Vanished: A Beautiful Mess Series Novel

by T. K. Leigh

  Apart from the ticking of the clock, silence rang in the room as Olivia waited to see how Alexander would react. After a protracted moment of uncertainty, he took a step toward her, his expression softening.

  “Olivia, love…,” he soothed, pulling her body against his.

  Tilting her head, she looked into his eyes. These were the arms that always provided her comfort after a bad day. They showered her with love and affection on a daily basis. They were her home.

  “Have I ever told you how frustrating you can be?”

  She allowed a small smile to cross her lips. “Perhaps once or twice.” She’d heard those words out of his mouth at least once a week for the past decade.

  Alexander let out a long breath, his irritation and unease with their predicament clear in his rigid stature and distant expression.

  Grabbing his cheeks, she forced his eyes back to her. “You’re better than this,” she reminded him. “We’ll find another way to get her back, one we won’t regret for years to come.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  December 20

  1:00 PM

  AGENT MORETTI RAN HIS hand over his face, weariness etched in the lines around his tired eyes. Alexander had a feeling he had never been lead on as complicated a missing persons case as he had on his hands right now.

  “First and foremost, I’m in agreement with Mrs. Burnham,” he stated, meeting Alexander’s eyes, then glancing at Olivia to his right. “We shouldn’t get Homeland Security involved until we can guarantee your little girl’s safety. That’s our priority right now, not the illegal status of a bunch of women who ran away from home to save their lives.”

  Alexander nodded. At first, he wanted to jump at the opportunity to get Melanie back and didn’t care who was hurt along the way, but Olivia was right. She was always more methodical than he was, always looking at the big picture when he had a tendency to act on instinct, consequences be damned. She couldn’t live with the thought of being responsible for their deaths. He couldn’t, either. He’d been living with the guilt of Landon’s death for a year now. He didn’t want any more blood on his hands.

  “Now, we need to move these women to a secure location. They can’t stay where they are.”

  “I’m already on it,” Alexander informed Moretti. “I have my team arranging their relocation as we speak.”

  “All of them?” Moretti raised his eyebrows.

  “It’s risky, but it’s too dangerous to keep them all together. My company has several safe houses in the area. We’ve split them up into groups of three or four, and are moving a few girls at a time using different agents, automobiles, and routes so as not to raise any suspicion. It’s not foolproof, but it’s better than not doing anything.”

  “Agreed,” Moretti answered. “Where exactly are these safe houses located?” He grabbed his pen, about to make notes in his pad, the rest of his team also anxious for Alexander’s response.

  He glanced around his office, feeling as if his own personal secure space had been invaded by this team of law enforcement agents. “It’s my company’s policy not to give out that information. It would defeat the purpose of having a safe house.”

  “Yes, but it’s part of my investigation.”

  “The location of where my company is keeping these women is irrelevant to the investigation. All you need to know is these houses are incredibly secure and well-protected. There will be a team of at least two agents keeping an eye on each house around the clock. No one gets in or out without an agent knowing about it. That’s all I’m comfortable saying.”

  Pinching his lips together, Moretti flipped his notepad closed. Alexander wanted to ask him why he took copious notes of his investigations if he had a so-called eidetic memory, but stopped himself.

  “Well, I suppose that’s all for now then. We’ve received information from your contact at the Ministry of Women’s Affairs in Afghanistan about a few of these girls’ family members who were named Maleek. We’re looking into each of them to see if it’s our guy. That may get us closer to finding out precisely who put a bullet in his head and took Melanie.”

  Moretti stood from the couch and signaled for his team to follow him. His sudden departure caught Alexander off guard.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to Maleek’s house to see if we can find anything that will give us a clue as to where your daughter could be.”

  Alexander sprang to his feet, ready to go with them.

  Moretti held his hand up, stopping him. “Mr. Burnham, I hope you can understand that it’s our policy to only allow agents working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation to visit crime scenes,” he said, a smug look on his face.

  Alexander opened his mouth to argue he’d already been at the crime scene, but Moretti cut him off.

  “I’m just not comfortable letting someone I’m not familiar with into my crime scene where he could potentially contaminate evidence.” His smug expression turned severe. “Not so much fun when the shoe’s on the other foot, is it?”

  He spun on his heels as Alexander’s nostrils flared. He could show him he wasn’t willing to back down and head over to Maleek’s house anyway, but what good would that do? He doubted the FBI would come across anything that would help find his daughter. But he potentially had something that could.

  “What are you going to do?” Olivia asked once she, Martin, and Alexander were alone in the room once more.

  “I’m going to use what I know about this guy to find Melanie.” Alexander shook his head. “There was something about that voice—”

  “I thought you said he disguised his voice,” she interrupted.

  “And he did, but… I don’t know. Something about it was eerily familiar. I can’t explain how, but it was. And the fact that he disguised his face and used a voice modulator leads me to no other conclusion than that I know him. So I’m going to listen to the audio over and over again and see if anything stands out.”

