Unfinished Business (3 page)

He walked over to the hotel’s window and looked out, and recalled just when he’d realized how Carl Maxwell’s disappearing act had left a scar on him. He hadn’t quite reached his first birthday when his father had walked out on his wife and two sons. But the child in Alex had loved the missing parent anyway, and had actually believed that because of that love, his father would one day miraculously return. No one, he had thought in his young, naïve mind, would not accept that much love. He was proven wrong when his father never returned to the family he had deserted.

The day he had realized the truth, that all the love in the world wouldn’t make his father return, he had lost control and totally trashed his bedroom. On that day he had promised himself that no matter what, he would never fall in love and no one would ever make him lose control of his emotions again. By the time Alex left for college at sixteen, he had learned a hard lesson in life and had vowed never to put stock in the power of love.

His thoughts shifted back to Christy and he felt a deep pounding of his heart in his chest. If it wasn’t love he was feeling, than what was it? What had him in such turmoil at the thought of her with someone else?

He rubbed his hand down his face, feeling both mentally and physically exhausted. Moments later, he released a slow breath. He might not want any part of love, but he did want Christy.

And no matter what, he was determined to have her.

 
“So, how was your date last night with Kevin?”

Christy glanced up as Shemell Parker dropped down into the chair next to her desk. It was at the party Shemell had given where Christy and Kevin had met. He had recently moved into Shemell’s apartment complex and she had invited him.

Shemell was twenty-six and was the first one to welcome Christy to the
Cincinnati Enquirer
when she began working there a month ago. She was a reporter for the entertainment section and was determined to find the perfect man to marry before her thirtieth birthday.

Christy smiled thinking of her date with Kevin last night. “It was fun. In fact, we’re going dancing at the club again tonight.”

Shemell beamed. “Umm, two nights in a row. Things are sounding serious.”

Christy shook her head as she tossed the file she’d been working on aside. “Trust me, it’s not. He’s just a lot of fun and I have a lot of nervous energy to work off.”

There was no need to explain that it was probably more anger she was working off than nervous energy. Alex showing up at her place unexpectedly last night hadn’t been a good thing. And to make matters worse, it had been Alex and not Kevin who had intruded into her dreams, igniting some of those basic urges that would come to the forefront whenever Alex was around.

“Well, I’m glad you and Kevin seem to be hitting it off. I don’t know a lot about him, but he seems to be a—”

Shemell stopped talking in midsentence when her gaze latched on to someone who had entered the newsroom. Christy glanced over her shoulder to see who had gotten Shemell’s attention, and all she saw was a middle-aged white woman who was walking toward her boss, Malcolm Wilcox’s office. It seemed everyone had stopped what they were doing and was staring.

“What’s going on?” Christy whispered, curious as to what was happening.

Shemell shook her head sadly. “That’s Morganna Patterson. Her family used to be one of the pillars of the communities until around five years ago, when their manufacturing company went bankrupt and the family hit rock bottom. But the Patterson name still carries some weight in this town, especially since her great-grandfather was one of the founders of the
Enquirer
.”

Christy nodded. “Why do you think she’s here?”

Shemell sighed. “Probably because her daughter has contacted her again with more information.”

Christy raised a brow. “I don’t understand. What kind of information?”

Shemell leaned closer to Christy and whispered, “Two years ago Mrs. Patterson’s fourteen-year-old daughter, Bonita, ran away from home. She used to get into all sorts of trouble around town, not being able to handle the family going from riches to rags. So it wasn’t surprising when we heard she had run away without a trace, leaving a note letting her parents know she thought they sucked, because of her financial ruin, like it had been deliberate. She was nothing but a spoiled, ungrateful kid.”

Christy nodded, thinking it was sad that teenage runaways in this country were becoming an epidemic. She had written a report on the problem while working as a reporter in Houston. “Did she ever come back?”

“No. Mrs. Patterson claims her daughter is dead somewhere and she knows it for certain because periodically she gets messages from Bonita from the grave.”

Christy blinked. “Really?”

Shemell rolled her eyes upward. “Well, of course we all know she’s off her rocker, but the woman is convinced there is some diabolical international organization that’s kidnapping teenage runaway girls and shipping them to some foreign country and using them in a slave trade.”

“Wow,” Christy said. “Has anyone reported this to the FBI?” She asked since she knew kidnappings fell within their jurisdiction.

Shemell nodded. “Yes, but their investigation ended when they couldn’t find anything to support Morganna’s claim. Everyone around these parts figures Morganna Patterson has a few screws loose, but because of her family’s name they pretend to believe her. Her family’s former ties with this paper are the reason she brings any news here instead of taking it to the police. Cincinnati’s finest won’t give her the time of day, because they are short staffed, and the FBI refuses to take anything she has to say seriously anymore.”

Shemell leaned back in her chair. “Malcolm is a longtime family friend and just to make her happy he usually will assign one of his reporters to take down the latest development, assure the woman we’ll investigate things, and then a few days later we discreetly file the information away.”

Christy sighed deeply. “If people assume she’s not operating with a full deck, then why doesn’t her family get the necessary help for her?”

Shemell smiled. “Again, because of the family name. She’s harmless and not hurting anyone, except maybe someone who’s nutty enough to believe her story. Morganna’s mother’s side of the family were from Louisana. I understand her grandmother was supposedly psychic, which is probably why Morganna actually thinks she’s communicating with the dead.”

Christy nodded, thinking Mrs. Patterson’s story was probably more interesting than the one she had covered that morning about the cat that had gotten trapped in a sewer and had to be rescued by the fire department.

