A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(21)

Had she doomed her son by calling the police? Maybe he wasn’t in a basement at all. Maybe his body was already in a ditch somewhere. And what if she’d known that he was missing sooner? He had already been gone for two hours by the time she’d gotten back from work. Why did she have to work every day until five thirty? If only she’d looked harder for a job that allowed her to be home earlier . . . maybe if she had been there to notice he was missing, if she’d called the police in time, Nathan would be home by now.

It would be beyond wonderful to have him back. She pictured him coming home right now. Mom, I managed to sneak out the window, and a nice woman gave me a ride home. She let out a whimper, knowing there was no way that would happen.

She tried to think of something else, perhaps what she’d say to the kidnappers when they called again or of the different ways she could get the ransom. But her mind always returned to Nathan.

At some point during the night, she went to Nathan’s room and lay in his bed, hugging his Yoda plushy. The bed smelled like him, and shutting her eyes, she could imagine him lying in bed with her. He always slept curled with the blanket up to his eyes.

Had they given him a blanket? Or had they let him lie shivering in the cold? A flash of rage followed by a wave of helplessness.

It was her birthday, she realized. For as long as she remembered, birthdays had been a time for disappointments. Reality never matched her expectations. But no birthday had come close to this. In all likelihood she would never celebrate her birthday again. The date was now permanently stained with the worst thing that could ever happen.

At three in the morning, she padded to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Were they giving Nathan enough to drink? Enough to eat? Or was he hungry as well as scared?

To her surprise, Abby was awake, sitting in the darkness by the kitchen table. The woman’s laptop was in front of her, the screen illuminating her face in a ghostly pale light. Her hair was slightly disheveled, one of her ears protruding. Abby had always had large ears, and they stuck out, drawing attention to them. Even as a small child, she’d carefully hidden her ears under her hair. And the other kids had loved taunting her about it, calling her Dumbo.

Abby turned to face her, and blood rushed to Eden’s cheeks as if Abby could hear her thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” she said clumsily. “I wanted a glass of water.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Abby said gently. “It’s your own home.”

She kept talking in this placid, soft voice. Had she been like that as a child? Eden remembered Abihail differently, shouting a lot and prattling endlessly.

She poured herself a glass of water and turned back to her bedroom. But up there, all that waited were more endless hours of staying awake and torturing herself with useless thoughts and regrets. Here, in Abby’s company, her mind seemed to calm down, even just for a bit. Abby seemed to be in control of the situation. She knew what to do. She had seen it all before.

Eden sat opposite the woman and took a tentative sip from her glass. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Abby nodded. “I’d be surprised if you could. You should probably get something to help you sleep tomorrow. The next few days will be very difficult, and you’ll need to get some rest.”

The next few days. “How long do these kidnappings usually take?” Eden asked.

“It varies. Some end really quickly; others can drag on.” Abby sighed and shut her laptop. “They’ll probably call tomorrow. Do you feel ready for that call?”

Eden would never feel ready. She wished someone else could do this. Maybe Abby could take the call and pretend to be her. But they would know. And then they’d kill Nathan. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m ready. Ask questions. Keep my tone calm. Take a long breath before saying anything.”

“That’s right.”

Eden took another sip from her water. “Oh, I didn’t offer you any—”

“It’s okay.” Abby motioned at two mugs on the kitchen counter. “I made myself some tea earlier.”

“Abihail—”

“Don’t call me that.” Abby’s affable tone evaporated. “It’s not my name.”

“Sorry. I like Abby.”

“Me too. That’s why I chose it.”

“Do you have kids?” Eden asked heavily.

“Two, like you.” Abby smiled at her. “A boy and a girl.”

Then Abby surely knew what Eden was going through. “Are you married?”

“No, divorced. What about you? Who was your kids’ father?”

“A guy I met a while ago. It didn’t work.” Eden was desperate to change the subject. “What happened after . . . after we left the Wilcox Family?”

Abby froze for a moment. Had Eden gone too far? The woman clearly didn’t want to reopen that part of her life. Her jaw clenched tightly, eyes glazing as if the question brought back dark memories.

“They put me in a foster home,” Abby finally said. “They ended up adopting me.”

“Oh.” Eden felt a pang of jealousy. “Were they nice?”

Abby smiled. “Very nice. My mom is actually with my kids right now, watching them. What about you?”

“I wasn’t adopted. But the fifth foster home they put me in was really good, and I stayed there until I finished school.” It was a ridiculous summary of a life with as much turbulence as hers. But it served the purpose of “catching up.” As if now, after they’d both given a succinct outline of the years since they’d last seen each other, they could continue like nothing had happened.