by T. K. Leigh
“Agent Moretti, I’m—”
“Stop,” he declared, holding his hand up. “I don’t want to hear your apologies. You might feel bad for a minute, but it won’t change what we had to go through. I had to watch my mom struggle to work three jobs just to make ends meet and put me through college. I’m a better person because of it. Honestly, I’m the FBI agent I am today because of what you put us through. Yes, I’ll do everything I can to bring your daughter back home safely, but that’s only because I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to a child, no matter who her father is. Got it?”
“Got it,” Alexander murmured, speechless. He wondered how many other people he had screwed over. How many other families had been torn apart because of his failure to take an interest? The more he looked at himself from an outsider’s perspective, the more he believed he had turned into his father. A man who put his own needs first. A man who worked so much, he barely spent any time with his family. A man who didn’t offer any apologies until it was too late. He didn’t want to think that was what he had become, but how could he not when all the signs were there?
“Hey.” A tall man, bearing a striking resemblance to Alexander, approached him, dragging him away from Moretti.
“Tyler… Hey,” Alexander replied, his head still in a fog.
“How ya holding up?” he asked, giving Alexander a longer than usual hug. Despite the nine year age difference between the two men, Alexander felt closer to his younger brother than most people, and not just because they ran the security company together. They had been through so much over the years, Alexander couldn’t help but feel as if he had a role in the man Tyler had become, and vice versa.
“Good,” Alexander answered.
Tyler pulled back and muttered, “Liar.”
Alexander forced a laugh and nodded, glancing over his shoulder at Moretti and the frenzied atmosphere surrounding him. Helplessness crept into his veins. He had never felt more useless than he did at that moment. It seemed everyone there had a job to do. He had a job to do, too, one he felt completely inept to actually carry out. He knew how to survive in the wild for extended periods of time. He could take out a target with his sniper rifle at nearly 2,000 yards. He could hold his breath underwater for close to two minutes without releasing a single bubble. But he had absolutely no training, other than his gut, that would help find his daughter.
“We’re all here for you, Alex,” Carol’s husband, Dave, said, extending his hand to him, bringing his attention back to his family. He shook his hand, finding it hard to believe that not even forty-eight hours had passed since Dave asked him to meet him at a fish warehouse in Southie. That seemed like an eternity ago now. “Whatever you need, it’s yours.”
“Thanks for being here.” Alexander pulled back, feeling everyone’s eyes on him — Olivia’s, his mother’s, his sister’s, his brother’s…hell, even all the agents’ and police officers’. Maybe they all knew he was responsible for Melanie’s disappearance. Were they whispering amongst themselves, theorizing that had he been home, had he not put his work first, had he not turned into his father, Melanie would still be safe?
“Do you have a minute?” Dave interrupted Alexander’s unsettled thoughts. He gestured toward an empty corner of the room.
“Sure,” he answered, curious, following him.
“I know Mischa’s murder has probably been the furthest thing from your mind,” he started in hushed tones, “but it looks like your gut may have been right.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“I got the final autopsy report back. On the surface, everything about the case fit the Castle Island Killer’s M.O. Beaten. Stuffed into a barrel. Left in Southie. Fingernails ripped off. The only thing that didn’t fit was the cause of death. His other victims either had their throats slashed or a gunshot to the head. But not Mischa. We thought maybe he was progressing his kills, but the coroner thinks something’s off, especially when he studied Mischa’s bruises more closely.” He opened a folder and handed Alexander two photos. “This is a close-up of one of Mischa’s bruises,” he explained, pointing to one of the photos. “And this is a close-up of one of his other victim’s bruising. Do you see the difference?”
Alexander squinted, wishing he had brought his reading glasses with him. He couldn’t see what Dave referred to. They looked practically identical. Sure, there was some discrepancy with the discoloration, but nothing stood out as being off.
