Taken (19 page)

Matthew accepted Jeffery’s read of the situation. Given what he said, Matthew worked out what best could be done. “We’ll have Shannon talk with you, we give it a few hours, and then I’ll suggest she call you later tonight, mention that again in the morning, again tomorrow night. I’ll keep pushing that she should call you until we make sure she’s going to keep the lines of communication open. As I said, stay emotionally level: ‘I love you. This is our parents’ problem, not ours. I’m still your same brother. Cindy wants you to come over and see the wedding photos.’ You’ll know what will work in the moment.”

Jeffery nodded. “Get her to call me and I can deliver on that.” He paced the room again. “In forty-eight hours this has gone from one of the best moments of my life to one of the worst. We need to be past this, Matthew.”

They heard the women coming down the stairs. Matthew moved to a nearby chair while Jeffery took a seat toward the opposite end of the couch, ensuring Shannon would sit between them.

Shannon came with Cindy into the living room. “Your daughter’s beautiful, Jeffery. And her room is a child’s delight.” She glanced over at Cindy with a smile. “I love what you’re doing with the house.”

“It’s been a joy. I can’t wait to have your help on paint samples and fabric choices. I’m trying to figure out how to finish the upstairs. Jeffery’s no help, I’m afraid.”

Shannon laughed.

“Sit and chat for a while,” Cindy suggested. “I’m going to go and freshen our drinks.” She took Shannon’s glass to add with her own. “I’ll be right back.”

Jeffery patted the couch beside him, and Shannon went to join him.

“I’m glad you came over tonight,” Jeffery said. “I so wanted you to get to see our Ashley. Cindy’s been busy getting an envelope full of pictures to send back with you, from the hospital on through first steps and first birthday cake.” He handed it to her.

Shannon thumbed through the envelope of photographs. She looked over and smiled as Cindy brought back their sodas. “Thanks, Cindy,” she said, holding up the envelope. “This is really nice.”

“I love pictures.”

“Me too.”

Shannon hadn’t brought in her canvas bag, so Matthew held out his hand. “I’ve got room in my pocket for those.”

Shannon handed him the envelope.

“I’m glad you came over tonight for a lot of reasons, Shannon,” Jeffery said, and Matthew heard in his tone of voice a shift in the conversation. “You can’t believe how nice it is to have you in this house. It’s a joy that you’re here. But a more serious reason I’m glad you’re here is that it gives me a chance to tell you a piece of news you’ll need to hear at some point—something I wish I didn’t have to say. Would you mind if I just got it over with tonight? It’s nothing to do with our relationship, but I’ve got something you need to know.”

His distress was obvious, and she reached out her hand to his, offered a tentative smile. “Okay. Just tell me.”

“Shannon . . . Mom made a mistake, a long time ago. I
wanted to tell you about it before you heard it from someone else. Dad . . . he isn’t your biological father.”

She blinked, and Jeffery wisely didn’t say anything more.

Matthew saw that control he’d seen in Atlanta smooth the emotion from her face, until calm became the only thing that showed through.

“Jeffery . . . you’re his son? You’ve checked?”

“I’ve checked.”

“Dad—” she stumbled on the word—“your father, I mean . . . he doesn’t want to see me?” she asked, her words both a statement and a question, and it made them all fight against tears.

“He will, Shannon. He needs some time to get his words together. Mom is trying to figure out how to ask your forgiveness, also for your having to find out this way.” Jeffery’s hand tightened around hers. “You’re my sister. I love you. They’re still Mom and Dad to the two of us. They are both so glad and relieved you’re back. They just need some time. They weren’t prepared . . . weren’t ready to explain this to you, to tell you what happened. Given the campaign, and the risk that some reporter makes this news into a story, telling you couldn’t wait. I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone other than family. I love you. Nothing has changed. We’re still family. They’ll figure out how to answer your questions. They just need some time.”

She slowly nodded. “Okay.” She looked over at Matthew. “We need to go.”

“Shannon . . .” Jeffery began.

Matthew stepped in and cut him off with a murmured, “Later, Jeffery,” then offered Shannon his hand.

To his credit, Jeffery didn’t try to intervene further, nor did Cindy. With softly said goodbyes and brief hugs, they walked them to the front door and let them leave.

Shannon’s vision would be blurry with the tears she wasn’t letting fall. Matthew put his arm around her waist as they left to make sure she didn’t trip going down the steps. He guided her into the car and helped her with the seat belt, ran a comforting hand down her arm that she didn’t appear to notice, walked around to the driver’s side, then silently held up his hand in the shape of a phone to let Jeffery know he’d call.

Matthew started the car, backed out of the driveway.

“I don’t want to go back to the apartment,” Shannon whispered.

“Choose a direction.”

“West.”

Matthew took any road heading west, set the radio to music. He reached over and put his hand over hers. She didn’t turn her hand to link with his, nor did she move it away. Instead she disappeared into her thoughts and tuned the world out.

D
id this have anything to do with my abduction?”

