The Longest Silence

A ring vibrated the air in the room.

Enough. Jo snatched up the phone. “What do you want, Ellen?”

The silence on the other end sent a surge of oily black uncertainty snaking around her heart. When she would have ended the call, words tumbled across the dead air.

“This is Ellen’s husband.”

A new level of doubt nudged at Jo. “Art?”

She had no idea how she remembered the man’s name. Personal details were something else she had obliterated from her life. Distance and anonymity were her only real friends now.

Now? She almost laughed out loud at her vast understatement. Eighteen years. She’d left any semblance of a normal life behind eighteen years ago. Jesus Christ, had it only been eighteen?

Felt like forever.

“Yours was the only name in Ellen’s phone I didn’t recognize.” He chuckled but the sound held no humor. “Her mom and dad’s number is there. Her little sister’s. The number for Alton’s school, my mom’s and the pediatrician. Mine, of course. But yours was the only other one.” He made a sound of surprise. “I never realized there was no one else. No friends. Not even any of the other mothers from Alton’s class or from our neighborhood are in her contacts. I just assumed she lunched and shopped with the other mothers. Set up playdates, but Alton said no playdates.” He sighed. “Doesn’t really matter now, I guess.”

That inky blackness spread through Jo’s chest like icy water rushing over a cliff. “Where’s Ellen?”

Another of those humorless chuckles. “I wish I could tell you she’s at home with Elle—that’s our three-year-old. But Elle’s with my mom. My wife isn’t here at the hospital with me and Alton either.”

Jo held back her questions through another long, weary sigh. A steady beep, beep, beep echoed in the background. He’d said he and Alton were in the hospital. “Is Ellen sick?”

Wait, he’d said Ellen wasn’t there. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Jo repeated those two words to herself during the silence that followed. Ellen’s problems weren’t hers.

Ellen made her own choices.

“No,” Art finally said, his voice cracking on the single syllable. He cleared his throat. “Alton is having his second surgery, by the way. They weren’t able to finish all the skin grafts with the first one. He’ll be okay. Maybe one more surgery after this.” Silence filled the air between them once more. “The fire wasn’t her fault, you know. She didn’t mean for any of this to happen. She tried. She really did. I should have given her more credit for trying.”

Fire? As hard as she tried to ignore it, worry gnawed at Jo.

“In case you didn’t know, Ellen had a serious problem.”

Had? More of that tension twisted in Jo’s gut.

Art drew in a shaky breath. “I tried to help her but nothing ever seemed to work. Don’t worry though, Alton will be okay. The burns on his hands and arms will heal. I tried to tell her he’d be fine, but I guess I was so angry I waited too long to reassure her. At first I was too upset to think rationally. Any father would have done the same. I was so scared and so damned furious. I told her she had to leave. That I couldn’t trust her to take care of the children anymore. So, you see, it’s really my fault. I shouldn’t have said so many hurtful things. I wasn’t thinking... I was so upset by what she’d done.” Pause. “I guess I should have called you sooner, but I—”

“Art,” Jo snapped, “where is Ellen?”

He cleared his throat. “Ellen killed herself three weeks ago today. Last night I finally worked up the courage to go through some of her things and I thought—since you were the only friend listed in her contacts—that you might want to know. And maybe you could tell me what she meant by the note she left. Three words and I don’t have a clue what they mean. She knows everything. Do you know what she meant by that?”

Jo ended the call.

Ellen had tried to call her three weeks ago and Jo had ignored the incessant ringing. No voice mail was left. If a caller didn’t leave a voice mail, you weren’t actually obligated to call back, right? It had been a Saturday. Must have been the day before...

Jo sank onto the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. She should have answered. She should have tried to be the friend Ellen’s husband thought she was. And Ellen was right. She did know everything—Jo had lived it with her. Now the only other person who knew what really happened eighteen years ago was dead.

Jo wondered why in all this time she’d never considered taking that avenue out of this pretend life she muddled through?

Maybe because she was a coward—or maybe because if she did then the bad guys won.

