Ready, Aim...I Do!: Missing

by Debra Webb

  But not this. She wasn’t prepared for this.

  Jonathan Foley.

  The breath she’d been holding whispered past her lips, his name forming there without conscious thought. “Jonathan.”

  “Melissa.”

  The sound of his voice echoed through her being, made her soul ache with the need to reach out to him. He looked exactly the same. Tall with shoulders that filled the doorway. Thick black hair still military short. Chiseled jaw that gave the impression of unyielding stone. But it was the eyes that made her already pounding heart stumble drunkenly.

  They were ice blue, so pale they were almost gray. She’d always been certain that he could see right through her. That he could read her every thought.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to call.” She managed to keep her voice steady, which was an outright miracle.

  “May I come in?”

  Shaking off the shock and confusion, Melissa stepped back. “Of course.” Get your head together, girl.

  Jonathan Foley stepped across the threshold and into her family home. Melissa’s breath deserted her once more. He was here. After nearly three years without a word, he was here.

  He waited patiently, his eyes searching hers.

  She summoned the courage that had apparently run for parts unknown. “I’m glad you came.” It was the truth. She’d expected nothing more than a phone call but she was damned glad he was here. The urge to fall into his arms consumed her again.

  “Has there been any word on your niece?”

  Melissa moved her head side to side. The movement felt stiff and jerky with the tension ruthlessly gripping her neck.

  Silence pressed against her, filled the room for half a dozen beats of her aching heart.

  She gave herself a mental kick. “Please sit.” She gestured to the sofa and chairs. Wherever he lived now, whatever his job or personal status, he’d come to Alabama to help her family. For that she felt immensely grateful.

  He waited for her to take a seat first, then he settled in the chair directly across from her position on the sofa. Old, well-worn, the sofa had been around since she was a kid. The upholstery had changed a couple of times, ending up a wild mix of pink and red flowers against a green and white background. Her mother had picked it out and Melissa didn’t have the heart to change it.

  Jonathan considered her a moment, his posture straight and rigid as if he expected a general to enter the room at any moment and he might have to jump to his feet and salute. His forearms rested along the length of the chair arms, his hands palms down, his long fingers extended as if that were the only part of him fully relaxed. Then he finally spoke. “She’s been missing for five days?”

  “Yes.” That sinking feeling that bottomed out in her stomach each time Melissa thought about sweet little Polly out there alone or worse dropped like a stone deep into her belly now. “They’re continuing to search for her.” She shook her head. “But they haven’t found anything yet.”

  His gaze narrowed so very slightly that she might have missed the change if she hadn’t been staring so intently at him. “No suspects? No evidence discovered?”

  “Nothing at all.” She clenched her fingers together and pressed her fists into her lap to prevent them from shaking.

  “Has the FBI been called in to assist?”

  Melissa had to really concentrate to pull the answer from the mass of painful and confusing information she’d attempted to process the past few days. “There was talk of someone coming from Montgomery.” What had the chief said? Her mind was a total blank! What was wrong with her? Taking a deep breath, she finally pieced it together. “I think a consult was done by phone.”

  She waited for a response, physical or verbal, but he said nothing. Sat utterly still. Analyzing her answer, she supposed.

  Memories flooded her brain. Moments shared with this man that she had shared with no other human being. Secrets...feelings. Stop. She ordered herself back to the matter of importance. “Is that normal procedure?” she asked when he continued to sit stone still without saying a word.

  “Sometimes.” He paused a moment as if to be sure of his words. “The Bureau’s involvement is strictly on a case by case basis. If they’re not on the scene they feel there is nothing their presence could add at this point.”

  Did that mean the FBI felt Polly’s case was hopeless? Before Melissa could ask as much, he said, “Walk me through exactly what happened.”

