PROLOGUE
A cold, weighty silence loomed over the darkened room, and Jeffrey Burke knew without looking that she was gone.
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He rolled to his side and reached out to click on the bedside lamp. He stared across the luxurious hotel suite at the now-empty chair where her purse and clothes had been haphazardly tossed the night before and where she’d kicked off her spiked heels.
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The only things she’d left behind were the lingering scent of her perfume and a million unanswered questions.
He thought back over their evening together.
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They’d finished up at the Pentagon and headed to dinner at The Capital Grille, her favorite DC restaurant.
She’d ordered a bottle of her favorite red wine for them to share, and they’d enjoyed a leisurely meal while finishing off a second bottle. They’d lingered over coffee and dessert before finally taking a cab to the hotel. In hindsight, it had almost seemed like she was reluctant to leave the restaurant.
His head felt like it was caught in a vice, his mouth was dry as the Mojave, and a bitter taste coated his tongue. He scrubbed his hands down his face, and they scraped over his morning whiskers.
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What the hell had she given him? Whatever it was, she must’ve put it in the champagne. The bottle had been waiting for them when they got back to the room.
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“A gift from the manager for our repeat business,” she’d said.
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Jeffrey was pissed off at himself for making such an unforgivable, rookie mistake. Not only had he willingly drunk champagne from an unknown source, but he’d gotten sucked in to the point of trusting her.
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Big mistake.
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His mind wandered back to the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
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She’d stepped into the briefing room, confident, gorgeous, and oozing natural sensuality. Their eyes had connected, and the chemistry between them had been instant and explosive. Like a live electrical wire snapped and popped between them.
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A mere four days later, they’d finished up a meeting and, unable to contain their sexual chemistry any longer, had dashed over to this very same hotel. They’d burnt up the sheets for a few hours, and he’d headed to his place outside of Fredericksburg. Jeffrey had been certain their little liaison would scratch the itch they both seemed to feel and that they could then concentrate and move forward as colleagues.
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He’d been wrong. So very wrong.
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After that night, there were many others filled with quiet conversation and a passion he’d never felt for any woman before. Jeffrey had let his guard down and actually started spending entire nights with her. Nights that rolled into mornings waking up together and making love. Because they’d agreed to keep their relationship private, they would kiss each other goodbye, leave the hotel at different times, and head to their meeting separately.
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He wished he could say he was surprised by her disappearance, but that would be a lie. Was he disappointed? Yes. Pissed off? Definitely. But surprised? Not really.
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There had always been an aloofness about her. An urge to run had lingered just beneath the surface. She was like a wild tigress pacing back and forth in a cage just waiting for someone to swing the gate open so she could escape.
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But escape from what?
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CHAPTER ONE
Twelve years later …
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“Good afternoon, Mrs. Gionetti.” Maya Corbett smiled across the wide cobblestone path at the seventy-eight-year-old woman sitting in her favorite rocker, a patchwork quilt draped over her lap. “It’s a bit chilly to be sitting outside, don’t you think?”
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Relatively speaking, winters in Cefalù were mild with temperatures ranging from the mid-fifties to the mid-eighties. But her neighbor was older, and Maya worried about her.
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“Oh, no, the sun is quite warm and so good for the soul.” The lilt of her Italian accent wove around every word. “Sunny days are a gift and are meant to be enjoyed.”
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The older woman pulled a crocheted shawl tightly around her shoulders and leaned her head against the back of the chair. She tilted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. The well-loved wooden chair creaked as she slowly rocked back and forth.
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Mrs. Gionetti was just over five foot, portly, thanks to her love of pasta, and she had a wonderful face lined from years of smiling and enjoying life.
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Fourteen months ago, when Maya first relocated to this small village on the northern coast of Sicily, her sweet neighbor spoke some English but, with Maya’s help, had become much more fluent. Mrs. Gionetti returned the favor by helping Maya improve her Italian.
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“Well, I’d better get these things inside.” She raised the mesh bags filled with groceries. “Enjoy the sunshine.”
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“Grazie. Ho intenzione di fare proprio questo.” Thank you. I plan to do just that. Her eyes remained closed, and her face tilted upward with a pleasant smile.
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Maya pushed open the low iron gate with her hip and navigated the short stone walkway leading to the pristine, white cottage with the bright shutters. She wrestled with the groceries and somehow managed to unlock the door. Once she stepped inside, she used her foot to swing it shut. She quickly set the groceries on a small table nearby and secured the sturdy deadbolt she’d added upon moving in.
