Taken (28 page)

“No, but it’s on my urgent list. If she could put a finger down on the map, she’d already have done so. It’s going to require a field trip. And walking her into another place like the farm . . . I know it has to be done, but I’m swallowing hard at the thought
of it. She looks fine, she’s coping, yet I’m afraid she might crack if one item too many slides into her day.”

“I know that worry and share it, but time is a factor. It can’t stretch out a week without damaging the credibility of the chain of custody for the evidence we might recover there.”

“I hear you,” Matthew agreed. “What’s the tip line look like tonight?”

“Some sightings in Colorado have our attention. The names and photos went public across the country at noon. I’ve got cops working the names Shannon wrote on the whiteboards—those the family did business with—so they’re not going to find many people out there willing to help them hide. I had Adam push the news conference up to D.C. so that he’d get better national coverage. He’ll brief again tomorrow morning on the recovered kids to keep the focus on those faces.”

“Good. I’ll try to keep Shannon from seeing that newscast.” Matthew changed the subject. “She located a batch of her journals from the later years today,” he said, holding back the information about Flynn’s cabin. “Seventeen diaries in all.”

“That’s going to be some difficult reading.”

The understatement was breathtaking. “Crushing,” he admitted, remembering the entries in the two he’d read. “It needs doing, though. If she mentions a vehicle they purchased, anything concrete that might help track them down, I’ll pass it on.”

“Thanks. Have you spoken with Jeffery today?”

“He’s my next call.”

“Theo got his first question from a reporter today, left on voicemail, asking if anything new was going on with the Shannon Bliss investigation. The press has noticed that Jeffery no longer mentions his sister at his campaign appearances. He’s shuffling his calendar to keep off the podium the rest of this
week. The plan to make the news public on Monday is about as far as we can stretch it.”

“I can work with that. Shannon knows it’s coming.” Matthew checked the time. “Let me give Jeffery a call now. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, Paul. Call me if there’s any breaking news.”

“I’m hoping to have a reason to make that call,” Paul replied. “Take care of her.”

“My only priority,” he said before ending the call and dialing Jeffery’s number.

The coming days were getting blocked in. They would be back in Chicago to meet with her parents, Shannon would have one last peaceful visit with Jeffery, then it would be to tuck her somewhere private where the press couldn’t find her. As it became public and Jeffery entered a firestorm of questions about his sister’s return, she would need to be far away from it all.

Jeffery sounded ready for the press conference, Matthew was glad to learn, and he had a well-thought-out game plan for the evening with his parents. Matthew walked into the dining room after the call, pleased with how her brother was managing things.

The items he’d unloaded from the car had joined the fishing gear on the dining room table. Matthew sorted the journals from the footlocker by date. He picked up the oldest one and took it to the living room. He wanted a day away from this, needing the break almost as badly as Shannon did, but this case was now flowing in multiple directions. Understanding Shannon’s history was the most helpful thing he could do for her, for the investigation overall. He opened the diary and started reading.

He was nearing the end of it when he stopped, shut the book, closed his eyes and physically winced.
The
Fourth of July
.
Fireworks. Explosions. The smell of sulfur . . .
The last place
Shannon should be on that weekend was in Boston, its nationally televised extravagance of fireworks over the harbor, all within walking distance of the house. Her flashbacks of that shootout in the farmhouse kitchen were going to be intense. Even if she thought she was braced for the sounds, those explosive bursts, the sulfur odor that filled the air would put her back there in hard, sharp, vivid memories.

He had known a collision would inevitably come between what was best for his daughter and what he was doing to help Shannon. Being in Boston for the upcoming holiday weekend was the last place Shannon should be. He always celebrated the holiday with his daughter, had just confirmed he would be in town—a long-standing and important family tradition. There was no uncertainty about where he had to be: in Boston with Becky. So top of the list now, with very little time to address it, were arrangements for Shannon. This coming Monday, Jeffery would tell the nation that Shannon was alive, and the following Sunday was the Fourth.

She couldn’t spend that weekend with her brother—the entire national press would be camped out, watching Jeffery and her parents, hoping to capture their first glimpse of Shannon. She needed to be somewhere quiet, with safe people she trusted, where the press wasn’t going to look for her. And she wasn’t going to be with him. The shock he felt at that realization was eye-opening. He really didn’t want her out of his sight for any length of time. She’d more than just wrapped herself around his life; he’d wrapped his own days around helping her. So their separating was going to be rather painful.

