Gone (6 page)

Right now, the room was furnished for an infant. The baby bed would have to be converted to a toddler’s bed. The changing table would have to go, as well. She could get a small table and chairs like the one at Rhoda’s house, and a blackboard. A poignant smile lit Marcie’s face as she imagined Joshua sitting at the table while she taught him letters and words. Her baby had grown into a little boy and she’d missed it, but now they had found him. She set the block on the dresser, turning it so that the
J
faced outward.

Her mood slightly brighter, she headed downstairs. Joe was at the computer, and Joshua’s face filled the screen. Marcie gasped in surprise when she saw it. “Oh, Joe. Look at him. What’s he holding?”

Joe zoomed in on Joshua’s hands, so close Marcie could see the date on the newspaper he held.

“It’s today’s! It’s Joshua and he’s okay! Joe!”

Joe clicked the mouse to zoom the photo outward until the full photo was visible.

“He’s crying. Do you think they hurt him?” Marcie said, her voice breaking. She reached out as if to wipe the tears off his cheeks. “Zoom in. I want to look at his face.”

“I’m trying to see what kind of place they’re holding him in. But it’s dark.”

“Do you think they’re making him stay in the dark?”

“No, hon,” Joe said. “See? I misspoke. It’s not really that dark, just a little too dim to see much of the room. You’re positive that’s Joshua?”

“What? Of course it is. Why would you ask?”

“It’s been two years. I just need to be absolutely sure.”

Marcie put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Go back up to his eyes. Remember that tiny mole just above his right eyelid?”

“Tiny mole?”

She chuckled. “It’s just above the fold of his right eyelid. See? Right there?”

Joe looked more closely. “That’s a mole? I never noticed it.”

“You’re just his father. I’m his mother,” she said teasingly, leaning down and pressing her cheek against his hair.

He sighed deeply in relief. He looked up at her. “It’s Joshua.”

“Our child is alive. He’s healthy. I don’t think he’s crying there because he’s hurt. I think he’s angry—probably because he has to hold the paper.” She pointed at the screen. “See the little wrinkle in his forehead? He always looks like that when he doesn’t get what he wants. Such a deep little frown.”

She smiled and went on. “The woman took good care of him, and now we’re going to get him back. I’m not sure I’ve ever been so happy in my life.” She took a long breath. “I can’t wait to have him back.”

“I know,” Joe said. “Me, too. I wish I could have gotten a glimpse of him at Rhoda’s house, but I did hear her talking to him. She does love him. And he called her Gramma. I think you’re absolutely right. I think he’s just fine.”

Joe switched screens and pulled up the second photo that Howard had sent. It was a close-up of the label inside the neck of the tiny shirt Joshua had been wearing the day he was abducted. Joe studied it, then zoomed in and studied it some more. “It’s blurred,” he muttered.

Marcie leaned in and looked at it more closely. “Yes, but you can make out the letters, colors and pattern. It’s one of the labels your mother had monogrammed for us when he was born.”

“You sewed all those in his clothes?”

“Yes,” she said. “You mean you never noticed?”

He was still studying the label. “I knew there were labels with his name on them, but I couldn’t tell you what they looked like. You’re a hundred percent positive?”

“Yes. The font, the color and my awful, uneven stitching. I still have some, if you want to compare.”

He shook his head. “Nope.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, then got up and started pacing.

“What’s wrong?” Marcie asked. “Is it the money?”

“Of course it’s the money,” he said. “In fact, I need to go to the bank and get it. I have no idea what I’m going to tell them.”

“You don’t have to tell them anything, do you? How much do we...do you have anyway? Do you really have a hundred thousand dollars?”

Joe gave her a searching look. “Marcie,
we
have a little over a hundred thousand, plus Joshua’s trust that Kit set up, which we can’t touch.” He frowned. “I guess I could borrow another hundred K from her, with Joshua’s trust as collateral.”

“Oh,” Marcie said as a thought occurred to her. Kit Powers, Joe’s mother, was rolling in money. “Maybe that’s why they thought you could get half a million dollars. Because you’re her son.”

Joe didn’t answer her. He’d stopped pacing and was staring toward the window with a pained expression on his face.

“Joe? What is it?”

“Hmm?” His gaze met hers. “Oh. Nothing. I was just thinking about Joshua. About how much of his life we’ve missed.” He held out his arms to her and she stepped into the circle of his embrace, sighing as he enveloped her in the warm strength of his arms.

“I know. He’s a big boy now. I need to change his room. Convert the baby bed into a toddler bed, get him a table and chairs where we can work on his letters and numbers.”

Joe’s arms tightened. “Hey, you’re not going to cry again are you?”

“It’s just that I’m afraid that man will hurt him.”

“Hey.” Joe pulled away to look down at her. He touched her cheek. “Rhoda’s there. You saw from her house how well she was caring for him. She’ll keep him safe.”

