Secrets of the Rose

The knowledge stabbed anew, but time had taught her how to handle the pain. Shelby drew in deep breaths, forced herself to turn away, focus on the names numbered on a list beside the files. She sank down in the comfortable chair and began an intense scrutiny of each. When Shelby glanced up two hours later she was not a whit closer to finding a betrayer.

Aimee’s photo on the window ledge stared at her, the image so real she reached out to touch it before reality impinged.

Why had she thought she’d find an answer here?

Whoever had taken Aimee had gone to incredible lengths to leave no trace.

Her field staff were skilled at concealing themselves in any situation. She and Grant had trained them to be resourceful and as far as she could tell no one had stepped over the company line by even a feather. In fact, during the past ten months they’d honed their skills, adapted, changed, while she’d remained at home. Now she needed to be sharper than they. It was possible that Shelby had lost the edge that had once made her the best tracker in the world.

But she intended to get it back.

THREE

“I must see her now.”

The strident voice from the hallway drew Shelby’s attention from the information she’d found. She glanced at the door, blinked several times to refocus her eyes, bleary now from studying her computer screen. But when the noise outside didn’t abate, she got up, walked over and pulled the heavy door open. So much for soundproofing.

“Joanie?” She looked for her secretary, saw her face-to-face with Russ Carson.

“I’m sorry, Shel. Apparently he doesn’t understand English very well.”

She knew Russ had taken Joanie’s words as an implied slam against his foreign birth because two spots of angry red colored Russ’s sharply chiseled cheekbones. If ever there were prototypical face and body features for a spy, Shelby had long ago decided that Russ had them. He didn’t possess the suave debonair style of a spy from a movie, but with his gaunt body and sharply honed features, he certainly looked like someone who’d come in from the cold and never warmed up. Of course, Russ dressed specifically to enhance the tough-guy effect with lean-fitting jeans, a black turtleneck and always a black leather jacket.

“Have we got a problem here, Russ?” Shelby modulated her voice to its mildest tone. With the company since its inception, Russ would no doubt recognize she barely controlled her temper, but right now Shelby didn’t care. She needed to make progress if Aimee was to be found and thanks to his interruption, she was getting nowhere fast.

Russ assessed her from between narrowed eyes. Finally he shook his head, his shoulders dropped their arrogant slant. But he didn’t back down.

“There is no problem here. But I must speak to you, Shelby. It is very important.” As usual when Russ was excited, his accent became more pronounced in spite of his attempts to cover it. Each word he spoke was precisely enunciated, but doing so slowed his sentences to a stilting structure that only emphasized his language difference.

“I’m busy right now, Russ. I’m sure Joanie told you that.” She turned, moved toward her office. “We can reminisce later.”

“Reminisce?” He shook his head. “I do not speak of the past. The present is what concerns me. You cannot find the little Aimee without help, Shelby. I am that help.”

Something in the timbre of his voice stopped her. She turned, scrutinized him.

“You? What do you know about Aimee’s disappearance?” she demanded, mentally running through his history with the company.

Russ Carson—Grant’s partner in past covert operations that neither had ever openly discussed—knew exactly how to get in and out of a building without being detected and his means did not employ disguise. Perhaps Natalie was right to suspect Finders’ staff. Russ certainly had the training and know-how to carry out an abduction. But it made no sense for him to take Aimee. He loved her, she’d seen that for herself a thousand times over.

Shelby told herself to get a grip. Suspecting every person who crossed her path wouldn’t help. Answers, not speculations, she reminded herself.

“What do you know about my daughter, Russ?”

“Probably less than you, right now.” He shrugged. “But I do know the police are not as efficient as we are in these matters.”

“By we, I’m assuming you mean Finders?”

“But of course.” He stepped closer, dropped his voice. “I have been doing this work for years. I know my record, and so do you. I get results.” The proud arrogance was back. “I’ve found a hundred items, located people no one else could find through sources no one else can use.” His voice dropped, his accent grew more pronounced. “I can find the little one, Shelby. Give me the chance. For Grant’s sake.”

She’d just spent four grueling hours sifting through a plethora of documents, and nothing, not one single clue had emerged. She was no closer to finding her daughter than the police were. There was no way to tell how much longer she had before the kidnappers did something drastic.

