Dina Santorelli (20 page)

"
Hmmm
...
So you're saying that loyalty is something you learn?"

"It's
something you earn," Jamie said.

Bailino
looked out at the water. His heavy breathing, which she had become used to
hearing, was inaudible so close to the river.

"So
we both agree that loyalty is not something you're born with," Bailino said.

"No...
Well..." Jamie stammered. The thought of finding common philosophical ground
with Bailino repulsed her. "I guess what I'm saying is that I think loyalty is
steadfast." She squeezed a small mosquito that landed on Charlotte's cheek; she
could feel them biting her legs. "I think that if you're committed to
something, then the right thing is to go through with it. If it's real loyalty,
then there's nothing... nothing that can break that bond, even if you have
misgivings."

Charlotte grabbed Jamie's face and pointed again to the water.

Bailino
was quiet, which made Jamie anxious. She wanted to show that she was smart and
capable, but now wondered if she had made any sense at all. Maybe she should
have stayed quiet—she had a tendency to ramble, particularly when she was
nervous, her point getting lost in a string of non sequiturs, or so Bob, the
debate king, liked to tell her. She flinched when Bailino held out his hands
again.

"Don't
you want to go to the water?" he asked Charlotte. His voice was gentle, in a
way Jamie had never heard it before. His eyes had softened, the deep creases on
his forehead relaxed.

Confused,
Charlotte looked at Jamie and then back at Bailino. She didn't know what to
do. Then, slowly, Charlotte took her arms from around Jamie's neck and just let
them flop down. She leaned away from Jamie in Bailino's direction.

"That-a-girl,"
Bailino said, scooping her up. He held Charlotte in his right arm capably, in a
way in which she was both comfortable and secure, as if he'd been holding
children his whole life, and headed straight for the water, his feet now
submerged. As the pair walked away, Charlotte turned in Jamie's direction and
extended her hand to signal that she wanted Jamie to follow along.

Jamie
was stunned. She felt betrayed and a bit humiliated. But she was still alive.

Bailino
placed Charlotte on the ground, and the little girl squealed with delight as
the cold water covered her toes. She bent down and touched the water with the
tips of her fingers. Jamie looked around.
What was stopping her from just
running?
She could make a break for it. Was there really no one around for
miles, as Bailino had said? Bailino had his back toward her and was pointing
out a fish jumping out of the water to Charlotte, who wasn't looking for Jamie
anymore.

But
something wasn't right. Was this a trap? Or a test? With his back turned, was
he pulling a
Charlotte
on her—standing there with outstretched hands,
testing her loyalties?

Then
something dawned on Jamie. Could it be possible that Charlotte had not
abandoned her at all, had not switched loyalties at random, but had a sense,
the same sense that Jamie had, that Bailino was her ticket out of there and that
it was better to keep him happy? She watched Bailino splash Charlotte with
water. In the little girl's eyes, if Jamie trusted the big scary man, or so it
seemed, and Charlotte trusted Jamie, then wouldn't it make sense that Charlotte should trust him too?

Charlotte was pressing both hands onto a pair of moss-covered
rocks, watching the waves ripple around them, as Jamie walked beside her.

"Waa,
waa, waa," Charlotte said, smiling.

"Yes,
water," Jamie said.

"The
kid loves the water," Bailino said, sitting on a tall rock. Charlotte picked up
a small stone and threw it into the stream and giggled. She lifted up another
one and was startled by a small frog and fell backward. She started to cry and
crawled toward Jamie on all fours.

"It's
all right." Jamie wiped the mud from Charlotte's knees. "Just a frog." They
watched the tiny creature hop away into the weeds. "You see? He's going home to
his mommy and..."

Jamie
caught herself. She'd said
mommy
. She didn't mean to. It was a habit,
something she used to say to Peter and Sara when they'd have run-ins with mice
and frogs in the backyard. Charlotte seemed to look at her for a moment, as if
the word conjured up a distant memory, but then she kicked her feet to get back
down on the ground. This time, Charlotte held onto Jamie's pant leg for
steadiness while she picked up nearby rocks to toss into the water.

