Not Without Her Child, page 5
And he receded to his corner. The office was big—one of the biggest rooms in the house—and he figured, since he could no longer smell the ocean freshness of her hair, she wouldn’t be able to detect any telltale identifier he might unknowingly give out. Once her conversation started and she was focused on Clint, she wouldn’t even know he was there.
Sliding down to the floor, to make certain that as the sun moved there wouldn’t be any chance of even a shadow of his shoulder showing up in the camera field, he leaned back, head lodged in the corner, eyes pinned on Jessica’s two-foot-wide computer screen.
She still wore the same figure-hugging gray pants, the silky shirt, she’d had on that morning at the airport.
Had it only been a matter of hours since he’d met her? That one was hard to comprehend. He knew it to be true. But didn’t feel like it was. Having spent the past night and day fully immersed in her, her life—and having spent the past several hours learning so much about her through her home and mannerisms—having felt her desperation so acutely—had made his sense of knowing her...timeless.
And had also made him certain that the only way to Brooke was through her kidnapper. Not from what he’d tell them, but from all the pieces of him that had formed into one hellacious, unforgivable action. Brian had to get enough pieces of the guy’s puzzle to figure out his whole picture. To know what he’d do with the daughter he’d stolen from her loving mother.
To know how he’d dispose of her.
“Hey, Jess. It’s so good to see you, babe.” The softly spoken, loving-sounding words hit Brian hard. Even more than the emotion pouring from the brown eyes on the screen. Other than the orange jumpsuit the guy was wearing, he could have been a movie star out to lunch. His sandy somewhat messy hair, the little bit of stubble on his perfectly shaped jaw, shoulders that were big enough to be attractive but not overpowering...a posture that spoke of comfort in his own skin...
“Don’t call me that.” The small square in the corner of the screen depicting Jessica’s face didn’t give Brian nearly enough. But he could feel the steel emanating from her.
“Sorry. I know I promised I wouldn’t do that. You just... I miss you.”
“Where is she, Clint?”
“You having a bad day?”
“No. Yes. Yes, I am, which is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Hey, Jess, seriously, what’s going on? Something’s happened. Tell me.” Clint’s tone changed, becoming not threatening and yet...not right either. Brian heard warning, but detected no hint of imminent danger—not in the man’s words, tone, delivery or body language.
Brian, on the other hand, felt every nerve in his body clench. She’d said having him there would ruin things. That Clint would be able to tell...
He could slide down, get on all fours, crawl out. She’d know he was gone, Clint wouldn’t see...
“Either you’re more of a heartless jerk than I ever knew or...you really are so self-absorbed that you forgot your own daughter’s second birthday.”
Today? Brian froze. He’d read reports, knew age, but hadn’t seen a birth certificate. Had had no idea... Anderson hadn’t said a word that morning about it.
Clint’s face softened again, into the same loving, compassionate expression he’d worn when he’d first popped into the meeting.
“Sorry, no, you’re right. And I didn’t forget. You can ask anyone here. At breakfast this morning, I talked about how we had to leave for the hospital in the middle of the night. How I was so nervous and scared you actually insisted on driving...”
Taken back, Brian froze, focused. Clint Johnson didn’t seem to get how off his comment was. How it made him look, being so caught up with himself that he couldn’t put his wife first.
Even when she was in labor?
“I talked about it during group last night, too,” Clint continued. “But...her birthday was Wednesday—”
“Well I don’t get by things as quickly as you do,” Jessica cut in, her tone different, too. Not as biting.
Brooke’s second birthday had been the night she’d called and left the message with Sierra’s Web. He’d been hired by noon on Thursday.
Her daughter’s birthday had prompted the call. Brian didn’t know if the news was significant, but he filed the information with everything else his brain was quickly compiling about the case.
“I know. And I’m sorry, Jess.” Seriously? The guy was sorry? Had the audacity to say so when he could end Jessica’s misery right then. Right there.
Incredulous, Brian stared at the screen.
“Tell me where she is, Clint.” Jessica seemed unfazed.
“I don’t know where she is.”
“Then how do you know she’s okay?”
“I know.”
“How do you know?”
The man’s shrug, his sympathetic expression, seemed so genuine as he replied with, “I just do.”
“So how was your week?”
Blinking, Brian’s gaze shot to the small square in the corner of the screen as his brain processed Jessica’s question. The change in her voice, the relaxation of her shoulders.
“Okay, you know, better than some. It’s warmer, so more time outside. But I think some of the guys are jealous of the way Jennifer really gets me in group.”
“Dr. Owens, you mean?”
“Yeah. She’s really happy with my progress, Jess. And, you know, I can see where I demanded too much of you, sometimes. But you know I didn’t mean it. I’ve always loved you, Jess. Only you.”
“If you wanted me to believe that you really care about me, you’d tell me where Brooke is.”