Matthew knew it was coming and had been dreading the question. Shannon was sitting with her hands neatly resting in her lap, her body still, subdued, her eyes on the passing roadway. “The early answer is no, but we don’t know. We’re looking.” He wasn’t sure what she needed from him right now, and he took a careful step onto thin ice, trying to get a feel for where her thoughts had taken her. “I can tell you something about the house where you were to have been taken, if you would find that helpful.”

“Tell me.”

The information she had previously insisted she didn’t want to know now barely stirred her flat and hollow tone.

“Eleven years ago the house was owned by Sanford Bliss. He died eight years ago from cancer. He’s a cousin of your father’s.”

She was quiet for a long time. “I vaguely recognize the name, but I don’t know him.”

“He may have been an innocent third party to this. Maybe your being dropped off on his doorstep was supposed to happen
after the ransom had been paid, after this was over, because he could be trusted to get you back to your family.”

She looked over at him. “An interesting possibility.”

“They grab you, a ransom gets paid, they drop you off with a family member, and keep driving. There’s elegance in its simplicity, if I can describe a horrific act in those terms.”

“Or it could be something entirely different.”

Matthew hesitated. “Yes. At the other extreme, Sanford may have been solely responsible for arranging your abduction. Maybe he had a problem with your father, and abducting you for ransom would be a fast way to make his point and cost your father dearly while at the same time he’ll play the hero and bring you home. The middle ground answer, Sanford and your uncle were working some scheme together. We just don’t have the answers yet.”

“Thank you for finding out about the house,” Shannon finally said. “But there’s an option you haven’t mentioned.” She sighed and continued, “My mother knew her affair was going to come out, was facing her marriage ending in a divorce, and to save her marriage she arranged to have me taken to Sanford in the hopes that my few-days’-long abduction would so shake my father—” she faltered—“her husband, that he’d accept me even if I wasn’t his child. If that didn’t work, and he still threw us out, she’d use the ransom money as a nest egg for both of us.”

That answer was just as plausible as his own theories—more even, because it summed up all the moving pieces. And yet it presented a devastating reality for her, and he desperately wanted something different to be the truth. “Don’t run that direction, Shannon. It will eat you alive. Suspend judgment for now. Let us figure this out so you’ll know, and then you can deal with the actual truth, not guesses.”

“Who’s my real father?”

Matthew would have closed his eyes if he were not driving. “Jeffery doesn’t know,” he replied. He glanced over to her. “Do you want to know?”

“Yes.”

“You can ask your mother.”

“No,” she whispered.

Matthew pondered the options, but none were particularly good. “My firm can find out,” he finally said. “Twenty-eight years ago, who was in your mother’s life? Work out the possibilities from there, figure out how to get a DNA sample from the most likely possibilities—a tossed-out coffee cup or water bottle, for starters—then run discreet DNA tests to confirm a suspicion until there’s a yes.”

“I need to know.”

“I’ll make a call.”

She was crying and trying to do so quietly. And she was breaking his heart. He retrieved the box of Kleenex he’d put in the car. “Your tears aren’t going to bother me . . . well, not too much,” he said with an attempt to lighten the mood. “Go ahead and let them come. You’ll feel better afterwards. I have that on good authority from Becky—tears are helpful.”

Shannon wiped her eyes. “Quit being nice, okay?” she whispered.

It was a good thing he was driving or he’d wrap her in a hug and not let go . . . and wasn’t that a tough twist to deal with? He settled for reaching over, lightly brushing a hand down her arm. “It will eventually be okay, Shannon. That I can promise you. Even this eventually gets better.”

“Yeah.” She found another tissue. “Don’t look my way when my face gets all splotchy with crying.”

The ache in his heart eased a bit. Vanity he could deal with. He offered her a small smile. “I’ll think kind thoughts even if you look like you’ve cried a river.”

She attempted a smile in return. “And what an image that gives. I’m probably going to do so tonight.” She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes again. “I’d like to bawl, and won’t that be a pleasant thing.” She blew her nose and rested her head back against the seat.

He saw her eyes were closed but she was still crying. He didn’t say anything. She needed to cry, needed the pain to wash out tonight so that tomorrow she could begin picking up the pieces. She’d taken the worst hit he could imagine and was going to get through it. He’d figure out a way to help her do that. She’s shown him repeatedly that she was a survivor. She’d make it past even this.

The sun was coming up. Matthew stopped and bought her a pair of sunglasses as they looped east, back into Chicago. She’d cried her heart out over the course of the night’s drive—her eyes had to be burning.

She’d finished a sport drink and ate some of the oatmeal cookies he’d tucked in a ziplock bag in anticipation of a long drive. He’d get some real food in her when he could. They would be back to the apartment within the hour.

“Matthew?”

He’d hoped she was dozing, as she’d been silent the last half hour. He looked over at her. “Hmm?”

“My friend should have called by now. I think she’s dead. Tell Paul I’ll give him what I have tomorrow.”

