Taken Page 3

  “I’m going to stick, but thank you for the open door to step away without hard feelings.” His phone chimed, and he glanced at the brief text. “Your current photo is an 88.4 percent match to your age-sixteen-progressed photograph. In this kind of analysis, that’s a high-confidence match. DNA results will be back in the next few hours. Fingerprints, photograph, DNA—you’ll be able to prove in a court of law you’re Shannon Bliss by morning.”

  “And then the fun will begin.” She shifted in the chair. “Can we not talk for a while? I want to finish watching this game.”

  “Sure.”

  He sent a response text to Gregory, thanking him for the news and asking that her current photo and the age renderings be erased. Entering her fingerprints in the database when they decided to make this official would be enough. The longer they could go without a current photo of her in the public domain, the better this would go.

  Shannon fell asleep in the eighth inning. He’d seen her struggling to keep her eyes open, and finally they simply closed and didn’t flutter again. He watched her sleep and wondered what it was going to be like in the first few minutes after she awoke. His physical distance and stillness would probably be about the only thing he could do for her that might help. After his daughter was rescued, for nearly two years she hadn’t been able to handle waking up in a room with someone else present without feeling a sense of panic.

  He stayed seated at the desk and worked on his list of what had to be done in the days ahead. DNA test results. Arrange a private reunion with her brother. Get her medical care. She would need to talk to the cops, both the Chicago police and FBI, given that this appeared to have crossed state lines. They needed to catch and arrest the one or ones responsible. Hopefully she would give him something to work with soon, as it was going to be a time-sensitive situation before the people behind this thing scattered. As the case unfolded, he needed to do what he could to protect her privacy. She would need safe people in her life outside of her family to help her with the emotions involved. Did she have a best friend she wanted him to contact on her behalf? Documentation in her life had to be sorted out and reissued in her proper name and social security number—driver’s license, bank accounts, health insurance. Had she graduated from high school? If so, where and under what name? Where had she been for the last eleven years? His list continued until he had filled two pages. Practical matters pounding at him demanded answers as much as the questions surrounding her disappearance.

  She stirred in the chair, and he went still. She opened her eyes, studied the ball-game score, listened to the postgame commentary, then looked around the room until finally her gaze settled on him. “No word yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  She found the television remote and changed over to a late-night talk show. He wasn’t sure if the calm she showed was a carefully constructed image she wanted him to see, or if she truly wasn’t bothered by his company. Within twenty minutes she had dozed off again. She looked beat-up tired, that impression coming through in the color of the skin around her eyes and mouth, and the fact she was able to sleep in his presence curled up like that. He set the ring tone on his phone to vibrate, got up, retrieved the extra blanket in the closet, draped it over her. He picked up the sandals she had kicked off and glanced at the size. They’d need to do some clothes shopping before they hit Chicago, depending on what she had with her. Where had she spent last night? She’d been staying somewhere if she arrived in Atlanta two days ago. She wasn’t carrying a purse. She’d arrived in Atlanta from where?

  It was going to be a very long process building trust with this woman. Trust was an elusive thing, hard to win, easy to lose, and very sensitive to small nuances when it was forming. He wanted her to end up like his daughter—healthy, happy, and if not whole again, able to handle the past, to have a good life of her own choosing. He couldn’t afford the possible price impatience would cost him right now. He returned to his seat at the desk and started listing what had to be done so he could walk out of his own life for an extended period of time and head to Chicago with her. He had no idea how long this was going to take, but he’d learned with his daughter not to make assumptions that depended on predicting someone else’s reaction to events. This might be a trip to Chicago, followed by another immediate trip back here to Atlanta. Or he might be in Chicago with her for an extended period of time. Or . . .

  Call his daughter in the morning. Tell her the truth about what was going on. He tried not to keep the details of his movements or the reasons for them from Becky. He knew she’d respect the privacy of this news and not share it. His business would be in good hands if he delegated the day-to-day to his Number Two. A call to his neighbor would take care of the house. He could have his assistant sort and forward his mail. A stop at a shopping mall to fill out his wardrobe would deal with the fact he hadn’t planned to be gone more than a few days. The page filled up with practical items ahead of him.

  The other list of events coming soon—where the only preparations he could make involved buying Kleenex—didn’t need writing down. There were necessary conversations that would be tough on Shannon, some she’d have with doctors, others with cops, but inevitably some she’d have with him that he knew would wring his heart out. He’d been outwardly strong for his daughter, had listened with close attention, found ways to draw out the dark corners in her memories, to lance the pain of them . . . all the while feeling torn up inside. He honestly didn’t know if he had it in him to go through that again. He looked up from his notes and watched Shannon for a long moment.

  I’m surprised you let her choose me, God. I’m back to feeling . . . inadequate for this. Mainly because I know some of what it’s going to be. At least with Becky I was walking blind into what was coming. I didn’t know better. This time . . . God, give me wisdom. Patience. The ability to listen. Help me hear what is really being said. I can’t afford to miss the nuances, not with someone whose way of coping is to hide.