She looked around the place she called home for now. Her entire apartment was this one ten-by-twelve room. Even the bathroom was nothing more than a small corner hidden behind a makeshift partition wall. The wood floors were worn and creaked with every step she made. The plaster on the walls was cracked, the blue paint faded. The only window was covered with a cheap, nicotine-stained paper blind, the sort made for temporary use. There was a tired sofa that served as a bed, along with a rickety metal and Formica table accompanied by two well-worn chairs. Along the shared wall between this room and the neighbor’s the kitchenette looked like something out of a 1950s Airstream.

Jo blinked. None of it really mattered. There was a roof over her head and four walls to protect her from the weather and whatever other threat showed up. No leaks in the roof and the plumbing worked most of the time. She pushed to her feet and shoved her cell into the back pocket of her jeans. Uncertainty and disappointment and all the other weaknesses she rarely allowed herself to feel suddenly assaulted her.

Memories from her former life poured through the emptiness inside her before she could stop them. She’d had a family. She’d had a scholarship. The future had been hers for the taking. Now, Jo turned all the way around in the middle of the room; she was thirty-six years old and this was her life—all because she’d made a terrible, terrible mistake eighteen years ago.

Poor Ellen had tried as best she could to salvage some semblance of a life and look how that turned out.

Bottom line, they had both allowed persons whose names they hadn’t known—whose faces they couldn’t be certain they had ever seen—to get away with destroying their lives.

Determination surged in Jo’s veins. Ellen was dead. The other girl was dead. Jo suspected the bastards who had orchestrated all of this were responsible for numerous other devastated lives and deaths, as well. Was she going to do nothing and allow them to never have to face responsibility for what they’d done?

Jo had been silent far too long.

Besides, what did she have to lose?

Not one damned thing that wasn’t already gone.

3

Lorton, Virginia

Tuesday, April 10, 11:16 a.m.

The god-awful sound wouldn’t go away. Like an earthquake shaking the whole damned townhouse, the noise splitting his skull.

Former Special Agent Anthony LeDoux cracked one eye open. Sunlight poured in through the slits in the blinds and he snapped his eyes shut once more. What idiot designed bedrooms facing east? Better question, what idiot rented a townhouse with a bedroom facing east?

A rusty groan growled out of him. You did, Tony. Special agent... Yeah right.

He should probably get up. Maybe eat something so he wouldn’t lose any more weight. Maybe even do something worthwhile like look for a job. His brain ached with the weight of the thought.

What the hell time was it? One hand tunneled from under the sheet and pawed across the bedside table until he found his cell phone. Once his fingers wrapped around it, he dared to raise his head from the pillow. Pain abruptly throbbed in his skull like a series of IED blasts.

“Shit.” Despite the agony, he forced his eyes open and peered at the cell phone—11:20 a.m. “Christ.”

Before he could drop the phone back onto the table it vibrated. So that was the infernal noise that had awakened him. Even with the phone in his hand the noise was like a blender full of rocks roaring on high speed. He stared at the screen until the caller’s identity came into focus.

Angie.

Oh hell. Tony cleared his throat and said hello aloud a couple of times just to make sure he sounded normal and not hungover before answering. “Hey, sis. What’s up?” Didn’t help. His voice sounded rusty and cracked twice.

“It’s Tiffany.”

He sat upright, the room rocking like a boat about to capsize. Plowing a hand through his hair, he prayed his head wouldn’t explode before he got through this conversation. “What’d she do? Drop out of school?”

His niece had been the perfect angel from the day she was born until high school. It was as if the day she turned sixteen she wanted to make up for lost time. The girl had given her conservative parents pure hell the past three years. As Angie’s only sibling, Tony had been the sounding board for the worst of the awful episodes. Thankfully things had been mostly quiet since Tiffany left for college. He’d hoped she had grown out of her wild stage.

A sob echoed in his ear and his heart reacted. “Ang, what’s going on?”

He stood. Swayed some more before he could steady himself. It wasn’t until then that he noticed the blonde in his bed. Her bare ass and rumpled mane were the only parts not covered by the tangled sheet. What the hell was her name? Chelsea? Chanel? Fuck! He couldn’t remember.

