Gone (4 page)

She fired. The bullet plowed a furrow in the dried mud and bruised grass stems just to the right of Joe’s feet. He jumped and ducked automatically.

“Hah! I aimed to miss that time, but I won’t again!”

“Rhoda!” A booming voice came from somewhere to the left and behind the house. Joe heard heavy boots clomping and within seconds, a big, burly man appeared. He was dressed in denim overalls over a faded red T-shirt and he had a fishing rod in one hand and a tackle box in the other. When he saw Rhoda holding the rifle, he slowed down. “Are you all right, woman? What’s going on?”

Rhoda whirled to look at the man and Joe took that as his cue to get out. He opened the driver’s side door of his car.

“Look at him, Howard!” Rhoda shouted, turning the gun back toward Joe. “Don’t he look familiar?”

Joe stood behind the open car door, using it as a shield in case the woman did decide to shoot again.

The burly fisherman spotted him and changed direction. “Hey! What the hell are you doing here? Ain’t you got sense enough to get when a woman holding a gun tells you to get?” The man didn’t move fast, but he lumbered along at a steady pace.

“Howard, don’t scare him to death.
Look
at him!”

Joe glanced toward Ms. Sumner, who had angled her head and was sighting down the barrel again. He imagined he could see right down the inside of the barrel.

“Hey,” Howard said. “I know you. You’re that lawyer—”

Joe jumped into the driver’s seat and cranked the engine. Rhoda fired again. And again, Joe’s knee-jerk reaction was to duck. But this time he didn’t hear the bullet. It must have passed just above or to the side of the car. He puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath of relief as he threw the transmission into Reverse and backed around in a semicircle, then took off, spinning his wheels and spraying mud and dirt everywhere. The deep tire grooves rocked him back and forth as he sped away, not taking the time to follow the trenches, just wanting to get out of there as fast as he could, hopefully without getting shot.

He heard two more rifle shots in quick succession. He winced and bunched his shoulders. When a beat passed and he didn’t hear safety glass pop or feel anything slam into him, he relaxed a little. The base of his spine tingled at the imagined feel of a bullet striking him in the back. He gunned the accelerator and aimed the car for the curve up ahead that would put him out of sight and hopefully out of range of the woman’s rifle.

Joe took the curve on two wheels and didn’t slow down until he saw the city limits sign for Killian. He slowed to match the town’s speed limit. After a couple of moments his brain calmed down enough to concentrate on something other than getting away from the gunfire.

He’d heard a child inside Rhoda Sumner’s house. From the timbre of the voice, Joe figured it had to be about two or three years old. A toddler the age Joshua would be now. And she had almost said a name that started with a
J.

Joe kept his fists white-knuckled on the steering wheel until he was several miles past Killian, then he pulled carefully onto the shoulder of the road and cut his engine. For a long time, he sat there, overwhelmed by all the emotions churning inside him. To his surprise and dismay, he felt a stinging in his eyes and a tightening in his throat. He hadn’t cried since he was a kid—a little kid. He’d wanted to. There had been times as he’d held Marcie while she sobbed, that he’d wanted to bury his head in that soft, beautiful curve between her shoulder and neck and cry until the pain inside him subsided. But he never had. Not once.

Now, though, alone in his car, answerable to nobody, responsible for no one, he wept. The tears scalded his cheeks. The sobs made his chest and throat sore. The opposing forces of pain and hope nearly tore him apart.

The sun was going down when he finally wiped his face on his shirtsleeve and started the engine. At the first gas station he came to, he splashed cold water on his face and swore to himself that he would never cry again. He didn’t know how women cried so much without it killing them.

As he drove back to Marcie’s house, he thought about what he was going to tell her. He couldn’t tell her that the man and woman had seen his photo and the scandalous article in the newspaper. If Rhoda and Howard had not already known whose child they’d stolen, they certainly knew now.

There was no way he could explain to her that because he’d driven out there, he’d confirmed for them that the child they had abducted two years ago was a Delancey.

And he sure couldn’t tell her that he was convinced that he’d found their son. After two years of not knowing whether his child was alive or dead, he’d found him.

Joe didn’t know what Rhoda and Howard were going to do, but he did know one thing. In finding Joshua, he’d placed him in grave danger.

