Tess Gerritsen - Vanish

“It was my turn to do it.”

“I was awake anyway.”

“Why?”

She didn’t answer.

“It’s the dream again. Isn’t it?” he asked.

“It’s like she’s haunting me. She won’t leave me alone. Every damn night, she keeps me from sleeping.”

“Olena’s dead, Jane.”

“Then it’s her ghost.”

“You don’t really believe in ghosts.”

“I didn’t. But now…”

“You’ve changed your mind?”

She turned on her side to look at him, and saw the faint glow of city lights in his eyes. Her beautiful Gabriel. How did she get so lucky? What did she do to deserve him? She touched his face, fingers brushing across stubble. Even after six months of marriage, it still astonished her that she shared her bed with this man.

“I just want things to go back to the way they were,” she said. “Before any of this happened.”

He pulled her against him, and she smelled soap and warm skin. Her husband’s smells. “Give it more time,” he said. “Maybe you need to have these dreams. You’re still processing what happened. Working through the trauma.”

“Or maybe I need to do something about it.”

“Do what?”

“What Olena wanted me to do.”

He sighed. “You’re talking about the ghost again.”

“She did speak to me. I didn’t imagine that part. It’s not a dream, it’s a memory, something that really happened.” She rolled onto her back and stared up at the shadows. “ ‘Mila knows.’ That’s what she said. That’s what I remember.”

“Mila knows what?”

She looked at Gabriel. “I think she was talking about Ashburn.”

By the time they boarded the plane to Washington-Reagan, her breasts were aching and swollen, her body yearning for the relief that only a suckling infant could provide. But Regina was not within reach; her daughter was spending the day in Angela’s capable hands, and at that moment was probably being cooed at and fussed over by someone who actually knew what she was doing. Gazing out the plane’s window, Jane thought: My baby’s only two weeks old, and already I’m abandoning her. I’m such a bad mom. But as the city of Boston dropped away beneath their climbing aircraft, it wasn’t guilt she felt, but a sudden lightness, as though she’d shed the weight of motherhood, of sleepless nights and hours of pacing back and forth. What is wrong with me, she wondered, that I’m so relieved to be away from my own child?

Bad mom.

Gabriel’s hand settled on hers. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry about it. Your mother’s so good with her.”

She nodded, and kept her gaze out the window. How did she tell her own husband that his child had a lousy mother who was thrilled to be out of the house and back in the chase? That she missed her job so much that it hurt just to watch a cop show on TV?

A few rows behind them, a baby started to cry, and Jane’s breasts throbbed, heavy with milk. My body is punishing me, she thought, for leaving Regina behind.

The first thing she did after walking off the plane was to duck into the women’s restroom. There she sat on a toilet, milking herself into wads of tissue paper, wondering if cows felt the same blessed relief when their udders were emptied. Such a waste, but she didn’t know what else to do but squeeze it out and flush it down the toilet.

When she re-emerged, she found Gabriel waiting for her by the airport newsstand. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Moo.”

Leesburg Detective Eddie Wardlaw did not look particularly thrilled to see them. He was in his forties, with a sour face and eyes that didn’t smile even when his lips tried to. Jane could not decide if he was tired or just irritated about their visit. Before offering any handshake, he asked to see their IDs, and spent an insulting length of time examining each one, as though certain they were fraudulent. Only then did he grudgingly shake their hands and escort them past the front desk.

“I spoke to Detective Moore this morning,” he said as he led them at a deliberate pace down the hallway.

“We told him we were flying down to see you,” said Jane.

“He said that you two were okay.” Wardlaw reached in his pocket for a set of keys, paused, and looked at them. “I needed to have some background on you both, so I’ve been asking around. Just so you understand what’s going on.”

“Actually, we don’t,” said Jane. “We’re trying to figure out this whole business ourselves.”

“Yeah?” Wardlaw gave a grunt. “Welcome to the club.” He unlocked the door and led them into a a small conference room. On the table was a cardboard box, labeled with a case number, and containing a stack of files. Wardlaw pointed to the files. “You can see how much we have. I couldn’t copy it all. I only sent Moore what I felt comfortable sharing at the time. This thing has been screwy from the word go, and I needed to be absolutely sure of anyone who’s seeing these files.”

“Look, you want to check my credentials again?” said Jane. “You’re welcome to talk to anyone in my unit. They all know my record.”

“Not you, Detective. Cops I don’t have a problem with. But guys from the Bureau…” He looked at Gabriel. “I’m forced to be a little more cautious. Especially considering what’s happened so far.”

Gabriel responded with that coolly impervious look that he could call up at an instant’s notice. The same look that had once kept Jane at arm’s length when they had first met. “If you have a concern about me, Detective, let’s discuss it right now, before we go any further.”

“Why are you here, Agent Dean? You people have already combed through everything we have.”

“The FBI’s stepped in on this?” asked Jane.

Wardlaw looked at her. “They demanded copies of everything. Every scrap of paper in that box. Didn’t trust our crime lab, so they had to bring in their own technicians to examine the physical evidence. The feds have seen it all.” He turned back to Gabriel. “So if you have questions about the case, why don’t you just check with your pals at the Bureau?”

“Believe me, I can vouch for Agent Dean,” said Jane. “I’m married to him.”

“Yeah, that’s what Moore told me.” Wardlaw laughed and shook his head. “Fibbie and a cop. Ask me, it’s like cats marrying dogs.” He reached into the box. “Okay, this is what you wanted. Investigation control files. Occurrence reports.” He took out folders one by one and slapped them down on the table. “Lab and autopsy reports. Vic photos. Daily logs. News releases and press clippings…” He paused, as though suddenly remembering something. “I’ve got another item you might find useful,” he said, and turned toward the door. “I’ll get it.”

Moments later, he came back carrying a videocassette. “I keep this locked in my desk,” he said. “With all these feds pawing through this box, I thought I should store this video in a safe place.” He crossed to a closet and wheeled out a TV monitor and VCR player. “Being this close to Washington, we get the occasional case with, well… political complications,” he said as he untangled the cord. “You know, elected officials behaving badly. Few years ago, a senator’s wife got killed when her Mercedes rolled over on one of our back roads. Trouble was, the man driving the car wasn’t her husband. Even worse, the guy worked in the Russian embassy. You should’ve seen how quick the FBI showed up on that one.” He plugged in the TV, then straightened and looked at them. “I’m having a sense of déjà vu on this case.”

“You think there are political implications?” said Gabriel.

“You’re aware of who really owns the house? It took us weeks to find out.”