“She’s missing, Tony,” Ang said in his ear. “My girl is missing.”

A hint of fear roiled in his belly. He turned away from the blonde, who hadn’t moved. “Okay, sis. Take it from the top. Tell me what happened.”

As Angie spoke, he put her on speaker and left his phone on the table while he searched for his jeans and shirt. When the blonde still didn’t move, he leaned close and listened for any sign of breathing. She smelled of expensive perfume and high-octane vodka. Her soft purrs confirmed she had survived whatever the hell they’d done last night.

“We wanted her to come home for spring break,” his sister went on, “but she had other plans. She wouldn’t say what or with whom. Said it was none of our business and that we’d hear from her when she got back. So we thought maybe she had a boyfriend. Maybe a serious one. But ever since spring break she’s been distant. I called her every day last week and she never answered or called me back.” More of those heart-twisting sobs resonated in the room.

Tony hopped on one foot and then the other to tug on his jeans. “Is she showing up for class?”

“She was in class on Friday, but she didn’t show up for any of her classes yesterday or this morning.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” The room spun a little so Tony sat down on the bed. The blonde moaned but didn’t move. He picked up the phone and took it off speaker. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s not even noon, Ang. Maybe she’s just late. She could be on her way back from a weekend trip right now.” His niece had hardly been out of pocket long enough to overreact. Ang did that sometimes. She was particularly emotional when it came to her only child.

“No. No, I spoke to her roommate. Tiffany didn’t—”

“Ang, listen.” He rubbed at the back of his skull. Damn, his head hurt. The taste of bile and vodka climbed up his throat. He swallowed it back. “She’s nineteen and trying out her wings. Wait and see... She’ll show up sometime today. Just try to stay calm.”

“You don’t understand!”

His sister’s raised voice was like a bullet to his brain; he flinched. He needed something for this headache. Angie was older—only by fifteen months—and she never let Tony forget it. As calmly as he could, he said, “Explain it to me then.”

“None of her clothes are missing. Nothing. If she went on a weekend trip, wouldn’t she take something? A change of clothes? Her purse?”

That drop of fear he’d felt earlier widened into a distinct trickle. “She didn’t take her purse? What about her driver’s license and cell phone?”

“No. Nothing. Tony,” Ang said somberly, “she didn’t even take her makeup or her Jeep.”

A flood of uncertainty crowded into his chest now, making his next breath difficult. “Okay. Have you alerted campus security?”

His niece was a beautiful girl and certainly didn’t need cosmetics to enhance her natural beauty but she refused to step out the door without the works. If she didn’t take her makeup, she hadn’t left willingly. Not to mention her cell phone and driver’s license. If they possessed one or both, no teenager left without them.

“Yes, of course. We’re headed to Milledgeville now. I need you, Tony. I don’t care what’s going on with you and the Bureau—I need you. Tiffany needs you.”

With Ang and Steve in Dahlonega, the drive down to Milledgeville would take between two and three hours. They would arrive well ahead of Tony, which meant he had to get moving.

He leaned forward, fighting back the urge to vomit, and gathered his sneakers. “Call the Dean and ask him to put campus security on high alert. As soon as you get to Milledgeville, go straight to the security office. I’ll call the Milledgeville chief of police and explain our concerns so he’ll see the urgency in the situation.”

“Thank you.” His sister made a keening sound. “What if—”

“Ang, stop. Don’t even go there right now.” She started to cry and the sound was like daggers twisting in his chest. In the background her husband, Steve, offered quiet reassurances. When silence filled the air between them, Tony said, “Listen to me, sis, we’ll find her.”

“Promise me, Tony. Promise me you’ll find our baby.”

“I promise.”

The call dropped off. Tony blew out a heavy breath. Now sure as hell wasn’t the time to tell his sister that he wasn’t simply having trouble with the Bureau—he had resigned from his position at BAU-2. He’d been keeping that secret from his ex-wife and his sister for more than a month. He glanced back at the blonde. He’d filled his nights with booze and women whose names he couldn’t remember the next morning. Like a vampire, he spent his days sleeping.

