Vanished (The Saved Series, A Military Romance) Read online

  “Good morning, Abby. Wow, you look great this morning,” Mary-Margaret said. She stepped closer and hugged Abby, touching the beige turtleneck she’d put on. She was still in her maternity jeans. Her hair was brushed back and tied in a ponytail. Mary-Margaret gave her an approving glance. “You look great.”

  “The kids slept well. So did I. I was looking forward to getting out today, too. Thanks again for offering to take me to the doctor.”

  Mary-Margaret shrugged off her sweater and tossed it over a chair. “Where is that beautiful baby of yours?”

  “He’s sleeping in his crib. Just put him down and haven’t heard a peep out of him.” Abby followed Mary-Margaret down the hall, but she suddenly bolted into the bathroom.

  “Abby, why is Rachel alone in the bath?” she snapped.

  Abby couldn’t figure out what she was talking about. “Rachel isn’t in the bath,” she said. Abby stepped inside the small white bathroom and felt the icy tentacles of fear grip her heart. As she stared at Rachel being lifted from the bath in her sopping pink nightgown, dripping, Abby swore for a minute that the room had shifted, as if she’d stepped out of time.

  “How did you get in the bath, Rachel?”

  “Abby, did you put her in the bath?” Mary-Margaret asked as she stripped her down and dried her off.

  “No!” Wasn’t Rachel still in bed? She couldn’t remember. She had put her to bed last night. This morning, she’d had a shower, done her hair, gotten dressed, and had her first nice, peaceful breakfast in a long time. She stared at the faucet of the bathtub that she’d showered in an hour ago. Why was there water in the bath?

  “Come on, let’s get you dressed,” Mary-Margaret said, sweeping Rachel in her arms and rushing into the bedroom. “Oh, are you awake, too, little man?”

  Abby still stared at the bathtub, half full. She stepped closer and dipped her hand in the cool water. Her gaze went to the two steel knobs for hot and cold water. There was no way a two-year-old could turn them, so why hadn’t she heard it? When she turned around, Mary Margaret flashed her a furious gaze from the small bedroom.

  “Abby, Charlie is awake. You need to feed him. He needs his diaper changed, too. He’s soaked right through his sleeper.”

  Abby just stared at her as she trembled and said, “How did Rachel get in the bath, and who ran it for her?”

  Chapter 7

  “Eric, Mary-Margaret is concerned is all, and you know I wouldn’t call and worry you if I didn’t think there was a problem,” Joe muttered over the phone. “Yesterday, she went over to pick up Abby and the children, and she found Abby happy and dressed, ready to go, before she found Rachel alone in a cold bath, wearing her pajamas. Abby didn’t have a clue how she had gotten there.”

  Eric stood in the air traffic control room just off the bridge. His first officer was hovering, and officers and sailors moved back and forth. The room was steel, cold, and sterile, nothing quiet and private. He had to plug his other ear from the jet that took off from the flight deck, the whole ship vibrating, and he was trying to stifle his panic at Joe’s call. He suddenly felt pulled in all directions.

  “Say that again. Did you just say Abby left Rachel in the bath alone, and she doesn’t remember?” He had to have heard Joe wrong. Abby wouldn’t do that. She was a wonderful mother. He turned his back when a few officers turned his way, some with odd looks and curious stares. These weren’t his crew, his men. They were new to him, and after a week on the carrier, he was still learning all the names of the officers—forget the enlisted.

  “Eric, look. Abby kept saying someone had to have come in and put Rachel in the bath. She was paranoid, and at first I didn’t believe Mary-Margaret, but there’s no explanation, because Rachel couldn’t have turned the taps herself. When I got there, Abby was crying, but she finally calmed down enough for us to take her to the doctor.”

  “Is Rachel all right? Abby? What about my boy?” he barked, feeling beads of sweat run down his spine. It chilled him, and he had to fight the urge to slam his fist into the steel beam over his helplessness.

  “Rachel and the baby are fine. Mary-Margaret has them.”

  “What did the doctor say?” He had a million questions to ask. What the fuck was happening to his wife?