  Where was William? Melissa glanced at the door that separated the kitchen and dining room from the living room. Forcing him to relive that night would only add to his misery. “It was late. William and his wife had a fight.” Melissa took a moment to tamp down the renewed rush of emotion. “You know how young couples can be. A little too much passion and not quite enough common sense. William didn’t want Polly to be awakened by the arguing so he left and came here for the night.” Melissa’s throat attempted to close again. “The next morning when he went home Polly was gone and Presley was sleeping off the vodka she’d used to drown her frustrations.”

  More than one well-meaning neighbor had commented that no decent mother would drink herself unconscious with her child in the next room. But that was the main emotional outlet Presley had been exposed to growing up. It was what she knew. Melissa wanted to shake her every time she thought about it, but that wouldn’t change a thing.

  Even more troubling, the house had been unlocked when William arrived home that awful morning. William insisted he had locked up when he left. Presley claimed he clearly had not since the back door had been wide open with no indication of forced entry. Melissa wanted to believe William, but he’d been damned upset that night. He was only human.

  Sweet Jesus, how could this have happened?

  “He called the police,” Jonathan prompted.

  “Yes.” Melissa chewed at her bottom lip. Her throat was so dry she could scarcely breathe much less swallow. “The chief and one of his deputies arrived within minutes. William and Presley were arguing.” Melissa shook her head. “It was terrible...just terrible.”

  Another long moment of tension-filled silence passed, with Jonathan watching her, assessing her. What was he thinking? Had he already formed some sort of conclusion? How was that possible? He didn’t know her family. Certainly she’d mentioned her brother and niece, and her uncle, but Jonathan hadn’t bothered to stick around long enough to meet any of them. Melissa had been living and working in Birmingham at the time. Still would be if her mother hadn’t gotten sick and then if her brother hadn’t deployed to the Middle East.

  William had begged Melissa to come home and keep an eye on Polly. And Presley. Determined to help, Melissa had come home and still this unthinkable tragedy had occurred.

  “The investigation has uncovered nothing?” her visitor asked again.

  “Nothing.” It was disheartening, awful even, but it was the truth. “No one saw anything or heard anything,” she explained, hoping to make herself perfectly clear this time. “Whoever took Polly left no evidence. Nothing.”

  “I spoke to my contact at the Pentagon.”

  A little hitch disrupted her respiration. “And?” This was what she’d called him about, what she’d needed from him. Not this interrogation. His questions felt exactly like that. As if he was interrogating her. Stay calm, she ordered herself. He was trying to help. Her fingernails pinched into her palms.

  “Your brother’s orders have been put on hold indefinitely.”

  Relief flooded Melissa with such force her shoulders trembled. “Thank you.”

  “But...”

  Fear and something resembling anger swirled fast and furiously in Melissa’s stomach. “But?” This was going to be something she wouldn’t like. She could feel it. Jonathan’s hesitation spoke volumes.

  “If your brother was somehow involved,” Jonathan warned, “there will be serious consequences.”

  Melissa blinked. At first his words just sort of bounced off the wad of emotions swaddling her brain. Then
the realization filtered through. He was suggesting William was somehow involved with Polly’s disappearance. “What?” She couldn’t have heard him right. There had to be a mistake. The very idea was ludicrous.

  Jonathan didn’t look away. His gaze held hers with the same ferocity as when she’d first found him standing outside the door. “It happens, Melissa.”

  The way he said her name, with that same thick huskiness as when they’d made love, ripped open the wounds she’d thought long healed and forgotten.

  “More often than you know,” he went on while she scrambled to regain her equilibrium. “These soldiers experience things...see things that change them from the inside out. Sometimes they can’t accept the idea of going back. They’ll do anything to ensure that doesn’t happen. The suicide rate is incredibly high.”

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t respond. Melissa knew her brother. No matter what he’d experienced, he would never, ever put his daughter in harm’s way. Never. Anyone who suggested such a thing either didn’t know him or was a fool.

  “Most of the families feel that way, even after the worst has happened.”