Chapter Four

Marcie looked at her watch. It was getting dark and she hadn’t heard from Joe. She couldn’t wait to hear what he’d found out. It still rankled that he’d refused to let her go with him. She was Joshua’s mother. She had a perfect right to be there when he confronted the woman.

And she had a right to know where he was and how much longer it was going to take him to get home. Just as she started toward her purse to retrieve her cell phone, the landline rang. She picked it up on the second ring. Almost before she got the word
hello
out of her mouth, a deep, gruff voice said, “I know who you are, and I know who your husband is.”

Disgusted, Marcie started to hang up.

“Mrs. Powers, do you want your kid back?”

Her hand froze in midair, stunned by what the awful voice was saying. She brought the phone back to her ear. “Wh-what did you say?” she asked through lips numb with shock.

“You heard me. Now you just listen and listen good. I’m going to call you back tomorrow and tell you what I want you to do. You got that?”

“Who is this?” Marcie demanded, putting all the steel she had into her voice.

He laughed. “Who am I? Why don’t you ask your husband? Now you sit tight and don’t tell nobody nothing.
Nobody!
Otherwise I’ll have to send you a little present. How would you like to get one of your precious kid’s fingers in a pretty box?”

Marcie gasped and her stomach turned over. “No! Please. I won’t...say anything. Don’t hurt him. I swear I won’t tell. But where is he? How—”

“Shut! Up!” the man shouted. “Shut up! No questions. Don’t talk or you’ll get his finger in a pretty box.”

She heard a click and the phone went dead.

Marcie stared at the words displayed on the tiny screen.
Out of area.
Her stomach cramped and her saliva turned acrid. She rushed to the sink and splashed cold water on her face, willing it to wash away the image of her precious baby’s bloody finger in a box. She sucked in a mouthful of water, hoping the coolness would settle her stomach.

Was this her fault? Had the woman in the car known her? Known she was Joshua’s real mother? That meant the little boy she’d seen really was hers. But it also meant she may have put his life in danger. Her baby! Her son! He was out there with a dangerous, violent man. Waiting for her to find him.

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there at the kitchen counter when she finally heard a car pull up outside and cut its engine. When she straightened, she felt a twinge in her back. She hurried to the foyer and peered through the sidelights. It was Joe. Her knees literally went weak. She flung open the door and threw herself into his arms, almost knocking him over.

“Hey, Marcie, what—?”

“Joe! Somebody called!” she cried, pushing him away to look at him, then hugging him again. “I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do!”

He gripped her upper arms and set her far enough away from him that he could see her face. “Tell me,” he said. “Who was it?”

“It was a man. He said he had Joshua. He said not to tell anyone, that he’d—” Her breath hitched in a sob. She swallowed and went on. “He’d cut Joshua’s finger off and send it to—”

“Marcie,” Joe said sharply. “Calm down. I can’t understand half of what you’re saying. Who called? He said he had Joshua?”

Marcie took a deep breath, hearing it catch at the top like a sob. “I’m—I’m trying to tell you—”

“Marcie, breathe. Take deep, slow breaths. In and out. In and out.”

He was talking to her like he had in the breathing classes while she was pregnant. His soothing voice acted on her like a tranquilizer. She breathed in and out, slowly, deeply.

“Now,” he said, putting an arm around her and leading her to the couch. “Sit down and tell me exactly what the man said.”

She nodded and took one more deep breath for good measure. “He said not to tell anyone or he’d—” She swallowed and took another long, slow breath. “He’d cut off Joshua’s finger and send it to me in a pretty...box.” She felt nauseated again, and out of breath. “Oh, Joe—”

“Shh,” Joe said, pulling her to him and rubbing his palm gently up and down her arm. “It’s going to be okay. That ugly bottom-feeder’s not going to do that to our son. He’s a coward and a bully, hiding behind a little boy. Don’t worry. It’s going to be all right.”

Marcie closed her eyes and let herself be comforted by him. She loved the feel of his strong chest against her cheek, loved the soft caress of his hand on her arm. She wished she could stay right where she was, not thinking, not feeling anything except the comfort of Joe’s big, strong body surrounding her, protecting her.

But she’d seen the look on his face. The shock—and the guilt. It was an expression she knew very well. “Just a minute,” she said, thinking of the man’s terrifying words. “When I asked him who he was, he said for me to ask you. What did he mean by that?” She lifted her head from his chest. “Did you see him? Did he have Joshua?”