He grabbed his shirt and headed for the bathroom. A better man would shave and shower before hitting the road, but Tony wasn’t a better man anymore. He’d stopped being that man more than a year ago.

Bitter bile rushed into his throat and he barely made it to the toilet. He heaved until there was nothing left to exorcise from his gut.

The path of self-destruction. His new boss had said those words to him in the final weeks before Tony gave the hard-nosed asshole and the Bureau the middle finger. He flushed the toilet and, with effort, pushed to his feet. He ducked his head under the faucet and rinsed his mouth. Swiping his face with his forearm, he stared at his reflection. He definitely needed to shave. Needed a haircut. Looked like death warmed over.

No time to fix his broken image.

He bumped into the wall on his way to the walk-in closet. The idea that his blood alcohol level might still be lingering above the legal limit filtered through his mind. No time to fix that either. He’d take food and water with him and work on that particular issue en route. He grabbed the leather overnight bag he’d used for the eleven years of service he’d given the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

He ignored the row of suits and crisply pressed shirts and stuffed a couple of polo shirts and another pair of jeans, socks and underwear into the bag. A pair of loafers went in next. Should have gone in first. Before his fall from grace he’d packed this damned bag so meticulously that even his shirts came out as smooth as when they’d gone in. Not anymore. On second thought he shoved a suit jacket into the bag. If he halfway looked the part maybe Angie wouldn’t have too many questions.

At the door to the bedroom he remembered his Dopp kit. He might not want to shave now but he’d have to eventually if he expected the local cops to listen to what he had to say. He added the toiletry kit to his bag.

As a profiler for the Bureau he’d spent a lot of years learning how to manipulate the locals to accomplish his goal. In fact, he’d become a master manipulator. Maybe all that bad Karma he’d left in his wake had finally caught up to him.

He glanced at the blonde in his bed. This was the part he always dreaded.

Chelsea or Chanel wasn’t happy about being roused. She called him every foul name in her vast repertoire while he helped her dress. When he’d called a cab, he gave her a bottle of water and maneuvered her out of the building. As the car pulled away from the curb she shouted asshole and flipped her middle finger at him.

Nothing he didn’t deserve. He climbed into his BMW and collapsed against the seat. Anthony LeDoux, this is your life.

Somehow, until he figured out where the hell Tiffany was, he’d have to find a way to pull himself together and at least pretend his world hadn’t gone to shit and that he could help rescue his niece from whatever trouble she had gotten herself into.

Too bad he’d lost his hero credentials months ago.

4

Milledgeville, Georgia

8:30 p.m.

It was late, but the tension in the chief of police’s office was motivated by far more than the hour. Tony sensed the animosity the moment he walked through the entrance doors of the Public Safety building. Obviously, the man already had Tony’s number. Not surprising. Any cop worth his salt would do his homework.

There was a time when Tony had been damned good at prompting all the right reactions. Not anymore.

Since it was well past business hours, a uniformed officer had been waiting to allow him into the one-story building and then to escort him to the office of the town’s top cop. A tall, fit man, Chief Arlan Phelps had no doubt spent the last thirty or so years in law enforcement and possessed no tolerance for those who used evasion and innuendo to manipulate events.

Not so good for Tony since these days those were his most valuable assets.

“Make yourself comfortable, Agent LeDoux.” Phelps gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

“Thanks.” Tony settled into the offered seat, careful to keep his gaze on the chief. He’d pulled over at a truck stop outside Atlanta. After topping off the gas tank, he’d spent some time in the bathroom shaving and changing clothes. Then he’d forced himself to eat a hot meal. He’d used some Visine to tone down his bloodshot eyes and popped a couple of Advil. By the time he made the exit for Milledgeville some ninety miles later he felt reasonably human.

Phelps hadn’t stopped staring at him since he came into the room. The older man smoothed a palm over his slick head. “There is nothing in this world I hate more than having my time wasted, and you, Mr. LeDoux, wasted a good deal of my time this afternoon.”

So, he knew Tony’s secret. Great. Might as well play this out and see if there was anything salvageable. “How do you mean, Chief? When a young woman—anyone for that matter—goes missing, I take it very seriously, and time is not an asset that should ever be wasted in a situation such as this one.”