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“Isla,” she called out to her eleven-, almost twelve-year-old daughter as she picked up the bags and carried them down the short hallway to the kitchen at the back of the cottage. “I picked up a little surprise for you.”
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She set the bags on the counter and dug out the small box of torrones. Like her mother, Isla had quite the sweet tooth, and she positively adored the soft almond nougat candies.
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Maya told herself the treat was her daughter’s reward for her stellar progress in math and not a sneaky way of assuaging her own guilt for dragging her poor child all over the world. Sometimes with little more than a few hours’ notice.
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Their latest home consisted of an eat-in kitchen, bathroom, front living room space, and two bedrooms. An exterior door in the kitchen opened to a tiny patio with a few potted plants and one small bistro table with two chairs. The yard, if you could call it that, was only big enough for a patch of grass about two meters square.
Windows in every room brightened up the little cottage, and, when opened, allowed the breeze from the coast to cool the interior during hotter days. Best of all, the cobblestone lane was somewhat secluded and came to an end at the edge of a large wooded area.
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Cefalù was a beautiful coastal city wedged between rugged mountains and a pristine shoreline. Small but not too small, it afforded Maya and Isla the anonymity required to survive.
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She rented the cottage from Mrs. Gionetti, whose house was the only other residence on the dead-end path. The older woman’s property was substantially larger, giving her enough land for her small flower and vegetable gardens. Her husband passed away five years ago and her children all lived far away, which meant she had an overabundance of vegetables, which she kindly shared with Maya. And the fragrance from the flowers was better than any expensive perfume.
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“Isla.” She picked up the box of candy and went in search of her daughter.
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Isla was a voracious reader and had taken to writing a bit. Oftentimes, she became so engrossed in her stories that she simply shut out the rest of the world. Maya envied her daughter in that way, as she frequently wished she, too, could shut out the real world.
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“Isla, my darling girl.” She tapped on the bedroom door, and it swung open with a long, drawn-out groan from one of the iron hinges.
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Maya’s heart skipped a beat, and the box of candies slid from her hand.
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Her daughter wasn’t sprawled on her bed with a book as expected, nor was she at her desk, scribbling away in one of her many notebooks.
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Maya dashed across the hall to her own bedroom, and still, no Isla.
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She wasn’t in the bathroom or the front living room area, nor on the patio.
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She grabbed the front doorknob, took in a deep breath, and blew it out. She forced a smile, pulled open the door, and casually walked across to where Mrs. Gionetti still sat.
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“Did you happen to see Isla while I was at the shop?” She looked up and down the small path, willing her daughter to appear.
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“I did.” She looked up at Maya and placed her hand above her milky, brown eyes to shield them from the sun. “She was meeting her friend at the park.” She twisted to point in the general direction of their little neighborhood park.
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Oh, God. Maya stifled the panic threatening to take her to her knees.
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“Did she happen to share with you which friend she was meeting?” Her daughter didn’t have any friends. One of the many negative consequences of Maya’s life choices.
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“No, she did not.” Her chubby hands gripped the armrests, and with a muted grunt, she hefted herself up from the chair and waddled over to Maya. “She said only that she was meeting her.”
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“Well, then, I’ll just pop over there and get her.” Not wanting to alarm the older woman, she gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “You know how children are. They easily lose track of time.”
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“I am certain she is okay.” She patted Maya’s arm. “Well, I must get inside. It is time for my video call with my great-grandson. Have a good evening, child.”
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“You, too.” Maya fast-walked to the street at the end of the path, checked for traffic, then hurried across to the park. At the entrance, a decorative fountain with an angel perpetually pouring water from a jug gurgled and splashed, attracting birds to its cool water. She scanned the area—the swings, jungle gym, slide, and the few benches scattered here and there.
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There was no sign of Isla.
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Two older men sat playing backgammon, and she ran over to them.
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“Excuse me, have you seen a little girl with blond hair, about this tall?” She held her hand at about chest height.
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The men looked at each other, mumbled something in Italian, then shrugged and gave her a confused look.
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“No inglese.” This from the man wearing the faded fedora.
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“Um, let me see.” She calmed herself and searched for the right words. “Hai visto una ragazzina con i capelli biondi, alta più o meno così.”