Joe didn’t answer.

“You
did!
That was him on the phone, wasn’t it?” She frowned. “You know who he is, don’t you?”

Then suddenly, it all made sense. Joe had gone out to that woman’s home and questioned her about the child and now a man was calling, wanting money for her little boy. “Oh, my God, it’s not my fault. It’s yours! You saw Joshua, didn’t you? I was right. The woman in the Nissan has Joshua and now he’s in danger because you went out there. Is that man her husband?”

Joe knew exactly what had happened. Rhoda and the man had recognized him as the bastard Delancey son in the newspaper article. With a sigh, he realized he had to tell Marcy everything.

“Okay, hon, I need you to calm down and listen to me. I think Rhoda—the woman driving the Nissan,” he added when he saw her puzzled expression, “took Joshua because she wanted a child. But while I was trying to talk to her, a man showed up in a dirty T-shirt and overalls, carrying a fishing rod. He figured out that I was the father of Rhoda’s child right away.”

“How? How did he figure it out? What did you tell him?”

He didn’t answer her directly. “Listen to me, hon, and stay strong, okay?”

Her eyes grew wide and haunted. “Stay—? What? Oh, my God, what’s wrong?”

Joe rubbed his palms up and down her arms. “I think he’s planning to try and get money from us.”

“Money? Like—like a ransom?” Her expression turned to horror. “They’re holding my baby for
ransom?
Why? Why now? That doesn’t make sense. They’ve had him for two years.”

Joe shook his head. Suddenly, he couldn’t go any further. He couldn’t tell her that Rhoda and Howard had decided to hold their child for ransom because he was a Delancey.

“What are we going to do? We don’t have any money.”

“No, we don’t,” Joe said,
but the Delanceys do.

“What are we going to do?”

“Right now, I’m afraid we’re going to have to wait for Howard to call back.”

* * *

J
OE
WOKE
UP
, breathing in the faint, fresh air of the home where he and Marcie had been so happy for so long. Before he opened his eyes, he lay still, letting the scents of fresh linens, baby powder and a hint of vanilla wash over him. The poignant memories evoked by the mingled odors brought a lump to the back of his throat.

He shifted and opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the black-button gaze of a stuffed panda bear. The bear sat in a tiny rocking chair next to the antique crib that had belonged to Marcie’s grandmother. In his throat the lump grew, nearly cutting off his breath. He’d slept in the nursery. It hadn’t been much of a problem last night. He’d turned out the light as he’d entered the room. Marcie had already converted the couch into a bed and made it up, so all he had to do was undress and climb under the covers. He’d deliberately avoided looking at anything in the room.

Now, in the bright light of morning, he couldn’t ignore the baby toys, baby furniture, blue curtains and mobiles hanging over the crib. With the empty place inside him throbbing with grief for his son, he vaulted up off the hide-a-bed sofa, grabbed his slacks and slipped across the hall to the bathroom.

The hot shower eased the pain inside him and soothed the stinging in his eyes. When he stepped out of the stall and reached for a towel, he noticed a neatly folded pair of blue boxers and a white T-shirt. They hadn’t been there when he’d started his shower. Gratefully, he donned the clean clothes, pulled on his jeans and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

Marcie was already there, making the coffee. As he walked in, she finished pouring water into the coffeepot and turned it on. Her hair was damp and pulled back in a high ponytail that made her look like a college kid. But when she turned and looked at him, her eyes were rimmed with red and her nostrils and the corners of her mouth were pinched. She looked awful. Still beautiful, but awful nonetheless.

“Morning,” he said.

She didn’t answer him. She turned her attention back to the sink, rinsing glasses and placing them in the dishwasher. She dried her hands. Joe noticed that she’d been chewing on her fingernails.

“Marcie, don’t you have some of the tranqs the doctor gave you? You ought to be taking them.” He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb across the ragged nails. “You’re a nervous wreck.”

She jerked her hand away and glared at him. “Thank you,
doctor.
But I don’t want to be tranquilized. That man is going to call this morning. What good will I be if I’m drugged?”

He nodded. He understood. It just hurt him to see her hurting so badly. The coffeemaker grumbled and gurgled, announcing that the coffee was ready. She poured herself a cup and took it to the kitchen table and spooned sugar into it.

