by Donna Fasano
“You’re right,” Heather agreed. “She has no right to do what she’s doing. No right at all.”
“I slipped away from the house Tuesday morning.” He glanced out the front window. “I called around to some trusted friends. And I ended up hiring the same private detective agency that searched for Madeleine McCann when she went missing in Portugal. They haven’t been able to find Maddie, but they’ll find Mia. I’m sure of it. I have much more information about Mia’s abductor than the McCanns had to work with.”
He turned his head a fraction, his eyes latching onto Heather’s as he repeated, “I’m sure they’ll find Mia.”
“Of course, they will.”
He looked so utterly distraught. “Jakob was furious that I’d hired the detectives and we argued again. I threatened to go to the media if he didn’t file a formal complaint with the police. And that’s when I found myself escorted to the airport by three officials. Jakob rode with us and he never shut up during the twenty minutes it took to get there. Over and over again, he calmly assured me he’d find Mia. He told me I could keep my PIs on the case so long as they worked with the police. He told me my leaving the country was necessary. I was causing problems for the police, he said. My behavior—rogue behavior, is how he described it—was taking men away from the search.”
Daniel raked his fingers through his hair. “All of that was a bunch of bullshit, of course. He just didn’t want to have to press formal charges against his daughter, and that’s exactly what I tried to persuade him to do.”
Heather felt the pain, fear, and anger pulsing off him in waves. She gripped his hand in a feeble show of understanding. Of course, she didn’t understand. Not completely. How could she? She’d never experienced anything as horrendous as this.
“They booted you out of the country,” she breathed, the reiteration more for herself than him. The situation was astonishing. Something one would expect to read about in some crazy thriller novel, not a real life happening. “I can’t believe it. It sounds absolutely crazy.”
“I called my State Senator’s office while I was still flying over the Atlantic,” he told her. “I felt helpless, Heather. Utterly helpless. I didn’t know what else to do. I was met at JFK by an official from the State Department. Dawson is his name. Tim Dawson. I couldn’t believe they moved so fast.”
“What has this Tim Dawson done? Did he contact the FBI? The CIA?” She had no idea how governments worked together on a crisis such as this. And if Jakob Brankov refused to lodge a formal complaint about the kidnapping—that’s what this was, wasn’t it, a kidnapping—then how could the two governments work together to find the child?
“All I can say is, Jakob must have friends in some very high places.”
Daniel’s voice sounded tired, and Heather’s heart ached for him.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “Our government isn’t helping you?”
“Oh, no. They’re helping. They’ve sent a team of investigators. But everything is all under the radar. Tim keeps saying we need to avoid an international incident. He hinted that the US is in discussions with Burgovnia. I suspect it’s over oil, but I can’t be sure. But that’s why the State Department wants to keep a lid on this mess. Tim keeps stressing that the Burgovnia police are working on it, my detectives are working on it, and the US Government is working on it. I talk to Tim at least twice a week. I talk to my detectives every day. And Jakob and I talk often, too, and every time I do, he says the same thing… that Anica loves Mia, and that we’ll find them. That Mia will be home with me soon.”
Heather had heard him talking in his room. She’d thought he was reading his day’s writing aloud, or recording notes. She never imagined that all this time he was dealing with this unbelievably horrifying situation.
He seemed all talked out, bereft of both information and emotion. But Heather only felt more anxious.
“So Sandra Douglas, the girl I met with this morning, might be close to making your situation even worse than it already is.” Heather inhaled deeply in an attempt to relax the tension that had built up in her shoulders.
“No one I know will talk to her,” Daniel said. “I came here because an AP journalist came snooping around up in New York. I needed to get out of town. When my agent booked your place for the winter, I told him spending all that money was foolish. That this would be over in just a few days. That Mia would be back home in no time. But it was a good cover story, I figured. My staying here for the winter to finish my book.” His gaze went flat as he added, “I never imagined Anica could be so good at dodging everyone who’s looking for her. These have been the longest six weeks of my life.”
“I’m sure they have been.” She held his hand in both of hers, and as she stared into his face, she could tell he understood and appreciated the empathy she felt. If they had been in a more private place, she wouldn’t have hesitated pulling him to her, doing her best to hug away his pain.
“Neither of you have eaten,” Cathy said.
Heather started, unaware that Cathy had approached the table until she had spoken.
Cathy asked, “Is something wrong with the food?”
“Of course not.” Sliding her hands away from Daniel, Heather smiled up at Cathy. “The soup is fine. It’s good. Just like it always is.”
“How would you know?” Cathy’s brows arched slightly. “You haven’t touched it. Your spoon looks like it just came out of the dishwasher.”
“I tasted the soup, Cathy. We got busy talking is all.” Heather slid out of the booth and tugged at the hem of her sweater. “Can I get some take-out containers? I’ll box this up and we can eat it later.”
Cathy cast her a narrow-eyed glance and then walked back behind the counter.
Heather told Daniel, “We should go. I love Cathy dearly, but she can be nosy sometimes. If we stay, she’ll start poking into your business.”