  “He was concerned and said she was probably overtired. By the time we got to the doctor, she had calmed down enough to believe us that it was her who had put Rachel in the bath without realizing it. The doctor prescribed her some antidepressants and sent her home. He asked if there was someone who could stay with Abby. He wants to see her again in a few days.” Joe was cutting in and out, and Eric really had to focus on what he was saying. His mind was going a million miles a minute, imagining all kinds of things.

  “Well, what does that mean? Is Abby okay? What’s going on with her? What about the baby?” Eric needed to know she was okay. His mind was racing. He should have called Abby last night, but it had been a crazy week. He had no down time here, as he was still feeling his way around. Commanding this carrier had always been a dream of his, but right now the job was feeling more like an albatross around his neck because it was keeping him from getting to his wife and children. He didn’t like depending on others. Trusting someone else was damn near impossible for Eric.

  “Eric, that’s why I’m calling. Mary-Margaret is there to stay for now. She said Abby seemed fine this morning, but she’s still worried. She said Abby apologized and made some excuse to her that it had to be from being so exhausted after having the baby, but she was fine now. The doctor said people who are sleep deprived do things they don’t remember doing, but he was concerned about Rachel alone in the bath. He seems to think that if she gets enough rest, she’ll be okay.”

  “Well, why is he giving her antidepressants?” he snapped. He could feel the curious gazes on him.

  “Eric, I don’t know the whole story, but whatever happened, the doctor strongly felt she needed them.”

  “Joe, I need to know my family is going to be okay,” he growled in a low voice. Silently, he was begging, praying, for Abby to be okay, for Rachel, for his son, Charlie.

  “Eric, we’ve got it. We’ll keep an eye on her this week. You should call Abby, though. Talk to her. Your wife holds on to things, Eric, becomes quiet, won’t talk. We know she feels bad, and we’re pretty sure she’s beating herself up. She tries to hide things.”

  “Okay, thanks, Joe. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll call Abby tonight.”

  Eric stood facing a steel wall, computer, and equipment, holding the receiver for a second. He set it down and wiped his brow, feeling a tremor of worry he hadn’t felt in a long time. He caught the interest of a short, stocky officer lingering behind him. “Get back to your station!” he barked. It should have eased his mind that Joe and Mary-Margaret were there, but he was far from eased as he ran through what an idiot he was. He knew deep down something had been wrong, but he really thought after a week she’d be better. His wife was an amazingly strong woman, filled with love, and Eric decided now would be a good time to call her.

  “I’ll be in my cabin,” he said.

  Chapter 8

  Abby stared at the bottle of orange pills the doctor had prescribed. She could hear Mary-Margaret saying something to Rachel in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes. Noises carried in this small house, through the paper-thin walls. She stared in the mirror at the image staring back at her: pale skin, glossy blue eyes etched with lines. She had felt off from taking the pills the doctor had given her, but it had been no worse than the deep feeling of despair she couldn’t shake.

  She loathed herself. She wished for some good feeling to return, something to love. She said it over and over in her head—I love my children, I love my husband—but she couldn’t love herself, and she didn’t want some pill, some chemical, adding to her confusion, so she lifted the toilet lid and dropped the next pill in, flushing it away. She told herself she was feeling better. She slept, not well, but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept soundl
y. She’d get through today. She just needed some peace and quiet, and she needed to be free of the guard dog in her kitchen now.

  She pulled open the door and wandered into the kitchen, where Mary-Margaret was holding her baby and carrying a plate of toast to the table for Rachel. Abby wondered when she had started to dislike this woman who had at one time been a friend to her.

  Mary-Margaret looked up. “Hey, you, did you have a good sleep?”

  Abby took the baby from the woman who had spent the last week here, sleeping on a cot in the living room. She’d been grateful, but she had also heard the commotion next door from Mary-Margaret’s three children, twelve-year-old Taylor, ten-year-old Janey, and nine-year-old Steven, whining and whispering about why Mom had to stay here. Abby heard it, and she felt their resentment. Everyone’s nerves were on edge because of her. They had to hate her, and she couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Mary-Margaret, you have to go home to your kids, to your husband. You need to take care of them.”