  He looked down at the lists he had written and numbered the items he had to tackle first, aware he was simply killing time, waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for DNA to confirm what he already knew. Shannon Bliss had reappeared and had chosen him. Even if he didn’t want this, he wouldn’t turn her away.

  Life had been a lot simpler when he had been worried about such mundane problems as friends setting him up to meet a woman over dinner. He half smiled and put down his pen. Somehow he’d rise to the occasion. He glanced at his phone. But patience had never been his strong suit.

  His phone began to vibrate. Matthew glanced at the caller ID and answered it immediately, keeping his voice low. “Ann, that was fast.”

  “Theo likes me. And it helps that the Bliss case file has been digitized. Do you want to do this on the phone or do you want to come up to the suite?”

  He glanced over at Shannon. She hadn’t stirred in the last twenty minutes. “Give me the highlights—I’ll decide from there.”

  “It’s tough reading. Shannon disappeared over a Memorial Day weekend while driving home after staying with friends. Her car was never found. Cops looked hard at the family, at people around the family—her school, their church, the family’s business—but nothing popped as a solid motive or lead. Three similar cases in the Midwest over the prior seven years were pursued for any crossovers but didn’t generate much to work with. A ransom was paid after the disappearance went public, but there was no proof of life offered in advance, nor any contact after the money was paid. Three years after she disappeared, the parents divorced in a bitter fight that about bankrupted the family business. A year after that, the uncle committed suicide to avoid being arrested for having embezzled company money. During the contested divorce, the company books were audited by both sides—they were arguing over the valuation of the business—and it turned up the theft of company funds. There’s a suspicion that the uncle may have stolen some of the ransom money and handed over blank paper, used the money to try to cover up his fraud.”

&nb
sp; Matthew had been making notes as she spoke, but that last comment made him pause with a wince. “How certain is that?”

  “Ask me again tomorrow after I talk to Theo. I’m reading an eye-opening sixty-page summary of the case he wrote a few years ago. I’ll print you a copy.”

  “I’m coming up. What’s your suite number?” He picked up his room key and his wallet, pushed his feet into his shoes.

  “Ten ninety-six.”

  He wrote a quick note for Shannon and left it on the desk in case she woke up. “Tell me about her brother,” he asked Ann, shifting his phone to the other hand as the room’s door closed behind him. He headed toward the elevator.

  “Our next governor, if the tracking polls are to be believed. He’s been leading the search to find his sister almost from day one, and from what I can see here, he’s done a good job of keeping her photo out there, as well as information about the reward. He paid Chicago-based companies to include her missing-person flyer in every customer mailing they put out—there have been millions of them distributed in the last eleven years. This has been an intense, sustained, and expensive search. He sold his interest in the family business in order to fund that effort.”

  “So he’s serious about finding his sister and may be open to taking some advice on how to proceed,” Matthew speculated.

  “I’d think so. He makes a point of mentioning her, asking for information from the public, at every event where he speaks.”

  The elevator doors opened on the tenth floor, and Matthew walked down to suite 1096, showed his credentials to the officer providing security in the hall. The head of the Chicago FBI office wouldn’t have a choice about the security; it went with the job.

  “Why the interest in this case?” Ann was asking in his ear. “You have something?”

  Matthew ignored the question for the moment. “I’m at the door.” He knocked lightly as he spoke and waited for Ann to answer, silencing and pocketing his phone when the door opened. She’d changed into jeans and a Chicago Bulls T-shirt. Her husband was on the hotel phone. Matthew lifted a hand to acknowledge Paul’s silent hello, then turned his attention back to Ann and her question. “I may have met Shannon. DNA is running now.”

  3

  So if the woman in your room really is Shannon Bliss, what’s the plan?” Paul Falcon asked, settling on the couch next to his wife in their hotel suite.

  “She would like to go home,” Matthew began, choosing a soda and dumping it over ice. He needed the caffeine to give himself a second burst of energy. “That’s the starting premise. What steps get taken in the next forty-eight hours depends in part on that case file and what the situation looks like in Chicago.”

  “Has she told you anything about what happened? Is there a case to peel back at this point? A name? Location? Time period involved?” Paul asked.

  “She’s shared a few facts I can tell you once DNA confirms her identity,” Matthew replied. He settled into a chair across from the couch, feeling the fatigue of the long day setting in. Paul would be the right person to see that Shannon got justice for what had happened to her. The sooner Matthew could introduce the two of them, the stronger the likelihood this situation would unfold to the good. But that wasn’t going to happen in the next twenty-four hours.

  His phone chimed. He looked at the screen. The initial DNA panel was ready. He used the FTP code and sent the comparison panel stripped of any name reference on to the lab to have the comparison done. He slipped the phone back into his pocket. Ten minutes, fifteen, he was going to know. He looked back at Paul. “Shannon wants to meet only with her brother initially, not the rest of her family or friends. What do you think? Can the brother meet her and sit on the news he knows she’s alive?”