"Are
you happy?" Bailino asked her. She could feel he had been studying her as he
sat leisurely on the rock, as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"Happy?"
Jamie asked.

"Yeah,
you know, in your life." He paused. "Your
real
life."

It
was odd to hear Bailino categorize what exactly was going on here, intimating
that her being at the cabin with Charlotte and him was some sort of fantastical
extension of life, rather than the real thing, and it dawned on her for the
first time that perhaps he was not only speaking about her, but himself as
well.

"Yes,"
she said. "I am." She paused and then felt the urge to keep going. "I wasn't
happy for a long time, though."

"You
mean, in your marriage?"

Jamie
didn't answer. A canoe had come into her line of sight. There were two rowers,
and both of them picked their oars out of the water to wave. Bailino waved
back, and although she couldn't see his face, she heard him say, "Wave." She
obeyed and waved, and, following Jamie's lead, Charlotte did too. The rowers
put their oars back in the water and continued on their way.

"So,"
Bailino asked, readjusting himself on the rock. "Why weren't you happy for a
long time?"

"I
was married to a guy I didn't love—didn't even like—for eight years."

"Why
would you marry someone you didn't love?"

Jamie
picked up a rock and threw it far into the water. Charlotte giggled.

"Nice
arm," Bailino said, impressed.

"My
brother taught me how not to throw like a girl."

"So
why would you marry someone you didn't love? You told me this morning you got
caught up in something. What?"

Jamie
picked up another rock.

"I
know," Bailino smirked. "I'm very persistent."

"It's
a long story, why I married Bob."

"I'm
not going anywhere."

Jamie
hesitated. She thought about her mother lying in bed, frail, her eyes sunken,
long strands of hair laying on her pillow and sheets, her lips so chapped that
they went through a tube of Chap Stick every day.

Sensing
her struggle, Bailino stood up. "All right," he said. "Let's head back."

Relieved,
Jamie picked up Charlotte, who was filthy and reluctant to go and was doing the
body-as-a-board thing again, but Jamie held her firmly until the little girl
settled down in her arms. As they followed Bailino back up the hill toward the
log cabin, Jamie was aware of how comfortable she felt having him in front of
her this time, where she could see him, rather than having him follow behind,
as he had on the way to the river.
It was always easier to know what was in
front of you, what's ahead, wasn't it?
she thought. If only her mother had
thought the same way, had given her and Edward and everyone enough time to
prepare.

Jamie
watched Bailino stride past the trees and the rocky terrain with ease, like he
owned the place, which he did. She knew he was going to ask her questions again
and again until he got the answers he wanted—that satisfied him—of that she was
sure, but that was the least of her concerns. In a few hours, it would be dark,
and she would have to spend another night with him. Her stomach tightened as
she remembered Bailino on top of her, grunting, sweating, unrelenting. She was
going to have to brace herself for the inevitable and face the fact that Edward
was not going to rescue her, that no one was. She was on her own.

But
not alone. Jamie ran her hand over Charlotte Grand's head, which rested on her
shoulder. She would have to be strong, and smart, for the both of them, but
what that meant Jamie wasn't sure. She thought of Bailino's hot, piercing eyes
in the dark of the bedroom. She was going to have to look the wolf right in the
eyes and challenge him—not with threats or violence, Lord knows that didn't
work, but in a way that would gain his respect and confidence, and maybe, just
maybe, she'd get her chance.

"You
all right?" Bailino asked, turning around, but without slowing down.

"Yes,"
Jamie nodded.

And
the time to start was now.

Jamie
juggled Charlotte higher in her arms and picked up her pace until she was
walking side by side with Bailino. She looked straight ahead at the log cabin,
which had just come into view, but from the corner of her eye, she could see
Bailino was looking at her. And smiling.

Pandemonium erupted at the
Executive Mansion as news of Charlotte's disappearance hit the major news
outlets, all of which had reps camped just outside the black iron gates,
rendering the narrow sidewalk, as well as Eagle Street, unnavigable.