He got up and picked up his coat. “You don’t think she’d talk to—”
“No way,” Heather assured him. “Sandra Douglas came sniffing around here before she came to see me and Cathy sent her packing.”
Daniel nodded and stood out of the way while Cathy and Heather packed up their lunch. Then Heather grabbed her purse to pay, but Daniel pulled out his wallet and handed several bills to Cathy.
“Don’t heat up those sandwiches in the microwave,” Cathy warned. “They’ll turn into a soggy mess.”
Heather took the bag of food and shrugged the strap of her purse onto her shoulder. “What do think I am, an idiot? I’ll crisp them up in a skillet, sweetie. Don’t worry.”
The keen interest blatantly written on Cathy’s face had nothing to do with reheating grilled cheese sandwiches, Heather knew without a doubt. A tiny shadow of worry niggled at the back of her mind. The question wasn’t if Cathy would ask about the conversation she and Daniel had had, the question was when Cathy would ask. Heather had never lied to Cathy or Sara about anything. Ever. However, for the first time in her life she found herself considering keeping Daniel’s plight from her friends. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them with the information. Her faith in them was implicit, and she’d proven that over the years as there wasn’t a single thing about her they didn’t know. But this was different.
It wasn’t her secret to tell. This was Daniel’s private life. This was his personal tragedy. She had no business sharing it with anyone.
He’d confided in her. He’d revealed himself—his pain and anguish. He’d opened up. Made himself vulnerable. And those facts left Heather feeling warm inside. As if they’d shared something deeply intimate.
Daniel walked out of the restaurant and Heather paused at the door, turning back and witnessing yet again the curiosity brightening Cathy’s gaze. And when Cathy mouthed the words call me, Heather shot her a flat-lipped smile that offered no promises.
Chapter Eight
Heather had tossed and turned for more than an hour; it must be close to midnight. Weak winter moonlight shined through the window, pa
inting the bedroom walls with a pale luster. The story about Daniel’s daughter plagued her. She couldn’t get the child out of her thoughts. Their talk had continued after they’d left the café. Daniel’s best guess had been that his sister-in-law was doing everything she could to keep Mia occupied with fun and adventure, that Anica had to be obsessively keeping Mia entertained with new places and probably lots of gifts. He did his best to imagine that Mia was so busy that she wasn’t even missing him. He hoped his little girl wasn’t aware that the police and private detectives were actively searching for her. Heather prayed Daniel was right. She wished there was something she could say, something she could do, to help Daniel through this awful situation.
The idea that tormented Heather the most was when Daniel voiced his worry about what Anica might be saying to Mia about him. It was only natural that a child would worry about and fret over being separated from her father. How might Anica explain that separation, he’d wondered. She certainly couldn’t tell Mia the truth. So what sort of lies was she conjuring?
Lines of strain had dug deep crevices in Daniel’s face, and the memory disturbed Heather to the point that she threw back the quilt and sat up on the edge of the mattress. Suddenly, what was normally the soft, welcoming confines of her bed felt like solitary confinement in a cement block prison. She had to get up, had to move around, so that she could breathe. How on earth had he lived with this situation and remained sane all these weeks?
A little voice in the back of her head whispered, what other choice did he have?
Sooner or later, and she hoped to God it was sooner, little Mia would be found and returned home. Daniel had to remain strong, had to keep his mind and his body healthy, in order to take care of his daughter when that time arrived.
Heather slid her bare feet into her slippers and pushed her arms into her robe even as she moved toward the door. The wooden banister was cool to the touch as she made her way down the stairs. When she passed through the living room on her way to the kitchen, movement near the sofa made her steps slow. Daniel had swiveled his head to look at her, his features half illuminated by the pale light shafting through the front window.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Me, either.”
“I was going to make myself some herbal tea,” she told him. “Want a cup?”
He smiled and nodded. “That would be nice. Thanks.”
“I must have half a dozen different flavors. Lemon, mint, strawberry, goji berry…”
His smile widened just a fraction. “Surprise me.”
“I can do that.”
Having a mission made her feel less helpless, and it wasn’t long before she was carrying two steaming mugs into the living room and settling herself next to him.
“Do you want me to turn on a light?” she asked.
“I’d rather you didn’t.” He set his mug on the coffee table without taking a sip. “I actually get a little comfort from sitting in the moonlight.”
Emotion welled in her chest, forceful and profound, pinching her heart and burning her eyes. She leaned forward and carefully placed her mug on the table next to his, the overwhelming compassion surging through her making her trembly. She turned to him, moistening her lips and swallowing.
“Daniel…” Her mouth pressed into a firm line as she tried to find the words to express her feelings. Finally, she shook her head. “I can’t even find the words to describe how terrible I feel about what you’re going through.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He whispered the words. Shifting on the sofa, he took both her hands in his. “Listen to me. I’m sorry that you feel badly. It wasn’t my intention to cause you—”
“Please don’t apologize to me, Daniel,” she blurted. Her sight became watery. “And don’t worry about me either. Not for a single second. You have enough trouble to deal with.”