  Paul shared a look with Ann, who finally shook her head and replied, “Maybe. Anything is possible. But the practical answer is he can’t. We’re less than five months away from the vote. He can’t talk about her as missing once he knows she’s alive; it would be political suicide for him to lie. He can’t avoid questions about her when he’s made a point of talking about his sister’s case, appealing for information in most every public speech he’s made. If he suddenly stops talking about her, the press will know something is up and start aggressively pushing. He’s in a no-win situation. If she’s revealed to be alive before the vote, he’ll be accused of unfairly taking advantage of the public attention surrounding her return for his own political benefit. If her story has dark corners to it and the news of her return is held until after the vote, they’ll say it was hidden to avoid discussing his dysfunctional family history.”

  “Best case for the brother, she doesn’t make contact with him until after the vote,” Matthew realized.

  “Which creates its own complications for why she didn’t get in contact with her family once she came forward,” Ann said, “and why you or I didn’t say anything once her identity was confirmed. Today has already become day one in the articles that are going to be written about her reappearance. And this case has got book material written all over it, even before I hear what happened to her over the last eleven years.”

  Ann had written enough books to know what she was talking about on that score. “The timing of events will get scrutinized,” Matthew concurred. “Day one—she shows up, and we confirm she’s in fact Shannon Bliss. Day two . . .”

  “That’s the question. We can keep under wraps for a few days the fact she’s alive and has returned. Beyond that, this is not so simple. You could admit her to a private hospital, tell her brother she’s alive, let him announce it and where she’s at, but say he’ll make no further comment until after law enforcement concludes the investigation and medical personnel give their okay . . . hopefully stretch that out to get past the vote before she appears. That’s probably the cleanest way to keep the public onslaught of interest away from her.”

  Matthew liked it even as he realized it wouldn’t be possible. “I suspect Shannon’s not going to voluntarily admit herself to a private hospital that has good enough security to keep the press out—she’s not going to willingly go back inside a secured environment, even a comfortable one. Maybe we can arrange a meeting with her brother, and then she disappears and stays out of the state until after the election. He can announce her safe return, that she’s recovering in a private location, and he’ll have nothing further to say on the matter until after the election.”

  Ann thought for a moment but shook her head. “Anything that vague, the press will crush him for more information, and anyone else they can hammer on, so the number who know anything at all about Shannon Bliss and her whereabouts needs to remain a very small group. And it had better be a good hiding place—they’ll be looking for her with great intensity. The press will reach from Theo to me because I pulled the case file, but I’m good at saying no comment. Your friend at the missing-persons registry will get identified because he accessed her records, but if he can hold the line, maybe the press can’t reach through him to you. If we can keep the press away from you, there’s a chance we can keep them away from her. You become the buffer.”

  Matthew hesitated. “That’s good in theory, but the problem with wanting to stay beneath the radar—you start realizing how impossible it is to actually do that for any length of time. Tucking her somewhere no one finds her for five months when the press has a reason to be looking for her—it’s not going to be simple.”

  “Whatever you decide, Paul and I can help you with the Chicago logistics,” Ann offered. “John Key can arrange a secure place for you to stay. I’ll put a call in to him to put that in motion. You won’t want to be in a hotel if the press somehow gets wind of this. And as far as a location for that family reunion, why don’t you consider using our home? It has good security, it’s neutral ground, it’s a comfortable place to have a conversation. A candidate for governor making a social call on the head of the Chicago FBI office at his home would not signal anything out of the ordinary to the press. Paul and I can slip away and go see frie
nds for the evening.”

  “It might be best if I made that first call to her brother,” Paul suggested, “and arrange the meeting. It will keep your name out of this until you’ve been able to meet the brother face-to-face and reach an understanding with him.”

  “That’s a gracious offer and perfect for what we will need.” Matthew thought about the coming week and went straight to his top concern. “The situation I’d like to avoid at all costs is my daughter getting badgered by the press for information about where I am and if Shannon is with me. If the press gets to me, I may need to step away from this just to keep Becky out of the public limelight. Can you give me some options for Shannon if she and I need to split up?”

  “We can plan some contingencies,” Ann agreed. “There are safe places Shannon could go, safe people outside of her family who could help her. Rachel and Cole would be ideal. Bryce and Charlotte. We’ve got friends who have some experience that would be relevant to her situation.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you could lay some groundwork with them in case it’s needed.”

  “I’ll put together several options you can run by Shannon.”

  Matthew’s phone chimed again. He tugged it out of his pocket. The DNA comparison results were in. He read the text message, sent a thanks, looked across at Ann, then put his focus on Paul. “The FBI lab results are back. DNA confirms she’s Shannon Bliss. And from what she’s told me so far, this ended for her sixteen days ago.”

  Paul winced. “Have you ever heard of someone walking free after eleven years?”