“The FBI tells me you’re no longer in their service.” Phelps leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on its worn, smooth wooden arms. “I don’t know what to make of that, Mr. LeDoux. Isn’t it against the law to impersonate a federal agent?”

Now he was just being an asshole.

Tony nodded. “You’re right. I used the position I once held to prompt you to action. The truth is Tiffany is my niece—my only niece, daughter of my only sister. My goal is to ensure everything possible is done to find her.” He held up a hand when Phelps would have spoken. “I no longer serve the Bureau, that’s true, but I did and I was very good at my job. I can help—I want—to help.”

Phelps smiled. “I figured as much after I spoke with the girl’s parents. Here’s the problem.” He leaned forward, eliciting a groan from his chair. “We have no real proof at this time that Tiffany Durand is missing. She’s nineteen years old and even her roommate said she might just have decided to take a little vacation with the new guy she’s seeing and hasn’t made it back to class in time. It happens. It’s too early to get worried just yet.”

Tony prepared to list the litany of reasons that assessment was inaccurate except this time Phelps was the one holding up his hand. So Tony grabbed onto his last shred of patience and heard the man out.

“I make my decision based on facts and the facts simply don’t indicate foul play just yet. I don’t know how well you keep up with your niece, but this isn’t the first time she’s disappeared. Campus security is lead on any case that involves the students and they’ve questioned her roommate and several of her friends—just because her parents called. I spoke with the chief over there—for no other reason than you asked me to do so. As you know, without some indication of foul play or suggestion of imminent danger, Tiffany is not technically missing. She’s a nineteen-year-old woman who didn’t show up for class and who has a record of doing so. The good news is she always comes back. Never misses more than a day or two.”

When the chief paused to take a breath, Tony argued, “We believe this time is different. Tiffany’s mother knows her better than anyone and she has reason—”

“Mr. and Mrs. Durand explained their feelings very clearly and we all completely understand their misgivings. Hell, I have two daughters and raising them about put me six feet under. Girls, no matter how smart and how sweet, can break your heart and scare you half to death.”

Tony took a moment as if he were weighing the chief’s sage words. “So, you’re choosing to impose a waiting period?”

Federal law left the decision in the hands of local law enforcement, but few opted to hold out and be the reason a missing child or young adult became a homicide case. Tony held the older man’s gaze. Men like Phelps didn’t like veering outside the lines. They chose a path in their careers and they never deviated, kept it simple. But life wasn’t simple. Tony had seen up close what a psychopathic serial killer could do to a victim in a couple of hours. Time was always the enemy.

“Tiffany’s done this before,” Phelps reminded him. “The security folks over at the college are an outstanding team. They go through the same training as our state police so we’re not talking about a group of rent-a-cops. They’ve performed their due diligence. Frankly, they’ve already gone above and beyond—questioning other students, talking to her professors. They haven’t been twiddling their thumbs over there. In fact, I’ve spoken to the chief several times today. Based on Tiffany’s previous activities, he feels she’ll show up in the next twenty-four hours.”

“Her previous activities?” The headache had resurrected and started to throb behind Tony’s eyes. “You keep insinuating she’s done this before but I’m not hearing any actual dates or firm accounts.”

Phelps heaved an impatient sigh. “Twice last semester and a third time back in February, she disappeared for a couple of days. Her confidential contact confirmed that she left of her own volition after her final class last Friday. Bottom line, at this time we have no credible reason to consider her missing. If she does not show up or contact her family or confidential contact by tomorrow morning, we’ll move forward with a missing person report.”

“Confidential contact?”

“Each student has the option of designating a confidential contact that isn’t necessarily a parent or other next of kin. Typically, a confidential contact is close to the student and would be aware of his or her whereabouts.”

“Well.” Tony stood. He closed the button of his jacket. “I’ll see you first thing in the morning, Chief.”

Before Tony reached the door, Phelps said, “You’re that convinced she’s not going to show up.”

Tony thought of all Angie had told him. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

He reached for the door once more, and Phelps said, “Sit back down, Agent LeDoux.”