Part 33 (2/2)

”So you went undercover? That's what Elena told me.”

”Not right away. Despite what people think, not many FBI agents do undercover work. Instead they rely on informants.” He shrugged. ”Eventually, I became both.”

Izzy turned momentarily and looked out the window. There was nothing out there, just the black night, and yet, despite that blackness, just watching her, Christopher knew he was right. Because of her, he was back in color.

59.

V ictoria McNeil sat at the table in the bay window of her kitchen and looked outside at the flowers she had planted a few weeks ago. They were all blooming in red and white. Her patio furniture, heavy black iron with ivory cus.h.i.+ons, was artfully arranged. She had envisioned that this summer she, Charlie, Izzy and Spence would spend a lot of time on that patio. But now Izzy was in Italy and, more importantly, Charlie was...Who knew where Charlie was?

Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. Her little boy. The boy who skated in lazy circles through life, smiling all the while. The only time Victoria had really worried about Charlie was after he got in the accident with the construction truck. But even then, he had laughed it off. But where was Charlie now?

Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. She couldn't believe this. Why had he been kidnapped? She looked across the kitchen at Bunny Loveland, who was at the counter putting marshmallows into a bowl. She had announced that she was making Jell-O, that awful Jell-O with the marshmallows that no one liked, but Victoria appreciated the effort, appreciated Bunny's cranky optimism.

Her husband, Spence, was in the kitchen, pacing back and forth, the phone in his hand, while he jabbered at his friend George, who was the superintendent of police in Chicago. George had always been able to help them before, like when Izzy needed information last year. But now George was helpless, too. There were no leads in Charlie's case.

Spence wore a light blue Oxford s.h.i.+rt. He'd rolled the sleeves up, past his elbows, as if ready to chip in with heavy physical work. Spence hated to be helpless. He was happiest when of service to his friends or family. She knew the situation was killing him.

It was killing her, too. She could feel it. She was familiar with the signs of death within herself-the dying of her spirit, which she held on to tenuously anyway.

G.o.d, Charlie. What was happening? She had never felt so useless in her life. She played with her cell phone in her hands, waiting to be inspired with calls to make, something to do. Surely something would happen soon, some direction, some action to take.

Her phone lit up. She had a text message. Probably from Ca.s.sandra, her best friend. Victoria was not a huge fan of texting and only used the service with a few people like Ca.s.sandra and her kids. And Ca.s.sandra was the only one Victoria had told about Charlie. She had this idea-immature, she knew-that if she didn't tell many people, it wouldn't really be happening.

Victoria looked at the phone and scrolled to the texts. There were two-or rather it looked like one message that was long and had been split into two by the phone company. And...Oh my G.o.d. The text messages were from Charlie! Alarm went through her body. She sat up straight.

”Spence,” she said, but he was walking out of the kitchen, talking loudly, telling George that he would get Charlie's social security number and other information right now. Bunny was muttering about not having bought enough marshmallows.

Victoria looked back down at her phone.

Charlie had written, Mom I'm okay. Don't know how to tell u but got in trouble with drugs. These guys kidnapped me cuz I owe money. They say they'll kill me if I don't pay. But if the police get involved, they'll kill me, too. Is there any way u could get $1200 and meet me tomorrow? Please don't tell Spence or the cops.

Victoria's back stiffened, reading the text message again. She felt a charge go through her, one of purpose. It was the opposite of the way she usually responded to a crisis. She fell apart so easily. She had always done that. She was never vocal with her emotions. And when she retreated, it was into herself. She disappeared piece by piece, alive on the outside, but dead inside.

But now, instead of feeling herself recede, she felt as if she were stepping into her skin, coming into power. This was something she could do for her son. But then she shook her head. Could this really be true? Could Charlie really have a problem with drugs? Certainly, he was always drinking wine. And everyone said that people with drug problems usually started with alcohol, but she'd never seen any signs that Charlie had drug problems or even any drug usage. She thought then of Ca.s.sandra, whose own daughter had a battle with drugs, and when Ca.s.sandra found out about it, she'd had no previous idea. I never suspected for a second, Ca.s.sandra had said.