“Promise me,” she said. “Promise me we’ll have our baby back here wi—” She stopped before the words
with us
could escape her lips.

Joe bent his head and placed his mouth near her ear, his warm breath playing over her cheek and jaw. “We’re going to get him back, Marcie. I swear.” He pressed his lips to her ear, then scattered small kisses across the line of her jaw, up her cheek and temple to her forehead and down her nose. He drew in a deep breath and touched the corner of her mouth with his lips.

She parted her lips and sighed and Joe kissed her. It was soft yet firm, not deep or sexual. It was a reassuring kiss, a comforting kiss, and it brought tears to Marcie’s eyes.

“Our son is coming home,” he whispered, then pulled her close and tightened his embrace.

She hugged him back. “Thank you, Joe,” she said softly. “Thank you.

“You look worried,” she said, laying her head against his shoulder. “Are you afraid we don’t have enough money?”

“Not really,” he replied, pressing his cheek against her hair. But then he let go of her and backed away. “But it’s going to take a while to get it all together. So I’d better get going.”

“What should I do?”

“Stay by the phone, just in case. I’ll unforward it from my phone. I sure don’t want to be talking to him while I’m trying to withdraw every dime we have.”

“But, Joe, I don’t want to talk to him, either. What if I say something wrong?”

“Just follow your instincts. I don’t think he’ll call back until tomorrow, like he said. But if he does, you just yell and scream at him like I know you want to, okay?” He kissed her forehead. “You’ll do fine.”

Marcie watched him walk out to the car, then she glanced around her. The kitchen was clean. She’d vacuumed the whole house just a couple of days before. There was nothing else she could think of that needed to be done. On the hall table, just inside the front door, she saw the pile of newspapers that she’d tossed there. That’s what she could do. She’d have a cup of coffee and see if she could catch up on the past few days’ news. She doubted she could concentrate enough to get through all the newspapers, but she could at least glance through them. She picked them up and headed to the kitchen. Maybe they would keep her occupied until Joe got back.

Chapter Six

“Joshy!” Rhoda said sternly. “I know you’re tired of hot dogs, but that’s all we’ve got, other than cereal and an apple.” Thanks to that idiot Howard, who had no idea what three-year-olds ate. “Want some cereal?”

“Ceweal!” Joshy said. “Gramma has ceweal!” He toddled over to where his bouncy ball had rolled to a stop and picked it up. He threw it with all his might. It sailed about four feet and bounced against the metal wall and came back toward him. He giggled and tried to catch it.

“Get over here then. I have to hold the bowl, because stupid Howard didn’t give us a table. He was probably afraid I’d take one of the legs off and hit him over the head with it.” She poured milk from the cooler over the oat rings.

“Oh, no. Tupid Howarr,” Joshy said, running over to the cot where Rhoda was sitting. “Me hold it.”

“No. I’ll hold it. Now be a good boy and eat.” She let Joshy pick up the spoon and feed himself while she held the bowl close to him in case he spilled. While she waited for him to finish, she looked around the small wooden building. She knew what this place was. Howard slept here when he spent several nights on Bayou Picou, fishing. She didn’t know whom it belonged to, but she’d been there on a couple of rare fishing trips with him. It had dark shutters on the windows, a portable chemical toilet and a gas generator. The lights were on right now, but she knew he couldn’t run the generator 24/7, so she wondered what his plans were. If he had any. Knowing him, he hadn’t thought past getting her and Joshy away from her house and making sure there was nothing in this place she could use as a weapon or a means of breaking out.

Joshy was finished with his cereal. He leaned down and slurped at the bowl, then peered up at her. “Gramma, look. I’n a good boy.”

Rhoda smiled and kissed him on the forehead. “Yes, you are. Are you done now?”

He nodded as milk rolled down his chin.

A loud banging echoed through the building. Joshy jumped and started crying. “It’s okay, darling,” Rhoda said. “It’s just stupid Howard.”

Rhoda set Joshy’s bowl on the counter while she listened to Howard undo the padlock that kept the cabin locked. Joshy clung to her side.

“Rhoda!” Howard called. “Get away from the door. I ain’t about to have you trying to attack me and getting out the door.” The door swung slowly open, revealing Howard standing on the balls of his feet, apparently ready to rush her if she tried anything.

Rhoda laughed at him. “You’re such an idiot, Howard. I’m not going to try anything that might put Joshy in danger. You’ll screw up soon enough and Joshy and I will just walk right out of here.”

“Rho, I need help,” Howard said. “I’ve gotta figure out a foolproof way to get the money and get us out of here without getting caught and hopefully without getting anybody hurt.”

“Right,” she said. “Good luck with that. I hope you brought us some water. I couldn’t find any. And what are you going to do about that generator? I know you can’t leave it on all the time, but we’re going to need light, and if there comes a late cool spell we’ll need heat.”