“I didn’t, either,” Dave assured him. “There’s a redness to the bruises here.” He pointed to the photo of the other victim. “And if you look close enough, you can see the imprint from where a fist made contact with the victim’s ribs. That’s not the case here.” He placed the image of Mischa’s bruise on top. “This is the same exact part of Mischa’s body, but the imprint is scattered, almost jagged. After doing an internal exam, seeing chips of missing bone fragments, the M.E. opined these bruises were not the result of a normal beating. It was something much worse.”
Alexander met his eyes and swallowed hard. “What?” he whispered.
Dave paused for a beat, licking his lips. “Based on the appearance of the bruises and the restraint marks he found on her wrists and ankles, the M.E. believes Mischa was stoned to death.”
“Stoned?” he repeated in disbelief.
“I thought it was an antiquated method of execution, but after doing a bit of research, I found some cultures still use it. There have been deaths in the Middle East reported as recently as just a few months ago attributed to an honor killing.”
“Honor killing?” Alexander swallowed hard, holding onto the table to steady himself as he felt the room spinning around him. His eyes glazed over. It was useless to ignore the connection between Landon’s role in the security company and Mischa’s death. They had to be related. If they weren’t, it was one hell of a coincidence.
“I’ve reached out to the agency she worked for to see if this has any connection to her job there. Maybe she pissed someone off. Who knows?” Dave shook his head, shrugging. “I hoped we’d find something, but that angle doesn’t seem to be working out. The agency’s been very forthcoming with all their records. Mischa’s never even been to the Middle East. Before she was promoted to executive director, most of her fieldwork was concentrated in Africa and South America.”
“So you have no leads?” Alexander exhaled, running his hands through his hair.
“We’re looking into a few other things. The plant where her body was dumped recently installed security cameras. It’s not the best system and leaves plenty of blind spots, but we’re taking a look at the footage to see if we come up with something.”
“You’ll let me know if you do?” Alexander asked, even though he was pretty sure they wouldn’t find anything. That would be too easy, and nothing about the events of the past few days made him think finding Mischa’s killer would be easy.
“Of course.” Dave closed the folder, turning as a tall brunette dressed in a dark pant suit approached with Shannon, Alexander’s publicist.
“Mr. Burnham,” the suit began. “I’m Agent Long. I’m part of the CARD team under the direction of Agent Moretti.” She held her hand out to him and he shook it. “I’ve just been speaking with your publicist about how this press conference will proceed. We’d like to go over a few things with you and your wife before we get started.” She headed toward the end of the conference table and sat down, opening a file. Alexander met Olivia’s eyes and gestured for her to join them.
“My wife, Olivia,” he said to Agent Long when she approached, and they exchanged pleasantries. Then he pulled out a chair for Olivia.
“I’ve spoken to Agent Moretti and he’s expressed a few concerns.” Shannon looked directly at Alexander. “He’s of the opinion that Olivia should do most of the talking since she’s the mother.” She paused, allowing that to sink in. “However, I disagree. We could face serious backlash if you remain silent. The media is already in a frenzy with this st
ory, speculating as to who could be responsible. They’ve been digging up everything about both you and Olivia, along with your friends and families. Unfortunately, nothing is out of bounds for some reporters.” She rolled her eyes, then her expression grew serious once more. “The last thing we want to do is give the media a reason to think you have something to do with Melanie’s disappearance,” she said to Alexander. “Be warm.”
“I’m—” Alexander interrupted, only to have Shannon shoot daggers at him. She had been his publicist for the better part of the past decade. She prided herself on knowing more about him than even he did.
“Be compassionate. Engaging. Do whatever you need to so you don’t come off like an arrogant man who can buy his way out of anything. Your money won’t bring back Melanie. This is about her and appealing to the public’s sympathy. Remember that.” Shannon’s voice was firm as she stared Alexander down.
