Saving Meghan(66)

Zach stared into Peter Levine’s murky eyes, seeing infinity there. He put his ear to Dr. Peter Levine’s chest, positive of what he’d hear. Nothing. The sound of silence.





CHAPTER 30





BECKY


“You have to do it,” Veronica said. As usual, she sounded quite sure of herself.

Becky, who had bought a new computer specifically to have this FaceTime chat, did not share her conviction. “I’m worried what it will do to Meghan … to our case,” Becky said. “I’m on shaky enough ground as it is with that judge.”

“Don’t fret, chica. Call in the cavalry,” Veronica insisted. “Fight fire with fire. The press has to know about Meghan. They’ll be all over this story. Trust me, I know.”

One look at Veronica’s LinkedIn profile would be proof enough. She was a PR professional with years of experience working for one of the world’s largest public relations firms. She had helped Fortune 500 clients navigate bad press, led crisis response campaigns, and generated enormous attention for her efforts. She was the Olivia Pope of PR, a dam with floodgates that could be opened or closed at her whim, and she wanted those gates open to draw media attention to Meghan’s plight.

“If they took Ashley like that, you best believe I’d have the media on my side,” Veronica said. “And then I’d have the hounds barking at the gates of White until I got her back.”

Becky felt a sharp pang of guilt that she was not doing enough to help Meghan. She also understood her daughter’s sudden sickness might not have helped her cause, as she had hoped it would. Veronica was right: She should rise up and meet the challenge head-on. Thump her chest, beat her drum, bang on those doors until she got back what they took from her. Becky’s shame burned like a flame against her skin. For Meghan’s sake, she would be better. She had to be better.

“Help me do it,” Becky said.

Veronica smiled, her ruby lips parting to reveal a bright white smile that had convinced more clients to trust her than Meghan had doctors. “That’s my girl,” Veronica said. “I’ll take it from here. Any news on your mom?”

“She’s still alive, miracle of miracles,” Becky said with no evident emotion. “But I’m not going to see her. Not until Meghan’s home safe.”

“Does your sister have anything to say about that?”

“Sabrina has something to say about everything, but I don’t care. I don’t care what anybody thinks. I just want my daughter back.”

“The story writes itself,” Veronica said. “‘Big, faceless hospital rips sick girl from mother’s arms.’ Seriously, Beck, you’re going to need to supply refreshments for all the poor reporters who will be camped out on your front lawn.”

“Do I want that?”

“Of course you want that!” snapped Veronica. “You need it if you’re going to get Meghan back.”

“But the judge—”

“I have bad news for you, sweetie. The judge is not going to be on your side. Nobody is. Except, of course, for the public at large.”

“What about Carl?”

“What about him?”

“Shouldn’t we at least consult him before … you know, we release those hounds?”

“He’s your husband. I can only tell you what I would do.”

Becky knew exactly what Veronica would do. She thought it over, anticipating Carl’s outrage, then decided to let Veronica operate from the shadows. Just because the media had learned of the story did not mean Carl had to know she was the source of the leak. A little jolt of excitement tingled in Becky. Veronica was right. It felt good to take charge.

Damn good.

Carl was around the house somewhere—his office, perhaps—but what did it matter? They’d barely spoken since coming home from the hospital yesterday. He was still stewing in his anger, marinating in dark thoughts, facing an impossible choice: Whom to believe? The doctors or his wife?

But Becky felt no sympathy for him. None whatsoever. He could think what he wanted. It made no difference to her either way. There was no question in her mind that Carl wanted Meghan back home. She could see the ache in every new worry line carved in his beleaguered face. But would he be willing to go to the same lengths as she would to make that happen?

She’d find out soon enough.



* * *



THE DOORBELL rang at exactly three o’clock that same afternoon. Becky opened the front door, hoping that the attractive dark-haired woman standing on her front step was simply lost and in need of directions. She seemed far too young to be Becky’s best chance at getting her daughter back. But no, she was, in fact, Kelly London, the court investigator appointed to make an influential report to Judge Trainer.

Carl emerged from somewhere. If he had any decency or tact, he would have made his head-to-toe scan of the young Ms. London a bit less apparent. But it was hard not to look at Kelly. She had a youthful beauty, and a body that appeared to have endured every workout ever devised. She wore a tight-fitting sweater, hip-hugging gray slacks, and pumps that gave her a few inches of extra height. The day was warm, so no need for a coat, which gave Carl even more to ogle. Becky held her tongue.

She always held her tongue.