“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Judge Willis.” Don stepped
in front of Casey and introduced himself, keeping his voice quiet and calm. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Don Owens. These are Special Agents Will Dugan, Guy Adams and Jack McHale. We’re part of a specially trained child recovery team. We’re here to help find your daughter. Have you given Special Agents Barkley and Harrington, as well as the police, a full description and photos of Krissy, along with clothing samples…?”
“Yes.” Edward Willis moved to his wife’s side. “Thank you for coming, Agent Owens. I’m Edward Willis, Krissy’s father. In answer to your question, we filled out a background questionnaire. We gave the police and the FBI a preliminary list of neighbors, friends, relatives, Krissy’s friends, classmates and teachers—and we’re working on a list of all of Hope’s and my potential enemies. We also provided the photo and clothing you just mentioned, along with Krissy’s comb and toothbrush, and all the details of the abduction that we have—which aren’t many. What else can we do?”
“Make yourselves available for whatever’s necessary,” Don replied. “Media broadcasts. Following our lead when we ask you to prolong any phone calls we’re recording. Working with us to separate what’s real from what’s bogus as the public starts to communicate potential leads. Which they will. Some through our hotlines. Some through the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. Some through tips to law enforcement. You’ll both be required to submit to polygraph tests. I assure you, it’s routine. Don’t be insulted—just do it. Eliminating suspects can be as important as pursuing them. And, most of all, have faith.”
“Pursuit,” Hope echoed, reminded for the umpteenth time of the potential flight risk involved. “What about roadblocks?”
“Taken care of county-wide and beyond,” Don assured her. “And highway patrols are combing the area. Trust me, Judge Willis. We all know what we’re doing.”
Hope nodded, lowering her eyes as tears slid down her cheeks.
It was clear from the expression on Don’s face that he empathized with Hope’s fears. It was also clear that he knew there was only one way to alleviate them.
“If you’ll excuse me, my team needs to be debriefed,” he informed her. “The quicker the better. That way we won’t lose a minute. What room can we use?”
“My home office,” Hope said at once. She pointed. “It’s down the hall, second door to your right. The other FBI agents are in there with the police. There’s a conference table and more than enough chairs.”
With a brief nod of thanks, Don and his CARD team disappeared in that direction.
Hope turned back to Casey.
“I picked up on a certain evasiveness in your voice,” Casey stated without preamble. “You’re hiding something. Before we go any further, I want to know what that something is.”
Inhaling sharply, Hope responded to the obvious first. “Do you honestly believe I could harm my child? Is that why you think I was being evasive?”
“Initially, it was one of the explanations I considered.” Casey continued to be frank. Simultaneously, she was watching an interesting scene taking place diagonally across from them, in the kitchen. But the answer she provided Hope was definite and direct. “But after seeing you in person, my suspicions are gone. However, that doesn’t answer my question. You are holding something back. What? And why?”
“Because it has no bearing on our daughter’s disappearance,” Edward Willis inserted abruptly.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, Casey signaled for Marc and Ryan to go do their thing. Once they’d complied, she leveled a direct stare at Edward.
“Tell me if I’m wrong, Mr. Willis, but I get the feeling you’re not much in favor of your wife’s decision to hire us.”
“You’re not wrong. I’m a firm believer in the legal system.”
“As an attorney, I’m sure you are.” Casey kept her tone respectful. But she didn’t like this man. He was judgmental and controlling. And it was no surprise that he believed in the legal system—his legal system. He specialized in putting violent criminals back on the street in exchange for high visibility, a rush of self-importance and a hefty fee.
Aloud, all she said was, “I understand where you’re coming from. Rest assured, my group won’t be abusing law enforcement or whatever decisions you make with them. We’re here to follow their lead—if our discussion with you now results in a mutual decision for us to work together.”
“If?” Now Edward was taken aback. It was clear the man was used to getting his own way—even if, like this time, it meant Casey and her group vanishing into thin air.
His jaw tightened. “I don’t understand, Ms. Woods. My wife hired you.”
“True. But there’s a stipulation. I need my answer. What is it I’m not being told?”
Hope stared at the floor for a minute. The hard swallow that she gave, the way she steeled herself, and the way she shifted into autopilot told Casey that she’d relayed this story countless times, but that it never ceased to hurt.
“My sister Felicity was kidnapped thirty-two years ago,” she said quietly, her voice quavering from emotional strain. “We were six. She was sleeping next to me when it happened. I was chloroformed. So was she. Only it was Felicity the kidnapper chose to take. I’ve never understood why. We are—” a painful pause “—were identical twins. Very few people could tell us apart—unless they were familiar with our personalities. Which, to me, says the kidnapper was someone who knew us at least fairly well. And before you ask, Felicity’s body was never recovered. The case was labeled cold, and closed two years after the abduction. Now, history is repeating itself…with my baby.” Choking up, Hope pressed a fist to her mouth to stifle a sob.
“Now you see why I didn’t want you to pursue this line of questioning,” Edward snapped, once again putting an arm around his wife. The gesture seemed oddly stiff, even staged. “Dredging up a painful incident from Hope’s past is pointless.”
“I disagree.” Casey quickly processed the implications of what she was being told, even as her gaze flickered once again to the kitchen doorway. “It explains that this terrifying crime is even more terrifying for your wife than it might be for another woman. Two treasured loved ones kidnapped in a lifetime—the first unsolved, and occurring when your wife was an impressionable, young child? Scars like that don’t heal, Mr. Willis. Especially when the victim is an identical twin, who most people claim is like half of a whole. And now, a child—the very heart and soul of a mother. I can see why Judge Willis would be coming apart at the seams, reliving the past, and willing to go to any extreme to avoid a repeat of it.”
“So you understand.” Hope scrutinized Casey, her gaze filled with agonized pain.
“I do,” Casey said without hesitation. “I understand your fear. And I understand what you weren’t saying on the phone. Consider yourself our top-priority client.”