Gone (8 page)

Joe turned to Delancey and gestured vaguely toward the sofa.

Delancey propped on the edge of the cushion, his elbows on his knees. “I won’t take up much of your time, Mr. Powers, but I wanted to follow up with you on the matter I mentioned to your mother.”

“Yes?” Joe didn’t plan to give the detective anything. He wondered if Delancey had been dispatched by the family to issue the official Delancey welcome to the bastard son. If that’s what he was doing here, Joe wanted no part of it. He didn’t care if the gesture was genuine or for show.

“I assume she told you what I told her.”

When Joe didn’t react to the question, Delancey went on. “My partner came upon the copy of your birth certificate while doing a warrant search of Senator Darby Sills’s personal financial records in his home, office and safety deposit box. I have no idea why Sills had the copy. You’ve probably seen in the news that he had been blackmailing a couple of people for several years. My best guess is that he’d either tried or planned to try to blackmail my—Con Delancey, regarding your birth.”

Joe nodded. That was what he’d figured, too. He glanced at his watch, then sent a quick glance toward the stairs. It was almost nine o’clock. Howard was going to call soon, and he didn’t want Delancey here when that phone call came in. “I’m aware of everything you told my mother, Detective. Was there some specific reason you wanted to speak with me about it?”

“May I ask when you first knew that Con Delancey was your father?”

“I suppose you may,” Joe countered as he decided it was time for the detective to leave. He stood. “I found out that your grandfather was my father when my mother came to see me at my office after she talked to you.”

Delancey stood, too. “You hadn’t known before that?”

Joe shook his head. “If you’ll excuse me, Detective, my wife and I are expecting an important phone call, so—”

Ethan Delancey gave Joe a hard look, then walked around him through the foyer and opened the front door. “Mr. Powers, I know about your child, as well. I’m really sorry about your loss.”

Grimacing, Joe spoke through gritted teeth. “Thank you,” he said, taking hold of the inside knob of the front door, thereby feeling as though he were taking control of the situation. But something in the other man’s manner made him feel as though he weren’t as in control as he’d like to be.

“You’ve spent a good deal of time searching in police databases within the past few days, as well as having others searching on your behalf.”

“How—?” Joe bit his tongue.

“How do I know?” Delancey replied. “Because I’ve spent some time searching for you.”

“Searching for me?”

“That’s right.” The detective shrugged. “Call it curiosity. When I first saw your birth certificate, I pretended it didn’t bother me that my grandfather had fathered a son that was almost the same age as me. Our birthdays are about a month apart. But I finally had to admit I wanted to know more about you. So I looked up information about you in our database. That’s where I read about your child’s abduction. Then I found that you actually have access to our database.”

“Through my job,” Joe said.

Delancey nodded. “So I had one of our computer techs trace what you’ve looked at, and found out that within the past few days you’d accessed records of four people with the first name Howard in and around Killian. You almost immediately zeroed in on Howard Lelievre. I backtracked from his records and found that his disability check goes to Rhoda Sumner. Turns out that her records were flagged, because a dispatcher in Baton Rouge had run a license plate that turned out to be hers.”

Joe looked at his watch. “That’s fascinating, Detective, but could you get to the point? Are you here to arrest me for unauthorized use of protected information? I’m an attorney and as I told you, I’m authorized through the NCMEC to access those types of records.”

“Not planning to arrest you,” Detective Delancey said. “I think I know why you’ve been looking up everything you can find on Howard and Rhoda. A little digging told me that she has a child that appears to be around two years old.”

Joe felt his face drain of color, but he did his best to maintain a neutral expression.

“You think Rhoda’s child is your son, don’t you?”

There it was. The thing Joe had dreaded since Marcie had given him Rhoda’s license plate number. He should have predicted that the person who caught him poking around in the police database for information would be a Delancey. He wiped his face wearily. “I don’t think. I know.”

“That’s what the phone call is, isn’t it? It’s Howard and Rhoda. They want money.”

Joe didn’t answer. He studied Ethan for a long time. It wasn’t hard to convince himself that there was a resemblance between the two of them. Did his connection with the Delanceys go more than skin-deep? He paced back and forth for a moment, as Ethan stood quietly, watching him.

Finally he decided he had no choice but to confirm what the man already knew. He didn’t have a clue what Delancey would do with the information, but it would be difficult for him to make the situation any worse.

“He’s going to call this morning. Probably in a few minutes. But, Detective, he’ll hurt my son if he knows we’ve gone to the police. He told Marcie he’d cut off one of Joshua’s fingers and send it to her. I can’t take that chance. I can’t involve the police in any way.” He stopped. “I don’t know if you can possibly understand—”

Delancey nodded. “Let me explain something quickly. My brother Travis came back to New Orleans recently and found out in a single day that he had a son and that his son had been abducted. My brothers and cousins worked together with Travis to bring his son home safely.” He gave Joe a small smile. “You have some things to learn about the Delanceys. We’re a very large and very close family. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for a brother or a cousin or...an uncle.”

