Possible People magazine cover, her and Frances Wellington beaming: Eagle-eyed grandfather recognizes granddaughter. Subheadline: "The green hair distracted me, but I knew who she was, all right. You know family, sure enough."

  "Yes, sir. I might become a pastor someday."

  "Is that right?"

  Donald explained that Victoria was from Arkansas and wanted their help praying for her father. "Alcoholism," Donald said.

  "Oh my. Are you here alone?"

  "I'm with my mother," Victoria lied. "She went shopping."

  "We could speak with her."

  "No, thank you. Just pray for my dad. Okay? His name is Timothy Cove."

  "Timothy Cove. We will."

  They talked a few more minutes, and then Victoria excused herself to the bathroom. Otherwise, they would want to walk her out. Wait with her for her mother.

  Not gonna happen.

  Victoria headed out the church doors instead of making a left for the bathroom. She didn’t belong here. Time to go back to her father. She had three hundred dollars left, but she missed him more than she imagined possible. Home sweet home. Her adventure was over. Her break was over.

  Chapter 38

  About one o'clock on Sunday, Elena left the penthouse to do party planning work from her home office. Frances stayed at the penthouse, ready to tackle her own pile of work. The landline phone had rung several times that morning. Elena had deleted the messages.

  You bitch, you cunt

  You’ll burn in hell

  Faggots rule! You’re not one of us!

  The messages were getting less frequent but not milder. Frances was about to switch the ringer off and turn down the volume on the answering machine so she could work in peace. The phone rang, and Frances poised her finger over the delete button on the answering machine. It picked up after the second ring.

  Hello, you’ve reached Frances Dourne. Please leave a message. *beep*

  She braced herself for a new stream of vitriol. What came instead was a shaky, vaguely familiar male voice. "Uh, I’ll, uh, I’ll call back at two. It’s important. Eastern time." The voice had changed, it was Southern, but it was him.

  Her heart thumped, and she grabbed the receiver. "Daniel?"

  Several more heartbeats, then: "Frances."

  She took a deep breath. Calm. Rational. "Daniel. Hello. How are you?" As if her husband were calling to inquire about a tea party.

  "Not so hot."

  "What’s wrong?"

  The tea cakes didn’t come in, and we don’t have enough tea.

  "She’s gone. She’s been gone since Friday morning."

  Frances’s heart stilled. "Gone?"

  "She left a note saying she’d be back, when the money runs out. She has six hundred dollars and a truck."

  "Right. Yes. A lot can happen in a week. In a day. The world is dangerous."

  "That’s what I tell her. She’s stubborn, like us both. We have to find her. You have to find her."

  Calm. Rational. "Where did she go? Did you ask--does she have friends or--"

  "Yes, yes. She hasn’t talked to her friends. I called the hospitals. Went to the airport and bus stations, and--" He whimpered. "Frances, she's gone."

  "All right." Frances sank onto the couch. She pressed a hand over her eyes.

  "She might be going to see you. She hasn’t shown up?" Daniel asked.

  "She knows I’m her mother?"

  "She’s suspected. She’s the one who called the hotline, but I think I persuaded her otherwise after that."

  Hi, Mommy! Pretty doggy wanna pet doggy. Big, shining brown eyes.

  "This is what we’re going to do," Daniel said with finality. "Give me your email address. I’ll send you a couple of pictures of her. And some other stats. Height, weight. You give that to the police. You hold a press conference. And you find her."

  Frances felt as if she were drugged and in the twilight zone. Daniel was imploring her to find their daughter. "Why did she run away?"

  "I have problems."

  "What problems?"

  "I never expected…I never…I had false IDs but not much money. I had connections, yeah, but…but then somehow, a day went by and we weren’t found. Then a week. Then a month, and I got more money from people. Then a year, and more money. But always I was looking behind my back." His voice dropped. "She hasn’t had any kind of life. Not the life I wanted for her."

  "I lied when I said you could stay for her birthday party."

  "I know. She’s a wonderful girl, Frances. You and I, we screwed up. But she’s wonderful. She’s so smart, and curious. I think you’ll like her."

