Wanda, had brought over about half a dozen folding chairs. Besides the piano, they were the nicest things here. I could hear Wanda knocking around in the kitchen, trying to whip up a meal I wouldn’t eat.
Bringing my attention back to my mother, I said, “I’ve told you I won’t discuss Chase with you.”
Anger darkened her smooth brown skin. “Look at what’s happened! Our Emmy is gone! The bad decisions you make affect everyone around you.”
I shot up, my chair crashing backwards to the floor. Anger colored my vision a neon red. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Just then, a loud yelp came from the kitchen. Alarmed, Mom and I chased the noise to find Wanda sprawled on the kitchen floor with a leg propped on a chair.
“I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” she moaned, making me roll my eyes when I realized her moan was even more fake than her supposed fall.