CAPTURED INNOCENCE (25 page)

             
Blake twirled his pen while Logan filled him in on Conley Hook’s injuries. Minor, the man said. Blake hadn’t been aware of anyone beating on the man last night. He usually knew about or at least ordered the events. Hook was proving stronger than he’d thought. So had Jocelyn. What happened to the submissive woman he’d trained? She had developed a backbone, and he didn’t like it.

             
“You should have had him killed. I don’t care what you think about his death raising more suspicions. The man has no family. I doubt he’d be missed.” Blake clicked the ballpoint pen. “Other than Jocelyn, no one would care. And she’s only doing this to get back at me for divorcing her. She’ll come to her senses. If she doesn’t…” He didn’t want to think about the consequences if she didn’t come back to him.

             
“Look, Blake, Harold is putting the pressure on me to wrap these things up. He has buyers lined up. If Hook finds where we’re holding…”

             
“He won’t.” The doorbell rang. “Someone’s at the door, Logan. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” He placed the phone back on its stand and waited for the housekeeper to send his guest to him.

             
Meredith waltzed into his office. Something black and filmy peeked past the last button on her overcoat. He smiled and moved to join her. He couldn’t help but wish it was Jocelyn standing before him. Dave would have called him a fool for obsessing over a mere woman, but when a young man has the privilege of choosing his future wife, then having her molded to his own idea of perfection, well, there was no greater feeling in the world.

Now, an ex-con thought he could take all that hard work away from Blake and toss it away. Not if he could help it. Maybe he needed to put a bullet through the man’s brain. No one would care enough to dig into the murder
.

###

“No. Absolutely not.” Jo couldn’t believe Conley intended to leave the house after what happened last night. “You still have a pounding headache. Just take tonight off, pop a pill, and get some rest.”

He speared her with his gaze. “There are children waiting to be found. I can’t sit and let them wait any longer than necessary.
You know what it was like. Think of your nightmares. Can you wish that on anyone?”

“Then let me help.”
Jo squared her shoulders. “Tell me what to do. You can stay here with Alex.” If she could only remember where she’d been held as a child. Most homes in Prestige had basements or root cellars. Looking for a hole in the ground would be like looking for that proverbial needle in a haystack.
Please, God, let me remember
.

“You wouldn’t know where to begin.” Conley grabbed his motorcycle helmet.

“I’ll begin with my mother. If I put enough pressure on her, she’ll have to cave.” Jo glanced at her watch. “It’s almost ten-thirty. She’ll be sleeping, and I can catch her unaware.”

“What about your father?”

Her heart leaped that Conley was considering her proposal. “It’s Friday. He stays at the country club until at least midnight.”

Conley dropped the helmet in a chair and lowered himself to the sofa. “The idea of you being out this late scares me, but not any more than the idea of getting on the back of my bike or behind the wheel of a car.”

“Great.” Jo planted a kiss on Conley’s forehead, grabbed her purse from the foyer table, then headed to the garage. She’d been wanting to corner her mother again since hearing on the news about the last child disappearing from a truck stop. Her anxiety of Alex’s safety had kept her chained to the house.

Prestige lay quiet beneath a three-quarter moon
. Clouds, like pulled cotton, drifted in lazy groups across the sky and gave the town almost a fairy land glow. Despite the horrors of her childhood, Jo loved the little town. When everything was behind them, she hoped to remain and build a life with Conley. A normal life. One where she felt free to tell him she loved him. If he stayed after completing his quest.

She passed the skeletal remains of Blake’s home. Fresh wood was piled
at the perimeter of the lot. He was building another monstrosity to tower over the surrounding Victorian estates. Jo gave thanks that she lived on the opposite side of town.

The closer she got to her destination, the faster her heart beat.
Swallowing against the dryness in her mouth, she pulled into her parents’ driveway and cut the engine. The manicured lawns and welcoming atmosphere of the outside of the house gave no indication of the misguided lives inside. She took a deep breath. It was now or never.

Her gym shoes made no sound as she crept up the flagstone walk.
No dogs barked. They wouldn’t dare. Not in this neighborhood.

She’d never returned the key when she and Conley had moved out and
she inserted it into the brass handle on the front door. With a glance behind her, she turned the key then pushed the door open.

At the end of the foyer and to her right sat her father’s study.
Visiting her mother could wait. Jo might not have another chance to snoop in the study. Keeping to the shadows, she made her way to the room. Double doors pushed open to reveal walls lined with books and a mahogany desk. A flat screen laptop took precedence on the highly polished surface.

She
closed the door behind her and made her way to the computer. She knew it would require a password, yet the request made her groan anyway. To her left towered a five-drawer filing cabinet. The drawers were locked. She transferred her attention to the bookshelves. Could her father have a secret panel hidden behind one of the books? She pulled the books forward, one by one, before sliding them back into place with gentle thuds. Three thirds of the way around, she was rewarded with the sliding open of a wall safe.

A large padded envelope, along with several stacks of hundred dollar bills filled the small enclosure. Jo’s heart beat so loud she was afraid
her mother would hear upstairs and wake up to investigate. With a trembling hand she withdrew the manila envelope.

She lifted the flap and pulled out three 8 x 10 photos. Two were of the missing brother and sister. The third was of a red-haired girl around the age of thirteen. Jo gasped and stuffed the photos back into the envelope. Her breath caught in her throat.
Did the photos mean the children were still close?

A footfall outside the door of the office spurred her into
shoving the envelope back into the safe. As the doors opened, she ducked behind the floor-length curtains that covered French doors. She couldn’t see through the thick brocade fabric. She concentrated on controlling her breathing. The door to the study banged open.