Matthew pushed aside that thought and focused on the issue at hand. Fireworks were sporadic in the neighborhood after sundown as early as July second. Where could Shannon go that
was sure to be both quiet and safe? He could rule out Boston. She couldn’t be in Chicago. And even his best planning couldn’t guarantee a firecracker wouldn’t be set off close enough to her to send her into a frightening flashback. So she needed someone with her who’d be able to manage the situation should one occur. This couldn’t be just anywhere, with anyone.

God, any ideas?

The spontaneous prayer came as he laid aside the discord he’d been carrying with him the last few days. What had happened to Shannon . . . God hadn’t intervened, at least in ways Matthew would have wished for, but she was now free, and the dark years were in the past. He didn’t understand God, but he didn’t want this impasse to continue. God was still God. Matthew turned back hard to the relationship he had depended on most in his life and felt the “welcome home” from his God—no rejection attached to it, just a loving acceptance.

His Father’s patience with him was extraordinarily kind and long-suffering, and these recent days provided a glimpse of that mercy once more. In the coming days he’d be ready for a long conversation with God about what had happened to Shannon, and he’d be able to put the grief he felt into words without the bitter anger that had nestled itself inside. But that conversation wouldn’t be tonight. There was a more pressing concern to talk with God about.
What arrangements do I make for her
? I can see the crisis coming, and I’ve got
a week to put the details of a plan in
place. But where should I start? What might work?

He ran ideas around in his mind—a place in the countryside, music turned up loud—but couldn’t decide who would be with her or where that would be. He looked at his watch. It was too late to call someone. He tucked the problem into the back of his mind to mull over, picked up Shannon’s diary again.

When he was finished reading, he went into the dining room and got the next one, determined to make it through at least a couple of them tonight. Shannon knew how to deal with hard days—that’s what these journals told him more than anything else. A hardened, do-what-was-necessary, stubborn survivor whose true personality was still showing on these pages. He could see even in the handwriting how hard-fought it had been for her to keep her balance and not give up on that rugged optimism.

He couldn’t concentrate. He looked at the time once again, computed the time zones, and made a call. “Paul, I need to talk with your wife about Shannon.”

“Yeah,” the man sighed, clearly having been asleep. “Hold on.” The phone shifted. “Matthew, for you.”

“What’s going on?” Ann sounded wide awake, which she probably had been at this time of night. She’d always preferred working nights.

“A serious problem on the calendar. The Fourth of July. I’m going to be in Boston with my daughter. And Boston is the very last place Shannon should be.”

Ann was quiet for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I see the problem. I’m remembering the fireworks during our one memorable date in Boston,” she recalled, her smile apparent in her voice.

“A nice evening,” he said with an answering smile. “The press is going to be staking out Shannon’s family after the announcement. We could try to sneak her brother and his wife out somewhere, but where? It’s also one of the biggest campaign weekends of the year, and Jeffery needs to spend a good part of it with the crowds. It’s not like we can get him out of Chicago.”

“Shannon can’t spend the holiday with her brother,” Ann agreed. “Her parents for the same reasons, and she can’t spend
it with you in Boston. Paul and I are hosting about forty of the Falcon family. She’s welcome to join us, but we’re downtown Chicago with fireworks going off over the lake.”

“Where would you put her under ideal circumstances?”

“Canada, since they don’t celebrate this holiday.”

He laughed. “If I had time to get her a passport under her legal name, that might be just the ticket. Next best option?”

“Underground would deaden any chance of a surprise firecracker. I hear those tourists caves in Missouri are interesting.”

“You’re reaching, Ann, but then I’ve been too.”

“Okay, more realistic. Close the windows, turn up the music—you want someone with a good home theater, preferably a soundproof room with comfortable seating. Plan a marathon of movies to get her to about four a.m. when the fireworks finally quit.”

“That’s actually the beginnings of an answer. Who with, and where? It’s got to be someone able to handle a flashback.”

“Rachel mentioned Sandy Post to you as a possible doctor?” Ann asked.

“Yes.”

