Dillon frowned. It had stopped several times already, but this felt different. There’d been none of the noise that indicated they were coming into a station, just a slow glide to a halt. Why weren’t they moving?
Rachel propped herself up on her elbows and looked out the window into the dark night. She’d boarded the train and found her room without trouble. Both beds had already been made in the tiny train compartment and she’d promptly climbed into the top bunk.
Dillon had thought about lying down in the lower bunk, but it felt weird somehow. He didn’t sleep any more, of course, and lying in the bed with the bunk on top of him, no view out the window, seemed too coffin-like for his taste. Instead, he perched on the closed toilet seat, so close to Rachel in the small space that if he raised his hand he could touch her leg.
Rachel pressed her face up to the glass. “There’s nothing out there.”
“Nothing?”
“And we’re not moving.” There was a hint of worry in her voice.
“Way to point out the obvious,” Dillon responded and then immediately felt guilty. He shouldn’t be mean, even if she couldn’t hear him. But he was nervous and scared. He couldn’t seem to stop worrying about all that might go wrong. Or all that might have already gone wrong. He wondered if Lydia was okay.
He’d realized, too, that he and Rachel hadn’t talked about what she’d do after she got to Tassamara. They should have. She’d get off the bus and then what? He could go find Akira but he’d be leaving Rachel alone. Where would she go? What would she do? Tassamara was too small to have a bus station: it was just a stop. If she stood there and waited—a strange girl all by herself on the side of the road—someone would start asking her questions within a couple of minutes. They’d find out she was a runaway and before he could even text his mom, Rachel would be on her way back to Washington.
No, he had to make sure someone could meet her. But who?
If he texted Akira, he knew exactly what would happen. She’d call his dad and discover what was going on, even if he told her not to. Akira didn’t like uncertainty. She’d want to know what he was doing and she’d take the most direct route possible to finding out. If he texted his uncle, Zane would tell Akira and the end result would be the same.
He could try texting his Aunt Grace. Of all his relatives, Grace was closest in age to him. She’d been his regular babysitter when he was little and if he asked her to keep a secret, she would. But Grace was always busy. She’d do it, but she wouldn’t be happy about sitting by the side of the road waiting for a bus. His Aunt Natalya would wait for the bus, but would she send Rachel back to Washington the moment she found out who Rachel was? Maybe.
No, he could only trust one person to meet the bus and not ask questions. His grandpa. But how would Rachel react to that? Would she freak out if a strange old man approached her? Dillon felt his frustration level rising. Why hadn’t he thought about this earlier?
Rachel shivered. “It’s so cold. I hope it’s warmer in Florida.” Her black leggings and long-sleeved shirt weren’t enough for the weather, but they were inside now. She should be warming up.
“You could turn the heat up,” Dillon suggested. “The thermostat is right behind you on the wall.”
She didn’t respond, and he sighed. He understood why she’d had to throw away her cell phone, but not being able to communicate with her was driving him crazy.
The train still hadn’t started up again, so Dillon stood, leaning against the bunk and peering over Rachel and out the window. He couldn’t see anything except the reflection of the room in the glass.
Was it a mechanical problem? Something on the track? Or had they already found Rachel’s trail? Was the train stopped waiting for the police to arrive and take her away?
“Brr.” Rachel hugged herself. “It’s freezing.”
She looked cold, Dillon realized. Her cheeks were pale and her lips touched with blue. He glanced at the thermostat. It was set as high as it would go. Was it not working?
Oh, hell.
Dillon hated himself.
He hated being a ghost, he hated being unable to communicate, he hated being helpless.
And he especially hated that he was causing the temperature to drop because he was so worried.
“It’s me,” he told her, feeling miserable. He backed away from the bed, but the room was so small that there was no way for him to get far enough away from her that she wouldn’t feel his cold aura. He needed to calm down. But how could he?
He pushed himself through the door and out into the train hallway. He’d promised to stay close to her and it felt as if he was breaking that promise. But he’d stay where he could see if she left the compartment and while he did, he’d text his grandpa. And he’d try to calm down.
But it would sure help if the train would start moving.
*****
Rachel was missing.
