All for Hope (7 page)

When the “happy” went away, she revised that definition.
It means I wish you were dead, you cold bastard.

The “cold, dead look” had an impact on Harold Taggert now. He softened his angry expression and replaced it with one of pain.

“
Officer, isn’t it enough that she’s killed my granddaughter? Will you allow her to kill my reputation as well?”

He didn’t feel much sympathy. The man ran a cheap liquor store on the edge of town. Guillory didn’t think he needed much reputation for that profession.

“
Mr. Taggert, I’m sorry for your loss. I wish there was more I could do, but I can’t. Have you contacted victims’ services yet?”

Taggert opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, clicking his teeth together. Guillory could see that he was raging with barely contained fury and he was again reminded of the accusations he’d read in Justine Taggert’s testimony. As he watched the man walk away, he raised a hand to rub the cleft in his chin.

After a few moments, he reached into his drawer for the file with Michelle Taggert’s name on it. He hadn’t exactly lied to Taggert. The case was officially closed, the original file off in storage. It was the file in Guillory’s mind that wasn’t closed. It was the two photographs in the file that had started the spark of question in his mind.

One of the first things investigators need when there’s a kidnapping is a photograph of the victim. He remembered Taggert’s confused expression, his deer in the headlights look when he turned to his wife. Mrs. Taggert finally found a single picture of the baby. A photo of Michelle Taggert when she was just an infant.

But when they searched Sheffield’s apartment, they’d found numerous photographs. Pictures of the baby, the baby and her mother Justine, and even ones of the baby, Sheffield and her mother.

The absence of the appearance of love in the Taggert home was a stark contrast to the Sheffield home. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been missed. His gut told him the conclusion to this matter couldn’t be as simple as a sunken boat.

Hope Sheffield was still alive.

He was getting old. He was getting close to retirement. Why the hell did he care about this case if his department didn’t?

It was simple. His gut just wouldn’t let it go.

Mark's head snapped up sharply when someone kicked him under the table. He looked around in confusion, and one of his co-workers raised his brows to get his attention.

“
The vote,” Pat Logan mouthed.

Mark sat up straight, not even remembering what this meeting was about, and shook his head in apology.

“
Excuse me.” He got up and left the room, retreating to his office, waving his secretary away and locking the door. Running his fingers through his black hair, Mark moved to the window and watched as a great mass of dark storm clouds gathered in the sky.

It had been nearly a month since Hope had left; three weeks since Brennan had gone to find her. Were they safe, he wondered. He got little to no sleep each night as his thoughts wandered in an endless circle of speculation.

Guilt throbbed in his throat, an ever present reminder that he had let her down. Always, always she came to him when she needed help, support, and the time she was most in need of him, he could not help her. He should have worked harder to find another solution to her problem.

“
Let me in, Terrance.” The loud, insistent voice came from the other side of his door.

With a resigned sigh, he opened his office and Patrick Logan entered.

“
What's wrong with you, man?” he asked as he seated himself across from Mark's desk.

“
The meeting over?”

“
Yes, and we managed to get the vote for our budget proposal, no thanks to you.”

“
The budget—” he said in realization, “I—”

“
You didn't even know what was going on! What in the world is wrong with you?”

“
I just have a lot on my mind.”

“
What? Cindy? The kids?”

Mark shook his head, but things weren't good in that area either. Cindy had been brokenhearted by Hope's “death”, but she could not seem to understand the strain the situation had put on him. Last night, she had even asked if he and Hope had been lovers.

“
Don't worry, Pat. I'm fine.” He moved to his desk where he began to shuffle through papers. “Where the hell is that proposal?”

Patrick dangled a folder out to him, a smirk on his face. “You left it in the conference room.” He grinned as Mark snatched the papers from him.

“
Thanks.”

“
Why don't you take a vacation?”

Good idea
he thought to himself,
then I'll have every minute of every day to drive myself crazy!
“I don't need a vacation.”

“
You need something.”

I need Hope to contact me.
“I need you to leave me alone.”

