All for Hope (3 page)

“
Kidnapper Presumed Lost at Sea”
read the headline of the Wednesday morning newspaper, and Brennan caught himself nearly laughing at her cleverness.

Port La Pina — Hope Sheffield, the woman accused of allegedly kidnapping nine month old Michelle Taggart from her grandparent’s home last week, is believed to have drowned last Sunday, along with the missing infant, officials said. Authorities suspect Sheffield stole her uncle’s yacht Friday night. The vessel was discovered adrift off the coast of Louisiana. A search on board uncovered several of Sheffield’s belongings, the infant’s clothing and some cash.

Michelle Taggart was discovered missing on Saturday morning by her grandparents Harold and Genevieve Taggert. The Taggarts were given custody of their grandchild three weeks ago after her biological mother, Justine Taggart, was sentenced to prison for manslaughter.

According to sources close to the investigation, Sheffield left a note at the home of Mark Terrance, a finance officer with Flannery and Trump believed to be a close friend of Sheffield’s, detailing her plans to kidnap the infant. She also stole several thousand dollars of cash from his home. In her letter to Terrance, Sheffield made explicit accusations of child abuse against Harold Taggart.

“
Terrance?” Bren asked himself. “Now where do I know him?”

His telephone suddenly rang, and he tossed the paper aside, glaring at the phone in annoyance. He knew it was most likely Jennifer. He had deposited his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend on her doorstep early that morning, saying very little. She had already called once, but he had put her off because he was in too much of a hurry to get by his office for the past week's newspapers.

He waited for the phone to stop ringing and the chime indicating a voice mail to sound, and then he grabbed the phone to retrieve the message.

“
Brennan, I know I made you angry last night, but I hope I can make it up to you with dinner tonight. Afterwards, I promise to make you forget that we ever quarreled. I love you. Please call me when you get in.”

Sighing through his teeth in vexation, he erased the message. It was then that the memory of Mark Terrance surfaced in his mind.

Hope had been working her way through college when she was a temp in Mark Terrance’s office. Later, she went to work for another firm in the same building as a technical writer. Through the years, he knew she and Terrance had become close; at one time, Brennan had even suspected they were intimate.

He pulled up his laptop and searched the man’s name. After a few false links, he finally found a residential listing and called the number.

“
Mrs. Terrance?” he asked when a woman answered the phone.

“
If this is another reporter, we're not—”

“
No, I am—was a friend of Hope's. Is Mr. Terrance home?”

The woman took a moment to answer, and he suspected she was trying to decide whether he was telling the truth or not.

“
He's at work. Can I take a message?”

“
No, uhm, could you give me the number to his office?”

Another minute of silence. “You had better not be a reporter or some crank caller.”

He decided to play on her sympathy to get an answer. Trying to sound distraught, he murmured, “Please, Mrs. Terrance, believe me. I just want to talk to someone who was close to her. Can't you understand that?”

He heard her sigh long and hard, then sniffle as if she were crying. She spoke so softly when she gave him the telephone number that he almost didn’t hear her.

“
Thank you, Mrs. Terrance.” he told her, before hanging up and to call Terrance’s office.

“
I need to speak to Mr. Terrance.”

“
Who's calling?” the secretary asked suspiciously.

“
Brennan Rawley.”

“
Is he expecting a call from you?” she asked and Bren knew they must be getting many calls from reporters here, too.

“
No, just tell him that I’m a friend of Hope's
.
”

While Brennan waited, he said a silent prayer that the man would take his call.

“
This is Mark Terrance.”

“
Mr. Terrance, I'm Brennan, a friend of Hope's.”

“
I know.”

“
I need to talk to you.”

“
What would we have to talk about?”

Brennan thought a moment. “I have some things of hers that I thought you might want. I realize you two were close.”

Mark took a moment. “Why don't we meet somewhere? Any suggestions?”

“
Why not my house in an hour?”

“
Fine, I know where you live.”

Brennan was shocked. “How—”

“
Hope checked up on you often. Always feared you'd get yourself into some kind of trouble. I went along with her once.”

Brennan didn’t say anything else, and seconds later he heard the phone click. Slowly he put it back on the receiver and gave a half-laugh, half-sigh.

“
She checked up on me.” He smiled, leaning back in his chair.

