The Girl Who Disappeared Twice

“It is my fault. I should have been there.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have. She’s my child.”

The upbeat music of Ashley’s cell phone continued to play, its lively tempo a flagrant antithesis to the somber mood in Krissy’s bedroom.

“That’s your cell.” Hope voiced the obvious.

“Whoever it is will call back.”

As if to confirm Ashley’s words, the phone fell silent.

Ashley walked over and knelt down beside Hope. “I blame myself, too, you know,” she admitted softly. “If I’d been doing yesterday’s car pool, maybe I would have gotten there sooner. I definitely would have noticed Krissy’s absence right away. Maybe I would have been in time to prevent all this.”

“You couldn’t have. Maybe none of us could. It doesn’t matter. I’m dying inside, anyway.”

“I know you are.” Tears clogged Ashley’s throat. She reached down and gripped Hope’s hand.

“I don’t think I can survive this, Ashley,” Hope managed. “Krissy is my world. Without her…nothing else matters.”

“I know that, too. But I have to believe-”

Before Ashley could continue, her cell phone burst into song again.

“Damn.” She jumped to her feet. “I’ll get rid of whoever that is.”

“That’s okay. You can talk.”

“I don’t want to. I want to stay in here with you. I’m turning off my phone.”

She rose and sprinted down the hall.

A full minute passed. Then another.

Hope just lay where she was, riddled with pain, guilt and fear. It was as if all the life were draining out of her.

Through her onslaught of emotion, she heard Ashley return.

“Judge Willis?” Ashley whispered from the doorway.

Something about the odd note in her voice brought Hope bolting to her feet. “Is there news?”

Ashley’s face was colorless. She was gripping her cell phone so tightly that her knuckles were white. Furtively, she glanced behind her, then stepped into the room and shut the door.

“On my phone,” she managed, extending her hand and offering Hope her cell. “It’s a weird voice. But he told me he’s the kidnapper. He said he got my number from Krissy’s book bag, and that he called it so the authorities couldn’t trace him, and so that you wouldn’t involve them. But he wants to talk to you. He has…demands.”

Hope snatched the phone and put it to her ear. “This is Judge Willis.”

“I have your daughter,” an odd, tinny voice told her. Clearly, the kidnapper was using a voice scrambler. “If you want her back, follow my instructions exactly, and keep your mouth shut. Tell no one that I called. Not your husband. Not the locals. And not the FBI. If you do, your daughter dies.”

“I’ll do whatever you say,” Hope replied instantly. “Please, please don’t hurt Krissy.”

“That’s up to you.”

“Is she all right? Can I talk to her?”

“She’s fine. And, no, you can’t talk to her. She’s elsewhere.”

“Then how do I know she’s okay? How do I even know you have her?”

“Listen.” There was a brief pause, a rustle, then the punch of a button.

“I’m not hungry.” It was Krissy’s voice, obviously recorded, obviously tear filled. “Oreo’s not either. I want my mommy. I want-”

Another punch of the button and Krissy’s voice vanished.

Hope squeezed her eyes shut. “Why does she sound so frightened? What are you doing to her?”

“Wear your brown trench coat,” the voice instructed. “I don’t want you noticed. Bring two hundred and fifty thousand dollars-cash. In Krissy’s black Adidas duffel bag. Tomorrow. Five o’clock. At the Mid-County Mall. Second- floor food court. Next to the pretzel kiosk. There’s a trash can. Drop the bag beside it. Then walk away. Don’t pause. Don’t look back. Just go.”

Dear God, he’d just provided an exact description of Krissy’s duffel bag. That meant he had to be watching her when she went on a Daisy Scout outing. Who knew where else he’d been scrutinizing her? Not to mention that he’d specified Hope’s brown trench coat. That meant he’d been watching her, too, probably when she was with Krissy.

The nightmare just kept getting worse.

“Did you get all that?” the voice demanded.

“Yes.” Hope didn’t need to write down the instructions. They were engraved in her brain. “What about Krissy? Will she be at the kiosk?”

“She’ll be on the second-floor parking level an hour later.”

“What proof do I have of that?”

“None.”

Hope barely paused. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. And Judge Willis? If I see anyone but you at that food court, your daughter’s blood will be on your hands.”

A click told Hope the call had been disconnected.

“God. Oh, God.” She sagged against the wall.

“What did he say?” Ashley asked.

Another brief hesitation. “It’s better that you don’t know the details,” Hope told her. “And, Ashley, not a word to Edward or the task force. I’m counting on you. I’ve got to bring Krissy home alive. Forget your cell phone ever rang. Forget anything you overheard. Plus, I’ll be going out twice-once now and once tomorrow around dinnertime. I’ll need you to cover for me. Will you do it?”

Ashley gave a shaky nod. “For Krissy? Yes.”

Hope’s mind was racing. Edward had a large amount of cash in their home safe, mostly under-the-table payments from rich, questionable clients Hope didn’t want to know about. And they had over a hundred-thousand dollars in their safe-deposit box at the bank. Between the two, she could get the necessary cash together without alerting anyone or triggering mandatory bank reports regarding large cash transactions.

Please, she prayed silently. Please let this work. Please bring my baby home.

The disgruntled-father angle wasn’t paying off.

No surprise to Casey. As soon as the men in question heard what she wanted, she ceased to be a pretty redhead tracking them down in their various workplaces and became an intrusive pain in the ass. And they had no intentions of speaking to some outsider they had no obligation to speak to.

Casey kept her questions brief, spending most of her few precious minutes with each potential suspect studying their reactions, their body language, and separating their natural belligerence from their possible guilt.

All four guys were bullies. All four wanted to torment their ex-wives. And all four resented Judge Willis for ruling against them.

But none of them had the brains or the balls to kidnap her child. None of them had the strategic skill to plan this perfectly executed abduction, or the guts to kill a five-year-old girl. And none of them was twisted enough to be a child predator.

So Casey had to agree with the Feds on this one. A personal vendetta against Judge Willis from a custody case in her courtroom was looking like a weak possibility.

It was time to go somewhere the FBI task force hadn’t been.

Casey was surprised to find Vera Akerman alone in the living room. She was sipping a cup of tea, perched at the edge of the sofa.

“Mrs. Akerman,” Casey greeted. “Where’s Hope?”

The older woman looked up, gave a faint sigh. “She went for a drive. After spending the past hour alone in Krissy’s room, she needed some air. Some time by herself. To think. To pray for strength. To get away from the