Lisa Gardner - Touch & Go

“You think she was under the influence?” Special Agent Adams pressed.

“I would guess she was on something, you know, trying to dull her pain. I almost said something to Justin, but then I thought, they’re already dealing with so much… We’re pulling for them. Despite what you may think, each of us here, we’re hoping the marriage works out. Once upon a time, they were such a great couple. We remember those days, even if they don’t.”

Anita seemed to finally run out of things to say. With no more revelations, they wrapped up the interview and exited the office. It was now after midnight. The other officers had already completed their interviews, the conference room deserted when they reentered it.

Just to be sure, Special Agent Adams walked the perimeter, peering through the frosted glass panes that overlooked the rest of the offices.

“The Boston detectives recovered a prescription bottle for hydrocodone in Libby Denbe’s purse,” she stated without preamble. “Filled two days ago, already one-third empty.”

Wyatt picked up the thought trail first. “Libby was abusing painkillers.”

“According to the pill count on the bottle, she’d taken twenty pills in just two days…”

“Can’t just be one prescription, then,” Wyatt mused. “Not if she’s using at that level.”

“Doctor shopping,” Tessa supplied. “A woman of her socioeconomics. Most likely she’s going from doctor to doctor, cataloging fictional pains.”

Wyatt turned to Nicole. “You said the prescription bottle was in her purse?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Meaning it was left behind.”

“Makes sense,” the blonde replied. “Their personal possessions were all piled on the kitchen island.”

Tessa got it, the point Wyatt was trying to make. “Detox,” she murmured.

The New Hampshire detective glanced at her, nodding appraisingly. “And how. Wonder if her abductors expected that little development. That one of their abductees would”—he glanced at his watch—“right about now start suffering from extremely painful, extremely high-maintenance withdrawal symptoms.”

Special Agent Adams turned at the end of the table. “She might even need medical care.”

“Avenues to start pursuing,” Wyatt said thoughtfully. “Assuming the kidnappers are willing to risk discovery by taking her to a local hospital. But, yeah, I’ll put out a bulletin to keep an eye on emergency rooms for a woman matching Libby Denbe’s description.”

“You think they’re still alive?” Tessa couldn’t help herself. She glanced at the FBI agent, then the New Hampshire sheriff’s detective. They both shrugged.

“Don’t know,” Special Agent Adams replied honestly, “though I certainly hope so.”

“I still put the odds in our favor,” Wyatt said. “If they wanted the family dead, no reason they couldn’t have taken care of business up close and personal, then left behind three bodies. The use of Tasers suggests to me there’s more at play here than simply eliminating the family.”

Tessa nodded, if only because it was late, and given their lack of immediate progress, she needed something to believe in.

“Tell you something else,” Wyatt continued. “This company, these people”—he grimaced—“what a bunch of liars.”

He said it so flatly, Tessa almost burst out laughing. But she recovered herself quickly enough to ask, “What makes you say that?”

“They’ve all got Justin Denbe’s back, except, you know, when they’re trying to buy his company. And the business is doing great, except, of course, there’s this whole new branch of mega-corporations that are stealing their jobs. Oh yeah, and they don’t know anything about the family’s secrets, except of course, when they are the family secret.”

“Who’s the family secret?” Special Agent Adams, looking confused.

“Anita Bennett. You didn’t pick up on that?”

“Pick up on what?”

Wyatt gave them both a look. “The expression on her face every time she said Justin’s father’s name. Telling you now, she wasn’t just one of Dale’s employees. She was one of his conquests. That whole unfaithful but loyal speech? Because Dale was unfaithful with her but remained loyal to his wife. Meaning when he died, both of the women in his life got shafted.”

“Mary left, Anita stayed behind,” Tessa murmured. “Continuing to rise up the corporate ranks, but thirty-five years later, still just an employee, never an owner.”

“Some people might get a little bitter about that,” Wyatt observed.

Special Agent Adams smiled for the first time all night. It was a particularly scary look for her. “And some people might decide to finally take what they believe they so richly deserve.”

Chapter 22

THEY TOOK JUSTIN AWAY.

Ashlyn had fallen asleep. I was drifting in and out, exhaustion dragging me under only for an achy, restless pain to prick me back to consciousness. My concussion, withdrawal, who knew. I dreamed of dark, turbulent seas, monsters and bared fangs and striking cobras. Then I would wake up, curled into a ball, shaking uncontrollably, head nearly shattering in agony.

I don’t think Justin was sleeping. Each time my eyes opened, I would find him standing at the cell door, shoulders back, face tense, a caged beast still seeking a way out. Or maybe a sentry, standing guard.

Either way, it didn’t save him.

The door blew open. That’s how it felt. I had dozed off, then suddenly, bam!

The steel door, flying open, two intruders pouring in. They each bore mattresses, held as shields below their dark helmeted heads. Faceplates obscured their features, until they appeared as dark, armor-plated beetles coming to get us. One of my own crazy dreams coming to life.

They were shouting, wielding clubs. The largest went straight after Justin, knocking him to the floor and beating him with a stick. Bam, bam, bam . Then the second was on Ashlyn, who was asleep on the lower bunk. A rabid beetle pouncing on her with the mattress, smothering her down.

I heard muffled screams, then I toppled off the top bunk, rolling onto the back of the beetle from hell. I whacked instinctively at his shoulders, except everything I smacked was padded or plated. My fists were useless. My daughter screamed and I hit and none of it made a difference.

Justin shouting from the floor: “I’ll go, I’ll go. Just leave them alone. Leave my family the fuck alone!”

That quickly, Ashlyn’s attacker straightened, removing the mattress from her body, brushing me off his back. I fell hard, catching myself at the last second with my hands, because my head had already suffered enough.

Justin, already dragged to his feet, lurched to standing near the open cell door. Blood on the corner of his mouth, hands manacled before him.

His attacker grabbed his cuffed wrists and dragged him away.

Our attacker had his shield once again positioned against his body. He eased backward toward the open door. At the last moment, he flipped up his faceplate.

Mick smiled, blew us a kiss. Most fun he’d had in ages, you could see it on his face. Couldn’t wait to do it again.

Then he stepped out, the steel door clanged shut and Ashlyn and I were alone.

WE DIDN’T CRY. By mutual consent, we curled up on the top bunk, out of immediate reach of smothering beetles. From this vantage point, I could see out the narrow window to a dark, dark sky. Still middle of the night, not even the next day, and yet it already felt like we’d been in this hellhole forever.

My daughter lay on her side, with her back to me. I put my arm around her waist, my face against the top of her hair.

When she was little, Ashlyn used to creep into our room. Never say a word. I’d simply open my eyes and find her standing next to my side of the bed, a pale little ghost. I would lift the covers and she’d crawl in next to me, our secret as Justin didn’t approve of such things.