“I know Sandy’s busiest weekend is this one, helping her patients get through the sounds and smells and crowds of the holiday, so it couldn’t be her. In a pinch, I think Rachel is the one you want. Cole will be working the three-day weekend—the Fourth of July is arson duty on steroids—so give Rachel a call. She may not have anything scheduled for the weekend. She’s incredibly good at dealing with traumatic memories in kids, so she could probably help Shannon. For where—give John a call. See if he and Ellie are planning to be up at Shadow Lake for the weekend or if they’re going to stay in Chicago. Shadow Lake is about a five-hour drive north. It’s just enough rural it won’t have a town’s fireworks display nearby. There’s decent
surround sound and a big screen they put in when they remodeled Ellie’s place, so that John could watch his ball games in comfort. Take along a lot of DVDs, and Shannon and Rachel can make a weekend of it.”

Matthew was making notes. “I’ll make the calls first thing in the morning. It’s a workable backstop, Ann.”

“Mention the matter to Charlotte as well. She’s not a big fireworks fan for her own reasons. Bryce and Charlotte driving up to Shadow Lake for the weekend is a pretty common occurrence. Rachel and Shannon staying at Ellie’s place, Charlotte and Bryce staying at John’s—you’ve got a custom-made safe group to keep Shannon company.”

Matthew smiled. “Not as nice as being there myself, but she would know people and be in good company.”

“Problem solved,” Ann agreed. There was a pause. “It’s going to be hard for you to say goodbye when she doesn’t need you in a month or so,” she said quietly.

“I know. I realized tonight how acute it will feel. I’ll be okay with it, Ann. As nice as it has been getting to know her, helping her navigate what needs to be done, I’m actually surprised we’re into week two.”

“She didn’t want to do this alone. That’s why she searched out and found you.”

“And I’m more grateful for that with each passing day. It’s nice to be needed.” He looked at his notes. “Thanks for the ideas. I’ll make some calls in the morning.”

“Let me know if you need to brainstorm further. Oh, and tell Shannon if she wants to do me a serious favor, would she mind taking Black with her? My dog
hates
fireworks with a passion. Getting him out of Chicago for that weekend would be giving him a major vacation. And me a good deal of peace of mind.”

Matthew laughed. “Yeah, I can see that. I’ll mention it to her. Tell Paul thanks for letting me interrupt your evening.”

“He likes that you call him even when you just need to pass off to me . . . just saying. It’s classy of you.”

“He got the ring on your finger. He’s your guy. It’s only right he knows when and why I’m taking up your time.”

“Yeah. Like I said . . . it’s nice of you. Say hi to Shannon for me.”

“I will. Thanks, Ann.”

He ended the call, thoughtful. He hadn’t realized Ann had picked up on it, but she was right. When he could, he spoke first with Paul before he contacted Ann. They were a couple, and he’d shifted how he interacted with her to reflect that.

S
hannon had asked to see the ocean. Matthew chose to take her to one of his favorite beaches. He pulled into the parking area just off a local road, which could accommodate six cars. They were the only ones there this early in the day. She pushed open the car door with a soft laugh. “It’s wonderful!”

Soon she was heading down the path worn in the grass. The sand stretched almost a mile before boulders cut off the cove. He walked at a more leisurely pace down the incline. She’d stopped, hands in her pockets, about a foot from the high waterline of the breaking waves, gazing out at the expanse of ocean.

Still and quiet for a long time, a slight smile on her face, Shannon finally glanced over at him. “It’s good to see the ocean again.”

“I can tell you love it. I literally see you relaxing just standing there.”

“This is my idea of heaven on earth—sand, sun, and sea. There’s a verse somewhere in the Bible, in Jeremiah, I think. ‘Do you not fear me? says the Lord; do you not tremble before me? I placed the sand as a boundary for the sea, a perpetual barrier
that it cannot pass; though the waves toss, they cannot prevail, though they roar, they cannot pass over it.’” She smiled as she finished. “Standing here is a huge reminder of the God I love. The ocean is vast. Big. Powerful. It’s free. I love that. And it’s contained where it belongs by God. I love the ocean for what it is, and for what it tells me about my God.”

“It’s big,” he agreed, and she laughed. “Want to walk?”

“Sure.”

She set out beside him.

Her hand slipped into his, and he glanced over, then entwined their fingers, welcoming the connection. They walked a good stretch of the beach in silence, her attention on the waves coming into the shore.

He knew it was going to disturb the moment but had no choice. He took a breath, asked as casually as he could, “Could you show me the location on the East Coast that the family used as a home base? Maybe do that tomorrow?”

Shannon gave him a sharp look. “Tomorrow?”

“The farm is known now. Chain of evidence means Paul needs to lock down the other property soon.”