He hated being told what to do, but this was why his publicist had the position she did. She knew exactly how to handle the press, how to read them. As much as Alexander didn’t want to think he needed someone to tell him how to act, especially when his daughter’s life was at stake, he was willing to listen…for Melanie’s sake.
“Understood?” She raised her eyebrows.
Alexander nodded. “Sure.”
“Good. Now, I’ve taken the liberty of writing a few paragraphs for each of you.” She pushed a few papers toward Alexander and Olivia.
“I won’t be needing this.” Alexander said immediately, pushing the papers back to Shannon.
He could tell Agent Long was biting her tongue. She could talk until she was blue in the face, but he wasn’t about to get up there and read a prepared speech about how special his daughter was. This needed to come from his heart, not the brain of a woman whose job was ensuring his public image remained positive. He didn’t care about any of that right now. All he cared about was getting his daughter back.
“I don’t, either,” Olivia said firmly, following Alexander’s gesture.
Shannon looked at Agent Long, who narrowed her gaze at them.
“Mr. Burnham,” the agent began, “I know you’ve been on the receiving end of the firing squad in the past, but this is different. This is personal, so the reporters may get personal in their attacks.”
“I believe it may be best that we don’t give them anything to attack you with,” Shannon urged, looking between Agent Long and Alexander. He had a feeling Shannon was simply following the wishes of the FBI in trying to convince him to read a prepared statement they had approved. “Which is why I think you both should stick to the script I’ve prepared for you.”
“With all due respect, Miss Walsh,” Olivia piped up, staring at Shannon, “Agent Long.” She turned her attention to the FBI agent. “I agree with my husband.” She reached next to her and grabbed Alexander’s hand, a show of solidarity. “I understand your reasoning and rationale, but Melanie is my daughter. I’m not going to get up in front of a crowd of reporters and the public with some generic and half-hearted plea to bring her home safe. Whoever took her may be listening or watching. This may be my only opportunity to talk directly to him. I’m not going to waste it.”
“Very well then,” Agent Long said with a sigh. “If we can’t persuade you otherwise…”
“You can’t,” Olivia barked, narrowing her fierce eyes on both women, almost willing either of them to try her patience.
“Agent Moretti will open the conference with information he is comfortable releasing to the public,” Shannon explained. “Then the two of you will speak.” She glanced at Agent Long. “Your mother, brother, and sister will also be up there with you. We need to make you relatable here, Mr. Burnham, so showing you with your family will help toward that end. Then the FBI will answer questions from the press for a few minutes. Some of these questions may be directed to you, as well. Regardless of what you’re asked, always bring it back to the reason for the press conference…to beg for the public’s help in finding Melanie.”
“Any questions?” Agent Long looked at Alexander and Olivia.
“What precautions have you taken for security?” Alexander asked firmly.
“Precautions?”
“Yes. As your Agent Moretti aptly stated earlier this morning, we are high-profile targets. I know it’s unlikely, but I need to know precautions have been taken to ensure everyone’s safety.”
Agent Long opened her mouth, then glanced up.
“Security measures are in place,” Moretti’s voice boomed, approaching them. “Plainclothes agents will be strategically placed throughout the crowd, ready to respond, if needed. Several agents will also be on the makeshift platform with you and your family to get more of a bird’s-eye view of the crowd. If there’s anything suspicious, we’ll know.”
Alexander eyed him, not feeling reassured, but at least it was something.
“Now, are you ready?” Moretti raised his eyebrows.
Alexander looked at Olivia and squeezed her hand. “Yes.” He just wanted to get the press conference over with so he could get back to finding his daughter. He didn’t see how any of this would help, but he knew he had to address the public about what had happened.
“Good. Follow me.”
Agent Moretti led Alexander and Olivia out of the conference room and toward the elevator. After riding down to the lobby, they emerged out the front doors and climbed onto a makeshift stage that had been hastily erected for the event, joining Tyler, Carol, Dave, and Colleen, as well as several FBI agents.
