Carter raised his hand, holding up a photograph. “Belle keeps this safe in her sewing kit. It kills her to look at her mom and remember their history. It hurts even worse to see the reason for Malcolm’s obsession.”
Hanson, Ortiz, Rosalie and I moved in, squinting at the photo on his palm.
“Holy shit.” Picking it up, I traced the beautiful smiling woman holding a chubby blonde baby on her lap. “She looks exactly like her. Belle could be her twin.” Horrible realization twisted my stomach. “He wants her because she looks like her mother? His own fucking stepdaughter?”
Expression grim, Carter shook his head. “He wants her because he thinks she is her mother. During the custody battle, he kept slipping up and calling her the wrong name. Arabella,” he said.
“Arabella Fletcher was Belle’s mother’s name. The same name Malcolm calls her every time he’s taunted, harassed, and swore to her he’d find her and bring her back, so now do you understand?” he flung, suddenly speaking to the detectives. “Belle is trapped with a violent, abusive mobster who thinks she’s his wife. The wife he murdered when she tried to leave him. We have to find her now!”
The detectives looked at him and then each other. They were on their phones in a blink.
“Get everyone on the streets. Our man is Malcolm Byrne, suspected of assault, murder, and the kidnapping of Belle Adler,” Hanson ordered. “Check the airport, private hangars, and docks. Get in contact with Miss Adler’s parents. I want a complete description of this guy posted all over town within the hour...”
I drew Carter to the side, still holding the picture of our girl. “We can’t just sit here,” I said. “I don’t trust those two to find their asses with a flashlight.”
“Agreed. Fuck!” he burst out. “We had a plan. We were going to take this guy down for good. How did this happen, man? How did he know she was here?”
My jaw clenched. Every inch of me was tight with frustration. Too long without her and I’d claw out of my skin. “I don’t know. It’s not just that he’s rich because shit knows we can’t pull the Houdini crap he does for all the money in the world. He’s smart and he knows who to get to. We have to think like him if we’re going to find her.”
“Where do we start? Asking around town?”
“Absolutely. We’re having a chat with security too,” I said. “I doubt Byrne got lucky and happened to pick the shadiest piece of garbage on the first try. We’ll find out if he approached the others.”
“Right. Yeah.” Carter raked his hands through his hair, wobbling on his feet for a second. “If that guy does anything to her—”
“Don’t. We will find her safe. We have to.” I clapped his shoulder. “First, let’s get Preston out of that damn hospital bed. Belle’s waiting for us.”
BELLE
“Stop! Let me go!”
Malcolm, or Mal as he preferred to be called, locked my wrist in an iron grip as he cut my restraints and dragged me out of the car. It’s amazing that people didn’t see this man for what he was the instant he opened his mouth. What kind of person relished being called a name that meant bad? Abnormal.
Evil.
“What do you think?”
Mal swept his hand over the ramshackle teardown before us. The beach house had seen better days. The wood holding the place together was distressed and splintered. Blue paint covered most of it, but it looked like in some places they chose not to bother. Looking past, my eyes traveled down the beach to the rickety dock. Tied to it was a large, white boat easily worth three times the house.
“I think it looks like a shit heap,” I said.
Laughing, Mal tightened his grip as my heels dug deep grooves in the sand.
“What have I always told you? You can’t look at things for what they are, but for what they can be. This is our safe haven until we can get home.”
I seized on a flutter of hope. “You have always told me that. Me, Daddy. Belle.” I yanked on my wrist, whirling him around. “I’m not Mom. She died.”
Mal crumpled into a frown, jaw ticcing.
“It’s me, Belle,” I said for what must have been the thousandth time. “I’m your stepdaughter. Don’t you remember? You sang Irish nursery songs to put me to sleep and told me about the stars? Please, Dad. Remember!”
“Shut up! That’s enough, Arabella.” He stalked off, dragging me with him.
Hope doused in cold reality. I pleaded into those eyes for a spark of recognition too many times to count. None appeared.
Malcolm Byrne’s mind was mangled over the murder of his obsession. Sending Arabella Fletcher out of his reach forever. It coped by convincing him she wasn’t gone at all. She was me. The young girl with her blood and her face.
The help he needed, he should have gotten long ago. Now it was too late.
For both of us.
Mal shoved open the door and threw me inside. I tripped over the rug, falling on the dining table. I heard the rapid succession of locks clicking behind me.
Pushing myself up, I swept the space. It was nothing like I expected.
The meager outsides did not match the clean, swept floors. The nice brown leather couch matched the table I was leaning on. A modest, but new television hung on the opposite wall, and next to the stainless-steel refrigerator was a back door covered with new locks and deadbolts.
I knew where we were. Citrine Cove was a small island, and my friends and I had explored every inch of it. We were on the opposite end near the grove and golf course. Down a side road that took us to the bottom of the cliff and passed no other houses but this one.
No one had reason to come out here. But Mal had, and by the work done to fix up and secure this place, he’d been here for a while.
I flew across the room, diving for the window. Malcolm just watched me as I strained against the frame.
“Don’t bother, Arabella. I’ve ensured you and I will have peace and privacy.”
“How long have you been here?” I demanded. “How did you find me?”
“I’ve been here for weeks, preparing to take you home.” Mal moved behind me. “I’m afraid your community is not as insular as you believe. Months ago, those people drove you hours out of town to a party at Du Pont-Desai Manor. I didn’t think anything of it for a long time. Eventually, as I went back and retraced your movements in the days before you disappeared, I realized that was the only thing out of place.
“I looked into that family. Discovered the tradition they started almost a hundred years ago, and got close enough to someone in the community that they admitted another event was being held this summer and where. I didn’t want to believe it, Arabella.”
I tensed.
“That my own wife would come here. Be a part of this— this— I don’t know what the fuck this is!” I sensed him coming closer. “I refused to accept it. It wasn’t possible that you’d be here, so I called the family back home. Had them check if you went abroad. When they turned up nothing, I came here praying that you wouldn’t be.”
Praying? And what do you ask God for, Malcolm Byrne?
“I searched and found you... with them.”
I knew it was coming.