If they hadn’t already.

Shelby made up her mind in that instant. “Come in here, Russ.”

He followed her into her office, his kid leather boots making no sound on the hard tiled floor. Russ was like a panther, he could move faster, quieter, than anyone she’d ever met. His passport might say American, but thanks to his foreign birth and his father’s diplomatic status, he also had more connections than any other agent they employed. Maybe, just maybe…

“I’m quite sure the police wouldn’t appreciate the aspersions you just cast on them, Russ.” She smiled. “But you’ve got a point, and right now I don’t care about what the police think. I want my daughter back. This is where we are so far.” She laid out the sequence of events for him in crisp, concise points, knowing that even though he took no notes, his brain would absorb every detail. When it came to information, Russ’s mind worked like a microcomputer.

“So the police think that because this note was written on our company paper, the abductor is one of us.” He raised one eyebrow. “This is also what you think?”

“I can’t afford to write anyone off. I want my child back. That’s my primary goal here.” She met his gaze, held it. “I won’t lose her, Russ. I will not lose another member of my family. Do you understand me?”

His eyes flickered, lost their clear blue sheen and turned the gray of a Russian blizzard.

“I understand.” His confident voice changed, the inflection soft, entreating. “The death of Grant changed all of us. But I am here to help, Shelby. I would never allow his child to be hurt. Never.” He muttered something unintelligible, probably one of the foreign idioms he often used but seldom explained.

Shelby knew the decision was hers. She could authorize him to go ahead and conduct his search, or she could reject his help. Which probably meant he’d keep right on looking anyway. Russ didn’t give a fig for authority figures. But his search might go faster if she approved it.

Shelby was reminded of Russ’s visit to their home last Christmas, how he’d comforted Aimee with tales of his grandfather and the things he’d done to make Russ’s childhood Christmases special.

He must have seen the decision in her eyes.

“All right. We begin now. You will tell me all, please, Shelby. The police, what have they done?”

She told him what she knew, which wasn’t much.

“Imbeciles.” He kissed his fingers into the wind. “I could get more from a stone. No prints, no tracks, no knowledge of how the security was breached? It is preposterous!” He turned, strode to the door and yanked it open.

“Where are you going? What about these files?” she demanded, frustrated by his whirlwind exit. But then Russ had always ignored the usual routes, had always forged his own way. In the past, Grant had sometimes chastised him for rushing in. But Russ got results. At the moment, Shelby wasn’t about to question him on his methods. That could come later. If he found something.

Russ held the door open with the toe of his boot.

“I do not believe the answers lie in your files, Shelby. But before I know where to begin, I must have more information. I will get it. Now.” He disappeared out the door.

“Well, thanks for the help.” She sighed. Personally she, too, was less than convinced that the abductor was among her staff but she wouldn’t quit until she’d ruled everyone out. It was boring, lonely work that she despised. These were her friends, her coworkers. Or they had been. It seemed disloyal, even hateful to suspect one of them of doing this.

Shelby flopped down in her chair, staring out the window at the fading sun. Her glance landed on the picture on her desk and she picked it up, stared into the cherubic face with its feathery-blond hair, button nose and Grant’s wise eyes.

“Where are you, sweetheart?” she whispered. “Please help Mommy find you.”

She longed to feel those chubby fingers tickle her neck, yearned to hear that high-pitched voice squeal with delight. It had taken so long to accept Grant’s death as part of God’s plan. Even now she still had questions. But taking Aimee, too—surely God didn’t want that?

“I love her so much, God. I want her to come home so we can make our double fudge strawberry peach sundaes.” The tears would not be stopped. “I want her to come home because I don’t think I can look after our butterfly garden without her help. I don’t think I can go on if she’s not there, God. Please send her home.”

The silence in her office was exactly what she’d craved earlier. But now Shelby would have gladly exchanged it for just one of Aimee’s giggles.

“God, you know what’s happening. You know where she is. Please keep her safe. Please don’t let anyone touch—” She gulped down the words, refused to say them. “You love her more than I ever could. Please bring my child back to me.”