“See, that’s the thing Jennifer is helping me to figure out,” he said, leaning his arms on the table, bringing himself closer to the camera so his entire face filled the screen. “My psyche, or my soul...they know, deep down, that the only way to fix us, to fix me and to win you back, is to do it with just the two of us. We have to fix us, Jess, which means I have to fix me, before we can raise a family.”
Jessica didn’t move. Not onscreen. And not from where Brian was sitting.
“I did what I did for all of us, Jess. For our family. The family you said you always wanted. That’s what I’m trying to give you. I know it’s drastic...” Clint’s voice faded as he stared straight at the camera, his big brown gaze taking over the room. The man was good—maybe better than any actor out to lunch. Scary good.
“I just didn’t know of any other way, Jess. I was willing to spend my time in prison, if that’s what I had to do, to get us back on track. All you could see was the baby, not us. Not me.”
The woman just sat. As if in stone.
“I promise you, the baby’s fine, Jess. You’ll see. And someday you’ll understand why I had to do this. You’ll thank me for sacrificing myself for the bigger picture. To save our family.”
Brian’s stomach contents started to back up on him.
“I need to know she’s okay, Clint. I can’t just take your word for it. She had her second birthday. How do I know if she even got to celebrate it?”
“You have to trust me.”
“Clint.”
“Don’t you get it at all yet? Not even a little bit? You’re smart, Jess. It’s been fifteen months. I thought you’d start to get it by now. Most people would.”
“This is all about me being able to trust you.”
“Right!” The man smiled; an expression that seemed to exude happiness right out of the screen and into the room.
Brian wasn’t buying it. But only because he knew what the man had done. What he was still doing.
“I guess I need help, then. Give me something, Clint. My heart’s dying here. I spent all day Wednesday thinking about that first day in the hospital. You say you want me to think about us, to believe there could be a family. Then, please, give me something.”
There was truth in Jessica’s tone. And something else as well.
Maybe that same wall of resistance he’d been up against in the hallway moments before? A determination so fierce that she had the force to move mountains?
She hadn’t said she’d ever believe, only repeating back to him what he’d said he wanted. Brian caught the distinction.
Had a feeling, as smart as Clint was, he had to as well. The man on the screen sat back, arms folded, and said, “Tell me about your week.”
“Why did you have a gun?” Brian felt the accusatory darts in every word, watched Clint intently, but didn’t see any of them land. The man actually gave a lazy grin.
“You found it.”
“You know I vacuum under car seats, you have to have figured I’d run into it sooner or later.” Jessica pulled off the lie perfectly as far as Brian was concerned. But then, she’d had fifteen months of these weekly meetings.
Clint’s nonchalant shrug was convincing. For a man sitting in prison with a whole bunch of officials looking at him for murder, Clint Johnson seemed remarkably unconcerned. Could have been an act, but the rise and fall of his chest, slow and rhythmic, the steadiness of his stare...showed at the very least a physiological lack of turmoil.
“I’d have told you about it, but I know how you feel about firearms, having them around. Which is why I paid to have that pocket installed in the truck, and left the gun there at all times.”
“Why do you have it?”
“Remember when I told you about the guy at Blueit who had it in for me because I came in brand-new and found the program glitch that had been eluding him?”
“Mitch somebody...”
“Right. He followed me out to my truck a couple of times. Made me nervous. I knew he had a gun, heard him talking about buying it from a friend. Made me think that I should get one from a guy there at Blueit that I knew had a couple for sale, you know, just to show around that I’d done it, so Mitch would know to back off. It’s not like you need a license or any kind of registration for it in Arkansas when you buy it from a private individual...”
“You’ve owned a gun since before Brooke was born?”
“Yeah, but I swear, Jess, I put it in that pocket under the seat and never took it out again. Not once.”
“You’re sure? Because it’s being tested to see if it’s been shot...”
“I’m sure I never shot the thing. I can’t say what happened with it before I bought it.”
“Who’d you buy it from?”
“Guy named Blake Redmond.”
“That guy who delivered all the computer components when you were outfitting the office building?”
“Yeah. I’m surprised you remember him. You only saw him like once or twice.”
“Brooke threw her rattle and it hit him, remember? He picked it up and handed it back to you and said, ‘This ball’s in your court, Daddy.’”
“Yeah. Wow. I’d forgotten that.”
She’d handled the interview as good as many cops he knew. Brian half believed the guy himself.
“Tell me about your week, Jess.”
He got the rundown in exchange for random pieces of information that were supposed to be able to lead her to her Brooke. The fiend’s way of making her beg.
For less than crumbs.
Brian had to force himself to relax enough to stay still, to remain unemotional as, over the next twenty minutes, he heard about stocks rising and falling, about a tech drop and a new player on the market. Interest rates were rising, digital currencies played their part, and there was value in horses.
“Why do you care about horse value?” Clint’s comment came with more than casual interest. And a return of the nonthreatening yet tense tone.
“Research I’m doing for a client,” Jessica responded easily, and continued with her report.
