Without a Trace Read online

  “Mike, will you stay here with Mr. Nesbitt, please? I’m going to look around really quick. Just to be thorough.” I smiled phonily at Martin again.

  After Mike nodded, I made a beeline for the hallway that ran off the kitchen. My stomach was curling. Martin Nesbitt was one slick bastard and I didn’t buy his story, not even for a second. My gut was telling me not to.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  4 years earlier

  The Mother

  NOVA

  The first time I saw him, he had been standing by a pool table in Bill’s Bowling Alley. He wore jeans and an army green hoodie. The hood was up, concealing his hair and the sides of his face. His hands casually tucked in his pockets, he seemed quiet, his eyes flickering up to meet mine. A slow, trickster smile played at the corner of his lips before his eyes dropped back down to the floor.

  He wasn’t playing pool. Like me, he’d been dragged along with his friends. Mine were Louise and Kerry, two girls I’d met at Sunny’s, the place where I waitressed a few nights a week. They were closer to each other than they were to me, but they’d just kept on asking me to go out with them. After a while, I ran out of excuses.

  But on that night things were different. Surprisingly, I was enjoying myself. It was the flutter in my stomach, the tiny burst of adrenaline that let me know I was attracted to Martin. For most of the night, we didn’t even speak. Both introverts, it took nearly a dozen drinks between us to knock the walls down and help us loosen up. By the time the lanes went dark and the bar closed, we’d forgotten all about our friends. We were in our own little cocoon and I couldn’t have shaken off that buzz of excitement, even if I’d wanted to. Faces around us, they all looked blurry and nondescript. No one else mattered but Martin and me.

  I’d like to say it was “love at first sight”, but it was more like a craving. We had to have each other, and we both knew it before we even spoke.

  There was something feral in the way he fucked. It wasn’t rough; more like, intense. Martin fucked like a frenzied animal, like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life, like if he didn’t have me he would die.

  My friends loved him, but they still thought it was all too soon when I announced that we were getting married. It was crazy and rash, but I’d never been one to look ahead. When I was in the moment—that moment, that high—I couldn’t even fathom what the come down would feel like, almost like I was so high that I truly believed I’d never come down.

  Martin was my drug of choice, and I craved him right from the start. Even the idea of getting married turned me on, and not in the romantic sense of the word. When I thought about marrying Martin, I thought about garter belts and lingerie. Steamy sex in Fiji and fucking on the plane ride home.

  I didn’t think about all the other stuff, what comes after the high. I didn’t anticipate what would happen—Martin turning into someone I didn’t recognize.

  Now I gauge Martin’s moods by the rise and fall of his shoulders. I know what sort of day he’s going to have, and what sort of day that means for me, within seconds of him waking up. At first, I thought it was just intuition, or maybe some sort of psychic ability springing to life, but then I realized it was the little things, things I’d barely even noticed, that alerted me to his moods.

  The way his feet hit the hard wood floor beside our bed—if his feet smacked the floor heavily and if he walked just a slight bit faster than usual to the bathroom when he first got up, that meant he was angry already. Maybe it was from bad dreams, or maybe he was just bad in general, I don’t know. But he woke up pissed off at the world, and I suffered because of it.

  When I was little, I was afraid of the dark. My father refused to play into my fears, not even granting me the luxury of a night light, or light from the hallway bathroom. One night I asked him, “How c-come you’re not af-fraid of the d-dark, d-daddy?”

  “Because the dark’s afraid of me!” he’d cackled, body bubbling forward as he laughed and laughed. There was booze on his breath that night, and most nights, really. But I’ll never forget those words. Martin and Dad, they weren’t afraid of things, things were afraid of them.

  If Martin sounded angry when he woke up, I busied myself immediately and tried to stay out of his way until his mood relaxed. I tried to coordinate the baby’s sleep schedule, so she’d sleep right through his morning routine. The boy from the bowling alley was gone, replaced by this edgy, unhappy man I felt afraid of.