There was no emotion left in her voice, but he could read the
body language: drooped shoulders and folded arms, the break in her voice. Her sadness was overwhelming.

“I’ll tell him, Shannon,” he said gently. “You can take another day if you need it before you talk with him.”

She shook her head. “It’s time.”

He reached over for her hand, squeezed it. “I’m sorry.”

She gave a jerky nod.

There was nothing he could say that would help. She’d been holding on to hope for so many days. To give up had to feel like a betrayal, of accepting a reality she so wished to change. He wondered how many prayers God had just let pass by with the continued silence from her friend. He’d like to know her name, details about how Shannon knew her. But those questions would only make this moment worse, so he put them aside.

“One thing, Matthew—I’m still not prepared to tell Paul the address where I was to be taken. All that answer does right now is open up more questions.”

“I promised to keep that address between you and me, and it will stay that way until you tell me otherwise,” he reassured.

They reached the parking garage just after six a.m. He pulled into a space and turned off the ignition, but neither of them moved.

“Thanks for just . . . driving me around. That was nice of you.”

“I wish I could have done more. This will get better, you know that, Shannon. Give yourself time.”

“Sure.” She sighed and pushed open the car door. As they walked through the connecting tunnel to the elevator, he put his arm around her shoulders, offered a hug. She was staggering from the lack of sleep, from the bitter knowledge of her parentage.
And further, he was well aware that his heart was entwining with this woman in ways he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

Once they were back in the apartment, he gave her a smile, stepped aside. “Head to bed. Text or call me when you wake up. I’m going to crash across the hall.”

She nodded and disappeared down the hall.

He rubbed his own burning eyes, then walked across the hall, debating the value of a hot shower to ease the aches in his body. The night had gone about as bad as he’d feared, but it was over. He pulled out his phone and called Jeffery.

Matthew was working on his laptop at the kitchen table when Shannon appeared a little after four p.m. Her tears had ended, and it looked like she’d slept. “Hungry?” he asked, trying to assess her mood. It was hours after an emotional explosion, and for his daughter this had always been the most fragile time.

“A bit.” She pulled out a chair at the table.

He lifted his mug of coffee. “I’ve had breakfast in place of an early dinner and saved some for you, if that suits.”

“Sure.”

He walked over to the stove, plated bacon and scrambled eggs, added fried potatoes he’d kept warm. “It tastes better than it looks,” he told her as he put the plate in front of her.

She half smiled. “I’m always good with fried potatoes.” She ate in silence, and he didn’t try to introduce a topic.

He wasn’t sure how Shannon regrouped—whether it was pushing aside the issue and moving forward with other activities while she processed it, or if she needed the opposite—to circle back around and talk it through before she could move on. He had a feeling, though, that explosions in her world during the
last eleven years hadn’t been followed with conversations. Just to survive she would have learned to bury the matter and move on, because she had no choice.

Shannon finished the meal and took the plate to the dishwasher, came back with a refill to her glass of milk. She rested her head on her crossed arms.

He could see she was physically blitzed. Mentally, emotionally . . . it was still hard to read her, though. The thing he most feared was that she had made the decision to walk away from Chicago, from all the pain and tragedy she was facing. That she’d possibly cracked in a way he couldn’t help repair. “Do you regret returning home?” he asked quietly.

She raised her head to look at him. “No. Jeffery needed to know I was okay.”

She sat up, propped an elbow on the table, rested her chin on her palm. “I need paper maps I can mark up, a national one and state maps for the lower forty-eight. Could you arrange that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to go shower, wash my hair. Maybe later tonight I’ll paint my nails.”

He smiled. “Want me to find you a bunch of colors so you can rainbow your toenails while you’re at it?”

She looked at him with a small smile. “Becky?”

He nodded. “I’m an expert on nail polish now. She needed those bits of fun.”

“I’m fine with my present raspberry pink.” She pushed back her chair. “Feel free to do whatever you want tonight. You don’t need to stay around here. I’m not leaving this place. I’ve got some work to do to get ready for the conversation with Paul tomorrow.”

She hadn’t changed her mind about talking with Paul. “Anything I can help with?”

“Just the maps.”

“I’ll make a call and get them sent over.” He nodded to the laptop. “Some of this is business from home, some is follow-up with Theo and Paul. I’ve got a couple hours of this before I figure out the rest of my evening.”

She nodded and stepped away, hesitated, turned back. “I have something else for you.”

“Okay.”

She disappeared and returned with a book in her hand—another diary, he realized.

“This is from year four. I got it from a box in Atlanta before I met up with you. Sorry they’re out of order. I’m not sure where Flynn put most of them. Don’t feel you need to read it.”

“Shannon . . . I would like to read it, if you’re okay with me doing that.”

She held it out. “Same conditions. No questions. And it doesn’t go to anybody else unless I want it to.”

“Agreed.” He accepted the diary. “Thank you for trusting me.”

She gave an awkward nod and left him. He held it in his hands a moment, then set the diary aside. Maybe tomorrow. He couldn’t handle another one quite yet.