Page 9 of John’s Yearning

She gave him her address in Lower Pacific Heights. It wasn’t far, and there was very little traffic at this time of night. She was looking for something to say, to drown out the silence between them, when John suddenly said, “You mentioned you run your own business. Any employees?”

“I have two IT experts working for me, Rachel Ingram and Alexi Denault. Why?”

“Have they met Buffy?”

“Of course. Occasionally, I take Buffy to my office with me when school lets out early, or when I can’t get a babysitter. They know her well.”

“So both of them have been employed by you for a long time?”

“Alexi is relatively new. I hired him about eight months ago. But Rachel has been with me for almost three years. Why are you asking?”

“Most abduction cases involve people who know the victim,” he said.

At the last word, she sucked in a breath. She didn’t like to think of her daughter as a victim. It dehumanized her. Made her an object.

“I’m sorry,” John said quickly, as if he understood. Did he?

She glanced at him and nodded. “So you think Alexi or Rachel could have something to do with Buffy’s disappearance? I don’t see it. Neither Rachel nor Alexi ever showed much interest in her. You know, they’re not into kids. They were nice enough to her when she was in the office, but I could tell they weren’t that keen on having her around, asking questions and making noise while they were trying to work. Buffy is a curious little girl. Some adults find that exhausting.” But she never got sick of answering her daughter’s many questions, satisfying her curious mind.

“We can’t rule out the possibility. Email me their home addresses and the address of your office. I’ll look into their backgrounds,” John insisted.

A moment later he pulled up in front of her home, a condo in a two-unit Victorian building situated on a quiet side street.

“Do you live upstairs or downstairs?”

“Upstairs.”

“And the neighbor who took Buffy to school that day?”

Savannah pointed to a single family home on the same block. “Two doors down. The little yellow house. Nancy lives there with her husband and their son.”

John nodded. “I’d like to see Buffy’s room.”

“Of course.” Savannah reached for the door handle and got out of the car.

When she walked around the car, she noticed John glancing down the street at her neighbor’s house, then looking across the street, assessing the surroundings just like he’d done at Buffy’s school. She couldn’t help but wonder what the street looked like to his trained eye, whether he recognized any dangers past or present. Could he immediately ascertain the weak points in a place, the way she detected vulnerabilities in rows and columns of computer code?

At her front door, John joined her, though his gaze remained vigilant, scanning the deserted street. There was something reassuring about him standing there, waiting for her to unlock the door. Confidence exuded from him. This was his profession, to see things other people didn’t see, to find what was hidden, to protect those who needed protection. Standing there at the threshold to her flat, Savannah felt it as if he’d recited his resume, as if he’d told her about every case he’d solved, every person he’d saved. The knowledge wrapped around her like the warmth of his jacket.

“No security system?” he asked when she opened the door and started walking up the narrow staircase.

“It’s a pretty safe area. And I don’t really have anything worth stealing.” There were many larger mansions only a few blocks away. A burglar would find those more appealing.

He didn’t answer, but followed her. In the long upstairs hallway, a feature of so many Victorian flats, she flipped the light switch. “Buffy’s room overlooks the garden.”

She walked to it. But at the door, she hesitated. John caught up with her and stopped next to her. “Something wrong?”

She looked at him. “It’s been hard for me to go in here since she disappeared. Seeing her room all empty just brings reality home, you know?”

He put his hand on her shoulder for only a second and said, “If it’s alright with you, I’ll go in alone.”

Savannah nodded and John opened the door and stepped inside. She remained standing just outside, but her gaze drifted to the interior of Buffy’s room, her empty bed with the stars over it that lit up in the dark, the chest of drawers that contained her socks and underwear, her T-shirts and sweaters, its surface overflowing with projects for school, the multi-colored bean bag in the corner, where Buffy loved to sit and read, sinking so deep into it that she almost disappeared if she was wearing colorful clothing.

Savannah turned away. She couldn’t look anymore, or she would start crying again. She couldn’t allow herself to fall apart.

“I’ve got everything I need so far.” John’s voice was behind her, closer than she’d expected. “Is this picture of her current?”

She turned and looked at him holding a snapshot of Buffy sitting at the kitchen counter, eating cake. Savannah smiled. “I took it only a month ago.”