  “Your fucking half-sister woke me up! Why is she calling my phone?” He threw his cell phone at me, causing me to jerk in surprise. The cell phone, though light, stung as it smacked my left breast and clattered to the floor. I knew before he turned it over that the screen was going to be cracked. My own screen had cracked much the same way.

  “Great! Now look what that bitch made me do.” Martin snatched up his shattered phone from the floor, pivoted on one foot, and threw it as hard as he could at the living room wall. This time, it cracked and split. I stared at the broken pieces on the floor and I recognized the slippery slope that was Martin Nesbitt. Now that his phone was broken, he wouldn’t be able to call me from work. And since I would be home alone while he worked, he’d tear the house apart when he got back, looking for “evidence” that I’d been cheating. It was a slippery slope indeed.

  Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around my shaking body, gathering me into him. The walls were caving in around me, the world spinning on its axis…I crumpled into him. Not because I wanted him to comfort me, but because I wanted this tantrum to end before Lily woke up.

  Lily…my perfect, beautiful miracle. The one good thing in my life. How could I protect her from this? How?

  “I’m sorry for throwing the phone at you, sweetie. She just kept calling and calling! She knows I need my sleep. What do you think she wants this time?” The room swayed back and forth as I struggled to think of a reason. Most likely, she was calling him because she couldn’t reach me. I didn’t answer her calls anymore. If I did, Martin asked questions and got jealous; it simply wasn’t worth it.

  “Can’t you text her and tell her to fuck off?” He gripped my shoulders now, squeezing tighter and tighter as he spoke. “If you don’t tell her, I will. And trust me, you don’t want that. You know how I feel about her.”

  Martin stormed off, leaving me to pick up the pieces of his phone while he got ready for work. I’d already checked to make sure he had socks and underwear, his clothes laid out straight. Sometimes I missed something, and he didn’t yell or get upset, but then sometimes he got very angry. I’d started taking precautions, making sure ahead of time that I’d minimized anything that could set off the descent down his slippery slope.

  If he had everything he needed, and nothing pissed him off, then he’d leave for work on time, and I wouldn’t cry for hours afterwards.

  But today, was not going to be one of those days.

  “These are the old socks! The ones with the holes in them!” I heard him shouting from our bedroom. I flinched as dresser drawers flew open and shut. Then a sharp bang from where he’d probably kicked my bookshelf again.

  I heard several soft thuds. My books were falling. Yep, I was right about the shelf.

  You see, it had nothing to do with intuition. It was learned behavior. I’m no better than that stupid dog that Pavlov taught to salivate when it heard a bell.

  I’d learned to duck and dodge Martin’s mood swings by staying one step ahead of him. But there were some things I didn’t plan for well enough—like when he stole my birth control pills and got me pregnant on purpose or when he forced me to deliver my own child on the bathroom floor.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Cop

  ELLIE

  Follow your intuition. Trust that sixth sense of yours—that’s what my female instructor from the academy told me when I was doing a simulation search and seizure drill. It doesn’t always make sense at the time but trust those tiny signals your body gives you. Fear is a friend you don’t want to get rid of, she’d said
.

  I never forgot those words. But even though I wanted to listen, to follow my gut this time, I just couldn’t. There was nothing in Martin Nesbitt’s apartment or truck, besides the shoes he now claimed belonged to his niece, that would indicate a child lived there. The bedspread in the master bedroom was neat, with gold-colored embroidery and mountains of pillows at the head of it. There was an extra bedroom, but it didn’t appear to belong to a child. No kid-sized beds or tiny shoes. No little landmines of toys.

  I opened drawers and cabinets. I inspected the bathroom for baby soaps or powders, a miniature toothbrush, anything to make me think a child had been here recently…nothing.

