I took in his handsome face, his blue eyes focused on me. “Don’t be. The nurse said that you called a few days ago?”
“You said you wanted to talk to her.”
“And you made it happen.”
Cupping my cheek, he pulled my lips to his. Within the back seat of a sedan with the world passing by, everything else disappeared. The warmth of my husband’s touch and tenderness of his kiss pulled me closer. When we pulled away, I smiled. “I’m not her.”
Patrick sat back. “Of course you’re not.”
“No, I thought I was. I was afraid I was. I did similar…” My cheeks lifted as my smile grew. “I’m not.”
“No, Maddie, you are not her. She’s a lonely old woman who is damned to living her horrific memories. That’s not you. You have memories, but you also have an entire life ahead of you, and I will spend every day and night ensuring that you’re not lonely or sad.”
“I’ll be sad, Patrick. That’s part of life and that’s all right.” My head shook. “I won’t be lonely because of you, Ruby, and the friends and even family I found through you. Miss Warner was the cat. I was another mouse, one who had a child to protect. That doesn’t make what I did right. I’ll never have the opportunity to face those women or ask for their forgiveness, but in a way, I forgive Miss Warner.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t,” I agreed. “But why hold onto hate or fear or any of those emotions when I have so many other positive emotions to fill my life. I no longer have to worry that Miss Warner is out there hurting other girls, facilitating their torture, or subjecting them to ongoing humiliation. I can forget her because that’s what she’s done to all of us, forgotten us. Like the Ortizes and Millers, they no longer deserve a place in my memories.”
“I fucking love you,” Patrick said as our lips again connected, twisting my core with the possibilities for later.
“I wish we could go back to our apartment.”
His lips curled into a knowing grin. “Me too. However, Reid dug deeper into Elliott, and I need to find out what is happening.”
“Will you tell me?”
“Anything you ever want to know.”
Patrick
Leaving Madeline in the elevator, I stepped out at 2. Her head came forward as she peered around the concrete hall.
“Well, this is exciting,” she said. “I can see why you spend so much time here.”
“It’s in there.” I tilted my head toward the steel door. “I’ll be up when I can.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m good.”
After a chaste kiss, the elevator doors shut and my wife was whisked up to the apartment level. Taking her out today was against lockdown, and I knew it. I also took every precaution. The nursing home facility was fully checked prior to our arrival, physically, for any type of problem as well as cyber-wise, for any signs of monitoring beyond the normal.
Over the last few days and nights, Madeline had confided that her purge or meltdown or whatever title it was given was her first one. As I’d suspected, she’d spent the last seventeen years surviving. She never had the time or opportunity to reflect.
Ivanov knew the circumstances of her acquisition, yet he never asked her for details about her previous captivity other than to promise to not hold food or other staples against her.
What a great guy.
Due to his lack of specific knowledge, I had little concern that Wilma Adkins was monitored on the off chance that one of her former victims would find her whereabouts. I also didn’t take my wife out of lockdown without the knowledge of the others I’d momentarily be seeing on 2.
Allowing the scanner to read my palm print, I waited for the door to open.
“What did you learn?” Reid asked as I entered. “Was it her?”
“Yeah, Madeline’s pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure? Is that enough?”
I came closer and looked up at the screen. “I’m not doing anything to her.”
“You told us about that cell house, the calling of names, and shit. You’re giving that woman a pass?”
“Madeline is. The woman is living in a delusional world, and she’s not getting better.” I met Reid’s stare. “Alzheimer’s.”
His expression changed. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah, she’s no threat. At first, I wasn’t sure how Madeline would handle it, but damn, she keeps surprising me at every turn.”
“What about Lewis Adkins? We can tie him to the place Madeline called the cell house?”
“After what he did, what he orchestrated, he’s going down,” I said confidently, looking up again at the screen. “What am I seeing?” The writing was small and grainy for the size of screen where it was projected.
“Down?”
“Sparrow is right; right now, we need to concentrate on the war.” My grin returned. “When the time comes, Mr. Lewis Adkins will suffer, of that I’m sure.”
“I wondered,” Reid began, “if Elliott confided in Madeline the entire story about the death of his wife and daughter.”
My eyes squinted. “Is that a restraining order?”
“Yes, dated thirty-two years ago and filed by a Mrs. Trisha Elliott against her husband, Marion Elliott.”
“Hmm.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Domestic?”
“Nope,” Reid said, “care to try again?”
“Marion Elliott buries his wife’s and daughter’s death. There’s a restraining order…the daughter?”
Reid nodded. “Filed by the wife, claiming her husband was an endangerment to their fourteen-year-old daughter. There is even a doctor’s statement documenting the abuse. No wonder he didn’t want this out there.”
My skin heated and my gut twisted as the information registered. “He molested his own daughter and thought he could adopt mine? Did Ivanov know?”
“I can’t answer that. This information wasn’t easy to find. If Madeline hadn’t told me about their deaths, I wouldn’t have continued to look. The doctor’s information is damning, but nothing ever came of any of it. The restraining order was dismissed after the plane carrying Mrs. Elliott, the daughter, and a pilot crashed. No survivors.”
“Do you think he killed them? Seriously, this man has more skeletons than we do.”
“Uglier skeletons.”
He was right; the quantity was debatable.
“The crash was ruled accidental by the NTSB,” Reid said. “No further investigation was done.” He changed the screen. Above was a picture of a younger Marion Elliott and on his arm a lovely young brunette with doe-like eyes. “I found this from a movie premiere in Dallas.”
“Is that Trisha Elliott?”
“No again.”
“Not his daughter?”
“No, this was taken five years after Trisha’s and his daughter’s death, and this woman is only listed as a possible love interest. She doesn’t come up anywhere else, but look…” He changed the screen again.
We were now looking at a listing of missing persons from over twenty-six years ago.