“Dave is dead.” A sharp cry and it sounded as if someone was tossed onto the leather sofa on the other side of the room.
Jo held her breath. “If you open your mouth, the same will happen to you.”

“How can you say that? We’ve been married for forty years. Please,
Harold.”

“Forty years of listening to your harping. Wanting this, wanting that. Where do you think the money comes from? Now, you’re starting to develop a conscience? We killed Dave for you, Sylvia. Don’t forget it.
You and your whining about his treatment of our daughter. Some things are better left alone!” The door to the office opened and slammed shut. Sylvia sobbed.

A guilty sense of relief coursed through Jo.
Why had Sylvia turned against her brother? The clouds shifted, releasing the moon’s brilliance.

“You can come out now.” Sylvia sniffed. Jo stepped from her hiding place.

“How did you know I was there?”

Sylvia reached for a tissue from a wooden box on the coffee table. “Every time the moon came out from the clouds, I could see your silhouette. It’s a good thing Harold’s back was turned.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Sylvia shook her head. “I can’t do this anymore, Jocelyn. I really can’t.”

“Why did they kill Dave?” Jo perched beside her mother.

“He was overstepping his boundaries
where I was concerned. I belong to Harold. No one else, and sometimes my brother tended to forget.”

The festered wound inside her burst, flooding her emotions. Jo tensed and clinched her fists. “But it was okay for a little girl to be passed around like a toy.”

“There wasn’t anything I could do about that.” Sylvia raised red-rimmed, swollen eyes. “I tried and ended up, bruised and in bed for my trouble. One time, I was hospitalized for broken ribs.”

“Where are the children?”

“I’m not sure. I think they’re in a cellar near the lake…” Footsteps approached and paused outside the door.

Harold ordered someone to check the fence perimeter.
“She’s got to be here somewhere.”

“Go. Now.” Sylvia leaped from the sofa and shoved Jo toward the French doors. “If he finds you here, he’ll hurt both of us.”

Jo whirled and dove outside into the bushes.

“What are you doing, Sylvia? Close the door. You’re letting in the cold air.” From her position behind some juniper shrubs, Jo spotted Harold push past her wife and stare with narrowed-eyes into the night. After several tense minutes, he closed the doors and drew the curtains.

A flashlight beam cut across the lawn fifty yards from where Jo huddled.
Prisms of light illuminated the arches of water from the sprinkler system. She scanned the lawn, then ran in a crouching run to the next set of sculpted bushes. She thanked God her parents didn’t keep dogs. How had her father known she was on the premises? Oh, he’d seen the car. Stupid! But he always stayed late at the club on Fridays.

A shout almost made her jump upright. She clamped a hand over her mouth to choke back a scream
and knelt in the damp dirt. Despite a chill in the air, her skin grew clammy with nervous perspiration. When the searchers rounded the house, she darted across the lawn, grabbed the top of the gate and struggled to pull herself over.

Her
feet slipped on the iron bars. The top point stabbed her hand. A cry of pain escaped. The blood made the bars more slippery and tears of frustration welled.
Come on, Jo. You can do this.
She grunted, heaved, and landed in a heap on the other side of the fence. Alarms wailed from speakers positioned around the house. The cameras! She’d forgotten the surveillance system her parents had installed a few months before she’d fled. They’d have her every move on film.

              Jo snuck through the back door, her bleeding hand cradled against her side. From the living room came sounds of the television. With her uninjured hand, she flicked on the kitchen light then made her way to the sink.

             
“What did you do?” Conley sat at the kitchen table, his head propped in his hands. She got the impression he’d been praying. She had the overwhelming urge to hide her hand behind her back. “Let me see,” he said.

             
She held her hand in front of her. Blood dripped to the white floor tile. “I cut myself climbing over the fence.”

             
Conley rose to his feet, keeping one hand on the table. “Was it worth it?”

             
“I think so.” Jo grinned and allowed Conley to take her injured hand in his. He wet a dishtowel and swabbed at the cut. “I went into Harold’s study and searched until I found his safe. There were pictures in there. Of the brother and sister. Ow!” She tried to pull away. Conley held firm.

             
“And a picture of a girl about thirteen, I’d guess. That means they still have them, right?”

             
“Possibly.” With another towel, he wrapped her clean hand. “You should probably have stitches.”

             
“Aren’t you tired of the hospital?” Jo slipped her hand from his and reached above her head for a glass. “Anyway, there’s more. I hid behind the curtains just in time to avoid being caught by my parents. My father yelled at my mother about Uncle Dave. He said they killed him for her. When he left, she almost told me where the children were hidden. The lake … something. I had to run out the back door when my father came in. He ordered someone to search the grounds. I got this climbing over the fence.”

             
Conley beamed at her. “You did good. But I was worried sick the whole time you were gone.”

             
“I didn’t do that well. I forgot about the surveillance equipment. They’ll know I opened the safe. They’ll know I found the photos.” Dread filled her. “My memory has to return, Conley, before it’s too late.”

             
“Are you praying about it? God reveals what we need when we need it.” He wrapped his arms around her.

             
She reciprocated and laid her head on his chest. “I’m trying. I still have a hard time believing in a loving rather than a vengeful God. Especially with everything that’s happened.”

             
“Keep searching. He’ll reveal himself.” He kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go to bed.”

###

              Conley laid in bed with Jo’s head cradled on his arm. Despite his pounding headache, his thoughts whirled as fast as a desert dust devil. He replayed his conversation with Jo. Where was the closest lake? Could Sylvia have meant the pond? Did it even have a name? He wanted to wake Jo. Instead, he glanced at the clock. Two a.m. His questions could wait a few more hours.