Vanished (Private Justice Book #1): A Novel

by Irene Hannon

  If only her memory of the terror would fade as quickly as the bruises on her body.

  As she sighed, Cal sent her a concerned glance from the driver’s seat of the Explorer. “Everything okay?”

  She managed to summon up a small smile. “Yes. Thanks in large part to you.”

  He dismissed her praise with a self-deprecating shrug. “I didn’t do much.”

  Not true. All week, he’d hovered as much as his and her jobs had allowed. He’d slept on her couch for three nights, despite her protests, close at hand to comfort her when she’d awakened in the middle of the night, shaking and crying. He’d also cooked for her, made her laugh, taken her out for ice cream. And when she’d told him her plans for today, he’d volunteered not only to accompany her but to participate.

  “Sorry. I disagree.” She braced as he swung between the two gates flanking the entrance to their destination. “I think I’ll be in your debt forever.”

  “Consider the debt repaid with this.” He tapped the newspaper tucked beside his seat. “The phone’s been ringing off the hook since the first part of your series ran. I’m sure we’ll have more calls after today’s wrap-up piece, with all those quotes you used from me. Business at Phoenix is booming.”

  “I’m glad, after all the pro bono hours you guys put in on the case.”

  “That’s not why we took it.” His gaze connected with hers.

  “I know. Justice First.” Phoenix truly lived that motto, as she’d learned over the past weeks.

  “Always.” He transferred his attention back to the road in front of him. “You said you got directions?”

  “Yes.” She snagged a slip of paper from the pocket of her shoulder purse. “Make the first left, then the third right. He said we’d spot it without any problem. It’s the only one in that area.”

  In silence, Cal navigated the narrow road. As he swung into the last turn, she leaned forward. “There it is.”

  “Yeah. I see it.” As he approached the site, he pulled onto the edge of the road. “Sit tight while I come around.” He lifted the lid on the storage compartment between their seats, grabbed a small black book, and slid from the car.

  By the time he joined her, she had the door open.

  “Watch your step. The ground isn’t level and you don’t need another sprain.” He took her arm as she carefully put weight on her elastic-wrapped ankle.

  Once she was steady, he closed the door. The grassy knoll was, indeed, on the uneven side, and she was grateful he kept a firm grip on her arm as they crossed the lawn.

  They walked in silence until they reached the mound of freshly turned earth—Olivia Lange’s final resting place, paid for by contributions from readers who’d been touched by Moira’s story about the woman who’d had no one to miss her when she’d disappeared.

  There would be a marker too. Evidence that in death, if not in life, someone had cared about her. Moira would shoulder the cost herself if there weren’t enough contributions to cover it.

  As they stood in the stillness, rays of early morning sun announcing the start of a new day, a cardinal trilled from the branch of a nearby tree. Farther afield, muted sounds filtered through the summer air. A lawn mower hummed. A dog barked. A radio played. Someone laughed.

  Life went on.

  For some.

  Moira blinked back a tear.

  An instant later, strong, lean fingers twined with hers.

  “Olivia had someone to cry for her after all.”

  At Cal’s soft comment, she looked over at him. The tenderness in his eyes was a balm on her heart.

  “Even though I never met her, I almost feel as if I knew her. Far better than I knew Blaine, who I did meet.”

  “He’s a tough nut to crack.”

  “Tell me about it.” She’d dug deep this week as she’d written her articles, searching for answers about what made the man tick, but she’d come up blank. Blaine’s colleagues and friends alike had been dumbstruck by the news. His wife had had no comment.

  “I think the experience he referred to with his father, when he was talking to you in the cabin, may be the key.” Cal put his arm around her shoulders.

  She tightened her grip on the rose, avoiding the thorns. “But do you really think a father would ask a sixteen-year-old son to administer a lethal dose of morphine?” They’d debated that possibility, but she was having a hard time believing any parent would lay such a burden on a child.

  “It fits, based on the things he said to you. And if Blaine did that, despite the fact he may have been honoring a request . . .” He shook his head. “Man, that could mess with a kid’s mind. Imagine living with the guilt of killing a father you loved, even if you did it with his blessing.”

  “I can’t. Nor can I imagine a loving parent making such a request.”

  “Their relationship may have been a lot more complicated than Blaine let on.” He hefted the black book in his hand. “Are you ready for this?”

  “Yes. I have no idea what faith Olivia practiced, if she practiced any at all. But I think someone needs to commend her to the Lord.”

  He lifted the book, spine in palm, and she noticed it opened naturally to the passage he’d selected. As if he’d turned to it many times.

  When he began to read, his choice of Scripture didn’t surprise her.

  While he recited the words of the twenty-third psalm in his resonant baritone voice, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of her own that the Lord would welcome Olivia home with the kind of love, compassion, and mercy she’d never known during her earthly life.

  After Cal finished, he steadied her elbow as she bent down and laid the single rose on the earth.

  Then, with one final scan of the new grave, she stood, took his hand, and turned back toward the Explorer.

  They didn’t talk again until they passed through the gates of the cemetery.