  "I’ll find her," Frances whispered.

  "Her favorite food is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches." Daniel’s voice broke. "We play baseball. She has a mean fastball. She got her period last year. I don’t think she likes tampons. She wants a Facebook account. She wants a cellphone and a computer, and she wants to go to the mall."

  "What are you going to do? Stay in hiding?"

  "I’ll figure that out later. I’m all right. I’m at a library. The email's going to be traced to a proxy in Afghanistan or somewhere thereabouts. First you find her."

  Frances gave Daniel her email address. And then the number for the Marissa phone. "Call me there. I always have it with me." She unfolded her MacBook.

  "She has green hair in one of the pictures," Daniel said. "Still does. She skipped school one day and got it done. I think, uh, the green hair makes her feel special. She doesn't think she's pretty."

  "Oh."

  "If she wants to dye her hair again, I think you should let her."

  "Green hair. Got it."

  An email popped up, subject line: Marissa.

  Frances opened it. She could not bring herself to click on the photo files yet. She studied the body of the email.

  Victoria Anne Cove, a.k.a. Marissa Leigh Dourne

  Nickname "Vic"

  95 pounds to 100 pounds

  14 years old

  Green hair, brown eyes (naturally brown hair)

  Approx. four feet eleven inches tall

  May be driving a rusty yellow 1980 4WD Toyota pickup, license plate Arkansas 991 LNJ (no photo available of truck)

  Best friend is Markie Cunningham, parents Richard and Kathryn. (501) 555-6578

  Last seen about 30 miles outside Little Rock, Arkansas. Ask Richard Cunningham to show the police/FBI where she lived. Place is hard to find.

  Markie is from San Diego. She said she and Victoria talked about taking a trip there sometime. Victoria was very interested in seeing San Diego.

  Picture "Marissa1" with the green hair taken this month

  Picture "Marissa2" with brown hair in June

  "Any questions?" Daniel asked. "Make sure the pictures open. They’re only shoulders up. I didn’t have full-body shots."

  Frances clicked one .jpeg open, then the other. She refused to let herself stare. Later.

  "No questions."

  Daniel hung up. No goodbye, no nothing.

  Only then did Frances let herself stare. First she studied the green-hair photo. She took in pieces because the whole would be too overwhelming. The brown eyes, with a hint of her own almond shape. The huge smile, the light in it. Good God. That smile. Frances’s smile. The red, flushed cheeks. She must have just been laughing.

  How could this girl not think she was pretty? She was beautiful. She took Frances's breath away. This was her child, this was her daughter, after eleven years. She looked happy. She really did.

  And she was fourteen years old, alone, vulnerable and beautiful in a world full of predators, and had been missing three days.

  Chapter 39

  Elena went with Frances to meet with the FBI. They held the press conference at the FBI offices. Elena watched on a TV in a lounge; her presence at the conference itself would be a distraction, especially since she and Frances had yet to release a statement about their relationship. However, pictures of them together were everywhere. The media had followed them to the new office yesterday, and today to FBI building.

  FBI agent Jimmy Haller opened the press conference. He and Frances stood at the podium, both their faces grave. They looked more like they were about to report Marissa’s death than her…

  Her what? Disappearance? She had already been missing. Strange situation, this.

  "Thank you for coming on short notice. We need your help," Jimmy said. "Daniel Dourne called Frances about one o'clock this afternoon. Their daughter has been gone since Friday morning. She ran away from her home near Little Rock, Arkansas." Jimmy turned on the screen behind him. The two pictures of Marissa--Victoria--filled the screen.

  Frances glanced at the images, then back to the cameras. "Her new name is Victoria Anne Cove." Frances spoke slowly, unemotionally. Probably exhaustion and all she had been through in the past week were catching up to her. Frances read off a paper. "Her nickname is Vic. She is the girl who called the hotline. She may be driving a rusty yellow 1980 four-wheel drive Toyota pickup, license plate Arkansas 991 LNJ. She weighs about ninety-five pounds to one hundred pounds and is approximately four feet eleven inches tall. She has green hair--unless she’s dyed it again."