  “How? I thought—”

  “When the rest of the FBI agents were preoccupied with how to trace the call, I made sure to record the audio with my cell phone so I could reference it later.” Alexander smirked.

  “You really think you’ll be able to find Melanie with just that audio?” Olivia asked.

  Alexander shook his head. The truth was, he had no idea, but it was better than nothing. “I’m not going to make you any promises I can’t keep, but I refuse to believe this audio holds no clues as to where our daughter is.”

  “What can I do to help?” Olivia asked.

  He placed his hands on her arms, rubbing her soft skin. “Go relax. Try to forget about all of this.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to just sit here while you’re off trying to save the world, Alex. I’m part of this. And I’m going to remain a part of this whether you like it or not. I know it’s dangerous, but I’ve been putting my life on the line without you knowing for months.”

  “I know you want to help and I love you for that, Olivia.” He brushed a curl that had fallen in front of her face behind her ear. “I thought I knew the woman I married, but I was wrong. You’ve surprised me today…”

  She looked away, pulling her lip between her teeth.

  “In a good way.” He grabbed her chin, forcing her to gaze into his eyes. “You did what I was too selfish to when Landon came to me. I should have helped him. Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened. Maybe the shelter wouldn’t have been attacked and Landon wouldn’t have been taken—”

  “You can’t think like that, Alex,” Olivia said, running her fingers over his cheek. “It’ll eat you up if you go back and say ‘what if’. Don’t torture yourself like that. You don’t deserve to go through that. But you can learn from it. This is no one’s fault, other than whoever this guy is. I’m not to blame, and neither are you. So be the Alexander Burnham I fell in love with and do everything within your power to find our daughter.” Stepping back, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, straighte
ning them.

  “And you’ll stay here?” He raised his brow.

  “I don’t like being a prisoner in my own house. I know you’re worried about something happening to me, too, but you don’t have to be. I can’t just sit around and do nothing when I can do something to further Mischa’s and Landon’s legacies.”

  Alexander hesitated. The thought of Olivia leaving the house, completely unprotected, didn’t sit well with him at all. He knew he’d never be able to focus on finding Melanie if Olivia wasn’t safe.

  Martin stepped forward. “If you don’t need me, sir, I’m more than happy to accompany Mrs. Burnham anywhere she’d like to go. I will not leave her side.”

  Alexander looked between Olivia and Martin, an unassuming pair of co-conspirators. He was still having trouble wrapping his head around the knowledge that they had been working together on hiding these women for months and never let on. Alexander knew his wife. She was as stubborn as he was, if not more so. If she wanted to leave the house, she was going to, no matter what he did to prevent it. The best he could do was give her a way to do so as safely as possible. If Alexander couldn’t be with her, Martin was the next best thing.

  “Stay with Olivia,” he ordered, the reluctance obvious in his voice. “I’m heading into the office to work with Simpson on this audio. The snow is supposed to pick up and become heavy after eight tonight. You’d better believe I fully intend on having Melanie in her own bed by that time.” He turned and headed toward the door.

  He could hear Landon’s voice in his head saying, “Ninety-nine percent of achieving something is believing you can.” That was what he had to do at this moment. He needed to believe he would find Melanie in the next six hours.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  December 20

  2:30 PM

  THE PARKING GARAGE BENEATH Alexander’s building was practically vacant when he pulled his SUV into its usual spot among the fleet of company cars. After swiping his keycard for access, he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the twenty-ninth floor. Leaning against the wall as the car ascended, he dug his phone out of his pocket and replayed the audio of the FaceTime call. The quality wasn’t great, but it was the best they had. He just hoped Simpson could work his magic and make the voice less distorted.

  When the doors opened, he walked through the reception area and past the security door leading to the offices, expecting to be met by silence and relative darkness. Instead, it was a beehive of activity, agents coming and going, phones ringing off the hook.

  Alexander stopped at one of the receptionists’ desks outside the conference room. “What’s going on here?”

  The blonde receptionist jumped up from her chair, coming around to greet him. “Mr. Burnham, I apologize. I wasn’t expecting you today. Your secretary didn’t mention you would be here.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Did I miss something?”

  She pulled her lips between her teeth. “No, sir. We’ve all been working pretty much around the clock. It’s been all hands on deck.”

  “For what?”

  A small smile crossed her face. “To help find your daughter, of course.”

  His mouth agape, he turned from the desk and stared at a dozen men who worked for his company in various investigative capacities. It was a Sunday, just days before Christmas. Instead of spending time with their families, all these people had come into the office…to help him.

  For the first time in recent history, Alexander found himself speechless. He didn’t believe he had done anything in his life to deserve having people so caring and selfless working for him. He’d never been one to get to know his employees very well. Hell, he couldn’t even remember the receptionist’s name and she’d worked for the company for at least a year. But none of that mattered to them. The second they heard about Melanie, they sprang into action, doing what they felt was right and just…something he should have done months ago when Landon came to him for help.