“Still like a little coffee with your sugar?” Joe said, hoping to make her smile, even if just a little.

He was rewarded with a wan upturn of her lips as she lifted the spoon and inspected it for lingering granules of sugar. She touched the spoon, wiping sugar onto her fingertip. “I’d let Joshua suck a little sugar off my fingertip. He loved—” She set the spoon down with a clatter and lifted the cup to her lips.

Joe poured himself a mugful and sat down beside her. He drank his black. He took a long swallow, regarding her over the rim of his mug as she sipped at hers.

“What happened to us?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Joe asked, looking at the dark liquid in his mug, then picking it up and sipping.

“Just what I said. What happened?”

He set his mug down a little too hard. “You couldn’t—or wouldn’t—understand why I went back to work instead of sitting around here and moping, or going over to haunt the outdoor market in case someone showed up with a child, so you could get all excited for two minutes until you got a good look at them.”

She shook her head, a pained expression on her face. When she set her cup down, a little bit of coffee sloshed out. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean before—before Joshua. We weren’t good for each other anymore. You were working ten-to twelve-hour days and I spent most of my time painting. I was usually in bed asleep by the time you got home. And you still managed to be jealous of me. You could never believe that I wasn’t like your mother. I wasn’t then and I’m not now.”

He didn’t say anything. He knew she was right about what their life had turned into before they got pregnant. But why in hell was she bringing all that up now? It was old news.

“What are you doing, Marcie? Do you really want to talk about that now? I think there are bigger issues here.”

She shrugged. “I was so naive. I thought that having a baby would change things. I thought it would make you happy. Make you realize that I wasn’t like your mother.”

“Don’t bring Kit into this,” he snapped, a harsh, jagged panic ripping into his chest. He didn’t want to talk about his mother. He didn’t even want to think about her and the news she’d driven out to Metairie to tell him—was that just three days ago? He didn’t want to have to explain to Marcie about the exposé in the newspaper that had prompted Howard to hold Joshua for ransom. He knew she’d have to know eventually, but he was in no hurry to spill this latest chapter in the story of his, as she always put it,
unconventional
upbringing.

“You never want to talk about her. It’s like she’s some kind of goddess on a pedestal, and you’re her guardian.” Marcie stood and grabbed her cup to take to the sink. It clattered noisily when she set it down. “What I never could understand is why you never thought about Joshua or me in the same way. Why couldn’t you have appointed yourself
guardian
for your child? Maybe if you had—”

Joe stood so abruptly that he knocked the kitchen chair over. “Don’t do this. Don’t start with me now about letting him be taken.”

Marcie turned on him, her electric blue eyes blazing. “But that’s exactly what you did. You let him out of your sight. You set his carrier down on the ground. He was your baby and you let him—”

“Stop it!” Joe shouted, clenching his fists at his side. “You don’t have to keep hammering at me! I know! I know what I did! So shut—”

The harsh jangling of the phone made Joe swallow his words. He jumped and whirled toward the sound.

Marcie jumped, too, and let out a little screech of surprise. Then she pressed a hand against her chest. “Oh! It’s him,” she gasped. “It’s him, isn’t it? I don’t—should I—”

Joe held up a hand that shook. “I’ll get it,” he said breathlessly. He was terrified. What would Howard demand in return for their child? Would he really hurt Joshua if they couldn’t get the money he wanted? “I’ll talk to him.

“Joe Powers,” he said into the mouthpiece, noticing that the number was blocked.

“Ho-ho! It’s you,” the guttural voice said. “Did you get a look at your kid yesterday? I hope so because that just might be the last time you ever see him, if you don’t do exactly what I say.”

Joe glanced at Marcie, who was still standing by the sink. Her hands were clasped in front of her as if in prayer and she was watching him unblinkingly. Joe didn’t like what he was about to do, and he knew Marcie wouldn’t like it, but it was the only way he could keep the upper hand against this man who was at best a low-life opportunist, and at worst a psychopath. He hadn’t worked any kidnappings with NCMEC, but he’d gotten some training from the FBI on handling abductions across state lines. The training plus common sense dictated that he couldn’t let Howard get an advantage. Showing weakness could cause harm to the child.