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“Ah, sì.” The man with curly hair smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Era seduta su quella panchina di pietra.” She was on that bench. He pointed to a stone bench between the playground area and the road that eventually led to SS113, one of the main highways traversing Sicily.
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“Did you see her leave?” Maya asked in Italian.
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​“No, no.” They both shook their head.
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“Grazie.” Maya ran around, searching the entire area, behind every bush, every tree, every bench, calling out her daughter’s name. She stopped and did a full turn to scan the surrounding area. Her heart slammed in her chest, and her knees threatened to buckle.
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Her daughter was gone.
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How was that even possible? She was at the shop for less than forty-five minutes, and, as always, she’d reminded Isla to remain indoors until she returned. Her daughter had never disobeyed her before.
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Maya ran the short distance to the cottage, threw open the door, and slammed it shut behind her. She charged into her bedroom, dropped to her knees next to the bed, and her hands swept from side to side, but she felt nothing. Maya lifted the bedspread to look, but the backpack containing her laptop was not there.
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“Isla.” She pushed up off the floor, ran to her daughter’s room, and looked all around the cramped space.
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There was no closet or room for a dresser, so Isla kept her clothes in a tall armoire with four drawers at the bottom. Maya’s gaze landed on a dark strap dangling from the top edge. She reached up and dragged her backpack down. It was unzipped, and the laptop was in a different compartment than she typically kept it in.
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Maya set the laptop on the desk, and her hands shook so badly, that she had a difficult time opening it. She shook them out and managed to get it open. A generic screensaver instantly popped up on the screen, indicating it had been left on when her daughter stuck it on top of the armoire. At the bottom right of the screen, the battery indicator was red and showed only nine percent battery life.
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Maya dug through the backpack, searching for the cord. Her fingers tangled around it. She yanked it out and plugged it in. She tapped the touchpad, prepared to type in her password, but it opened directly to a website.
Her daughter was extremely bright for her age and had somehow managed to find a way around the parental controls Maya had put in place.
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“Oh, shit.” She’d gained access to Kids Chat, a kids-only private message board that was anything but.
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Maya opened up a new browser page and read about Kids Chat. The site targeted children from the age of ten to eighteen and, supposedly, could only be used with a parent’s permission. It billed itself as a place where kids could have innocent conversations about their favorite toys or games, school, or even to grumble about their teachers or parents without getting into trouble.
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She read further and discovered that setting up a Kids Chat account was shockingly easy. All her daughter had to do was provide a first and last name, age, and e-mail address, along with her parent’s name, age, and e-mail address.
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Of course, the email address and parent’s name Isla used were ones she’d made up. Unfortunately, she had used her real name when setting up the account. Kids Chat automatically sent the verification email to that fake account. All Isla had to do was open the email, click “APPROVE,” and she was given unfettered access to the message board. A message board that was nothing more than a gateway for pedophiles and sex traffickers to freely access a treasure trove of young, susceptible people.
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On occasion, she allowed her daughter to use the computer but with strict rules and parental controls. And Maya had to be in the room with her whenever she used it. That might all sound unreasonable, but they didn’t have the luxury of lowering their guard or allowing for any vulnerabilities. And accessing this website could very easily have blown the door wide open on their lives.
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Why hadn’t she warned Isla about sites like that? Because her daughter would find out about the ugliness of the world eventually, and Maya had wanted to shield her from it as long as possible. Unfortunately, by doing so, her child wasn’t aware of what to watch for to keep herself safe.
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For the next several minutes, she scrolled through her daughter’s Kids Chat message board until she came across a chat stream initiated by someone going by the name of Samantha. This chat was very long, and the messages were different, more personal, and every one of them was like a dagger to Maya’s heart. She’d known her daughter was lonely but hadn’t realized just how lonely.
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Her back straightened when she came to a set of messages with a time stamp that coincided with when Maya was at the shop. She read through them until she got close to the bottom.
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S: lets meet today
I: i don’t think i can my mom is kinda strict
S: what about the park by ur house
I: how do u know I live by a park
S: duh u told me please i really could use a friend
I: i know how you feel me too
S: so u’ll come
I: ok but i cant stay long cuz my mom will b back soon
S: yay i will see u at the park in 10 mins i cant wait to meet u in person
I: me 2
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This was the asshole who took her daughter. Maya knew it as sure as she knew her real hair color wasn’t brown.
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Her lonely, sheltered little girl had been lured away from the safety of their home by the promise of friendship.
And Maya hadn’t been there to protect her.