  “Abby…” she started. She was distracted by Rachel trying to slip from her booster chair, so Abby reached around Rachel’s waist, lifted her down, and touched Mary-Margaret’s arm.

  “Go home. You can still take me to the doctor. I’m right next door. If I need something, I promise I’ll call you,” she said. The fact was that she needed space, time to think, quiet. She needed to get rid of this feeling of being watched. Maybe she’d begin to like Mary-Margaret again, but right now the woman was making her feel inept and nervous, as if she needed her approval for anything she did. Her voice was gone, stripped, and this woman could do anything, while Abby was powerless. She shut her eyes for a second, tamping down the sense of a large hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing, strangling out her very breath. It terrified her, this feeling of being owned, without a voice, a prisoner. It took away her choice, her power, and her sense of self. She couldn’t go back to that, not ever again.

  Rachel raced into the living room and rustled in her toy box, pulling a string on a wind-up toy that started singing one of the Disney songs. It brought Abby back, and she turned away, moving her feet. It was the only way to get her head, her brain, going. She breathed in deeply, smelling the powerful pine, so strong. So Mary-Margaret had cleaned her house, too.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, go,” Abby replied. She forced a smile to her lips and saw relief or something, maybe fatigue, in Mary-Margaret’s face.

  “Okay, I’ll be back in an hour, and then I’ll take you to the doctor.”

  After the door closed, Abby took in her neat and tidy kitchen. It was spotless, organized, and she noticed things had moved. The coffeemaker was beside the stove. In front of it was a paper towel with clean cups set on it. The toaster was gone, and the pile of papers she had stuffed in the corner of the counter—bills, mail—was also gone. She firmed her lips and opened the drawers, finding them organized and neat. She found the papers in another drawer, and she dragged them out and dumped them back on the counter, setting her hand on top of them and making a messy pile. She stared at the door and wanted to race over and bolt it so the guard dog who had left could never come back in again. It was that feeling of being trapped, watched, someone always checking on her, that was making her tense. Someone going through her things, moving what was hers, what she had set up and organized, she didn’t like it one bit.

  Even though she tried to tell herself she’d be fine now, with Mary-Margaret gone, she couldn’t make herself believe it, because she felt as if she were drowning, everything slamming into her from every direction. She had seen herself in Mary-Margaret’s eyes, and she wasn’t good enough. She was incapable, a terrible mother. She choked and heard Rachel pull the string on her toy again, so she took a breath and forced every dark thought trying to creep into her head away. She made a plan. She would take Rachel to the park. Mary-Margaret and Joe would be next door, and she would reassure them she was okay. She knew Eric was worried, and she would convince him, too.

  He’d Skyped again just the night before. She knew he was hearing one side: their side. She felt ganged up on, and even when she tried telling him she was okay, she could see the worry he had, his disbelief, as if he could no longer believe everything she said. She knew he’d been furious at her when he heard about Rachel in the tub, and it still scared Abby when she thought of it. No matter how hard she tried, she still couldn’t remember running the water and setting her little dark-haired girl in the tub. She also knew how crazy it sounded when she thought back now, how she’d said someone else had been here and must have done it. In her rational mind, it sounded as paranoid as it did to everyone else, but she still couldn’t shake that feeling. Now, in the light of day, she was positive it had been nothing. She wouldn’t think about it. No, it was best to just push it from her head, be done with it, never think of it again, because everything was going to be okay.

  ****

  “See, I told you the doctor would say I’m fine,” Abby stated to Mary-Margaret as she pushed Rachel’s stroller through the shopping mall. Charlie was in the baby carrier attached to her chest. She said it with a lot of bravado, and even she knew she was trying too hard.

  “Why don’t you let me take the stroller?” Mary-Margaret asked.

  She started to reach for the handles when Abby snapped, squeezing the plastic with everything she had, “No.” She softened her breathing, forcing herself to relax. “You know what? I’m good. I have to do this myself, anyway.”

  The fact was that she was tired of Mary-Margaret just taking over, stepping in like she was an incompetent twit, making her feel over and over that she wasn’t strong enough. Abby was tired of being judged. She would have none of this anymore, so she held tight to the stroller and kept pushing, the muscles in her arms tightening as she dug into each step. Her worn runners squeaked on the concrete floor of the shopping mall.