“Aw, woman, quit your bitching. I’m going to take care of everything. I’ll turn the generator off at night when you two are tucked in, and I’ll turn it on in the morning, about the time you get up. We’re supposed to have a thermostat and timer for it, but there’s a couple of folks who haven’t ponied up the money yet.”

“We’re going to need more blankets then. Howard, why’d you have to bring us out here? What do you think I’m gonna do? Call the police? It wouldn’t take them ten minutes to figure out who he is,” she whispered.

“No, I don’t think you’ll call the police. I think you’ll take that kid and run. And I don’t want that, Rho.” He sat down on the cot. “I told ’em half a mil, Rho. Half a million dollars. I told Powers if he didn’t have that kind of money he knew where he could get it. I was talking about the Delanceys,” he finished with a sheepish grin.

“And now you need me to plan how you’re going to get the money? Well, forget it. I’ve never been so mad at anyone in my life than I am at you right now. And I promise you first chance I get, I’m going to
K-I-L-L
you. Now get up. Joshy needs to go to sleep.”

Howard stood with a grunt.

“Come on, Joshy,” she called. “Let’s get in the bed. Time for you to go to sleep.”

“But, Gramma, it’s light out. Play ball?” Joshy said, peering around Rhoda’s back at Howard. “Howarr, you go.”

Howard laughed. “Hey, Rho, the kid’s a smart-a—”

“Don’t talk like that around him,” Rhoda interrupted. “If you want any help from me, you’d better get us better accommodations.”

“Good grief, woman, what else could you ask for? There’s electricity, food, bottled water to drink—”

“I need water to clean with,” she insisted.

“I got you a five-gallon jug of water. It’s sitting right outside the door. You can come and get it.”

“What? You get it.”

“Aw, hell, no. You’re liable to run out. Heck no.”

“Me and Joshy are going to get into bed and read picture books, since there’s nothing else to do here. We’ll sit on the cot while you bring the water in. Then you can go start making arrangements for a better place for us to stay.”

“You’ve already got food and water. I got toys for the kid and books for you. What else do you want? A big-screen TV?”

Rhoda scowled at him. “It doesn’t have to be big-screen. And how about a microwave, and some more fruit. Yogurt, a couple of those microwavable complete meals that don’t have to be refrigerated.
Coffee
would be nice.”

Howard gaped at her. “Anything else, your highness? If I get you some of that, you’ll help me?”

“If you get me
some
of that, I won’t be waiting for you with an iron bar from that cot across your thick skull next time you come here. If you get me
all
of it, I might decide to help you, depending on what your plans are on the off chance this stupid scheme works.”

From behind her, on the cot, Joshy murmured, “Tupid Howarr.”

* * *

M
ARCIE
PACED
FROM
the foyer to the kitchen and back, over and over again. Every time she walked into the kitchen, her eyes went straight to the section of newspaper that she’d folded and laid on the counter and her anger ramped up another few notches.

She picked up the paper, skimmed the article again, although by now she could quote it word for word, then slapped it back down on the table.

When she’d first spotted Joe’s photo splashed across a double column, she’d stared in disbelief and shock. Then she’d read the headline—Local Attorney’s Connection with Delanceys Shocks New Orleans—and skimmed the short piece.

Joe? Her Joe was the illegitimate son of Con Delancey? For a moment, the words floated around in her brain like letters in alphabet soup and all she could do was wait for them to settle down. She felt the numb tingling of shock all the way to her fingertips, although why, she wasn’t sure. His mother was Kit Powers, Con Delancey’s long-time mistress. It made perfect sense that they’d had a child together.

Other things made sense now, too, like what Howard had said to Joe about getting the money.
If you ain’t got that money yourself, you and I both know where you can get it easy enough.
Joe’s kidnapped son was a Delancey. Joe could go to the Delanceys for the money.

Or could he? Everyone knew how the Delanceys felt about family. But they, like everyone else in the New Orleans metropolitan area, had seen the paper by now. How were they reacting to the news that Con Delancey had a bastard son?

She found herself back in the foyer, looking through the sidelights at the street, dimly lit with street lamps. Where was he? She looked at her watch. Anger bloomed in her chest, squeezing the air from her lungs. He’d known all this and hadn’t told her. But when? When had he known? Just yesterday? Had he read the article with as much shock and trepidation as she had? Or had his mother told him years ago? It didn’t matter. In either case, he’d kept it from her.

But why? Embarrassment? Shame? Some misguided notion of protecting her or Joshua? Whatever the reason and no matter how angry she was, her heart ached for him. Through all the years they’d been together, he’d never talked about his dad. Whenever she’d tried to bring it up, he’d changed the subject or shut down. She’d always figured, given his mother’s lifestyle, that he didn’t know who his father was. That maybe even Kit didn’t know. Marcie had always resented Kit for that reason.