Hope's expression did not falter when she entered his apartment and saw him, his face bruised and sprinkled with a growth of dark blond hair. She tossed her purse onto the couch, then moved to the kitchen and gathered a wet towel and some ice. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and pulled him to the couch, forcing him to sit.

Brennan flinched when she began to clean the cut on his lip. She didn’t even appear sorry she had hurt him, just went along washing him. She dropped the ice into the towel and pressed it to his bruised face.

“
How'd you know?” he asked, his voice hoarse and his words a bit slurred.

She sighed and for the first time, she showed some emotion. The pain in her eyes was so intense, he couldn't bear to look at her.

“
Jim called me when he saw your car at the bar. I told him to call me back when you got home.”

“
You shouldn't be here. I can take care of myself, Hope.”

She cocked her head sideways. “Of course you can.”

“
That guy deserved to get the crap beat out of him.”

“
And I'm sure you handled that.” she said, not sounding at all sarcastic, though he knew she was mocking him.

“
I just went out to have a little fun.”

“
Yes, and from what I've heard you've been having fun everyday for the past two weeks.”

“
Jim, that bastard! This is none of his business either.”

Her chin slowly went up into the air and she looked down at him. “We’re your friends and you know that— but you're right. It probably isn't any of our business.”

“
Then why don't you just leave? I don't want you here.”

Hope peered at him a moment, then stood and took her purse. “You really want me to go?”

“
Get the hell out of here.”

She walked away and eyed him one more time before she opened the door. “Bye, Brennan.”

Not an hour later, Brennan picked up the phone and dialed Hope’s number. He struggled not to hang up after the second ring. When she finally answered he breathed a sigh of relief.

“
Were you sleeping?” His voice was raspy with emotion.

“
Of course not.”

He sniffed and remained quiet for a moment. “Could you come over?”

“
I'll be there in a minute.”

He left the door cracked open for her. She entered and found him sitting on the floor, stacks of photos all around him and a wooden cigar box in his lap. He did not get up, did not even look at her when she came in, just continued pulling things from another larger box, looking at them, then throwing them into the fire.

Hope approached him and just stood waiting for some cue as to what he needed. He grabbed a small picture of a little boy and his mother, fishing. His fingers trembled, then he dropped the photo as if it had burned him and his shoulders began to shake.

“
I didn't—say good-bye.” he grated.

She fell to her knees and pulled his head into her chest. Tears poured over her own face as he cried against her. Hope rubbed his head, rocking him like a child, not saying anything, just lending him comfort and strength.

A shudder went through his body and he lifted his face and peered at her. She brushed his long, dark blond hair from his forehead and kissed his cheek. “I'm sorry I wasn't there for you.”

His eyes began to well again and he searched his soul for the strength to speak.

“
I didn't think it was as bad as it was. I was just a selfish bastard as usual—”

Hope did not speak, just waited patiently for him to go on.

“
I didn't tell her—tell her good-bye, Hope. I didn't tell her I loved her and—all Mom wanted was to see me before— she went. I wasn't there and she died waiting— for me—
she died! She died!”
Brennan began to scream in rage and pain. He kicked the box and photographs and papers flew everywhere.

Minutes passed and he continued his tirade, throwing pictures, dropping them into the fireplace, and screaming about not being able to say good-bye. Hope knelt there and watched, her expression evidence of the way her heart broke along with his. She sniffed and sobbed with him as Brennan released all of the pain that had been building in him for the past two weeks.

Then just as suddenly as they had started, his hysterics stopped and he dropped onto the couch putting his head in his hands. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Hope crawled to him and pulled his hands down into hers. Squeezing them, she smiled even as a tear rolled along her face.

Brennan did not smile back, but his face seemed more relaxed and the bruises and cuts were not so profound now. He clenched his eyes closed and fell back against the cushions of the couch, pulling Hope up to sit next to him.

“
Could you—” He spoke in a husky voice. “Could we just sit here for a while and not talk?”

“
Of course,” she replied as she always did and wrapped him up in her arms.

Brennan nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorbell jolted him from sleep. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the clock, realizing it must be Mark Terrance. When he opened the door, the man looked at him with a bit of a smirk on his face.

“
Were you sleeping?” he asked.

Bren touched his face and he could feel the indentations left by the pillow on which he’d been laying. “Just a nap,” he replied and motioned Mark inside.