Touch & Go (32 page)

“Don’t.”

Single word, filled with more menace than I had anticipated. I drew up short, hesitant, then resumed holding my daughter’s hand.

The atmosphere in the tiny room now felt tense. Strange, really. Radar was a captor and we were captives. How else should it feel?

Except, of the three commandos, I trusted Radar the most. He was the caretaker, smuggling me methadone that clearly Z knew nothing
about. And he was good with Ashlyn. Competent, even compassionate in his administrations.

Then again, what had Z said about him? Radar would sell out his own mother if the price was right.

Yet this young man, kid really, knew things about Ashlyn and me that Justin didn’t even know. And not only had Radar kept my secret, he seemed to be trying to help me. To prepare me for life beyond these prison walls.

I tried to picture my old life, or maybe the new life that would begin sometime after 3:00 P.M. tomorrow. Wearing my own clothes. Sleeping in a room with the lights off. Returning to my family and friends, one of whom had most likely set us up, meaning none of whom I’d be able to trust.

And suddenly, unexpectedly, my eyes filled with tears. I ducked my head, not wanting Radar, let alone Mick in the control room, to see me cry. Oh my God, where were we going from here? We didn’t need Z and his prison cells and orange jumpsuits to break us. We’d done it to ourselves, ensconced in our luxurious Boston town house, going through the everyday motions of our extremely privileged lives. Once a real family, now three mere clichés. The pill-popping wife, the unfaithful husband, the pregnant teenage daughter.

Justin seemed fixated on our rescue as some sort of magical switch. Our kidnappers would deliver us in return for the insurance money, and that would be that. We’d click our heels three times, whisper there’s no place like home and instantly wake up in our own beds. Justin would go back to work. Ashlyn would go back to school, and I’d…

I’d visit a methadone clinic and get my addiction under control? Or say fuck it, and rush back to my lovely orange bottle of pills first chance I got?

I didn’t know. I honestly didn’t know, and for a moment, the thought of going home, of returning to our real lives with all the unsolved problems…it terrified me.

At least in here, we knew who the enemy was. Whereas, once we were home…

Beside me, Ashlyn suddenly jerked awake. Her hazel eyes flew open, panic written all over her face. “Mom!”

“It’s okay. I’m here. Shhh…”

“Oh, Mom…” I could tell the second she finished coming round, as her hands dropped down automatically, cupping her tender stomach. She gazed at me a long time, her expression still young, but already older than I wanted it to be.

“I know, honey,” I murmured. “I know.”

“Don’t tell Dad,” she whispered, the words nearly automatic.

I had to smile, but it was a sad expression on my lips. “He’ll always love you, sweetie.”

“No, he won’t. He has standards,” she said, and her tone was clearly bitter.

I didn’t know what to say about that, so I resumed my bedside vigil. A daughter who had kept her mother’s secret. And now a mother charged with keeping her daughter’s secret.

“I’ll…um…grab a new jumpsuit,” Radar muttered, clearly uncomfortable. He exited, leaving us once more unsupervised and unshackled.

Merely trapped in our own self-induced misery.

I brushed the tears from my daughter’s cheek and we waited, together, for the worst of our pain to ease.

WE COULDN’T HIDE IN MEDICAL FOREVER. Z must have demanded an update. Upon hearing that Ashlyn was stable enough, it was back to the family cell for us. Radar walked on one side of Ashlyn, I took the other. She moved gingerly but didn’t require much support. To be fifteen again, so young and fixable.

Her footsteps slowed as we entered the cavernous dayroom.

I didn’t blame her. Justin had never been one to run from a fight. Sure enough, the cell door barely clanking shut behind us:

“I want to know his name.” Justin rose to standing in the middle of the tiny space, arms crossed over his chest, voice stern and cold. Not asking, but demanding.

Ashlyn pulling her arm away from me, bringing up her chin. “Maybe his last name is Chapman. As in your girlfriend’s younger brother. He’d be about my age, right?”

My eyes widening, just as my husband paled.

Justin whirled on me. “How dare you tell her—”

“I didn’t.”