  His answer told her she’d stated her thoughts aloud. Looking down, she unclenched her fingers and swiped her palms against her jean-clad thighs before clenching her fingers into fists once more. Meeting his gaze would take some regrouping. He couldn’t be right. No way. William would never do that. He’d been questioned along those very lines the same day he’d discovered Polly was missing. He wouldn’t, couldn’t do it.

  “You’re wrong.” Her gaze locked with Jonathan’s once more. “William would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat for his child. No way would he do this.”

  “War changes people. Some more than others, but no one is exempt. Whether it’s visible or not, the change is there.” Jonathan took a deep breath, the rise and fall of his chest the first indication that he had even that essential human need. “The only person who can be certain of William now is William himself.”

  Melissa opened her mouth to defend her brother but never got the chance.

  “He’s right.”

  She twisted around to look at William. The idea that he might have overheard all that had been said in the last few minutes wrenched her heart.

  “Sergeant Shepherd,” Jonathan acknowledged.

  “Major Foley.” William stepped past Melissa and settled into the chair next to hers.

  “It’s just Foley now,” Jonathan corrected.

  William made a sound in his throat, not quite a laugh. “Are you sure?”

  Melissa watched the interaction between the two men, her pulse thumping in her ears. The connection between the two was instantaneous and palpable. They’d never met, yet the military connection somehow made them familiar.

  One corner of Jonathan’s mouth quirked with an almost smile. “You’ve got me there. But today we’re not soldiers so let’s keep things informal.”

  William gave an agreeable nod. “My daughter is my heart,” he said, his tone flat. His emotions had run so high for the past few days that his mind and body could no longer maintain the necessary energy for emotional nuances. “I would gladly die right now if it would bring her back here.”

  “I have no doubt,” Jonathan concurred. “However, even the best of us have moments when we snap. Maybe do something we didn’t intend to do.” Before William could counter, he added, “Then denial kicks in and we genuinely don’t believe ourselves capable of such an act. The mind is a powerful thing. It sometimes protects us from that which we cannot bear.”

  Unlike Jonathan, William’s shoulders were slumped, his usually handsome face lined with fatigue. He turned his hands, palms up. “Believe what you choose, Foley. I had nothing to do with my baby’s disappearance.” His voice cracked with the last. “My only guilt is in not being there like I should have been.”

  Melissa took his hand in hers. His felt limp and cold. “You don’t have to convince anyone,” she soothed. “He just doesn’t know you, that’s all.” She glared at the man she’d called to help. “Thank you for making that call.” She squared her shoulders. “Right now William and I should get down to the command post and see what we can do to help.” Melissa didn’t care what the chief said, she wasn’t going to sit here and do nothing.

  She absolutely was not going to put William through another interrogation.

  Jonathan stood. “I’m glad I could help.”

  Every fiber of her being screamed at her to say something, to stop him from leaving. But she wanted him to go, didn’t she? He’d made the call. William didn’t have to leave until Polly was found. Melissa didn’t need anything else from Jonathan. He should go.

  William pushed to his feet, letting go of Melissa’s hand and reaching for Jonathan’s. “Sir, you don’t know how much I appreciate what you’ve done.” He shook Jonathan’s hand with a firmness that Melissa would have thought him too weary to generate at this point. “I have no qualms about serving my country.” His hand fell back to his side. “I just couldn’t go...yet.”

  Jonathan nodded. “When this is resolved, let me know and I’ll make the necessary calls.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jonathan strode toward the door.

  Melissa’s feet remained glued to the floor all the way up until the moment he opened the door.

  She was across the room and calling after him before her brain caught up with her actions. “Jonathan.” What the hell was she doing? She should let him go!

  He stopped, nearly to the steps, and turned, that ice blue gaze colliding with hers.

  “We’re scared.” She pressed her lips together a moment and fought to hold back the tears. “We...we’ve never been in a situation like this. We don’t know if the police are doing everything they can do.” She shrugged, tried to hold back some of the truth spilling out of her, but that wasn’t happening. “We ask questions and get answers we don’t understand. We try to help but they...”