The way he said
uncle
hit Joe square in the solar plexus. For the first time, it occurred to him that in terms of genealogy, he
was
Ethan’s uncle. An odd sensation fluttered in his chest, but he didn’t have the time or the inclination to examine it. Right now his focus was on his son. “What are you saying?” Joe asked.

“I’m saying, you’re not involving the police. You’re involving your family.”

Joe stared at the detective. “You’re a police detective. How can you act on your own, outside the protection of your badge and authority?”

The detective shrugged. “It’s worked before. You tell me what you need and—”

At that instant Marcie stalked into the room. Joe hadn’t heard her footsteps on the stairs. “What’s going on here?” she demanded in a shrill voice. “You.” She turned to Delancey. “You get out of my house. I don’t know why you came, but unless you’re placing us under arrest, you have no right to be here.”

“That’s right, Mrs. Powers,” Delancey said. “I don’t have a right to be here. My reason for coming was to introduce myself to your husband, who, as it turns out, is my uncle.” He gave her an innocent smile.

“Marcie—” Joe began, seeing the growing anger in her expression.

“No,” she said, waving a hand at Joe without taking her eyes off Delancey. “Please leave my house, right now.”

Joe gritted his teeth. Marcie was right, of course. They couldn’t take even the slightest chance that Howard would find out that the detective had been here.

“Certainly, Mrs. Powers,” Delancey said, then turned to Joe. “May we exchange phone numbers? Just to be safe?”

They agreed, then Joe walked him to the door.

As he stepped over the threshold, Delancey spoke one more time. “Please call me if you need anything. Our family will help in any way we can.”

Chapter Eight

Joe watched until the detective got into his car and drove away. Then he walked into the kitchen where Marcie was just pouring him a cup of coffee. She set the cup on the counter and folded her arms.

Joe picked it up and muttered, “Thanks,” as he blew on it.

“That man’s name was Delancey?”

Joe nodded. “Detective Ethan Delancey.”

“What was he doing here?”

“He’s the one who told Kit they’d found my birth certificate.”

Marcie stared at him. “So did he come here to tell you about it?”

“No. He assumed I already knew.”

“Well, then, why was he here? And why was he talking about doing anything he could to help us. Joe, you told me you didn’t go to the Delanceys. If you didn’t, then what was that detective doing here and how did he know we need help?”

“Hon, I’m not lying to you. He’s been looking up information about me. Curiosity about the bastard son, I guess. So he saw in the police database where I ran Rhoda’s license plate and searched for Howard. He figured out what was going on.”

“He figured it out on his own?” she said doubtfully. “Joe, he’s going to ruin everything. If Howard finds out that the police are—” A sob tore from her throat and she pressed her knuckles against her teeth. “Oh, my God, he’ll hurt my baby. I can’t stand it.”

Joe reached for her but she backed away. “Marcie, stop it. Stop acting like I’m the enemy here. Now come on, hon. Calm down.” He held out his arms. “Come on.”

But she stood her ground. After a few seconds, though, she got her breathing under control. She looked up at him with accusing eyes. “What’s going to happen now? Are the police going to take over? What’s going to happen to Joshua?”

“Listen to me,” Joe said, approaching her slowly. He brushed a finger across her cheek where a tear was falling. “Be still and let me tell you what he told me, okay?”

Just as he saw her relax a little and opened his mouth to explain how Detective Ethan Delancey had figured out what was going on, the phone rang.

Joe glanced at Marcie, brows raised, but she shook her head violently. She didn’t want to talk to Howard. So he picked up the portable handset. “Hello?”

“Hey, Joe, whaddaya know? How’d you sleep last night?”

Howard’s harsh voice grated across his nerves like fingernails on a blackboard. If the man were in the same room, Joe would gladly punch him right in his big, ugly nose.

Marcie stepped up close, so he held the handset so she could hear. The sweet scent of her hair tickled his nose as she leaned in to listen. Turning his head slightly away, he concentrated on dealing with Howard.

“I slept fine, Mr. Lelievre,” he said coolly. “How about you? Did you sleep well knowing you’re endangering the life of a child and breaking federal law?” He took a deep, fortifying breath and continued before Howard had a chance to speak. “Now you listen to me. I want to talk to my son. I want to ask him who he’s with and what his name is and if he’s hurt or sad.”

Beside him, Marcie made a small, distressed sound.

He went on. “I need proof of life
and
proof that he’s not being mistreated before I say another word to you.”

“Oh, no, Joe, ol’ buddy. You don’t call the shots. I do.”

“Not this one. If you don’t put Joshua on the phone right now, I will hang up and you will get nothing, because I’ll know that you don’t really have my son.”

