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“I wish I could…I mean…”
“Shh. It doesn’t matter,” she said, and meant it at that moment. Sex was important, but it wasn’t as valuable as love. Kat could find sex anywhere, but she’d learned long ago how stingy people were with love. Leaning over, she rumpled his hair playfully and placed a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll be back in a minute. I just want to check on London.”
“Me, too,” he said, his foggy eyes clearing a bit as he thought of his little girl.
Kat sighed. As much as she adored London, a tiny part of her was jealous of the attention Witt lavished upon his youngest daughter—their only child. As Witt pushed himself upright in the bed, Kat cracked open the connecting door, allowing a thin shaft of light from their suite to pierce into the room occupied by London and her nanny.
At first she thought her tired eyes were playing tricks on her, that she’d drunk too much champagne and her cloudy mind wasn’t focusing, but as she stepped into the smaller room, her heart began to hammer, thunder in her ears. She fumbled for the switch. Suddenly the room was flooded with light.
Both beds were empty; neither had been mussed. The sheets were turned down and two mints sat untouched on the pillows.
Katherine’s throat constricted in a mind-numbing fear. “London?” she said weakly.
Sagging against the door frame, Kat glanced at the closet standing open, and noticed that there was nothing inside—no clothes, no bags, no shoes, as there had been earlier. There wasn’t a trace of London or Ginny.
Dear God, please let this be a horrible mistake. She stepped into the room and felt a chill as cold as November. Don’t panic! London was here. She had to be. But something was wrong and a black fear started crawling up her spine, clutching at her heart.
“Witt?” she called, surprised at the calm in her voice. After all, this was probably just a mistake. The nanny moved London to another room—to make sure that Witt and Katherine had the privacy they needed. “Witt!”
“Whaaaa?” Witt weaved to the doorway and propped a shoulder against the frame. “What’s going on?” he asked thickly and Kat knew a moment of absolute desolation—as if her soul had been stripped from her.
“Call security! There’s something wrong here—London and Ginny are gone. Probably in another room, but call the security guards and the manager just in case.” Her mind, always so cool and dependable, was running away with her to horrible nightmares concerning her child, but she tried her best to stay calm and reasonable. There was just a mixup. That was all. No reason to become hysterical, not yet. Then why were her knees knocking? Oh, God, please don’t let anything happen to my baby!
Witt strode into the room, knocked over the lamp and swore. Suddenly comprehending that his daughter was truly missing, he began tearing the dresser and bed apart, as if he could find his precious child or some evidence of her in the room.
“Leave it alone! For the police!” Kat threw herself at him. “Just call the damned security!”
“She’s not gone,” Witt said, suddenly stone-cold sober. “She can’t be. She’s in this hotel. In the wrong room.” He opened the door and bellowed into the hallway, “Jason! Zach! For Christ’s sake get in here!” Turning to Katherine, he said, “Well find her. And that damned nanny. And when I do, I swear I’ll strangle Ginny Slade for this little prank!”
Witt’s words were bold, but his face grew ashen and Katherine knew the cold, jabbing fear that she might never see her daughter alive again. Guilt and fear took hold of her. She loved London, she did. With all her heart. All the times she’d been jealous of her little girl because of the attention she received from her father flitted through her mind and she wondered, vaguely, if she were being punished. She didn’t believe in God, but…Oh, please, please, let her be safe! She ran back to her room and with shaking fingers dialed the main desk. Before the clerk could answer, she said, “This is Katherine Danvers. Send up security. Room 714. And call the police. London’s missing!”
4
Witt loosened the top two buttons of his collar and stared out the window to the city he’d loved, the town he’d trusted. The streetlights, skyscrapers, and traffic looked the same as they had on any predawn Sunday morning, but now the town seemed sinister and menacing. Portland, his home, had turned on him.
He saw his reflection in the plate glass, ghostly and faint over the eastern skyline. His face was ravaged and drawn, his eyes haunted, his shoulders slumped. He looked ninety rather than sixty.
Whoever had taken his baby would pay, but a dark fear tore at his mind. What if they were never found?
He wouldn’t think such gloomy thoughts. Of course she’d be found. Of course she’d be fine. She was London Danvers, for Christ’s sake. That part bothered him as much as the loss—that someone would dare defy him, someone who knew how to wound him until he was bled dry.
He reached for his wife’s pack of Virginia Slims and lit up, hoping that sucking in smoke and inhaling nicotine would help. It didn’t.
Turning back to the suite, he saw the faces of his family, tired and drawn, with dark circles and eyes dark with fear. Everyone was accounted for except London. And Zach.
A loud knock jarred through Witt’s head. “Police, Danvers! What the hell’s going on?”
Jason opened the door and admitted Jack Logan, who only a few hours before had been downstairs at the party. Jack, an honest cop before he’d met Witt, was now firmly trapped in Witt’s gold-lined pockets. Four officers were with Detective Sergeant Logan.
“We got a call that London was kidnapped,” Jack said, eyeing the group, taking a mental tally and coming up not one, but two Danverses short.
“Looks that way.” He stubbed out the damned cigarette in a cut-glass tray, then showed the police London’s room.
“Jesus, Mary, Joseph,” Logan muttered under his breath. The room was photographed, dusted, and gone over with the proverbial fine-tooth comb; then Logan returned to Witt’s suite, where he, along with another officer, Sergeant Trent, began his interrogations.
Questions were fired at each of the family members, sometimes together, sometimes individually. Logan trusted no one.
While the officers were still scribbling on their pads, Logan demanded a list of the people who had attended the party. He wanted names and phone numbers of the
