Dark Hope (47 page)

“Good Lord, what have they done to you?”

All the fight drained out of her. He smiled weakly and reached a hand out to her. She clutched at it and settled down heavily into the chair opposite him.

“It’s okay, Mona. They didn’t do anything; it’s just been a long day. I told them everything I know,” he said, his voice wavering. “How I knew that something would happen to her in Atlanta, but that it was her time. I couldn’t stop it. I only hope I prepared her for it.”

A lone tear slid down Mona’s cheek.

“Don, please—if you’ve done something with her, if you know where she is, you need to tell us now.”

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “I didn’t do anything, Mona. I swear to you, I didn’t do anything. And I don’t know where she is. I wish I did. Please believe me.”

She stared at him. His eyes were troubled, full of the same concern
she felt for her daughter. She thought about everything he had told her just this morning. She thought about how Don had known about the FBI agent. She sifted through the bits of evidence the agents had shared with her, how none of it added up, and she sighed.

She’d always prided herself on her analytical mind. One of the sharpest in the business, she’d been told, time and time again. Ruthless with the facts, demanding others keep up with her cold, unrelenting logic.

But today, logic told her nothing, and her heart was demanding its due.

“I believe you,” she said, the words rushing out of her as if she was still afraid to say them. “Maybe I should have believed you a long time ago.”

He brought his other hand around hers and squeezed tightly.

“Thank you.”

Agent Hale cleared his throat behind her. “You should know that you are both considered persons of interest at this point. You’ll remain so until birth records rule out Mr. Carmichael having a twin, on the one hand, and until we can explain how a notarized release with your signature, Mrs. Carmichael, came to be in the possession of our kidnapper.”

Mona sucked in her breath and wheeled in her seat. “What did you say?”

Hale pressed his lips into a hard line. “The ticket agent in Atlanta confirmed Hope had your permission to travel with her father.” He reached into his suit and pulled out a narrow envelope. Passing it to her, he continued. “Our handwriting experts have matched this signature to one of yours Clayton provided to us. There could be any number of explanations, but until we have a good one, you’ll be a suspect.”

Mona drew the paper from the envelope with shaking hands.
There, plain as day, was her signature, witnessed by a notary. She looked up, confused.

“But I—” She gulped, swinging to confront Clayton. “Clayton, you don’t think—?”

He shrugged apologetically, his face a cipher, and she noticed the cold distance that had crept in between them. “Of course I don’t, Mona. But it is better for us all to cooperate now. The more we cooperate, the faster we’ll have Hope back.”

“Of course,” Mona murmured, carefully folding the letter back into the envelope and passing it back to Agent Hale.

She turned back to Don and smiled a goofy, lopsided grin, trying to make light of the situation. “Looks like we’re both in the hot seat, then.”

Clayton continued. “As much as I hate to say it, I think you need to go public, Mona. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, and it seems our perp is on the move. Your best bet of tracking him down is to get the press to pick up the story.”

She nodded her assent. “I’m sorry, Clayton. I know this will be hard for the firm.”

Clayton looked indignant. “Don’t think twice about that, Mona. Our media relations team is already on standby. They’ll try to keep the backstory out of this and keep the press focused on Hope’s present-day abduction and possible injury. My concern is for her safety, and for yours.” He glared pointedly at Don.

There was a meaningful pause before Clayton continued. “You should be prepared, though, for everything to come out. All it takes is one enterprising young reporter.”

Hale jumped in. “We’ll have to find a way to keep you safe, Mr. Carmichael. Once this is on the news, it won’t matter that you have an alibi. You’ll have a target painted on you. If you agree, we’ll keep you in protective custody and out of the public eye.”

Mona turned to Don. “Will you ever forgive me, Don? For thinking it was you?”

He smiled at her and squeezed her hands once again. “There’s nothing to forgive, Mona. I just hope you can forgive me. I knew it was coming, but I still couldn’t stop it.”

“That’s it, then,” Clayton interrupted. “Mona, why don’t you go home and freshen up? I’ll call you when it’s time.”