  He approached one of the agents, silence falling in the halls. When he held his hand out to him, the agent took it. “Thank you,” Alexander said.

  “Of course, sir. If it were my daughter, I’d hope people would do the same for me.”

  Alexander nodded, overwhelmed by their kindness. A year ago, even a few days ago, if this had happened to one of his agents, he doubted he would have done more than offer his condolences and perhaps use of company resources. Then he would have simply headed home and forgotten about it. For too long, he had let the company’s bottom line consume him. Instead of making decisions based on what he knew was the right and selfless thing to do, he had weighed that against the success and profitability of the firm. That all ended now.

  He continued down the row of people, shaking hands as they offered him words of encouragement.

  “We’ll find her, sir.”

  “Whatever you need, boss.”

  “We’ll get the bastard, Mr. Burnham.”

  All he could do was shake their hands and offer them his thanks, even though it was completely inadequate for what they had given him. They gave him hope in a cloud of despair.

  “Mr. Burnham,” Simpson called out. Alexander snapped his head up to see him rushing down the corridor. “A moment of your time, please.”

  Nodding, he gave his agents an appreciative smile, then turned and followed Simpson toward his office. Glancing over his shoulder, he observed his employees continuing with their work, the hallways full of commotion once more. He didn’t know how he would ever repay these people for all the time and effort they were putting in to finding his daughter.

  “When did all this happen?” he asked Simpson.

  “What?”

  “All this. Everyone working on a weekend to help find…” He swallowed hard.

  “They’ve been here since yesterday. After the press conference, people began trickling in, offering help. They’ve been pulling their contacts, calling in favors. We’ve got eyes everywhere, sir.”

  He rubbed his temples, fighting off his exhaustion from running on fumes. “I hope it’s enough.”

  “Nothing’s come of it yet,” Simpson said, and Alexander met his eyes, “but I think I might have something.”

  He narrowed his gaze at him. “From the audio I sent you?”

  Simpson nodded and unlocked the door to his office, allowing Alexander to enter in front of him.

  Monitors filled a large desk that took up three walls of the darkened room. Computer units were stacked against one wall, cables and wires going every which way. Simpson sat down in a chair, then typed feverishly at a keyboard in front of him. The monitor directly in the center sprang to life.

  “Now, it took a bit of work, but I was able to isolate some of the background noise. The quality isn’t great, but if you listen closely enough, I think you’ll hear it.”

  He handed Alexander a pair of headphones. Sitting in the chair next to Simpson, he pulled them over his ears, the noise of whirring computers eliminated. All he could hear was his own breathing and heavy heartbeat. Simpson hit a button on the keyboard and the audio from the FaceTime call played in his ears.

  Alexander listened to the sound of cars whooshing by, then his voice cut through.

  “I am nothing like you. I would never target an innocent little girl and use her as a pawn in whatever sick game it is you’re playing. Melanie has nothing to do with this. You want me? Stop being the coward you are and come face me.”

  Alexander closed his eyes, hoping it would help him focus on listening and nothing else. The ding-dong of church bells sounded, then he heard something he hadn’t noticed before. He had been so focused on the intonation of this guy’s voice, he had ignored what was going on in the background. It was barely audible, but it was there.

  “JFK. UMass. Next stop: North Quincy. Transfer here for commuter rail.”

  He flung his eyes to Simpson, removing the earphones from his head.

  “You heard it?” Simpson asked.

  Alexander nodded, his
mind racing.

  “Good. There’s more.”

  Alexander put the earphones back on as Simpson continued the video.

  “I know. I know,” his voice cut through. “It’s about the girls.” Then the sound of a train grew closer, as if passing by, before the clacking of steel against metal diminished.

  Removing the headphones once more, Alexander looked at Simpson, who brought up a satellite image of the JFK/UMass stop.

  “That’s a red line train headed toward Braintree. They’ve got to be pretty much on top of the train station to hear the conductor’s announcement.”

  Alexander nodded, scanning the map. “It looks like it’s all a bunch of retail locations.”

  “Yes, mostly…except right here.” Simpson circled a building on the map. “It’s a warehouse. I got the address and did some digging. It’s been vacant for the past year or so.”

  “Before we go in there, we need to know this is the place. It could just be a coincidence. It could be a different location close by. If they see us storm this building, they’ll leave and we’ll be back to square one. I need something concrete.”

  “How’s this for concrete?” Simpson zoomed in on a white building across the street from the warehouse.

  “What is that?” Alexander squinted his eyes.

  “Looks like a church.”

  Alexander jumped up, dashing from the room. “Text me the exact address.”

  Running down the corridor, he brought his phone to his ear. He hated the idea of pulling Martin away from Olivia, but he needed every agent he could get, and he trusted Martin more than anyone else working for him.