does have one distinguishing mark—a heart-shaped birthmark high up on her inner thigh. The information supposedly came from Vince himself. So if I find the birthmark, I find the girl.”
“I don’t even want to ask how you plan to see it.”
“I’m hoping I won’t have to.” He leaned both hands on the desk, feeling desperate. For the first time in four years he knew he was close. He could solve this. He had to solve it so he could close his eyes and not see the vision of Ryan’s charred remains slumped over the steering wheel. So he could look Ryan’s wife and children in the eye and no longer feel as though he’d failed them. “You have to let me try.”
Robbins shook his head. “I’m sorry, Will, but I can’t sanction an operation of this magnitude without proof.”
He’d gone into this knowing it was a long shot. The truth was, he’d expected as much, and like any good agent, he had a backup plan. “Then I respectfully request a four-week leave of absence.”
“For…?”
“It’s no secret my last divorce was messy. No one will question my need to take a month off for a trip to Healing Hearts. The next session begins in two weeks.”
Robbins laughed. “I’m not denying you could use some headshrinking, Bishop, but you at a divorce retreat? I just don’t see it. Besides, this place must cost a fortune.”
“I’ve got some money stashed away, stocks I can cash in. I want to do this. I have to, for Ryan’s family. They need closure.”
“They need closure or you do?”
They both knew the answer to that.
Robbins sat back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “Look, if this is something you need to do, I can’t stop you. But if you find yourself in hot water, I’m not going to be there to drag you out. You do this, you’re on your own. Understood?”
“Understood. Although…”
“Although, what?”
“The retreat has a fairly vigorous screening policy. They can’t know I’m with the bureau.”
Robbins sighed. “Anything else?”
“Nope.”
Robbins studied him for a moment, as if he were weighing his options. Will would resign before he let anyone stop him from solving this case, and he was pretty sure the assistant director knew that. Despite being mildly belligerent and slightly obsessive at times, Will was a one hell of a good agent—one of the best in the New York office. They wouldn’t want to lose him.
“Okay,” he finally said. “You’ve got your four weeks. But if anyone asks, we never had this conversation.”
“Divorce impacts every family member. It is a death of sorts. It affects self-identity, financial security and lifestyle. Here at Healing Hearts, we’re dedicated to guiding families though this difficult, devastating time….”
Abi Sullivan stood in her boss’s office watching through the two-way mirror into the common area as Eve, the in-house psychologist, gave her opening speech to the retreat guests—forty in total, half of whom were children. As children’s activities director, she would know them all by name by week’s end. She studied their faces, memorized them. Some looked inexplicably sad, others angry and bitter, while some just looked lost.
One boy in particular, Eric Stillson, caught her attention. He looked to be sixteen or seventeen and sat off by himself near the back of the room. Unlike the others, he looked bored, indifferent, as if he felt nothing at all—a pretty good indication he was tortured on the inside. She would know. It was like looking at a mirror image of herself half a lifetime ago.
She knew without even meeting him he would be her special project. There was one in every group.
She turned to her employer. “So his mother just dropped him off and left?”
“It wasn’t even the mother that brought him. It was one of their staff. A butler or something. Scary-looking guy.” Maureen Kelly, founder of the resort, sat at her massive mahogany desk, a stack of files in front of her. “So much for the concept of family counseling, huh?”
“And I suppose his parents expect him to be fixed by the time he leaves here.”
Maureen gave her a rueful smile. “Don’t they all?”
Abi walked over to the open picture window. In the distance, white-tipped mountains kissed a cloudless blue sky, and at their base Lake Cillito shimmered in the morning sunlight. East of the sprawling main building, guest cabins dotted the landscape, and to the west was the employee lodging where her own cabin was located.
She breathed in the clean mountain air, a feeling of peace washing over her. She could be having the worst day in her life and needed only to look at that view to remind herself how lucky she was to be there. She would never know if it was chance or divine intervention that had caused her and Maureen to cross paths. All she did know was that in her thirty years she’d never been more happy or content. She’d found her calling—taking all the rotten experiences from her miserable childhood and using the knowledge she’d gained to help others. And she’d found a kindred spirit in Maureen.
For the first time in her life she didn’t feel as if she were waiting for the other shoe to fall.
In the other room she heard Eve winding down, Abi’s cue to prepare to meet the kids and introduce them to the program. For the next four weeks their days would be filled with horseback riding, hiking and swimming, crafts and scavenger hunts and of course family and individual counseling.
“Time to meet the kids,” she said.
“How about dinner in my quarters Thursday night?” Maureen asked. “I’d like to go over a few new ideas for the next session.” Unlike her staff, Maureen didn’t share dinner with her guests in the main dining room. In fact, it was rare that she ever showed her face. She spent most of her time in her office or private living quarters.
“Should I find someone to watch Adam?” Abi asked.
“No, bring him. He can watch Nickelodeon.”
“He’ll love that.” Since Maureen’s television was the only one at the resort with a satellite dish and local channels were limited, it was a rare treat for her son. He wouldn’t make a peep.
“Six o’clock?”
“Sounds good, I’ll see you then.”
She buzzed Abi out of her private office and into the main office next door, where Maureen’s secretary, Susie, took care of the everyday business.
“I apologize, Mr. Bishop, but that just won’t be possible,” Susie was saying to the man standing opposite her desk.
Looming over it was more like it. He stood at least six feet tall and, in low-riding khaki shorts and a T-shirt, had the lean muscled look of a man half his age. She was guessing, from the gray peppering the thick dark hair at his temples and the lines bracketing his eyes and mouth, he had to be pushing forty.
And