  There was a his and hers closet in the master; one side held what appeared to be Martin’s clothes: fancy silk shirts, polo pants, ties…and the other side was full of women’s clothes. I closed my eyes, clenching and unclenching my jaw, trying to melt from the room and remember every detail about Nova when I met with her at the cabin. She was wearing that pink robe and lacy undergarments. She was a handsome woman with a trim figure, and the neat dresses and slacks on the hangers seemed to fit her small frame and style, as far as I could tell. Why did she leave it all behind? I wondered. The fact that she left so much made me believe her story…if she was truly afraid of this man, then she would only grab essentials and go…But where are Lily’s things? What sort of motivation would Martin have for covering up his daughter’s existence?

  “Nova didn’t take her clothes with her. Or her shoes,” I mumbled, mostly to myself. I stared at the floor of the closet. There had to be fifty pairs of heels and flats and sneakers piled haphazardly on top of each other. No kid shoes, I noted again.

  Martin spoke up, startling me. “I’m sure she took some things with her when she left. She has too much to keep track of. I like to spoil the women I’m with, if you know what I mean.”

  He was standing in the doorframe of the bedroom. He gave me a sideways smile that almost looked seductive.

  “Are you telling me you didn’t see her leave? I thought you’re the one who told her to go? Isn’t that what you said earlier?”

  “I did tell her to leave. But I never thought she’d actually listen. I was surprised when I came home from work and realized she was gone.”

  “So, can you give me a list of what you think she took with her? What about her cell phone? Do you have that here?” I knew damn well Nova didn’t have her cell phone. That was one of the first things she told me when I came to her house. I remembered that chintzy flip phone she had tucked away in the kitchen drawer.

  Martin took slow strides toward me, his eyes focused intensely on mine as he drew in closer. Where the hell are Mike and Roland? I wondered, feeling my back stiffen.

  “Your partners went out for a smoke break,” Martin said, as though he could read my mind.

  I took a step back. Backing myself even further against the closet. I pressed my lips together, mashing my teeth in discomfort. Martin grinned. “I hope you’re not afraid of me. I really am a good guy. And I’m telling you the truth, scouts honor.” He stuck his arm out and I flinched involuntarily. “Just getting this.”

  Martin reached across me and into the top of the closet, grabbing something off the shelf. I shuddered as his arm grazed my shoulder. “Here’s the cell phone you asked about.”

  It was a sleek white iPhone, similar to the one I used. I was shaken, but I tried to hide it. I could kill Mike and Roland for leaving me alone in here with him, I thought.

  “Thank you.” Awkwardly, I took the phone from his hand and pressed the home button. Nothing happened. Martin was still staring at me, making me uncomfortable. There was something odd about his demeanor…not the way a man with a missing wife should act, even if he’d fallen out of love with her.

  “It’s dead. I can charge it though, if you want me to plug it in. I haven’t even looked at it…You probably think I’m a terrible husband, but Nova really was a handful.”

  “I don’t think anything, sir. I’m just trying to figure out where she is, and why she reported a little girl missing who you claim doesn’t exist. I’m going to need your cell phone, too, and any other electronics you have in the house.”

  Martin raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. His eyebrows were atrocious—wild and busy, like two fat caterpillars on his face. “Is that really necessary? I need my cell phone for work.” There was a slow, steady tick working on his right jaw.

  “We’ll return it as soon as we can.” I stuck my hand out, palm up, waiting for him to turn it over. As he handed me his phone, he held on for a second too long, challenging my eyes with his own. I didn’t breathe or blink, I just waited for him to let go. What sort of game is he playing? I wondered. For someone whose wife recently went missing—whether they were on the heels of divorce or not—he shouldn’t be acting like this. And the way he seemed to enjoy making me uncomfortable while my male colleagues were out of the room, made me even more suspicious. Martin Nesbitt was covering up something, but what?

  “I understand,” he said, finally. He let go and internally, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  If Martin or Nova had something to hide, their phones were the best place to uncover it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  3 years earlier

  The Mother

  NOVA

  After a while, they all stopped calling. Even the people who loved me the most, my dad and half-sister, could only take so much of my dodging and ducking.