She knew that it was time she had a talk with Malcolm. She was an investigative reporter and wanted assignments she could sink her teeth into. Who knew? If she became so absorbed in her work, then she wouldn’t have time to think about Alex Maxwell.

Alex sighed deeply as he hung up the phone and leaned back in the wingback chair in his hotel room. Justin and Clayton had been satisfied to hear he had seen Christy and that she was doing fine. Dex, however, had wanted in-depth information such as whether or not she was eating properly, if her apartment was in a safe location, and whether she was dating and, if so, who the guy was and how serious it was.

Alex had decided to tell the brothers as little as possible; after all, he’d meant what he had told Christy. Her brothers were not the reason he was in Cincinnati. They deserved to know she was doing OK, but that was it. Besides, the shit would hit the fan when they discovered his true reason for being here. He fully understood that when the depth of his relationship with Christy was revealed, he’d have the Madaris brothers to deal with. But at the moment that concern was the least of his problems. Right now he had to first go about establishing that relationship. And Christy was being deliberately difficult.

It was evident that she was not in a forgiving mood. But he was a patient man and she deserved at least that from him. So while he waited for her to come around, there was one thing he could do.

Eliminate the competition.

Be careful what you ask for because you just might get it
.

Christy sighed as she gazed around Morganna Patterson’s modest home. She had gone into Malcolm’s office to have a heart-to-heart talk with him about the type of assignments she’d been getting. He had listened to her complaints and then had turned the cards on her by giving her the one assignment none of the other reporters wanted: to investigate Mrs. Patterson’s story—or at least pretend to be doing so.

Christy had to admit the woman seemed kind and sincere, and when she had arrived at the Pattersons’ home she felt awful to see it in such disrepair. Before leaving the office she had pulled the Patterson file out of dead storage to take it home and read. Although everyone had pretty much written it off as fiction, Christy figured it would be interesting reading for the weekend, if nothing else.

She glanced up when Mrs. Patterson reentered the room with a pitcher of cold lemonade. The woman was such a gracious hostess, and Christy’s heart went out to her. Malcolm had said the woman’s daughter had run away and her husband had died within the same year, so she was living all alone.

“You look too young to be a reporter,” Mrs. Patterson said, smiling, pouring lemonade in two glasses.

Christy smiled. She was getting used to that comment. “Yes, I’m probably the youngest reporter Malcolm has on his staff right now. I graduated from college two years ago and worked as a reporter for the
Houston Chronicle
before deciding to take the job here.”

Deciding to jump right into the interview, Christy clicked on her tape recorder and said, “Tell me about your daughter, Mrs. Patterson.”

She watched as sadness crept into the woman’s eyes. “Had she lived, Bonita would have celebrated her sixteenth birthday two days ago.”

Christy lifted a brow. “That was the most recent day she came to you in your dreams?”

“Yes.”

“And you said when she came to you it was to warn you that another girl was about to be abducted?”

“Yes.”

“And did she give you any information about the girl? A name? The town where she lived? Anything?”

Morganna shook her head. “The only thing she could tell me was that her name was associated with Christmas.”

Christy frowned.
Christmas? Would the girl’s name be Mary? Angel? Star
? “Is there anything else you can remember?”

“No, I’ve told you everything. My heart goes out to that young woman’s family, whoever she is. Bonita explained once in an earlier dream how after being taken, she was put in the cargo section of this boat with other young women—all of them had been snatched and were frightened for their lives. They were told that no harm would come to them if they did what they were told and accepted how things would be from then on.”

A gentle smile touched the woman’s features. “Of course that was probably Greek to Bonita, who always had a mind of her own. Being rebellious came naturally to her. After a few months of being some man’s love slave she couldn’t take it anymore and tried to escape. It was then that she met her death.”

A lump formed in Christy’s throat. She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “And how did she die?”

The woman hesitated, then took a deep breath as tears filled her eyes. “Bonita was beheaded in front of every other woman to show what would happen to them if they tried to escape like she did.”

Christy didn’t say anything, and for a moment she had forgotten that whatever Morganna Patterson was telling her was nothing but a figment of the woman’s confused imagination, although it had sounded real.

“And this place that your daughter was taken, where is it?”

The woman shook her head. “I don’t know, because Bonita was never sure. All she knew was that it was in a foreign country, where the men spoke a language she didn’t understand. She was put in this harem with other teenage girls between the ages of fourteen and nineteen, from all over the world. Each girl was to serve whatever man chose her as his plaything. Some of the men she claimed were Americans.”

Christy’s eyes widened. “Americans?”

“Yes.”

“Military men?”

“No, dignitaries. Men in power. She even said one was an American senator, although she never knew his name.” More tears formed in the woman’s eyes. “Bonita said he was one of the most abusive.”

Christy took a huge sip of her lemonade thinking this woman really did have a wild imagination. “Do you know what you’re saying, Mrs. Patterson?”

The woman nodded slowly, sadly. “Yes, I know what I’m saying, which is the reason I know all of this is a cover-up by our government. I was told by one FBI agent that Bonita is probably someplace alive and doesn’t want to be found, but I know that’s not true. I also know that everyone thinks my ability to communicate to my daughter from the grave might sound crazy, but it’s the truth. I think I may have inherited psychic powers from my grandmother. Bonita comes to me in my dreams, and although she knows it’s too late for her, she’s trying to reach out and save the others.”

Morganna Patterson reached out and took Christy’s hand in hers. For several moments an air of sadness, desperation, and hopelessness hovered in the room. Christy couldn’t help but see the heartfelt plea in the desolate eyes locked with hers. “Will you help me save them, Miss Madaris? Will you help me save all the others?”