“I did!”
Ashlyn, in full glory now, arms flung out, thin body nearly levitating with hostility. “I checked your phone, Dad. I read your e-mails. Quite a little exchange you had with a girl young enough to be my sister. Wonder what her father would think. Maybe she’s not supposed to sleep around, either. Maybe, she was also supposed to wait for a boy who would
honor
her and
love
her and
respect
her. You know, all that crap you used to feed me, before running out the door to cheat on your family. Hypocrite! Fucking liar!”

“Ashlyn!” Myself, stepping quickly between my daughter and my husband, as if that might keep Ashlyn safe.

Justin’s face, already terribly misshapen, had taken on the color of eggplant. Steam should have been pouring out of his ears. Certainly, every blood vessel in his body appeared ready to burst.

“Don’t you
ever
speak to me like that, young lady!”

“Or what?”

“Stop.” My voice came out too shaky. I cleared my throat, forced myself to sound more forceful. “Both of you. Take a second.”

Ashlyn, turning on me now. “Why? You afraid I’m going to tell him about your drug problem.”

“What?”

I wanted to laugh. I understood it would be wildly inappropriate.
But the sheer rage on my daughter’s face, followed by the sheer bewilderment on Justin’s. I wanted to giggle. Except I was pretty sure the first hiccuping laugh would lead straight to tears.

Ashlyn, still on a rampage: “Jesus Christ, Dad. She’s been stoned out of her mind for months now. The glazed-over eyes? The way you ask her a question and it takes a full minute before she answers? I mean, come on, Dad. It took me two weeks to figure out she was abusing prescription painkillers. I’m a kid. What the hell is your excuse?”

Justin, officially too stupefied to speak. Me, a hand now clasped over my mouth because, heaven help me, any second now, I was going to burst into hysterics.

“I mean, really. You’re out all the time with your new girl. Mom’s doped out of her skull. Of course I decided to have a little fun. Even took a tumble in your bed. Not like you two are using it.”

Justin lunged. I got my arms around his waist, not that it really mattered. He weighed twice as much as me and, even bruised and battered, moved like a freight train. He roared something. Maybe that he would kill him, the mythical boy. And Ashlyn screamed something. Maybe that she hated him, her own father.

He was swatting at her. Trying to get at our child. Our own baby, who just hours before had been pregnant with a baby of her own, and I felt this incredible pressure build behind my eyeballs. A pain beyond any pill’s ability to deaden. A hopelessness beyond any wonder drug’s ability to lift.

Then, I was in the fray. Digging in my heels, shoving back at my husband, heaving, heaving, heaving as I screamed at the top of my lungs:

“You stupid idiot! I didn’t want your money. I didn’t want your house. I didn’t want your precious business. I just wanted you to love me. You stupid, stupid asshole. Why…couldn’t you…just love me?”

Our legs tangled up. Justin went down hard, hands over his swollen face. I fell to my knees beside him. Pounding his shoulder, sobbing hysterically, while Ashlyn wept next to the bunk beds.

“And it wasn’t just her, was it? There were other women, too. Lots of others. Jesus Christ, you are just like your father. And now I’m just like my mother except popping pills instead of cigarettes, and we were both supposed to be better than this. What happened? God, Justin, what happened to us? How did we become exactly the people we never wanted to be?”

I couldn’t stop hitting him. My rage was a feral beast, finally off its leash. I hated my husband. I hated my life. But mostly, I hated us, the ways we’d both failed, proving ourselves human, when so long ago, we’d been sure we’d rise above all that. Mortals were fallible. We’d been in love.

At the last second, I saw my husband’s shoulders shake. I saw the tears on his cheeks, the defeated bow of his head…

I couldn’t take it anymore. I threw my arms around him. I held him close, promising forgiveness I wasn’t sure I had in my heart to give, but for now, this moment… If he would just be all right. If we could just pretend to be a family…

Ashlyn joined us on the floor, her arms around both of us, damp cheek pressed against my neck. “I’m sorry, Mommy, I’m sorry, Mommy, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Justin moaned. We cried harder.

“Oh, for the love of God.”

Z stood in the open doorway, staring at us as if arriving at the scene of a car accident.

“You people…” He couldn’t complete the sentence.

And I agreed with him. We defied description. What kind of family behaved like this? What kind of people loved one another, and hurt each other anyway?

“Three P.M. tomorrow. Not soon enough.” Z stopped shaking his
head, stabbing a finger at me instead. “You. Off him.” Another finger, pointed at my daughter. “You, too. Stand and present.”