  Jimmy now: "If you have seen Victoria or a girl matching one of these pictures, or a truck matching the description, please call this number." The number appeared on the screen as he spoke it. "She may be heading toward, or be in, San Diego, California. She might also be in or headed to the D.C. region."

  Reporters burst out with questions, but Jimmy shook his head. "Thank you for your help."

  The Little Rock FBI office had agents at Markie’s house. They would soon be interviewing Victoria’s teachers and classmates. The pictures and descriptions had gone out to police stations in the United States, Mexico and Canada.

  But all Elena and Frances could do today was wait. They would rest, let the FBI investigate, and go all out tomorrow, the both of them, together and individually: morning news shows, talk shows, radio shows, whatever they could get.

  Victoria would be found.

  *****

  "It doesn't seem real," Frances said. She took in the bare walls of her daughter’s room. In one week, would posters clutter the walls? Would clothes be strewn everywhere? She placed the two gifts on the floor and stretched out on the bed. There was no doubt the runaway girl was her daughter. The girl’s--and Daniel's--fingerprints were everywhere in the Arkansas cabin. "Come lay with me."

  Elena was peering out a window. "She'll enjoy the view."

  "Bet you she's afraid of heights."

  Elena snorted and drew the curtains shut. "What else are you thinking?"

  Frances shrugged. "Just that with abducted children, a lot of the time, they don't have the best lives. They have limited or no access to health care. They're home-schooled. They hide. That's her life. That's that girl's life." Fatigue pressed down on Frances. "Tomorrow's going to be brutal. How many times can I brush off questions about you?"

  "We released the statement. Tell them you love me, I love you, I'm a party planner, I'm planning the opening-night party for your new organizations. And that you're on the show to discuss your daughter, only your daughter."

  "Yeah."

  "Maybe they'll find her before tomorrow. You won't have to do the shows."

  That's more scary. "What do I say to her? 'Hello, nice to meet you, I'm your mother?' "

  Elena's smile was shaky. "I don't know."

  "How are you doing?"

  "Me?"

  "We haven't had time to relax and enjoy each other."

  "I'm not worried about that. We will."

  "I love you, Elena. I want to take you on a vacation once everything's calm. "

  Elena grinned. "You better."

  "Is it going to be hard for you having her around?"

  "Because of Isaiah, you mean? No. It'll be good to have her." Elena joined Frances on the bed, and their lips met for a deep kiss. The Marissa phone rang, and Frances put it on speakerphone.

  "Your father called the tip line," Jimmy said.

  "My dad?"

  "He was with your daughter this morning. She showed up for his sermon. He's a hundred percent sure. There are other witnesses. Victoria Cove, father Timothy Cove. Pray for him because he's an alcoholic. She said she was in St. Albans with her mother. Victoria left your father about noon. Said she was going to the bathroom but never came back. No indication where she was going, but we're hoping she's still around. Police are looking for her and the truck. She's okay, though. She's all right. Maybe she's heading up here next."

  Frances and Jimmy talked for a couple of minutes, and then Frances hung up. She rubbed her eyes. The alcoholism information was not new. Markie and her parents had told the FBI about it. "Her with Dad. The first place I wanted to run away from. I should laugh, right?"

  "Mmm."

  "The age-progression pictures are close, don't you think?"

  "Yes."

  Anger filled Frances. "Didn't he see the resemblance? Ugh. Who knows. If I'd met her out of the blue, maybe I wouldn't have said anything, either. Maybe I wouldn't have recognized her." Frances let her gaze roam the room for what seemed like the hundredth time. "You think it's all right? Ready for her?"

  "It's ready for her to decorate it. You ready to be her mom, Frances?"

  "No," Frances said, but grinned. "I didn't think I was ready to love anyone either, but I have you."

  "That you do."

  The rest of the afternoon, and then the evening, passed excruciatingly slow. Tips poured in, but nothing too helpful. A few people around St. Albans, especially staff at Thomas Memorial, had seen the girl Sunday morning.