The corners of his mouth curled softly and his shoulders rounded. He reached up and brushed away the tear that rolled down her cheek.
“You’ve become my angel, Heather. My saving grace. I was just sitting here thinking about you.”
Her first impulse was to negate what he was saying, but he didn’t give her a chance.
“I had no idea how badly I needed to talk about all of this,” he continued. “It feels so good to finally be able to tell someone about all this… crap. About all this darkness and anxiety and… and utter frustration.”
“I don’t know how you’ve done it,” she said. “I don’t know how you’ve held yourself together all this time.”
“There were days I felt as if I was holding on by my fingernails, gritting my teeth, as I waited for some kind of news, some little bit of information on how the search was going.” He squeezed her fingers. “But now, even though I’m still in the midst of this disaster, I don’t feel so… alone.”
“You’re not,” she insisted. “You’re not alone. I mean that.”
They stared at each other, and with each silent second that passed, the moment grew more meaningful, more intimate.
“I have never in my life met anyone like you, Heather.” He pulled her hands closer to him, resting them on his thigh. “You are kind. I’m not talking about sympathetic. Anyone can show concern for a short while. But you’re…” He paused a moment. “You’re gracious. And you’re generous with that graciousness. I mean, hell, you open your home to complete strangers.”
His compliments discomfited her. “Wait, now. Those strangers pay me to stay—”
“I’m not talking about your guests,” he said, cutting her off. “I’m not talking about business courtesies. I mean true benevolence. Like the warm-hearted manner in which you opened your home to that little girl and her family on Christmas Eve. You didn’t hesitate. You invited Izzie in. You invited all of them in, and you made sure they felt welcome. At ease. At home.”
His gaze lowered as he murmured, “Izzie made me realize that, even though I might not know where my daughter is, I am still truly blessed that Mia is physically healthy. She’s not fighting some horrible illness.”
The memory of Izzie’s peach-colored bald head made Heather remember the depth of tender emotions she’d felt for the child and her parents that night, and she’d thought about them many times since then, too.
“You are so wonderfully unassuming,” Daniel said, lifting his chin to look into her eyes. “You always seem to put everyone else’s needs before your own. Those of your guests. Your friends. Even those of strangers. That kind of selflessness is damned unique.”
She wanted to speak, wanted to refute all the things he was saying, but the lump that had swelled in her throat prevented her from saying a single word. The fact that he thought such wonderful things about her brought her great joy. And even greater fear. Heather didn’t have time to contemplate why that might be before he spoke again.
“And you’re absolutely beautiful.”
Her fear turned to terror and she shook her head.
“You are,” he stressed. “Your eyes are lovely. Your skin glows. Your silky hair makes me want to comb my fingers through all those soft curls.”
It was as if, in saying the words, he’d given himself permission to touch her. And he did—hesitantly, gently. He slid his hand along the side of her head, stroking her hair and her cheek, his dark eyes never leaving hers.
He leaned toward her and whispered, “You’re beautiful, Heather. You are. Inside and out.”
Desire propelled her forward, but the momentum came with excruciating slowness. A fraction of an inch at a time, it seemed, until finally, their mouths met.
Heather surrendered to the luscious need coursing through her. His moist, hot lips tasted delicious, and she felt her body relax against him.
She had lived in a state of resistance until her self-denial of all things sexual had become innate, completely natural and inherent. Being with Daniel, feeling his fingertips on her face, tasting his kisses, had slowly made her aware of the magnitude of restraint
she’d practiced for so long when it came to sensual matters.
He deepened the kiss, tasting her lips, her tongue, putting just enough pressure so as to have her leaning against the sofa’s back. His hands were on her body, sliding down the curve of her neck, the length of her arm, and coming to rest on her belly.
“Come upstairs with me,” he pleaded.
Pure, carnal need pulsed at the apex of her thighs. She wanted this man. Desperately. She wanted to touch him, to feel his skin beneath her fingertips, to trace the paths of his corded muscles with the flat of her palm. She wanted to spend hours making love with him, wanted to lose herself in a long night of sweaty sheets and satiated need.
Daniel planted small, succulent kisses along her jaw, buried his face in her hair as he nuzzled and tasted her neck. She closed her eyes and released a soft groan.
She wanted this. Oh, how she wanted this.
He slid his hand up her abdomen and over to her side until he cupped her breast in his palm. The heat of him penetrated her robe and her nightgown, stirring her anxiety.
Still inebriated with gnawing hunger for him, she tried to ignore the apprehension that budded inside her.
Maybe she could slip into the bathroom and put on some sexy lingerie. Maybe then, if she didn’t remove her bra, he wouldn’t notice. Maybe if she were to—
But the cold, hard truth persisted, seeping in, bone deep, chilling her longing. The attraction they felt might distract him for a while. Their love-making might divert his attention. She might even make it through the rosy afterglow of lying in his arms, sated and spent. But eventually he would notice. At some point he would see.