She nodded again, unable to speak, stunned to find herself here holding Don’s hands almost as much as she was by the storm they were about to unleash.

Clayton cleared his throat. “I’d be happy to see you out, Mona.”

She looked apologetically at Don and gave his hand a little squeeze. “I’ll see you—well, I don’t know when I’ll see you.”

She turned in her seat and looked at the agents bunched up behind her. “Will he be at the press conference?”

Clayton didn’t allow them to answer her question. “It will be better for you to appear alone. Come on, now. You need to freshen up and get yourself ready.”

“I’ll see you when I see you, then,” she said to Don as she stood up. As she did, her back protested the uncomfortable chair and the days on edge. She rubbed the hollow of her back, realizing with a flutter of recognition that it was exactly the habit she had fallen into when she’d carried Hope. The only difference was that then, she’d rested a hand contentedly on her expanding belly.

A rush of emotions came over her, too fast for her to shove them down.

“You’ve had enough,” Clayton said as he saw her falter, taking her by the elbow as he took control of the situation. “It’s time to go.”

He hustled her out the door, pushing past the nameless, faceless men in suits and toward the elevator. She looked over her shoulder at Don, wondering what they planned to do with him.

Clayton stabbed at the elevator call button. When it didn’t light up, he punched at it, again and again.

“Clayton, it’s here,” she said softly as the doors silently slid open. She looked down to where he still clutched her arm and raised a questioning eyebrow.

He dropped her arm as if it were on fire. She began walking toward the open doors.

“Mona,” he burst out, stopping her. She turned to him to find him staring at the carpet, freed hand shoved into his pocket.

“Yes, Clayton?”

He stood there, silent. She wondered in the back of her mind if the elevator was going to leave without her.

“Please don’t.”

She stared at him, bewildered. He lifted his eyes to meet her stare, and the pain in them made her take a step back.

“Don’t let him hurt you.”

She raised her fingers to her mouth, only now realizing how Clayton must have felt watching her exchange with Don.

“Oh, Clay. I’m so sorry,” she said as she backed her way toward the elevator.

She heard the doors make a soft whoosh as they closed once again, cutting off her escape. Clayton. If it hadn’t been for him all those years ago, she would have never made it through the labyrinth of legal issues she’d dealt with and kept her job. He’d been the one to find her the best family law counsel in the city when she didn’t even know where to begin. The one who’d kept the firm’s partner election committee with its demands for more, more, more at bay when she was running on empty. He’d managed to stretch the window for her election out long enough for her to get back on her feet after she’d lost Hope to Don; he’d forced some other partners to throw her a bone when she’d let her pipeline of clients run
dry in the intensity of the custody battle. In some respects, she’d owed her career and her sanity to Clayton.

He had never asked for anything in return, and she’d never promised him anything. But as she looked at him now, she felt a stab of guilt. She’d never promised him anything, it was true, but she had also never told him no.

In fact, by her actions, she’d implied there was a future for them together. She’d always leaned on him. Always confided in him. She’d been ready with her excuses about why
now
was never the right time for them to embark on a more intimate relationship. First it was the tenuousness of her grip on her daily life as she adjusted to life without Hope. Then it was the awkwardness—and ickiness—of the power disparity between a junior and senior partner and what it might imply about their relationship.

Still, he’d waited, making his intentions plain to her. The years had gone by, and with them her excuses. Now, she realized, she had none left. She’d become a full senior partner, on equal footing with him; she’d been one for some time now. Until the events of the last few days, her situation with Hope and Don had settled into something that was probably as normal as it would ever get, a manageable routine with no surprises. If what had happened back in the interrogation room had finally forced her to realize that her stalling would never end, it surely must have made it plain to Clayton. If she had any doubt, all she had to do was look at the anguish on his face to know that he, too, finally saw the truth.

Her mouth seemed unnaturally dry as she struggled to find the words she needed to say. A commotion down the hall, back in the direction from which they’d just come, mercifully distracted him long enough for her to regain her composure.

