The Innocent: A Vanessa Michael Munroe Novel

by Stevens, Taylor

  “I have passports from three countries,” Munroe said, “and I don’t carry a passport from where I was born and raised, so what does that make me?”

  Hannah was silent, her eyes still on the bed, and Munroe said, “Have you ever wondered why you move around so much?”

  “We all move.”

  “But you have moved more, haven’t you? Did you know that David is wanted by the police or that he used to carry an American passport, but he couldn’t get it renewed without getting arrested? Did you know that you used to carry an American passport too?”

  Hannah looked up again, eyes accusing. “Is that true?”

  “Yes, it’s all true. And although I don’t have the proof with me, it’s easily found if you are willing to look for it.”

  Hannah was quiet again, sullen.

  “I’m going to tell you a little story,” Munroe said. “After that, if you have any questions I’ll answer them. And then, if you would like to get cleaned up, I have a change of clothes for you, because in about”—Munroe paused and stretched for the clock—“I guess in about an hour or so, your mom will come walking through the door—your real mom, the one who never wanted to let you go, the mom who has spent eight years trying to find you and who has saved up all that love just for you.”

  Hannah was fighting back tears again, but she did well at putting on an air of bravery. She crossed her arms. “And this guy you say is my dad?”

  “He’ll be here soon after.”

  “And then what?”

  “What would you like to happen after that?”

  Hannah looked toward the window. “I should go back to the Haven,” she said.

  Should.

  Munroe said, “But is it what you really want?”

  She’d asked a question Hannah couldn’t answer without betraying The Prophet and The Chosen.

  In giving Hannah the opportunity to meet parents who loved and wanted her, Munroe had offered the largest apple this little Eve could desire. But the apple was in the Void, a forbidden fruit, the great unknown: the evil fear. And to a child raised in The Chosen, it was much better to return to the Devil she knew than to face a Devil she didn’t. Hannah had no concept of free choice, hadn’t the ability to grasp that it was permissible to want what her heart wanted, and so Munroe pressed on.

  She told of David Law and the steps he’d taken to steal Hannah away from Charity and Logan. She spoke of the events that followed, and went on to describe Charity down to the intricacies of her personality. Munroe followed these with stories about Logan, shenanigans that a child could appreciate, until Hannah began to smile naturally and occasionally laugh. When Munroe was certain that the girl’s defenses had been lowered, that a small bond had been forged, and that Hannah felt comfortable with the territory they would soon cross together, Munroe gathered the change of clothing that Heidi had brought and nudged Hannah toward the bathroom.

  They were sitting cross-legged on the bed, picking the best parts from another round of food that Munroe had ordered, when the phone rang. Hannah’s eyes grew wide, and the worry creases made an instant comeback. Munroe stretched to reach the bedside cradle, and in response to Bradford’s voice on the other end said only, “Yes, go ahead.”

  To Hannah, Munroe said, “In just a minute the front door will open and your mom will come in. When she does, I’m going to step around the corner to give you two some privacy, okay? But I’m here, and if you need me, you call for me, right?”

  Hannah nodded, the fear self-evident. On instinct, Munroe ruffled the child’s hair. Hannah squirmed to get away and ran her fingers over the top of her head to straighten out the mess.

  Munroe laughed. “Just like your dad,” she said.

  Chapter 39

  The departure area was filled with those waiting to board the nonstop flight to New York. The crowd was a mixture of teenagers and twentysomethings, with their scruffy clothes and beat-up backpacks, interspersed among the well-heeled and the economy tourists, all of them jammed into a small space that, in spite of appearances, amounted to little more than a cattle car.

  Munroe and Bradford stood at the departure gate, watching the last of Logan, Charity, and Hannah as they continued down the Jetway. The perks of being a recovered abducted child were few, but priority boarding that put them first on the flight was one of them.

  And then they were gone.

  The assignment was finished.

  The pressure was over, and the resultant vacuum was like a stadium of shouting people gone instantly quiet.

  Munroe tipped her head against Bradford’s shoulder. They stood there a moment, staring after the empty space, and then Munroe turned to Heidi and Gideon, who had remained several feet away. She offered Heidi a hug and Gideon a handshake. “We’re heading out of here,” she said, and after the expected reciprocal niceties, turned to Gideon. “Last chance to come with us.”

  He shook his head. “I’m good,” he said.

  Munroe looped her arm in Bradford’s, and together they strode toward the exit.

  Gideon called after her. “Hey, Michael!” he said.

  She turned.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Not just for getting Hannah, but you know, for everything else.”

  She nodded. “A deal’s a deal,” she said. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

  Gideon tipped his index finger from his forehead toward her.

  There was always the chance he’d come for her, but Munroe held out for him finding peace through Hannah’s homecoming and the changes it would bring.

  International child abduction was no small crime, and proof was ample that Sunshine, or whatever the hell that woman’s name was, was directly tied up in Hannah’s trail. For the first time in nearly a decade Gideon had hope, and when Charity and Logan were ready to move forward, they might all experience a shared taste of justice.

  The reunion between Hannah and her parents had been tear-filled and charged with drama—Charity first, and then a near repeat with Logan twenty minutes later. But it came, it passed, and if there were any parents better suited to deal with the issues their daughter faced, Munroe would be hard-pressed to find them. Charity and Logan understood The Chosen, understood from personal experience both the mind-set and the process a child went through in shedding the upbringing. They would know how to work through it. It would take time, but Hannah would heal; she’d be all right.

  From inside the helmet, the world took on that muted tone that amplified the clarity of adrenaline. White stripes pulsed beneath the wheels, a rapid sequence that nearly blended into a solid line as Munroe kept the speedometer climbing. It was that earliest hour of the morning when the sun had yet to crest the horizon, and she was flying toward it on open, empty road. The bike was there beneath her, driving her forward, but she didn’t feel it. Felt only the exhilaration of freedom, of power, and of flying.

  When Munroe opened her eyes, Bradford was next to her, propped on an elbow, watching her with a curious smile.

  “You were dreaming,” he said.

  She returned the smile, that groggy, satisfied smile of deep, comforting sleep.

  “Yes,” she whispered, and then smiled again. “I was.”

  Acknowledgments

  To my agent, Anne Hawkins, my editor, John Glusman, publicist Sarah Breivogel, and everyone at Crown Publishers who, through efforts seen and unseen, have sped this work along its way: Thank you. Thank you also to the staff at the Palladium in Montevideo for allowing me access to their hotel, and especially to the individuals at The Palace who made it possible for me to conduct research in New York City, and took the time to walk me through the triplex suites.

  About the Author

  Born into the Children of God, raised in communes across the globe, and denied an education beyond the sixth grade, TAYLOR STEVENS broke free of the cult in order to follow hope and a vague idea of what possibilities lay beyond. She now lives in Texas, and is writing a third Vanessa Michael Munroe novel.

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