Listed: Volume V (6 page)

After
she unfolded it, she put her finger under the second item from the bottom. It
said, “Make up with Stacie.”

Stacie
had stopped at a traffic light, and she read what a twelve-year-old Emily had
written there. Her face twisted briefly. “Shit, Emily. You’re gonna make me cry
like a girl.”

Emily
half-laughed, half-sobbed. “I’m sorry. I should have apologized a long time
ago.”

“Me
too,” Stacie said, brushing at her eyes impatiently. Her smile was sharp and
almost teasing despite her obvious emotion. “I should have reached out to you.
I’ve always been the bigger person, after all, and I should be a role model for
you in maturity and beneficence.”

Emily
huffed softly at her cousin’s attempt at humor and felt a little better.

“So
why didn’t things work out with your husband? I was really surprised when I
heard you married him, since I always thought him a spoiled, entitled asshole,
but—”

“No,”
Emily choked, glaring at Stacie in outrage. “He’s
not
. Don’t call him
that. He’s…he’s…wonderful.”

Stacie’s
brows drew together. “Then why did you leave him?”

Emily
shook her head and couldn’t answer. She just felt too bad to have this
conversation, and it hurt too much to think about.

“We
can talk about it later,” Stacie murmured, evidently recognizing that Emily
wasn’t up to it. “You look like you feel like crap.”

Crap
was an understatement, although her fever still hadn’t risen as much or as
quickly as it had during her last round of fever, just a few days ago.

“It’s
gonna get bad, Stacie,” Emily mumbled, tossing her head restlessly against the
headrest. “Sorry to do this to you.”

“Don’t
be sorry,” Stacie replied. “I want to help. I should have helped a long time
ago.”

Paul was just numb.

His
emotions had taken such a battering in the last hour that he couldn’t seem to
feel anymore. He sat stiffly behind his desk in the office of the apartment and
tried to sort out options and possibilities in his head.

It
was useless. His mind was a hopeless blank.

For
long, agonizing minutes, he stared at his phone, which—over and over
again—didn't ring.

He’d
been worried for Emily went she’d gotten up to use the bathroom in the restaurant
earlier. She wasn’t looking well. He’d been afraid she might be getting a
fever. When ten minutes passed and she hadn’t returned, he’d gone to ask the
hostess to check on her.

The
other times he'd gotten someone to check on Emily in the restroom, she'd always
eventually emerged. This time was different.

When
the hostess came out to say that no one was there, Paul had simply barged in.
That was when he’d seen her rings lying without explanation by the sink. That
was when his concern had shifted into bewildered panic.

The
bodyguard escorting him had moved into action immediately, searching the nearby
area for Emily and ensuring she hadn’t been abducted. But Paul knew what had
happened. She had left her rings behind in an obvious symbol.

She
had left him on purpose.

He
just didn’t know why.

He’d
called her cell phone immediately, but she hadn’t answered. Then he’d kept
calling, never getting an answer. He went on what might be called a rampage as
he repeatedly dialed Emily's number and demanded information about Emily’s
whereabouts from anyone who might know anything.

Jonathon
Marks, the head of the security firm he used, had arrived when he’d been on the
verge of shaking a man at the newsstand across the street who’d noticed Emily
but couldn’t remember which direction she had gone.

Marks
had convinced Paul to return to the apartment while the security team carried
out the actual search.  Once he’d gotten there, Paul had begun making
calls—trying to contact everyone Emily might possibly have turned to for help.
No one admitted to having any idea where she was. They all had sounded
convincing. Chris had seemed worried and offered to help.

After
the calls had been made, Paul’s crisis mode had faded without warning, as if
the panicked urgency was simply too much for him to sustain. There wasn’t
anything else he could do, and thinking about it hurt too much.

He’d
been sitting in his study ever since.

His
eyes drifted from the silent phone to his clenched fist. He forced his fingers
opened and stared down at the two rings in his palm.

Emily
had loved her engagement ring. He still remembered the shocked awe in her eyes
when he’d slipped it on her finger in the elevator two months ago. He’d never
seen her without it since that moment.

The
simple platinum wedding band he held was smaller and slimmer but otherwise
matched the one he wore on his left hand.

Emily
was supposed to be wearing these rings. She was supposed to be his wife.

He
looked at the platinum wedding band on his own hand. He was used to it now. His
hand would look naked without it. He liked the sight of the ring, the symbol
that he was intimately tied to Emily.

He
liked being married. He liked being a husband. And he loved Emily more than
anything in the world.

He
had no idea why she would have run away from him.

He
imagined her finally getting tired of putting up with his tangled life and
escaping somewhere she could find peace. He imagined her running away with
another man, a man she genuinely loved. He imagined someone secretly
blackmailing her over some dark secret and manipulating her into drastic
action. He imagined her giving up on a life that was too short and a body that
had betrayed her. He imagined every remote possibility that even flickered into
his mind.

They
all made his chest ache, but none of them were
right
. None of them were
convincing. He just couldn’t believe any of them was why she was gone now.

He
clenched his hand back over her rings. The large emerald poked him painfully in
the palm, but he just squeezed over it more tightly.

Why
didn’t she want his rings anymore? Why didn’t she want
him
?

It
hurt too much. It scared him too much. His mind closes down in response to way
too much. He just couldn’t feel anymore.

He
was jerked out of his numb stupor by someone clearing his throat in the doorway.

“Talk,”
Paul managed to force out, when he recognized Marks through the haze of his
vision.