The words pounded in Sylvie’s head like a drumbeat. She could feel the tension along her spine and in her shoulders, the rush of adrenaline pouring into her arms and legs telling her to go, go, go. But where was there to go? She kept her voice even as she said to James, “Someone needs to be at the hospital with Lydia to find out what’s wrong with her. Ask Ty who he wants to go.”
He nodded, speaking into his phone, and she turned back to Lucas.
“Fill me in on Rachel.” He’d pulled his phone out, too, but he made no move to use it.
“Spoiled brat,” Sylvie said succinctly. “Whiny, sulky, rude.” Close protection security consultants got to know their clients intimately, but the good ones didn’t talk about them. Under the circumstances, though, Sylvie would make an exception.
“The classic teenager?” His voice was serious but with a trace of amusement at her tone.
“More like the classic neglected rich kid,” Sylvie admitted. “She’s who you get if you raise a kid with high expectations but no love, affection, or attention. She’s miserable so she does her best to make everyone else miserable, too.”
“Harsh.”
“But she follows all the rules, always does as she’s told, gets straight As.” Sylvie glanced back at the bathroom door, torn between going in to check on Lydia and thinking the situation through with Lucas.
“You think she might have run away?”
“From a party? In Capital Hill?” It sounded so unlikely. And yet Rachel was gone. “Where would she go?”
No, it made no sense. What were the options? Rachel could be in the building, looking for help for Lydia. But if that was the case, she should be back by now. She’d been gone for at least half an hour, since Lydia’s missed check in. Even if Rachel had made the stupid choice of looking for her father instead of going straight to the security desk, she would have found him by now.
If Lydia had felt sick, would she have left Rachel alone somewhere? Could Rachel be waiting in another room for Lydia to return? That seemed unlikely to the point of absurdity. Maybe one of the other guards would have taken that chance at a closed party but Lydia? Never.
No, Rachel had left Lydia, not the other way around. But by choice or by force? She would have gone quietly with a gun on her. And she might have gone willingly if she was going with or to her mother. Could her mother have gotten into the party?
Sylvie shook out her hands, fighting the urge to move. Every cell in her body wanted to be doing, to be in action. She needed to go into the bathroom and help Lydia. She needed to head to the auditorium and start searching for Rachel on the dance floor. She needed to get to building security and see what camera coverage the building had. She needed . . . she turned back to James.
“GPS,” she said. Rachel would have had her tracking device with her. It wouldn’t necessarily tell them anything until they found it: if it was still in the building, it might mean that she or a kidnapper had left it behind.
James nodded and said as much into the phone.
“Or cell phone,” Sylvie said. “Maybe we can trace her cell phone.”
“The FBI will do that. They’ll check messages, too, see who she’s been talking to,” Lucas responded.
“No FBI.” It was Ty, stuffing his phone in his pocket, a little out of breath. He must have run down the stairs, Sylvie guessed. “And no ambulance.”
“What?” Sylvie stared at him.
“Chesney doesn’t want to risk any publicity.”
“Ty!” Sylvie protested.
“Sylvie. It’s the client’s call.” His words were an order and Sylvie, fuming, shut up.
“The FBI has the expertise—” Lucas started, voice mild.
“The client’s call,” Ty interrupted him. Sylvie could feel the frustration and worry simmering under his calm exterior and Lucas must have sensed it as well, because he didn’t push, just stuffed a hand into his pocket. Sylvie suspected it was clenched into a fist. She stepped a little closer to him, resting her own hand on his arm.
“Mark’s on Chesney,” Ty continued. “Let’s get Lydia to the car and—shit.” He ran a hand through his short hair.
Sylvie raised her eyebrows in question.
“Not enough people, not enough cars. I’ll call in backup, but it’s Friday night. I don’t know how soon anyone can get here.”
“Rachel’s GPS is on the move,” James reported. His head was bent over his phone, fingers tapping away at the screen.
“Fuck!” Ty’s frustration boiled over.
“I’ve got a car and driver here,” Lucas offered. “Sylvie and I can take Lydia to the hospital.”
Ty breathed a sigh of relief. “That would help.”
“No.” Sylvie shook her head. “I’m staying here.” All three men looked at her with varying expressions of surprise, but Sylvie didn’t bend. Rachel’s GPS device might be on the move, but that didn’t mean Rachel was with it.