Victoria squeezed her eyes, sick with the thought that Charlie was putting something horrible into his system. What kind of drugs? Where did he get them? Then she shook her head again. It didn't matter.

Spence came down into the kitchen, still on the phone with George. He was so involved with the conversation, so used to Victoria always waiting, never taking any action herself that he barely noticed her, just kept pacing through the kitchen, into their library and back.

Victoria looked back at her phone, read the texts again and again and again, memorizing the words. Could this be a trick of some kind? But the words sounded like Charlie, and it would explain this bizarre occurrence.

Once more she read Charlie's words, and then a decision came to her. She was going to take action. She raised the phone and texted back one word. Yes.

60.

I closed my window shade and thought about my conversation with the reporter, the one Mayburn and I had spoken to about the witness protection program.

I turned back to my father. ”Families can enter the witness protection program together.” I said it as a statement and it was intended as one. I wasn't asking him a question of whether it was a possibility that we could have all entered the program together, but simply why he hadn't exercised that possibility.

My father gazed at me somberly. He nodded. ”But that program is no place to grow up. I didn't want you to have to move and start over, and change your ident.i.ties, and your friends, and your schools, and I didn't-”

”Are you kidding me? That's exactly what we did anyway. We moved to Chicago. We had to get all new friends. It was an entirely new ident.i.ty. And we had to do it all without you.”

Neither of us said anything. I could feel Maggie and Elena looking at us from a few rows back.

”But you were well,” he said. ”You didn't live your life in fear. That's what scared me the most. I didn't want my children always looking over their shoulder. You and Charlie and your mom...you have always done well. You have excelled and without fear.”

I pursed my mouth to stop words from flying out. I studied him, replaying in my mind what he'd said. ”Why do you sound so certain about that? That we've always done well?”

No answer.

”Have you been watching us?” The volume rose again at the end of my question.

”I have been keeping tabs on you, of course.” He didn't look chagrined about it.

”Wait a minute. Have you been following us our whole lives?” My mind scrolled back to different times in my youth, times when I felt my father watching over us. Had he really been watching us, somewhere in the stands of the bleachers at Charlie's baseball games? Somewhere on the street as I walked to school with a house key on a pink shoelace tied around my neck?

”No. I have been in Italy. Usually. But I came to the U.S. from time to time to ensure you were all right.”

”And for work, of course.”

My father dipped an ear toward his shoulder, his salt-and-pepper hair hanging down a little at that side. His green eyes peered through his copper gla.s.ses, looking at me as if he didn't understand.

”Of course you were coming to the U.S. for work,” I said, ”because isn't that what's most important to you?”

A look of agony seared across my father's face, causing lines to cut into his forehead. ”No, of course not. Work is not the most important thing. You were the most important thing. Victoria was the most important thing. Charlie. That's why I left.” Now it was his voice that rose, his features slightly contorted in anger, irritation, and something else. I couldn't yet read him, but I could tell that he was struggling with his emotions. Almost as if it was the first time in a long while that he was experiencing any emotion at all.

His face quickly drained of all expression, though. He settled himself back into place, but as he did, something else dawned on me.

”Wait a minute,” I said. ”Were you one of the people following me last year after Sam disappeared?”

He said nothing. But I could tell he knew what I was talking about.

Just to make sure, I said, ”You knew that I was engaged and that my fiance disappeared, right?”

My father opened his mouth, but I could see the answer. I was correct.

”No way.” My voice was filled with disbelief. ”So you were one of those people.” Now my voice was very loud and very angry. ”I got followed last year, and I was scared s.h.i.+tless.” Oops. There went my no-swearing streak. ”I never knew when I walked out the door who was around, whether someone was tailing me. It was terrible. I can't believe it was you.”

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