Marcie’s fingernails dug into the flesh of his forearm. He’d told Marcie before that they had to maintain control of the conversation. He knew that was what the FBI taught in their training on dealing with hostage situations. He hoped he was right in this case. He knew that Rhoda was a wild card. Everything he’d seen told him that she had stolen Joshua because she wanted a baby. He doubted that she had agreed to this plan to get money—unless Howard had promised her that they would never turn over the child. That they’d take the money and run.

He held his breath as he waited for Howard to answer.

“You hang up and you’ll never see your kid. Now how much money have you got? I hope it’s enough.”

“Proof of life, Howard. Right now or I’m hanging up. Five. Four. Three—”

“Hey, woman,” Howard yelled away from the phone. “Bring the kid over here. Now!”

Joe’s pulse sped up. He heard voices in the background.

“Oh, just shut up and do it,” Howard groused.

Then Joe heard Rhoda. “Joshy? Come out here, honey.”

Joshy. His son.
His pulse kicked up so high that he thought he might faint from lack of oxygen. He could barely breathe. Beside him, Marcie’s nails dug deeper. Her breaths were short and sharp.

Rhoda said something unintelligible, then Joe heard a small, sweet voice. “Hello? Who’s ’is?”

Marcie’s breath whooshed out in a combination of sob and sigh. A tightness that hurt like hell squeezed Joe’s chest. It felt like the broken shards of his heart were rubbing together, trying to find a fit.
Please,
he prayed.
Please be Joshua.

“Hi,” he said, and his voice cracked. “What’s your name?”

“I’n Joshy. I’n a big boy.”

Marcie sobbed.

Joe had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak. “I’ll bet you are. Who’s there with you?”

“Gramma and—oh-no Howarr,” the toddler said.

It sounded as if Joshy thought that oh-no Howarr was his name. Joe almost laughed. Oh-no Howarr was a good name for the bully. “So, Joshy, do you know where you are right now?”

“Gramma said it’s his fishy place.”

“Whose fishy place, Joshy?”

“Oh-no Howarr.”

“Is the fishy place fun? What are you doing there?”

“No,” the child said. “I wan’ go home. Dere’s no TV here and I hafta eat ceweal. I’s oh-no Howarr’s fault.”

“Gimme that phone, kid!” Howard yelled. “That’s enough.”

Joshy squealed and Joe heard small footsteps on an echoing hardwood floor. “Gramma! Howarr mean!”

“No!” Marcie cried. “Wait! Joshua, please?”

Marcie’s terrified voice shattered Joe’s already broken heart. He held his finger to his lips and shook his head.

“Awright, Joe, that’s it. You’ve got your proof. Now—what about the money?”

“Where do you want it?” Joe asked harshly. “Tell me where and when and I’ll be there.”

“Not hardly,” Howard said.

Joe’s lungs seized. He grimaced, willing the man not to say the words he knew were coming.

“You don’t bring the money. Your pretty wife does. And she comes alone.”

“No!” Joe thundered. Marcie tugged on his arm. He didn’t want to look at her, didn’t want to give her a chance to agree with a dangerous scheme that he wasn’t about to allow.

“Yes!” she cried, trying to grab the phone from Joe. “I’ll do it. Name the time and place. When? Just tell me and I’ll be there.”

Howard laughed and the phone went dead.

The sudden dial tone shocked them both into frozen silence. Marcie was leaning on Joe, one hand on his arm and the other around his wrist, as if she could wrestle the phone from him. She let go as if his skin were on fire.

Joe set the phone down and Marcie grabbed it. She hit the code to redial the last number, but nothing happened. She cried out in frustration and slammed the phone down on the table.

“You made him angry!” she accused Joe. “You made him angry and he hung up. What are we going to do now?” She swiped at the tears on her cheeks as if she were swatting flies. But they kept falling. “Oh, dear God, we don’t know anything. Why did he hang up?”

Joe picked up the handset and put it back on its cradle. “He thinks he’s taken back the upper hand.”

“He has,” she retorted.

Joe didn’t say anything. He picked up his mug, rinsed it, then ran cold water into it and took a long drink.

“Hasn’t he?”

“No,” he said, turning around. “Look at him. What’s he dealing with? A kid that needs feeding, entertaining, maybe medication if he has a cold or an ear infection. And that’s all.”

Marcie glared at Joe in irritation. How could he be so rational? So smart? He was right, of course. Howard was sitting there with a toddler and no money. “He’s going to have to call back,” she said.

“Got it in one,” Joe responded with a small smile.

No, she thought. You got it in one. You had to feed it to me. “But,” she said as a thought occurred to her, “what’s going to stop him from ignoring us and calling the Delanceys?” She gasped. “What if he’s called them already? What if that’s why that detective was here? To see if we’d heard from him? Howard could be playing us both.”