  Jonathan was coming back toward her, one steady step at a time, his gaze never leaving hers, not even to blink.

  “They don’t know anything...” A sob halted her words. “They can’t tell us anything except to be patient and to pray.” Frankly, she was beginning to doubt her link to the Almighty. She’d about prayed herself out, about lost hope.

  Jonathan stopped toe-to-toe with her. “It’s possible that what the police are telling you is all there is to tell.” He shook his head slowly, somberly. “These cases can go unsolved for years.” A shadow moved across his face. “I have to tell you, after five days, if there’s been no ransom demand, the chances of the child being found alive are slim to none.”

  “Polly.” The name trembled on Melissa’s lips.

  A frown line formed between his eyebrows.

  “That’s her name,” Melissa said. “She’s three years old and the most precious child.” She smiled even as a hot tear slid down her cheek. “She has to be alive. I’m not willing to accept anything else. If—” Another of those halting sobs caught her words. “If you can help us, it would mean a great deal to me if you would stay.”

  The morning breeze whispered across her skin, sending goose bumps scattering up her arms. She waited for his answer, prayed some more in spite of herself. Maybe he couldn’t help, but somehow, deep in her heart, she knew that his presence would make a difference. She had denied that knowledge, had told herself she’d called him just for the military connection, but that had been a lie.

  She needed him right now. Melissa didn’t want to admit any such thing, but it was true.

  Damn it, it was true.

  “Make no mistake,” he said quietly, “I can’t promise you anything.”

  She shook her head adamantly. “You don’t have to promise anything. It’s enough that you try.” Her lungs dragged in a deep, much needed breath.

  Their gazes held for one, two, three beats. “All right then. I’ll try.”

  Chapter Three

  11:05 a.m.

  Jonathan stayed on th
e front porch of William Shepherd’s modest home while he and Melissa argued with his apparently uncooperative wife. The windows were raised, allowing the breeze to drift inside and also permitting the raised voices to carry right out to where Jonathan waited on the ancient wooden swing.

  Presley’s argument was simple. She’d been interviewed by the police twice, the family half a dozen times and she had no desire to answer questions from some friend of Melissa’s. The way she said her sister-in-law’s name suggested a serious dislike. In sharp contrast, Melissa patiently and gently urged Presley to reconsider.

  Melissa.

  Jonathan drew in a breath, the heaviness in his chest fighting the effort. What the hell was he doing here? He’d made the call. That was all she’d asked him to do when they’d spoken on the phone. Her brother now had whatever time he needed to resolve this terrible state of affairs. The local police seemed competent; the FBI had been consulted. There was little else Jonathan could do other than retrace already taken steps. He nudged the porch floorboards with the toe of his boot, setting the swing in motion.

  And yet he had agreed to stay when she’d asked.

  Because he had to.

  Jonathan closed his eyes and let the memories he’d dammed years ago flood his mind. Their meeting had been nothing more than a chance encounter. He’d been on the final plummet of a serious downhill slide. Walking away from his military career under the circumstances at the time of his official exodus had plunged him into a thirty-month descent of self-pity and denial. Denial of who he was and what he’d done.

  Until a midnight brawl in a bar in Birmingham had landed him under arrest and with a nasty gash as a souvenir. He rubbed at his forehead where the scar still ached whenever he thought of his former stupidity.

  Registered Nurse Melissa Shepherd had been on duty at the ER that night. She’d patched him up and, after he’d made bail, she’d said yes to his offer of dinner as a way of showing his gratitude for her extraordinary patience with a less than amiable patient.

  The ability to draw in a deep breath deserted him once more as the memories poured through him. No one had ever pulled him in so deeply. He hadn’t been able to get enough of touching her, of looking at her. He would have done anything for her—except put the past behind him and make a real commitment. The dreams—no, the nightmares—he’d suffered since that last military mission had prevented any possibility of moving on with his life. Jonathan Foley existed in the moment.