Patrick was silent for many moments, then he stood and sighed loudly. “Fine, but you know where to find me.”

Mark nodded, not even looking in his friend's direction, just staring blankly at the papers before him.

Maybe I need a drink,
he thought in passing.

She had been crying. He could tell that the moment he saw her walk in the door. She had even knocked before coming in, something she never did now that they were close friends. No, normally she would simply walk through the door and smile that electric smile of hers, then begin talking. She wasn’t talking now, she was just staring.

“
Hope, what’s happened?” he asked, standing from his desk and approaching her.

Just as he was about to embrace her, he realized that the door to the office was closed. He hesitated. She would never have closed them inside before. It would cause too much talk. Everyone knew what close friends they were; it would only take one incident for people to jump to the conclusion that they were having an affair. Because such thoughts were ever present in their minds, they were always careful.

One look into her liquid eyes made him forget his concerns and take her in his arms anyway. She instantly fell apart, sobbing as he had never heard her sob. He rocked her, rubbing her back, whispering words of comfort and waiting for her to calm enough to tell him what was wrong.

“
They took him away!” she wailed finally, shaking her head as if she didn’t want to believe it. “Thomas’s father came for him and they just took him away. He was crying, Mark. He wanted me- his mama- and still they took him away—”

“
Oh, darlin’.” he sighed, hugging her tighter. “You knew he probably wouldn’t be with you for long. You knew better than to expect that he would always be yours. God, I’m sorry. I never wanted you to be hurt like this.”

“
How could they take him?” she asked, looking up at him with dark, wet eyes. “No one could have loved him more than I did.”

Then time stood still. They had never been this close, at least not when their emotions were so raw. Hope’s breath caught in her throat, and Mark closed his eyes, struggling for control. He couldn’t help it. He bent down to touch his lips to hers.

It was the first time they had allowed their attraction for each other to take control. It was like releasing a dam, but the kiss went no further. They pulled apart, and they both knew it would be the last time they allowed something like this to happen. They both had too much to lose by such foolishness.

Mark smiled slightly, stepping back to put some distance between them. Hope cleared her throat, then wiped at the fresh tears on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Mark. This is all my fault— please— I’m sorry—”

“
Don’t be crazy, Hope. You know as well as I do that this was bound to happen eventually. Now that it has, we just have to be sure that it never happens again.”

She nodded.

They talked at length about the event, dissecting each moment, each nuance. It was an easy conversation, and in the end they were both relieved to have been given the chance to free their feelings. They were the best of friends. No one would ever take that from them— especially each other.

Mark recognized Facebook for what it was: an addiction waiting to happen. He forced limits on himself by only logging in for an hour each evening. It was a fight not to check it during his lunch break, but so far he had found the will power when the yearning took him. His classmates were busy these days, sharing photos and posts from their high school years. He figured it wasn’t surprising given their upcoming twenty-fifth reunion.

“
Ugh—” he muttered, scrolling to get past a series of political diatribes.

A photo of an orange peel cut into a lewd image of an obviously male figure had him guffawing a moment. He wiped an eye with the heel of his hand. When he glanced back at the screen, he saw a notification of a message.

Clicking the folder he saw that the message was in his Other folder, so he figured it was just spam. He started to look back at his newsfeed, but something brought him back to that folder again.

The message was addressed from a person by the name of Maxine Edendale:

Dear Mark,

We're fine. I won't tell you where we are now, just in case, but I know you must have been worrying yourself sick about us so I had to write. Also, I think it is time you told my parents. Please express to them the importance of being discreet. I've come too far to lose it all now.

My friend is here with me.

It was from Hope, and he knew “her friend” meant Brennan. Nervousness coiled in his stomach, and he looked over his shoulder even though he knew he was all alone in the room.

We have been moving as much as possible, staying in moderate hotels (I am trying to save as much of the money we have as possible) but soon we’ll have to find a permanent place.

My friend has been a lifesaver. I don't believe I could have made it this far without him. I suppose I needed more help then I once thought.