“No. Ethan Delancey would have told me if they’d gotten a call. No, if Howard’s not a complete idiot, he won’t call the Delanceys as long as he thinks we might have gotten money from them. Besides, I never told him how much money I had. I just said we’d bring it to him.”

“You’ve got it all figured out,” Marcie said in awe, which earned her a suspicious glance until he apparently decided she wasn’t being sarcastic.

“Not really,” he said. “I’m playing the odds. If Howard is dumber or, God forbid, a lot smarter than he seems, I could be wrong. But based on the training I got on how to work with abductors, even though he’s the one who hung up on us, he’ll call back, because he hasn’t gotten what he wants yet.”

Marcie felt as though she were teetering on the edge of a cliff. She took a shaky breath and wiped her face with both hands, then shoved her fingers into her hair, pushing it back away from her face. “I don’t know if I can just sit here until he does call back.”

“We can forward the phone to my cell again and go somewhere. You want to get some breakfast?” He glanced at his watch. “Or lunch?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can eat,” she said. “I’m going to switch from coffee to iced tea. Can I fix you a grilled cheese sandwich or some eggs?”

He sent her a look that she couldn’t decipher. “You know I love your grilled cheese,” he said. “Thanks.”

Such a polite answer to her polite question. How did she and Joe go from midnight lovers to these sometimes hostile, sometimes carefully polite daytime enemies, she wondered. It was as if they were a real-life Psyche and Cupid. At night he came to her as her beautiful, sexy bridegroom, but during the day the lover disappeared almost as completely as Cupid had, and in the lover’s place was this...this cold, rational attorney.

She got out three kinds of cheese and a loaf of sourdough bread and made him a grilled cheese sandwich, then retrieved the pitcher of sweetened iced tea from the refrigerator and poured them each a glass. Just about the time Joe had finished his sandwich and was drinking the last of his tea, the phone rang again.

Joe picked it up. He and Marcie stood, heads together as they listened.

“All right,” Howard said. “Lemme talk to your pretty wife.”

“She’s here, standing right next to me.”

“H-hello?” Marcie said.

“What’s your name, woman? Marcella?”

“Marcie.”

“Okay,
Marcie.
You listen close, because I ain’t saying this but once. Old Joe found his way to Rhoda’s house. He can show you how to get there. Once you’re there at Rhoda’s, I’ll call you and tell you what to do next. You got that?”

Marcie looked at Joe, who nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’ve got it, but—”

“Joe, ol’ buddy? You still there?”

“Yes,” Joe said.

“You better stay home, if you know what’s good for you and her and the kid. If you show up anywhere close I’ll shoot you dead. I won’t be shooting at yer feet or over your head like Rhoda likes to do. You got that?”

Marcie saw Joe’s jaw tic. “Yes,” he said gruffly.

“You sure?”

“I said yes.”

“Okay. Miz Marcie, I need your cell phone. You and me, we’re gonna handle this ourselves. Joe’s out of it, you
capisce?
I’ll call you, and when I do, I ain’t gonna leave no message. Understand?”

“I’ve got it.”

“Good. Now get this. You’ve got one hour and fifteen minutes to get to Rhoda’s, once I hang up.”

“Hang on,” Joe said. “That’s not enough time.”

“It’s gonna have to be, ’cause it’s all you’ve got.”

Joe shot Marcie a glance. “We need time to fill up the car.”

“Aw, really? Well, in that case...” Howard said mockingly. “
What
did I tell you?” he yelled. “There ain’t no
we,
Joe, ol’ buddy, ’cause you ain’t coming. Marcie? You’d better get going if you want to see the kid.”

The line went dead.

Marcie looked at Joe, who stood there, the handset clenched in his fist, his face stony. The muscle in his jaw quivered.

“Joe?”

He cut his gaze over at her. “I’m going with you.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Marcie said firmly, fixing him with her sternest glare. “Did you not hear him? He will
shoot
you. If you don’t believe him, I do, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to get yourself killed and not be here for Joshua and me.”

He stared at her for a moment, as if she’d suddenly lapsed into an unknown language, then he blinked and looked down at the phone in his hand. He turned to put it into its cradle. When he turned back, his expression was harsh. “You listen to me. I’m not going to let you go out there by yourself. I’ll be close by. So close that all you have to do is hit speed-dial one and I’ll be there within two minutes. Understand?”

“You can’t do that without him seeing you,” she objected. “No. You can’t, Joe. Listen to me. It’s too dangerous.”

“
You’re
talking to
me
about dangerous?” He touched her cheek. “You are
not
doing this alone. I’ll be close by. Call me.
Do you understand?
”

“Yes,” she said, feeling the color drain from her face. “Don’t you dare get yourself killed, Joe Powers. Don’t you dare!”