“Let’s go see what’s going on,” she said quietly, avoiding Clayton’s eyes as she brushed past him.

They walked swiftly, not speaking to one another.

As they approached the investigation team’s hub, Mona noticed that the typically frenetic activity level was even higher than normal. Something had happened.

“What’s going on?” she asked to no one in particular, afraid of what she might hear.

“This,” someone she didn’t recognize answered, shoving an old-fashioned printout at her. She peered down, squinting to see the print of what she recognized as an AP newswire story.

“Triad?” she asked as she scanned the article, puzzled. She passed it to Clayton, who was hovering nearby, so he could read it, too. “What does that mean?”

It took a moment for anyone to even bother to answer her—they were too busy scurrying off to talk on their phones and peeling off into other offices. Finally one of the younger staff members—so young looking he could have been an intern—paused to explain what was happening.

“It means our girl Hope may have stumbled into an organized crime ring. Triad is nasty stuff, straight out of Asia. Gambling, extortion, prostitution—you name it; these dudes are bad. We don’t know if there is a connection yet, but since she made pals with some high roller like she did, we could be on to something.” He clucked his tongue like an old, gossipy woman. “Naughty, naughty.”

Before Mona even realized what was happening, Clayton drew himself up to his full height, pushing his face into the young man’s and shoving him in the shoulder. The flimsy wall of the cubicle shook as the startled man fell against it. Clayton grabbed him by the collar and shook him as he shouted.

“She wasn’t
pals
with this fellow. She’s the victim here. And she’s not
your
girl, not some random runaway picked up off the street.
She’s Ms. Carmichael’s daughter. Remember that. Show some respect.”

The young man shrank back against the wall, startled, raising his hands in the universal sign of no harm meant. “Of course, sir. We’re just excited.” He looked down at Clayton’s hand, still twisted in his shirt collar. His face turned beet red as he realized what Clayton meant for him to do.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Carmichael. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” she said softly, her eyes locked on Clayton. When he didn’t let go, she walked over and placed a hand gently on his arm. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the unspent rage.

“Clay. It’s okay. You need to let him go.”

Clayton shook his head as if he were waking from a dream. He abruptly let go of the young man. His face was flushed; whether it was from the exertion or from embarrassment, Mona couldn’t tell. “Fine,” Clayton said curtly, stepping away.

“Please, tell us what you know,” Mona asked the agent before anything more could happen.

The young man smoothed out his collar and rolled his neck as if testing to see if there was any more damage beyond the damage done to his ego. Finding none, he continued.

“It seems your daughter went missing again right after some big action in Vegas—a really nasty car chase and a huge fire that swept through a whole apartment complex. The investigators on the scene found a bunch of trafficked girls at the scene of the fire. The complex is owned by these nasties.” He pulled at the papers that Clayton was still clutching in his hand. “These guys are in custody because the buildings were being used for illegal sex trade activity, and local police think the cause of the fire was arson. It could be a coincidence, but then again, it might not be. We could have just had a big break.”

He was trying to be respectful, mindful of Clayton’s warning, but he couldn’t keep the note of excitement out of his voice. “This could be huge.”

“Good,” Clayton finally said, taking his turn to try to smooth things over. “What else is going on?”

The man shrugged. “Ma’am,” he said, looking politely at Mona, “you left your cell phone in the interrogation room. Looks like there are some messages on it.”

He pointed over toward an empty cubicle.

“We thought you’d already left, so we put it over there.”

“Good,” Clayton repeated, still feeling awkward about his behavior. “We’ll go look at that before I head over to prep my PR team—and before Mona heads home.”

“Fine, I mean, that would be great, sir.” The agent made his escape as quickly as he could, leaving Mona and Clayton to make their way to the cubicle.

Clayton stood over the desk inside it, staring at the standard-issue BlackBerry Mona had left behind. He picked it up and turned it over. A quiet smile crept across his face.

“You muted the ringer again,” he said, flicking the button before handing her the phone.