  But she seemed to be gone from St. Albans now. The drive to Arlington, Virginia, was six hours. No sightings, though. No green-haired girl showing up at GIC, or the new offices, or at the penthouse building, wanting to see her mother.

  No green-haired girl anywhere.

  *****

  Victoria was on I-40, on the outskirts of Little Rock, when the rhaaaa-rhaaaa-rhaaaa of police sirens jerked her awake.

  Careful. She had been falling asleep. Should have pulled over at a rest area in Forrest City, but that was hard when she was getting so close to her own bed. She checked the time. Two a.m. She pulled over on the shoulder. The sirens whirled in her rearview mirror, a carousel of red and blue.

  The cop did not get out until two oh-five a.m. Had he been calling in the license number or something? He was an Arkansas state trooper and did not look much older than Markie. He had a head full of black hair, and his smile was white. His eyes were blue, like Frances’s. "Do you know why I pulled you over, ma’am?"

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. "No, sir." 'Cause my dad reported the truck stolen? Reported me missing? What if the police try to take me from him?

  "Two reasons. One, you were weaving."

  "Oh. Wow. That's--I'm sorry, sir."

  He grinned, looking at her. Really looking at her. Thinking maybe she looked a little too young to be driving. "License and registration, please."

  "What's the second reason you pulled me over?"

  More sirens, another car. It parked in front of the truck. A man and a woman jumped out. Their uniforms were those of regular cops, not troopers. The trooper stepped back and let the woman cop take his place.

  More sirens, a third car. State trooper. Then a fourth, regular police. Oh, God. Daddy’s really mad.

  "What's your name?" the female cop asked gently.

  Her hands were trembling. "Victoria."

  "Victoria who?"

  "Cove."

  "How old are you? You’re out a little late."

  "I’m eighteen. Please let me go home."

  "Honey, you have to come with us. A lot of people have been looking for you."

  "Is Daddy mad?"

  "No, no. He's not mad."

  "Why can't I go home?"

  The female cop exchanged a glance with the first trooper.

  He nodded. "We'll be square with you, Victoria. We don't know where your father is."

  "Why?"

  "He's gone away."

  Victoria's chest squeezed. Fierce tears stung her eyes. "Why?"

  The woman again: "Honey, come with us. We'll straighten everything out."

  "Why is he gone?"

  Another meaningful glance between the female cop and the trooper was answer enough. Betrayal slammed into Victoria. Her father had lied about her mother. And, apparently, Victoria had lost him. "I only wanted to help Daddy," she mumbled.

  People magazine cover, similar to one she had imagined before: Reunion of the year!

  "I never lost hope," Frances Dourne says, tears in her eyes, and daughter Marissa adds: "I love my mom to bits." Along the column: Daniel Dourne found dead. Marissa weeps for her daddy.

  *****

  The man who met Frances and Elena at the Little Rock FBI office introduced himself as Agent Paul Lundy. Elena was worried about Frances. She had been largely silent for the flights and had thrown up during the layover in Memphis.

  Now, Frances broadcasted a bright smile. Her hair was in a bun, every strand in place. Her face was fresh and bright, her eyes eager. Her breath was perfect cinnamon and spearmint and bubble gum and Crest toothpaste. She wore a black business suit. "Nice to meet you, Agent Lundy. Thank you for taking care of her. I'm Frances, and this is Elena."

  The bright smiles, the fakery, were bad signs. She looked like the old Frances Dourne. Elena was afraid Frances was on the verge of a collapse.

  "How is she?" Frances asked. That was another thing. Since Daniel's call, Elena could not remember Frances referring to her daughter by name--be it either Marissa or Victoria--except for one "Victoria Anne Cove" during the press conference. Only "she," "her," and sometimes, "the girl."

  Must be hard. She had been Marissa for fourteen years. Now she was Victoria.

  "She's fine. We haven't questioned her because, well--" Agent Lundy flashed Frances a grin--"because her mother wasn't present. She did say that, uh, she never meant for--" Lundy made an expansive gesture--"for this to happen. She wants her dad back. She was trying to get help for him."