A hush fell over the substantial crowd as Agent Moretti stepped up to the podium, his voice reverberating through the speakers, echoing against the tall buildings surrounding them in the government center area of Boston. The press was positioned up front, the flash of cameras going off constantly. The sun peeked through the clouds, but there was still a damp chill in the air.
Alexander zoned out as Agent Moretti rehashed the details of Melanie’s disappearance. His brain was being pulled a thousand different directions. Who took Melanie? Who was responsible for Mischa’s brutal death? What was the reason for Rayne’s sudden and unexpected reappearance in his life? It all seemed so odd, so peculiar, that he couldn’t help but wonder whether it was all connected.
Scanning the faces in attendance, Alexander took inventory. Some of them were familiar, others not. The flash of cameras was almost blinding, black dots obscuring his vision. Each flash was like a gun going off in the night, protecting someone who didn’t deserve it. Unable to see any potential threat through the blinding lights, he felt exposed. Sweat prickled his neck, each sound amplified ten-fold. He loosened his tie, his breathing becoming labored and shallow. Stretching his neck from side to side, he tried to get rid of the tension, but nothing worked. His adrenaline spiked as he struggled to get a good bearing on his surroundings. An unsettled feeling that they were all sitting ducks formed in the pit of his stomach.
With every flash, Alexander grew more jumpy, unable to brush off his fears…until Olivia’s voice rang out from the speakers. He looked to his side where he thought she had been standing, the space now empty. Instead, she stood at the podium a few feet in front of him, her voice wavering slightly, but still strong. He focused all his attention on her instead of the burgeoning crowd.
His momentary panic waning, he could finally breathe again. Olivia was the eye in the storm of his life, the compass pointing him north, the lighthouse guiding him to safety. Together, they could get through anything. Apart, they would cease to exist.
“Most little girls dream of the day they’ll become a mother,” she began with a quiver. “They push their little dollies around in a miniature stroller. They give them bottles. They nurture them. All of this to prepare for what many women believe to be their sole purpose in life.”
She took a deep breath, glancing down before returning her attention to the rapt crowd, many of them holding signs with Melanie’s photo on it, praying for her safe return. Alexander had never been one to pr
ay or even follow any sort of organized religion, but he was thankful for their prayers. He was willing to try anything in order to hold his daughter again.
“But not me,” Olivia confessed. “I always thought there was something wrong with me. Why didn’t this motherly urge ever hit? I thought maybe as I matured, as I grew older, the bug would finally strike. Even when most of my friends were getting married and starting a family, I didn’t feel happy for them. In fact, I was sorry for them. Sorry they couldn’t just pick up and go to whatever tropical destination they wanted at a moment’s notice. Sorry they couldn’t go to happy hour after work. Sorry they couldn’t sleep in on a Saturday.
“Then I met someone…” She glanced over her shoulder at Alexander and held her hand out. He took a few steps and clutched onto her outstretched hand, joining her at the podium. “And everything changed.” Her eyes remained locked with his. “I fell in love.”
A warmth spread through him, filling his heart, his pulse becoming steady and calm, a welcome moment of peace. She stood on her toes and placed a delicate kiss on his lips. Cameras snapped, but he tuned them out. The only thing that mattered at this moment was his devotion to his wife.
Smiling, she gave him a comforting look, then turned back toward the crowd. “My love for Alexander Burnham was and still is so strong, so special, so unique. He brought out feelings I never knew existed.” She paused, clutching onto the podium as she closed her eyes, trying to steady herself.
“But the love I have for my husband is nothing compared to my love for my daughter.” Several tears escaped her eyes.
Alexander leaned down, kissing the top of her head. He hated to see her hurting like this. She didn’t deserve to live through this kind of pain. Nobody did.
“I’ll never forget how I felt leaving the hospital with her in my arms.” She wiped her cheeks, then placed her hand over her heart, letting out a shallow sigh before refocusing her attention on the audience.