She weighed her answer. “Do I have to walk through the property? Can I just give you enough to direct the police with warrants to the right place?”

“I’ll keep it as brief as I can for you.”

She kicked up sand. “It’s not far. Could we do that this morning, get it over with, then maybe come back here so I can get in a swim?”

Her suggestion surprised him. He hadn’t realized it was so close by. “Sure. But as for swimming . . . the water is still awfully cool this far north. It’s not like swimming in the Gulf or off the coast of Florida.”

“You can act as my lifeguard. I won’t go out far, only swim parallel to the shore once I’m past the breaking waves.”

“If you don’t mind the temperature, we can come back to this beach,” he agreed.

“Then let’s get that visit over with.” Shannon turned so they could walk back to the car. “Has Paul said much? Has there been any activity since the photos were released?”

“A few sightings in Colorado are interesting. Nothing definite yet,” Matthew replied.

She didn’t ask a follow-up question, and he didn’t offer more details. He knew she wouldn’t rest easy until those who could cause her harm were in custody. She needed results, but hearing the play-by-play as the case unfolded wouldn’t help her any. Eighteen people needed to be found and arrested in as short order as possible. Shannon had done her part. Now it was up to Paul and his team to finish the job. A week, Matthew thought, to make the arrests, maybe two. Shannon had given them such a wealth of information it was only a matter of time. He swung her hand lightly in his. “You should think about doing a charity swim later this year, one of those where you swim for distance or time and sponsors put up money for the charity based on how you do.”

“Would you be one of my sponsors?”

“If you’re looking for a hundred bucks per mile, I don’t know if I could afford it.”

She laughed. “So it’s like a marathon for swimmers, with the proceeds going to a charity?”

He nodded. “They typically have a few events in August when the water temperature rises. Just something to think about.”

“An interesting idea. Thanks for mentioning it.”

He wanted to find a few things she’d enjoy that he could get on her calendar. Normal things she’d find fun to do.

He unlocked the car. “We’re heading north?”

“Yes.”

The ocean winds were carrying enough sand aloft that Matthew could hear the grit occasionally strike the car’s windshield. Beaches and rocky cliffs and open ocean provided the immediate view to the east along this stretch of highway.

“You’ll want to pull off the road at the next overlook,” Shannon instructed. “That’s their second home base ahead on the right. We’ll pass it in a moment.”

A hanging metal sign swinging over the entrance read in sprawling script,
Hennessey and Vine
. “There?”

“Yes, but pass by it for now. We’re tourists today.” A quarter mile past the sign was an official viewing spot above the expanse of water, and she directed him to turn in and park near a wooden platform. She stepped up onto it, and he joined her. The sound of the ocean surging over rocks and the whistling wind coming up the cliff face made it feel as though they were as close to the elements as they could get and still remain safe. They were high enough in elevation that they could see most of the property she had indicated.

Shannon pointed to a building in the distance. “That’s the main house. There are five homes around what is basically a long circle drive. They all used to belong to one family called Hennessey; they were lobster fishermen. They made a nice living and protected this stretch of beachfront with a jealous eye for other fishermen dropping pots. The Vines were merchants. A deal between the families, a few marriages, and that sign got crafted. The two families built up this area. The way I heard it, most in the family got sick the same winter. The illness killed
four of the men, left six unable to do the heavy labor of hauling lobster pots, and the remaining two couldn’t keep the operation afloat. The Jacobys bought them out, homes and boats—the whole place—but never changed the sign.”

“When was this?”

“Twenty years ago, I think. The Jacobys were settled here when I arrived. I spent the majority of the last eleven years around this place when I wasn’t on the road. I took most of my photos down along that cove.” She pointed to the quiet waters inland from the point. “No one’s on the property at the moment, based on what I can see. They’ve closed up this place, similar to the farm. The storm shutters are up. The break walls are closed to prevent a surge from destroying the boathouse. The cars are gone, including the three motorbikes they kept set aside for easy access just behind that second house. The property looks deserted. And no one in the family would risk coming back here once word went out to disappear.”

Matthew couldn’t detect any movement anywhere around the property either and concluded she was no doubt right. “Where did you stay when you were here?”

“The main house, second floor, back room. I liked that I could see the ocean.”

“How many stolen goods are going to be found on this property?”