  “Don’t ignore them on my behalf. Seriously, babe. Call them. Let them know that you’re okay. I don’t want to keep you from your family,” Martin urged.

  Lies. All lies.

  I was slicing potatoes and onions for soup. Behind me, he rubbed his thumb back and forth across the soft curl of flesh below my hairline. A shiver crawled over my skin, turning my head woolly and warm. His touch used to bring me pleasure, but now it just creeps me out.

  Moments like these, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at his behavior. If I talked to my family, he punished me for it. But if I chose to ignore them, he encouraged me to reach out. He didn’t want me to blame him for the fact that I’d lost touch with them—he wanted me to hate them all on my own.

  “O-okay, I will call them t-tomorrow.” But that was a lie, too. He didn’t want them involved in Lily’s life. And because I knew they wouldn’t take no for an answer if they knew about her, I’d kept her a secret from them. It was wrong…so wrong…but I knew having them around, trying to see Lily, would only make him take out his anger on Lily and me even more.

  “Good.” Martin flicked my earlobe with his tongue. My body prickled, but I forced a smile anyway.

  “Let me cut. I need to get this soup on the stove,” I teased, nudging him away with my shoulder. As he left the kitchen, I gripped the handle of the butcher knife until my knuckles turned white. I poked the tip of the knife in the center of the onion’s heart.

  How did I become so isolated?

  At one time, I had more friends than I could count. At work and school, I had a small army of girlfriends. And I had aunts and uncles, cousins, my sister and dad…but slowly, all my relationships peeled away like layers on an onion. The stuttering I used to suffer from as a child was back. It was almost like I was getting younger and more vulnerable every day that I spent with him.

  Martin seemed to like my family in the beginning. Mostly, my dad and sister because my other relatives weren’t around much. Besides a few major holidays, I didn’t see my other relatives. But at the wedding…everyone came to that.

  The ceremony had been breathtaking, but the day itself was blurry and stressful and hot. We got married outside in the middle of July and in my wedding dress, with the long train and itchy Chantilly fabric seared to my skin, I roasted and blistered under the hot summer sun. But I was beaming that day, and so was Martin, and when it came time to leave, I couldn’t wait to jump into the back of that limo and strip the heavy parts of my veil and dress away. I wanted to get away from the crowd
s and the heat…but most of all, I wanted to be with my new husband, our own little love cocoon.

  He got in the limo while I gave my family one last round of hugs and kisses, and then I climbed in behind him. When I saw the stone-cold look on his face, my stomach churned with fear. It was one of those phone-rings-in-the-middle-of-the-night-type moments. For a second, I wondered if he’d received some sort of bad news.

  “What is it, Martin? What’s happened?” I eased myself down on the seat beside him, expecting the worst. His two favorite cousins hadn’t attended the wedding. Did something happen to one of them? I wondered.

  His face was a mask, skin stretched tight against the bone, and he wouldn’t even look at me.

  “Please, tell me.” I put my hand on his shoulder, but he shoved it off. That shove was so shocking, and so unexpected, that my breath caught in my throat for several seconds. We just got married. Why is he angry with me? I’d never seen him angry or cold like this before. We’d had a few minor disagreements and one night, we’d had a heated debate about gun control that ended in laughter and sex. But nothing like this.

  In my mind, I rewound the tape, searching through my vault of memories as I tried to play out the day. What could I have possibly done to make him act like this?

  “Come on. It’s our wedding day. Tell me what’s going on.” Again, I tried to touch him, and he shoved me off.

  “Fine. You know what, Martin? Maybe you should just go on our honeymoon by yourself.” The limo hadn’t started moving yet, so I reached for the door handle. That’s when he grabbed my arm, squeezing the fleshy bit on the bottom so hard that I cried out in pain. As soon as I yelped, he released his grip and burst into tears.