Marks
was a professional, competent man in his fifties. He’d had an exemplary Special
Forces career before he’d retired and gone into the security business. He was
surprisingly distinguished-looking with graying hair and tailored suits,
despite the obvious strength and power in his large build. “We’ve found a
number of witnesses and have been able to trace her to the subway. We found a
woman who, we believe, saw her on the train.”

“What
was she doing?” Paul asked.

“According
to this woman, she looked pitifully sick and was crying.”

Paul’s
heart lurched viscerally at the image of Emily—
his
Emily—huddled up on
the seat of some dirty subway car. Weak, feverish and heartbroken.

If
Marks noticed Paul’s response, he ignored it. “We know where she stopped. We’re
working on following her route from that point.”

Clearly,
Paul’s mind was working much slower than usual because he just now thought of
something. “Why can’t we track her through her phone?”

“She
turned it off, sir.”

Of
course, she had. Paul closed his eyes for a moment. She was sick. He’d seen she
wasn’t feeling well this morning and should have paid closer attention, but
evidently she’d looked sick to the woman on the subway. If she had a fever, she
soon wouldn’t even be able to walk. She wouldn’t be able to take care of
herself.

He
needed to be there to help her.

“She
would call someone for help,” Paul said at last, rubbing his forehead between
his fingers and thumb.

“Yes,
sir. We’ve checked the records on her phone and the landlines here. We can’t
find any suspicious activity in the last few days.”

“A
pay phone,” Paul said, opening his hands to look down at Emily’s rings again.
“I’m not sure she planned this in advance. It feels…sudden. Check the payphones
at the subway stations she used.”

“Yes,
sir. We’re working on getting the LUDs on all of those phones. We’ve got
contacts in the phone company. It will take a little time for us to receive
them, but we’re hoping that will give us a new lead.”

Paul
nodded blankly, faintly surprised that he was so slow right now that his
security team was so far ahead of him in thinking things through.

He’d
spent most of his life thinking more quickly than anyone else.

Trying
to feel more normal—and not like this numb, dazed buffoon he’d somehow morphed
into—Paul said curtly, “She should not have been able to run away at all. Who
is to blame for that negligence?”

Marks
didn’t even flinch. “I am, sir. I should have better directed the team who
accompanied you and Mrs. Marino this morning.”

Paul
stared at the other man, but he couldn’t seem to conjure up an appropriate
response. He felt befuddled, almost like a child. It was so unlike him he
couldn’t begin to understand it.

“If
I can make a suggestion,” Marks began, his expression shifting very slightly.
“It might help if you would search Mrs. Marino’s room. We’ve already done so,
of course, but you knew her best. Perhaps there’s a clue to where she has gone
that you can recognize but we wouldn’t.”

Paul
nodded, ludicrously relieved to have something to do other than sit and stew.
He should have thought of searching her room himself. He had no idea why he
hadn’t.

“I’ll
do that,” he said, standing up. His legs felt strangely sore and stiff.

“I’ll
report again as soon as I know something more,” Marks said, leaving the study
with a nod.

Paul
was grateful to be left alone, since he didn’t feel very steady on his feet. He
wasn’t usually like this—he usually excelled at handling crises. But Emily
hadn’t been taken from him. There was no enemy to fight. There was no one to
rescue her from. She had just left him.

She
hadn’t wanted to be married to him anymore.

And
there might not be anything he could do about it.

He
couldn’t think about that reality for long, though, since it hurt so much it
might break him. So he took solace in the convenient numbness and walked down
the hall toward her room, still holding her rings in one hand.

Emily’s
bed was neatly made, but she hadn’t slept in her bed last night anyway. She’d
slept in his.

He
saw her laptop immediately and pangs of anxiety broke through his numbness. She
wouldn’t have willingly left her laptop behind. Maybe she hadn’t left on
purpose after all.

He
opened the lid to her laptop and frowned when the screen asked for a password.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Marks.

“I
was going to look through her laptop,” Paul explained when the other man picked
up, “Do you have the password?”

“Yes,
sir,” Marks replied. “We retrieved that.”

“I’m
ready,” Paul said, poising his fingers over the keyboard. He typed out a long
series of mostly numbers with a few capital letters and periods. “What is
that?” he asked, when Marks had finished.

There
was a brief pause. Then, “It’s the geocoding for the exact location of your
wedding.”

Paul
couldn’t speak as he processed this information. Then he mumbled, “Thanks,” and
hung up the phone.

He
searched her laptop, but there was no evidence in her email, her documents, or
her browser history of any plans she might have made to leave him. Then he
searched her drawers. She hadn’t taken many clothes, if any. He noticed an
empty spot on her dresser, where he remembered seeing the music box he’d given
her for her birthday.

If
she’d taken that to the restaurant this morning, then she knew she was going
away.

Her
list was gone from the nightstand drawer where she kept it.

Paul
stood up and walked over to her jewelry box. She hadn’t taken the black pearl
necklace he’d gotten her yesterday. She hadn’t taken the antique necklace he’d
given her on their wedding day, the one that went with her engagement ring. She
hadn’t taken the emerald earrings he’d bought her in New York. But he couldn’t
find the bracelet he’d had designed for her as a birthday gift.

He
searched the jewelry box twice. Then he looked everywhere else. The bracelet
simply wasn’t there.

Maybe
she’d taken it with her, even if she hadn’t wanted her rings or all of his
other gifts.

Or
maybe she’d just left it in the master bedroom, since she’d been wearing it
last night.