She never mentioned actual dollar amounts, or identified clients in any way. Didn’t say whether it had been a good week or bad, if she was up or down financially, or even if she’d completed any projects.
The half hour was pretty much up, a minute or so left, when Clint, hands clasped on the table in front of him, sat forward.
“You asked if she celebrated her birthday,” he said softly, brows raised, expression compassionate. “She likes chocolate.”
The prisoner’s hand moved, Clint’s image was gone and the screen filled with Jessica’s despair.
* * *
For a split second, Jessica thought her heart was going to drown in agony. Clint was gone without giving Brooke back to her.
And then, as had happened every single week since her ex went to prison, she took a deep breath, sucking in pure determination.
For those few seconds, she felt irrevocably alone. Reaching for the journal she kept with all of Clint’s clues, she grabbed a pen, and heard shuffling behind her.
Brian.
Playback of the past half hour rushed through her mind. She’d actually been so focused on Clint, she’d completely tuned out the presence of her new employee.
Not yet ready to hear what he had to say, and needing him to come forward with an immediate plan to go out and get Brooke, she opened the purple book to the lined pages in the front where she was recording the list of Clint’s clues. The second half of the book—also lined pages—was filling up with her impressions, her thoughts, anything at all that came to her regarding Clint’s weekly visits.
She likes chocolate. Her pen held to the dot on the page as tears filled her eyes. She likes chocolate. In all of the supposed hints and clues Clint had given her, he’d never once told her anything directly about Brooke herself.
Her baby girl likes chocolate!
And... Jessica hadn’t offered it to her. Hadn’t seen the expression on her face the first time she’d tasted it.
What else did Brooke like? And not like? The reality of not knowing squeezed the air out of her lungs.
“Look at numbers four, eight, twelve...” Brian’s warmth beside her gave her air enough to hear his voice sounding from far off. His finger turning back the page of her book to the first entries, and then pointing to the numbers.
“Here,” he said, grabbing his laptop out of his satchel and pulling over a chair from the table to sit next to her. Opening his computer, he clicked twice and had some kind of workbook open in front of him.
“Read them to me,” he said, turning the screen toward him as he put his fingers on the keyboard, clicking as though opening a different page. “Every fourth clue.”
She stared at him. Wondering for a second what kind of game he was playing, ready to tell him she didn’t need him to pander to her, and realized that he was so focused on whatever was going on in his head, he didn’t even seem to notice her.
Other than as a source that could easily disseminate the information he wanted.
So she read. “‘Her blankie made it. A river runs through it. Time plays a part. Within feet not miles. Birds of Paradise. Where the greenest grass grows. In plain sight. More drawers would be nice...’” She paused. “He has to have seen her if he knows she likes chocolate.” Her tone changed, got stupidly high, as she blurted the words. “Or have heard from someone,” she added, dropping her pen to grab her phone and push the speed dial for Anderson.
In succinct, unemotional words, she told the detective on her daughter’s case that they needed to get prison records for all of Clint’s correspondence, phone calls and visitors. To find out who her ex had been talking to. And gritted her teeth as she heard his patient, almost condescending tone as he told her he’d check into it and then didn’t even take a breath before asking about the gun.
With a reminder that the man was on her side—even if he didn’t believe, as she did, that Brooke was alive and Clint knew where—she gave him an exact account of Clint’s gun explanation and knew, when she hung up, that the information would be verified within the hour.
Was thankful for that.
And thankful that, as the day was waning on another week gone, she wasn’t going into the weekend—and a search for chocolate—all by herself.
Whatever the chart on Brian Powers’s computer meant, she didn’t yet know, but as he turned the screen to her, revealing a long spreadsheet with all columns and rows denoted with abbreviations, she knew she’d made the right choice to hire the man.
If nothing else, he was unwittingly helping her to keep her sanity while she waited Clint out and searched for her baby girl.
Chapter 7
The woman was...intimidating. Her ability to fall apart and stand strong at the same time wouldn’t even compute for him if he hadn’t witnessed it on several occasions that day.
Most currently, as he listened to her professionalism with Anderson, while seeing the way her eyes were darting and her foot was bouncing.
She wouldn’t be happy to know he was noticing. Would stop both if she knew. He’d bet a year’s salary on that one.
He noted, too, the look of resignation on her face, and then the peace she brought to her expression as she hung up the phone.
Expecting her to get right back to the listing she’d been giving him—every fourth clue she’d been reading before she’d interrupted herself—he was surprised when she said, “He thinks Clint just made up the bit about Brooke liking chocolate.”
And she clearly didn’t think that.
Nor did she ask what he thought.
“Not surprising, based on the fact that none of his other tidbits have led to anything but your continued being at his beck and call, but he’s still going to run a check, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then what does it matter what Anderson, or anyone thinks, as long as they’re following up?”
Her gaze steady, assessing, she stared at him for a few seconds. Nodded. And glanced back at the page in her open journal.
