My Wife Is Missing(9)

Michael, too stunned to speak, searched his mind for any justification.

Someone had contacted her. She was being manipulated remotely by this person, blackmailed or coerced somehow. There’s a threat nobody knows about. He thought about trying out his theory on the detective, but already it rang false in his head.

“Any reason your wife might have wanted to leave you, Michael, and take the kids with her?” Detective Ouyang asked.

Yes, Michael thought. There’s a reason.… a damn good one.

But not one he could ever share.





CHAPTER 5





NATALIE


BEFORE SHE DISAPPEARED

She could ignore most noises at work.

Over the course of seven years with the company, the muted chatter of Natalie’s Dynamic Media colleagues had morphed into something akin to white noise. The sound of fingers tapping keyboards with the rhythm of woodpeckers also went unnoticed. Same for the noisy footsteps that carried far and wide because the firm had opted to go young with their design aesthetic—open plan, upscale flooring, an industrial feel. The youthful interior paired well with the employees, the majority of whom looked young enough to get carded. Their mobile devices chirped incessantly, but Natalie had learned to tune out the intrusive sounds—unless, of course, that chirping occurred during one of her meetings. Then, look out.

What caught Natalie’s ear that afternoon was a sound unlike any she’d heard at work before. It was soft and plaintive, bereft. The sound of a woman weeping.

Natalie was on her way to the seventh-floor kitchenette to get coffee for her afternoon fix. Or was it hourly? There was a time, it felt like ages ago, when she had been a morning coffee drinker only. Now she was probably downing eight cups a day and afraid to go to the doctor. If she found out that caffeine was killing her, she might die on the spot. It was the only thing keeping her from becoming a full-blown zombie.

The seventh floor wasn’t her usual domain, but she had ventured up for a two thirty meeting. Floor seven was where the finance department dwelled, while Natalie worked on four with the “creatives” and other account managers. She knew the layout of seven though—and specifically, where to find the kitchenette—because Tina Langley, her best friend at Dynamic Media, worked on this level. Tina actually ran the finance department, and considering how much money was going to be at stake at the two thirty meeting, it was no surprise they were spearheading the call.

Natalie poked her head into the kitchenette, where her eyes confirmed what her ears told her she would find: a woman in tears. The woman had her back to the entrance, her hands pressed against the red laminate countertop as if needing the support to remain upright. She had on a gray turtleneck tucked into a black skirt that called attention to her narrow waist and thin frame. Her auburn-tinged hair, cut stylishly short, was like a nod to Audrey Hepburn. A flash of jealousy passed through Natalie, more reflex than conscious thought, but just as quickly, empathy returned.

I should help.

But Natalie did not help. Instead, she stood awkwardly in the entranceway watching this private moment with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. Should she turn and go, leave the poor woman alone with her misery? No. Caring was in Natalie’s DNA. If she hadn’t gone into marketing, Natalie would have been equally content working as a therapist. In some ways, especially when dealing with her more difficult-to-manage clients, Natalie was that and more.

While she felt an urge to rush in and offer assistance, something held her back. A number of thoughts flew in and out of her mind: does this woman even want help? Maybe she needs time to cry it out?

Considering how much crying Natalie had been doing lately, she ought to have known how to help, but still she hesitated. She eventually decided that if the roles were reversed, she’d want someone to check on her, so that settled it.

Natalie cleared her throat, and the woman turned to face her. She was stunned. This wasn’t a pretty woman. She was downright gorgeous. Her facial features were as delicate as porcelain, especially those high cheekbones, which would easily catch the attention of any casting director. The whites of her eyes might have been red from crying, but the blue of her irises shimmered like sequins. Judging by her smooth, unblemished face, Natalie thought she must be around ten years her junior. She also had to be new on the job. This place had a way of aging a person.

Embarrassed, the woman gave a slight gasp before offering an awkward smile.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, sniffling and looking guilty, as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. She used a balled-up napkin to dab at her eyes. “I’m…” Her voice caught in her throat. She gave a laugh and dabbed those blue eyes some more.

“Are you all right?” Natalie asked.

Oh, good start, Natalie. Of course she isn’t all right.

Natalie had never been this person, self-critical and uncertain. Before her world began to unravel, her biggest issue had been guilt. There was never enough time to do everything that had to be done and do it well. Like everyone else, she had twenty-four hours a day, not a second more, to be a wife, mother, and devoted employee.

It had seemed easy enough when she signed on for all those jobs—until she had to do them every day, all day long. Sure, Michael did the dishes without prompting, helped with the chores, the kid stuff, the cooking, all of that, but really the go-to person would always be Mom. She did the heavy lifting when it came to the worrying, the planning, and the endless stream of anxieties associated with parenting. Usually, she—not Michael—was the one the kids sought out for comfort when they were tearful or upset. That issue had come up in marriage counseling a couple of times, and never got resolved.