  “Do you have any other plans for the rest of the day?” Cal sent her a quick look as he maneuvered through the traffic.

  “No. Why?”

  “I know a great lunch spot with a garden near Ste. Genevieve. It’s a nice day for a drive, and we could both use some time to unwind and decompress.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  She smiled at him, doing her best to vanquish her lingering sadness over Olivia’s sad end and to embrace the joy of this new beginning. “It’s most definitely a yes.”

  His lips quirked up, and he changed lanes. “Okay. That takes care of today. Do you have any plans for tomorrow, other than church?”

  “Dad phoned this morning. He wants to drive over from Columbia for a visit. Even though I’ve called him every day since the story broke, I don’t think he’ll believe I’m really okay until he sees me in person.”

  “Perfect. I’ve been wanting to meet him. Why don’t I join you for church, then treat you both to brunch? Later, we can take a picnic to Forest Park for the Shakespeare Festival. It’s Taming of the Shrew this year. I bet your dad would enjoy that.”

  Warmth filled her heart, and the last trace of strain in her smile evaporated. “Are you trying to butter up my father and monopolize my time?”

  “Guilty on both counts.” He turned his head and winked at her. “And I plan to do a lot more of both in the future . . . if the lady’s willing.”

  Chuckling, Moira settled back in her seat. “More than. But there is one little complication.”

  Twin furrows dented his brow. “What?”

  “When I stopped by your office last week to drop off that thank-you cheesecake for the guys and a whole-grain coffeecake for Nikki, Dev took me aside and warned me to be careful. He said you’re a smooth talker.”

  A scowl replaced Cal’s frown. “I am going to have a long talk with that boy first thing Monday morning.”

  She burst out laughing. “That’s exactly what he said you’d say. I guess I owe him another cheesecake.” Reaching over, she touched his shoulder, exchanging levity for sincerity. “Fo
r the record, he also said I couldn’t find a better guy.”

  His glower faded. “Okay, then he’s off the hook. As long as you agree with him.”

  “To plagiarize the bard, ‘I would not wish any companion in the world but you.’ Good enough?”

  He flashed her a grin, folded her hand in his, and gave her fingers a squeeze. “Good enough.”

  Epilogue

  FIVE MONTHS LATER

  Cal pressed the end button on his BlackBerry, slipped it back on his belt, and checked his watch. The call with the new client had taken far longer than he’d anticipated, and he did not want to be late picking up Moira.

  Especially today.

  Patting the pocket of his leather jacket to verify the presence of the small box he’d placed there earlier, he strode down the hall from his bedroom. No time to brew coffee, but he could at least grab a quick glass of juice. Breakfast would have to wait until later too—but that was okay. He was too nervous to eat, anyway.

  Proposing could do that to a man.

  It was time, though—even if he’d never quite banished his feelings of guilt about falling in love again. All he could do was hope that down the road, the niggling sense that he was being disloyal to Lindsey would fade.

  But if it didn’t, he’d live with it—because he didn’t want to live without Moira.

  He crossed the kitchen, pulled the container of juice from the fridge, and poured himself a short glass. After replacing the bottle, he downed his quotient of vitamin C for the day in several long gulps. Then he turned to the sink to rinse the glass—and froze.

  A single fushcia-colored flower was blooming on the barren cactus Lindsey had rescued long ago, the vibrant blossom justifying her optimism. While the ugly plant might have looked dead on the outside, it had harbored life within. Life that had been waiting to burst forth at the appointed hour.

  It will bloom when the time is right.

  His wife’s words echoed in his mind as if she’d said them yesterday.

  He gripped the edge of the counter and stared at the colorful flower. It had taken six years for her prediction to come true—why today, of all days?

  It couldn’t be anything more than a weird coincidence, though. He didn’t believe in signs.

  Yet as he touched the fragile petal, as the brilliant color seeped into his soul and brightened the corners darkened by guilt, he suddenly felt lighter of heart than he had in years.

  And more ready than ever to leave the past behind and treasure the gift of today.

  “How come you won’t tell me where we’re going?” Moira shifted sideways in the passenger seat to look at Cal. There was something different about him today—but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was, though she’d been trying diligently since he’d picked her up twenty minutes ago.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “You’ll like this one. I hope.”

  She gave him a disgruntled look. “You aren’t going to budge, are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fine. I can be patient.” She settled back in her seat.

  “Since when?”

  “Ha-ha.”

  Determined to hold her tongue, she managed to rein in her questions—until he turned into a tree-filled subdivision in West County.

  “Are we visiting someone?”

  “Nope.” He swung into the driveway of a contemporary-style house, parking behind a Corolla. The home wasn’t overly large, but it was well-designed, with clean lines and lots of glass and skylights. Just the kind of architecture that appealed to her.

  “Nice.”

  “I thought you might like it.”

  A fortyish woman climbed out of the car in front of them, and Moira arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Stacey Holloway. Hang on a sec.”

  That was all he offered before he slid from behind the wheel.

  Like that name was supposed to mean something to her?

  He paused to exchange a few words with the woman. A handoff appeared to take place. Then the woman got back in her car while Cal circled around to her door.