Detective
Nurberg watched the commotion from the mansion entrance. This was exactly what
he was trying to avoid. In the last hour alone, the department had gotten
fifteen calls from individuals claiming to have spotted ten-month-old Charlotte
Grand from places as far away as Tucson and San Francisco. His small staff,
already taxed, was spending its time mired in paperwork and chasing down
dead-end leads. And to top things off, Nurberg left his folder and notepad in
his car, which he had to park in the museum lot around the block. He had no
desire to trudge through that mayhem again to get them.

"Detective
Nurberg?"

Nurberg
was greeted by the governor's press secretary, Leonard Maddox, who had been
sent to escort him into the mansion. He was told that the governor and his wife
were trying their best to remain out of public sight.

Not
so much this morning, huh, governor
,
Nurberg thought about Phillip Grand's midmorning jaunt to Taryn's Diner. He
followed the press secretary inside.

Maddox,
a small, stout man with a pointy nose, looked exhausted. He had been with the
Grands since the governor was first inaugurated six years ago and served as
Katherine Grand's right-hand man. Nurberg spotted him on the news about an hour
ago making a brief statement about Charlotte's disappearance, after which he
avoided all of the press' inquiries, but promised regular updates, pretty much
defying Nurberg's instructions about keeping things quiet.

"I
saw you on TV," Nurberg said as they walked.

"Detective,
no offense, but I don't answer to you. I answer to the First Lady."

He
stopped just before the Drawing Room and prompted Nurberg to enter. The Drawing
Room, historically, was a place for after-dinner socializing at the mansion,
although the mood this evening was somber, in spite of the ruckus outside. The
room was also where the governor was officially inaugurated every four
years—the day before the public swearing-in. Phillip and Katherine Grand were
sitting on a pair of facing velvet red sofas that flanked a large fireplace,
over which hung a portrait of Nelson Rockefeller.

"Detective
Nurberg." Governor Grand pushed himself up, using the sofa's armrest. He too
looked quite tired. "Please, come and sit down."

Nurberg
shook the governor's hand, and as he sat down he caught the eye of Mrs. Grand,
who was glowering at him.

"Mrs.
Grand." Nurberg said, with a nod of his head.

"How
did this happen?" Katherine Grand looked as if she had eaten something horribly
bitter and was looking for a plate—or a face—to spit it into.

"Ma'am?"

"This,
this... media circus," she said, pointing outside. "What kind of operation are
you running here, Nurberg? The
Titanic
had fewer fucking leaks."

"Katherine..."
Phillip Grand shook his head apologetically.

Nurberg
was defensive. "The leak didn't come from my end, Ma'am."

"Detective,
you have scores of people working at the station. Any one of them could have
called that freak Harvey Levin."

"Mrs.
Grand, I could say the very same thing about your staff, but pointing fingers
isn't going to help matters and isn't going to help find your daughter."

Mrs.
Grand folded her arms across her chest and let out an irritated sigh.

"What's
the status on the investigation, Detective?" the governor asked.

"I
wish I had better news," Nurberg said. "But, at this point, I'm afraid we
haven't come up with anything concrete."

"Jesus!"
Katherine threw her hands up in the air.

"Mrs.
Grand," Nurberg said, trying to remain calm and reminding himself that it was
Mrs. Grand's daughter who was missing and that she had every right to be
perturbed. "I have interviewed every mansion staff member, chased down every
lead personally. I assure you that we have done everything we can."

"Well,
it looks like it's not enough." Katherine stood up. Nurberg could tell she was
gearing up for another tongue-lashing. "You mean to tell me that with every
news station and Web site now broadcasting the disappearance of my daughter,
there's nothing new for you to report?"

"Tons
of calls are coming in, Mrs. Grand, but none so far have panned out."

"Tons
of calls?" Phillip asked. "From where?"

"From
everywhere," Nurberg said. "California. Arizona. Louisiana. South Carolina.
It's keeping my office quite busy." He glared at Mrs. Grand. "
This
"—Nurberg
pointed toward the front window, where even through the heavy red drapes, the
bright lights of the news cameras were visible—"was not part of the plan. At
least, not yet." Nurberg was standing now. "I wasn't the one on the news today
making a statement."