“Only a fraction of what is at the farm. They considered this site vulnerable to wind and tide, plus unwelcome neighbors coming by, trying to be helpful after a bad storm. They liked this place but didn’t do much business here. I really don’t want to walk the property and point things out. I’d prefer to let you call in the location of this place, and we be on our way.”

“That suits me, Shannon.” He made a call to Paul with the
GPS location and description of the property. “Anything of yours here you would like retrieved?”

“What’s on the dresser in that back room would be some of my keepsakes—shells I gathered, figurines I won at the county fair, that kind of thing. My fingerprints will be in lipstick on the back of the bathroom mirror, and a few other similar marks. More proof I was here.”

“Where did Flynn and his wife stay?”

“That first house with the swing set in the side yard. He stored most of his wife and son’s things in the second-level bedroom. See the two windows close together? It would be . . . kind if the detectives would keep that room’s contents together until all this is resolved. I’d hate to see her wedding dress stuffed in a box or his son’s baseball glove tossed out. A few things stored there would matter to Flynn a great deal.”

Matthew could understand the sentiment. He took several photos of the entrance sign and the buildings and forwarded them on to Paul, briefed him on what Shannon had shared, then listened in as Paul held a conference call with the FBI agents who would execute the warrant, and to the state cops who would secure the perimeter. Matthew put his phone away. “We’re good, Shannon. Paul has what he needs.”

“I’d like to swim now, forget about this place—in fact, not think about much of anything for the rest of the day.”

He placed a friendly arm across her shoulders. “A big ocean awaits you.” He peered down at the waves crashing into the base of the cliff. “But let’s go somewhere the ocean is in a milder mood than here,” he added. “And a little warmer wouldn’t hurt either.”

She laughed and reached up to settle her hand over his. “The water’s in a playful mood today. That stretch of your favorite beach is quieter, just whispering.”

“You’ve spent a lot of time looking at the ocean.”

“Watching it, swimming in it, trying to capture its expressions in photos—yes. The ocean was the only thing I ever saw the Jacobys fear. I found that revealing.”

With the sun hot overhead, Matthew carried folding chairs down to the beach. Shannon was pulling off the shirt she’d worn over her swimsuit.

“Stay out of the water till I get back from the car with the towels and the tote bag,” he told her. “I’ll start a fire in the ring so we can cook a few hot dogs and you can warm up when you’re done.”

“Sure. I’d like that.”

When he returned, she hit the water and headed out fifty yards before beginning to swim along the shore. Matthew watched the power in those strokes, the steadiness in her pacing, and understood why a small pool frustrated her so much. She’d trained herself for long-distance swims. She stayed within his sight, reversing directions when needed.

He was waiting with a thick oversized towel when she came out of the water, plus a blanket to wrap in. The fire kicked off enough heat for her chilly hands. She looked . . . happy, he thought, in a way she hadn’t been since he met her. She accepted a water bottle, drank thirstily. He was remembering all the references in her diaries to having been for a swim. “How many of those eleven years did you spend in the water?”

She smiled. “I was in the water every minute I could.”

She sat by the fire and hugged her knees. “That first time they pushed me overboard to drown, I decided I wasn’t going to let it happen. I might drown, but it wasn’t going to be from
fear of the water or from not having the will to swim. I was exhausted and deeply relieved when Flynn convinced them to haul me back aboard, but from then on I went back in the water every opportunity I had. The sea and I became friends. I used to swim beside the boat for hours when we were out at sea. I wanted that endurance, knew I would need it one day. The ocean was my own world. Peaceful. I didn’t have to think about anything in particular. The sea was good to me.”

She pulled the blanket tighter. “When we were traveling, I’d swim whenever I could talk Flynn into driving near a beach. He accommodated me, mostly because I was a good driver, careful, and it gave him time to do more of his own business. If I was at the wheel through the night, we could make up time between expected check-in stops.”

Matthew simply listened and learned. “His wife and son didn’t travel with him?”

“The family controlled Flynn in their own way, just as they controlled me. His wife and son rarely traveled with him. If he’d struck out on his own, his wife would pay the price.”

“Did you feel sorry for him?”

“No, not really. He came into the family because he was a thief, a very good one. He had been selling items directly to them instead of through a broker. That’s how he met his wife. She’d often be the buyer, and they started secretly dating. In Flynn’s defense, I don’t think he understood the violence in the family until it was too late. She was pregnant, the family agreed he could marry her, join them, and only when he was already entangled and on the road with them did he realize the violence threading through their way of operating.”