  “Abby, you do know you have to ask for help. I need to know you’ll call me and Joe any time, day or night.”

  She kept pushing, just like a pit bull. Abby could feel Mary-Margaret’s energy as she watched her, trying to once again peel back all her layers and find a way into her head. No way in hell was she getting there.

  “I will. I promise you,” she said. She wondered if she was trying to convince herself or Mary-Margaret she was okay. It had been easy with the doctor. She’d smiled answered his questions, remaining mindful of what she said. She’d learned to do that the hard way when Hossein had owned her and kept her locked away for months at a time.

  “Da-da!” Rachel screeched.

  Abby’s heart jolted, and she faltered in her step, looking straight ahead at the poster of a Navy captain in a store window. She sighed, breathing out. “No, not Daddy,” she said. She laughed before she caught a glimpse of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man, so familiar, with a medium build, watching her, and she gasped, feeling a surge of fight or flight that jammed her breath in her throat. She had to fight to tamp it down. She felt the tingle of blood rushing from her face. She shut her eyes, feeling a hand shake her arm. It couldn’t be.

  “Abby, what is it?”

  Abby snapped her eyes open, looked to the side, and caught the worried look on Mary-Margaret’s face. The words jammed in her throat, and she felt herself pulling back as far as she could from this woman. There was no way in hell Abby would share anything with her again. She glanced over to where the man had been, but he was gone. She scrambled for something reasonable, something believable. “It’s nothing. Just missing Eric, you know?”

  Without a doubt, she couldn’t tell anyone how she thought she’d seen the devil himself, Hossein. She definitely couldn’t tell this woman who could and would take over her life, her home, her children, and her mind if Abby let her. This was the ultimate form of control, being told how to think, what to say, what to wear, and what to do. She’d been there before. She’d lived it, and she’d never ever allow it to happen again. She also knew it was impossible for her to have seen Hossein—not here, not on U
S soil. She tried telling that to her nerves, which were shaking so hard inside her. Her mind was playing tricks on her because of all the stress of being watched. Of course that was it.

  “Come on. Take me home so I can get these two down for a nap,” Abby said. She cleared her throat when she felt it close off. She picked up her pace, pushing the stroller to the door, her friend beside her. The wings of fear she had battled the night she escaped Seyed Hossein were now hammering up her spine.

  Chapter 9

  Joe and Mary-Margaret walked inside her house right after dinner, and she knew this was to make sure she was okay and that she was minding her children. Even though she knew it wasn’t intentional, it hurt nonetheless to think everyone thought she was incapable, especially as they hadn’t respected her enough to knock. It left her feeling terribly exposed. She didn’t deserve this and resented their judgment more and more. She wasn’t incapable.

  She wasn’t.

  She loved her children. She loved Eric. She loved her home. So why couldn’t she love herself? Why couldn’t these people give her a break?

  Joe searched every room, even her bedroom. She heard him slide open her closet, and she stood stoically, waiting as if she had nothing to hide. She silently died a little more inside while pasting a smile on her face. He checked on her children next, and she could just imagine what he was looking for. Had she tucked her children in properly? Were they warm enough, clean enough? She imagined everything he was seeing would then be reported to Eric. Had she passed inspection? She worried, feeling beads of sweat pimple up her spine. Her stomach ached, and she fought the nausea that rumbled, wondering what he had decided.

  It was horrible, feeling her fate in the hands of these two people she’d once thought of as friends. She could feel Mary-Margaret standing beside her, watching her with that shrewd, all-seeing gaze. Abby swallowed and forced herself to play the role of a lifetime as she glanced sideways and smiled. Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered if Mary-Margaret could see it, hear it. She was waiting for her to make a mistake, and then she’d pounce. Abby wanted to weep when Joe appeared, taking in Abby and then sharing a meaningful gaze with his wife, as if they were deciding between them what was to happen. She swallowed and waited. Joe stood in front of her, and she couldn’t help feeling boxed in by the two of them.