  The minute he pulled it open, she began peppering him with questions again. “What’s going on? Who’s Stacey Holloway? Why are we here?”

  “All questions will be answered in less than ten minutes. I promise.”

  Ten minutes.

  Okay, she could hang on that long.

  He took her arm and guided her to the entrance. But instead of knocking, he slipped a key in the lock, twisted it, and pushed the door open. “After you.”

  She stepped past him into a great room with a soaring ceiling, glassed-in fireplace, impressive beams—and no furniture.

  “Like it?”

  At his question, she swiveled toward him. “What’s not to like? Especially if the rest of the house is as spectacular as this room.”

  “It is. I’ll give you a tour in a minute.”

  “But it’s empty.”

  “That’s because it’s for sale. Or it will be tomorrow unless someone grabs it first. Stacey’s been watching the market for me, and when she showed this to me yesterday, I was pretty sure it was the one.”

  She blinked at him. These past five months, their relationship had progressed steadily. She’d assumed they were headed for the altar, sooner or later—though sooner was her preference. Yet he’d been looking for a house and was thinking of moving without even consulting her? She scanned the appealing contemporary space again. Had she misread his signals?

  “It just needs your seal of approval.”

  Her gaze snapped back to his face.

  “Because I’m hoping you’ll share it with me. Till death do us part.”

  As his words registered, her heart stopped. Stumbled on. “Is that a . . . are you proposing?”

  He lifted a hand. Reached inside his jacket. Pulled out a square jeweler’s box.

  “Oh, wow.” She stared at his fingers.

  Fingers that weren’t quite steady.

  Double wow.

  Nothing ever rattled Cal. He was the steadiest guy she knew.

  As she watched, he flipped up the lid to reveal a dazzling square-cut diamond.

  “According to Plato, everyone becomes a poet when they’re in love, but somehow that didn’t happen with me.” The corners of his lips crept up, and he gave a self-deprecating shrug. “However, with your father pointing the way to some excellent sources, I found the exact words I needed. So here goes.”

  He took her hand and captured her gaze with his. “From Plato again: ‘Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back.’ Your heart whispered to mine and made it whole.

  “From Aristotle: ‘Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies.’ That’s how I feel about us.

  “From Euripides: ‘It is a good thing to be rich and strong, but it is a better thing to be loved.’ I’m not rich or a world-class weight lifter, but if I was, I’d trade both in a heartbeat for your love.

  “And finally, from the bard himself: ‘For where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation.’”

  His voice hoarsened, and he cleared his throat.

  “The truth is, I never expected to love again. Then I met you—and the rest, as they say, is history. You stole my heart almost from the moment you walked into my office. Now I can’t imagine my life without you. So . . . Moira . . . will you marry me?”

  In answer, she extended her left hand and somehow managed to squeeze a reply past the pressure in her throat. “In keeping with the spirit of your proposal, I’ll respond with another quote. ‘I’ll be yours through all the years till the end of time.’”

  “Shakespeare?”

  “Elvis Presley.” She grinned and wiggled the fourth finger on her left hand. “But don’t tell Dad.”

  Smiling, he plucked out the ring, tucked the box back in his pocket, and slipped the thin gold band over her finger. “Why do I think life with you will be a
grand adventure?”

  She stepped closer, wrapped her arms around his neck, and tipped her head back. “Because I’m bold, brave, exciting, daring, enthusiastic, energetic, dynamic, vivacious . . . and modest?”

  A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he rested his hands on her waist. “Don’t forget funny. You have a great sense of humor.”

  “That too.” She beamed up at him, loving the killer dimple that appeared in his cheek whenever he smiled at her. “So yes, our life may very well hold adventures—but no more like the recent one, I hope. However, I’m open to other, more pleasant suggestions. Got anything in mind?” She ran a fingertip along the strong line of his jaw and snuggled closer.

  His irises darkened, his grip tightened—and she stopped breathing.

  “I can think of a few.” At his husky words, her heart faltered, then tripped into double time. “Let me demonstrate.”

  He leaned down. She rose on tiptoe to meet him halfway.

  And in the instant before their lips joined, in the moment before they sealed an engagement that would open the door to a bright new future for both of them, one final quote from Plato flashed through her mind.

  He who love touches walks not in darkness.

  Her philosophy professor father was right.

  The wisdom of the ancient sages was timeless—just like love.

  Acknowledgments

  Writing suspense books involves huge amounts of research. But even though I spend hours on the net, I could never achieve optimal authenticity without the input of experts. I’m very grateful to my valued sources, whose generous assistance allows me to add the final, subtle touches of realism to my stories.

  For their help with this book, my heartfelt thanks goes to:

  Tim Flora, president of Mid-West Protective Service, Inc. (one of the most respected PI firms in the Midwest), who stood ready to assist me whenever I had a PI-related question. Like my hero, Cal, Tim had a long career in law enforcement before striking out on his own. He is a certified polygraph examiner and has also received training from the FBI, U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration, U.S. Secret Service, and the ATF—making him the perfect PI source not only for this story but for my entire Private Justice series.