But whether Joe had known for hours or years, he should have told her. She was his wife. They had a child together. If anyone in the world deserved to know the truth about his parentage, it was her.

She thought about what he’d said as he’d left earlier. What if he had gone to the Delanceys to ask for the money without even consulting her?

She stalked back into the kitchen, picked up the paper and ripped the article out of it. She heard Joe’s car pull into the driveway. She clenched her fist, crushing the newsprint.

* * *

J
OE
UNLOCKED
THE
front door and stepped inside. “Marcie?” He looked down the hall toward the kitchen, but didn’t see her. He glanced into the living room and past it into the dining room as he walked across the tile foyer and into the kitchen. Marcie was standing at the French doors, looking out into the darkness.

“Where have you been?” she asked without turning around.

“I told you, to try and put together the money Howard is demanding. I also went by the office to see if I could find a Howard that lives in Killian or the surrounding area.”

“It’s late.”

“Not really,” he said. “It’s just a little after seven.”

She didn’t comment on the time. “So how much money did you manage to get?”

He looked at her rigid back and slightly lifted head. “Marcie? What’s wrong? Has something happened? Did Howard call back?” He started toward her, but she whirled to face him and held up a hand.

“Don’t,” she said. She held out her other hand, which held a wrinkled, torn piece of a newspaper.

The paper was crushed almost into a wad, but that didn’t matter. He recognized it. It was the article. She’d found it. His stomach felt like it had sunk to his knees.

“Did you drive over to Chef Voleur?”

“What?” he asked automatically, still staring at the article. “Chef Voleur? Why—? Oh. No, Marcie, I—” He stopped at the look in her eyes. If they were lasers his head would be exploding right now.

“Really? You didn’t go to the Delanceys and ask them for five hundred thousand dollars to pay a kidnapper for their grandson?”

“No, I didn’t. I have no reason to go to the Delanceys for money.”

Her glare didn’t cool one degree. “No? Do you think I can’t read, Joe? That I wouldn’t see this? That I can’t figure out what’s happening here? This—” she waved the wrinkled piece of newsprint “—is why our son has been kidnapped. That man read this article and figured he could get money from the Delanceys.”

Joe closed his eyes and shook his head. “I only found out a few days ago.”

“Really?” she said acidly. “You’re almost thirty years old and your mother never told you who your father was?”

“That’s right,” he said. “She came to see me on her way to her yoga class the other day. She told me that a police detective, Ethan Delancey, had come to see her. Said he had something she needed to see. And she, in turn, thought I needed to see it. Big of her, right? After all this time? I never asked about my father. I figured she didn’t know.” He shrugged. “I...never cared.”

Marcie stared at him. “Well, maybe you care now. Because it’s obvious that the reason these people have suddenly decided to demand a ransom for the child they
stole
and kept for two years as their own, is because they now know he’s a Delancey.”

Joe nodded. He didn’t have an answer for her.

“So why didn’t you go to them for the money?”

Her question shocked him. “Why—? Marcie, why do you
think
I didn’t go to them? This is not their problem. They have no reason to give me anything. The Delanceys never knew Joshua existed. Hell, they didn’t know
I
existed.”

Marcie’s cheeks flushed with anger and she held up the article again. “They know now, don’t you think?”

He nodded, not looking at her. He knew she had a right to be angry. But he wished she’d get over it and help him figure out what to do. He was angry, too, and frightened for their son. “You aren’t seriously suggesting I go walking up to their door and say, ‘Hi, I’m Joe Powers, your long-lost brother/uncle/whatever, and I need half a million in cash, thank you very much.’”

Marcie’s face began to crumple. “That’s exactly what you should do. My baby is out there, possibly cold and scared. I don’t even know if anyone is with him. They’re holding him hostage somewhere. He could be all alone. And if the only way I can ever see my son again is by crawling to the Delanceys and begging them for help, then I will do that.”

“No, you won’t!” Joe thundered. “They are
not
my family! I may happen to have been born because one of Con Delancey’s feisty little swimmers made it upstream to my mother’s—” He stopped. “I’m not a Delancey and I’m not going to go to them begging for money. I’ll take care of my son myself.”

Marcie folded her arms across her middle, a sure sign that she knew she was losing the argument. “They would give it to you,” she said stubbornly.

“Do you have any concept of how many people contact a family like the Delanceys every year, claiming they’re a long-lost relative? They’d have been broke long ago.”

“But you really are,” she said, still hugging herself, her eyes sunken and sad.

Joe started to speak, stopped, then started again. “It’s not going to happen.” His voice was flat and hard. He hated to talk to her like that, but she was headed down a dangerous path.

“How—how much money were you able to get?”

Joe looked down at his feet. “I took out all our savings and cashed out every asset I could convert to cash. Then I went to Kit.”