What if this had been a crime of opportunity? AlecCorp hired dangerous men. Most would be smart enough to steer clear of an executive’s young daughter, but alcohol turned even the smartest soldiers stupid. Sylvie wanted—no, needed—to make sure that Rachel wasn’t in the building.
And if Rachel had been kidnapped, it had to be an inside job. This was an invitation-only party with security guards at the door. No casual kidnapper had stolen her from AlecCorp premises. She might be able to find someone whose emotions or thoughts would reveal their complicity.
Lucas, of course, was the first to understand, but Ty wasn’t far behind. “Yeah,” Lucas said, nodding. “That makes sense. But I should stay with you. I might be able to help.”
“Can you really—” Ty started and then paused, but with Lucas standing so close to her, Sylvie had no trouble reading his thoughts. He was wondering if Lucas could read minds.
“Yeah,” Lucas nodded briefly, answering Ty’s question. “And if someone here is involved, they’re likely to be thinking about it.”
James looked from one man to the other, clearly mystified. “Someone want to tell me what you’re talking about?”
“Later,” Ty answered. “First things first. We get Lydia to your car,” he said to Lucas. “I send Mark down to accompany her to the hospital. James and I chase the GPS while I call in backup. You and Sylvie search here.”
Lucas nodded, already texting the driver of the car to meet them at the front of the building.
Ty turned to Sylvie. “You’re not going to like this, I know, but I need you to sit on Chesney until someone shows up to relieve you. Then you can search.”
Sylvie wanted to protest—what the hell did she care about Chesney when Rachel was missing?—but she gritted her teeth and managed a tight smile instead. “You got it. But get them here quickly.”
*****
Chesney’s emotions were all wrong.
Not that Sylvie had vast quantities of experience with parents of missing children. But she’d dealt with worried parents in Iraq and emotions crossed cultural lines. She’d understood how they felt. Not Chesney, though.
He didn’t feel scared or even anxious. No, he was simply angry.
Sylvie stood outside the office door, wishing that Lucas had come upstairs with her so that she could eavesdrop on Chesney’s thoughts. But Lucas was searching the rest of the building, a task they’d agreed couldn’t wait.
Her phone vibrated in the clutch bag she had tucked under her arm and she quickly slipped it out. Lucas.
“Yes?”
“No sign of her,” he answered. “But I got an update back on her mother.”
“That was quick.”
“It’s not current information, just background.”
“Go ahead.”
“Lisa Sanger married Raymond Chesney in 1995. She was 22, he was 49. Rachel was born a year later. Three months after the birth, Lisa was hospitalized. No details, but while she was in the hospital, Chesney filed for divorce and full custody. She didn’t fight it. A few months later, she moved cross country to San Francisco where she became an artist. She’s been moderately successful. No criminal record, financials stable but only barely verging on comfortable, never remarried.”
“That doesn’t sound like a potential kidnapper to me,” Sylvie said slowly, trying to put the information together with the woman she’d seen at the art gallery.
“No,” Lucas agreed. “I’ve got people tracing her current movements, but if she’s in San Francisco and hasn’t seen Rachel in years, she’s unlikely to be a factor in this.”
“She was in DC last week. We saw her on Sunday.”
“What?” Ty would have been furious but Lucas just sounded surprised.
“Yeah, we . . . well, it’s kind of a long story.”
“You didn’t think mentioning that earlier might have been helpful?”
The dry humor in his tone brought a smile to her lips as she responded. “Hey, I mentioned it. I told you to find out about her.”
“I meant maybe mention it to your boss and your colleague. The ones who are currently chasing after Rachel’s GPS?”
Sylvie’s smiled faded and her mouth twisted. She should have told Ty the whole story last Sunday. And she definitely should have shared her suspicions downstairs. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t, except that they’d been moving quickly.
“So do you think she’s involved?” Lucas continued.
“It would explain a lot,” Sylvie answered. She glanced at the door behind her. It was thoroughly sound-proofed; she hadn’t heard a word from inside while she’d been watching, but she dropped her voice anyway. “Including why Chesney isn’t worried.”