Ashlyn and I climbed shakily to our feet. Z stared at us harder. We threw our shoulders back, assuming the posture of good soldiers. He grunted his approval. Then, his gaze went to Justin, now uncurling on the floor.

“Whatever happened, I’m sure you deserved it. Ladies. With me.”

We started walking forward just as Justin rose unsteadily to his feet.

“Wait.”

Ashlyn continued marching, but I stopped. I couldn’t help myself. I’d loved this man so much of my life. The afternoons at the firing range, our first home, the birth of our daughter, the way I used to wake up and find him watching me so intently.

All those moments when I know I had really, truly seen him. All those moments when I know he must’ve really, truly seen me.

“I didn’t realize,” Justin murmured. “What was going on with Ashlyn, with you… I didn’t realize. And Ashlyn’s right. I should’ve. A good man, an attentive father… I fucked up, Libby. That’s on me. When we get home, if you want a divorce, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll even rip up the prenup. House, company, whatever you’d like, I won’t fight you. In fact, you can have it all. It’s the least you deserve and shame on me for not realizing that sooner. But I wish… I would miss our family, Libby. I would miss us.”

I waited for him to say more. But he swallowed instead, choked up.

I thought of all the things I could offer in reply. Forgiveness. Acknowledgment of my own crimes. Or more importantly, that I missed us, too. Had for months, and no pill in the world had been able to fill that void. All the nights I had wandered down to the darkened basement, my hand pressed against that closed bedroom door, willing my husband to feel my presence, to open his door to me.

I said: “How many other women, Justin?”

“You’re the only one I’ve ever loved,” he said.

Which told me enough.

I turned away from my husband and walked toward my captor instead.

Chapter 29

WHILE THE BOSTON COPS AND FBI went to work on strategizing possible ransom scenarios, Tessa and Wyatt decided to follow up with Anita Bennett. In her house, surrounded by pictures of her family, hopefully, including her youngest son, who might or might not be Justin Denbe’s half brother.

Being the local, Tessa drove. Wyatt resumed his easy sprawl in the passenger’s seat, except this time, he was scowling.

“You don’t look happy,” Tessa ventured at last, threading her way from Storrow Drive to Route 2 toward Lexington, Massachusetts.

“I’m disgruntled.”

“Personally or professionally?”

“Professionally. I don’t have a personal life to get disgruntled about.”

“Really?”

“I like carpentry, making things with my hands. Other than that, I work a lot. No wife, no kids, no girlfriend.”

“Okay.”

He turned, regarding her steadily. “You? How does the life of a corporate investigator compare with your days as a state trooper?”

“Better hours, better pay,” she said.

“But do you love it?”

It took her a bit to answer. “I like it,” she said at last. “For my daughter’s sake, that’s enough.”

She could feel him watching her from the passenger’s seat. Not speaking. Not scrutinizing. Just…being.

She found herself saying: “You haven’t asked me about my husband.”

“Your business, not mine.”

“Two years ago,” she heard herself continue, “Brian was shot dead, and my daughter went missing. I confessed to shooting him, but was also charged with killing my own kid.”

“Your daughter’s alive. You said so.”

“I found her. Some of my methods didn’t necessarily…color inside the legal lines. I won’t ever be welcomed in law enforcement again. But I have my daughter back and that’s what matters most.”

“You know,” he drawled slowly, “now that you mention it, that case rings a bell.”

She stiffened, steeling herself for the inevitable comments on her shooting skills, or even a crack on how her husband must’ve deserved it.

Instead, he asked: “How’s your daughter holding up?”

“She told me to look for the Denbe family in cold, dark places. Also, to bring cookies and carry my gun.”

“Smart kid.”

She found herself nodding. And thinking that she liked Wyatt Foster. Liked him a lot.

“You ever been married?” she asked.

“Yep. Total train wreck. But I’ve got nothing against domestic life. And between you, me and the lamppost, I like kids. It’s one of those things guys can’t really say, though. Comes out sounding creepy. Which, given how much I respect your skills, is not the impression I’m trying to make.”

“I don’t date much.” This must be what happened when you went too long without adult company, she decided. First attentive listener and it was like she had diarrhea of the mouth. She continued: “My
focus is my daughter, creating a safe, stable home environment for her. She deserves that much.”