Libby

A week had passed since Mikayla disappeared. The weather reflected the mood of the whole Miller family. It was awfully cold, and a blizzard had come through Whatcom County, obstructing most roads, just as the case of Mikayla Miller was blocked at every turn. Out of every interview she had with law enforcement agencies, only one detective believed Mikayla had been taken against her will. “There’s no struggle, no ransom. She probably left, confused in her first year of college. We see this all the time.” It had been the response of almost every agency called in to handle the Mikayla Miller case.

She wanted to scream. “But you don’t know my child; you don’t know our bond. There’s no way she’d leave me.” With their experience guiding them, they threw the case back to the local authorities. After six days of painstaking interviews, Detective Fallon Frazier appeared on the Millers’ porch.

Libby had started the morning the same as she had for the past six days. She’d wake with joy, forgetting the heartaches and nightmares that overtook her the previous day. Then she’d realize Mikayla was missing. Adam had not gone back to work yet. He took the rest of the semester off but understood the need to return to the university by the new summer term.

She stood in front of her large picturesque window as the world went on around her when she only wanted to retreat to her daughter’s room. She wanted to run outside and tell all the neighbors with kids never to let go of their precious children and how life could get in the way, stealing them. She watched Mark, a widow from a few doors down, put his six-month-old daughter in her car seat each morning on their way to his mother’s house. On a day that should have been the happiest for him and his wife, with the birth of their first daughter, Delaney, his wife experienced an aneurysm and died ten minutes after their baby’s birth. Now, he went to his law firm each day and represented spouses who wanted nothing more to do with their wife or husband.

When the doorbell rang and rattled her out of her sweet but bitter thoughts, she was surprised to see a policeman who she’d not met standing in front of her. For one second, her mind raced. They found Mikayla, or worse, something was wrong with Blake or Jenna. This short and slender woman looked as if she weighed a buck twenty, if that, and was giving Libby Miller a sympathetic smile.

“Mrs. Miller, I’m Fallon Frazier. I’ve been assigned to your daughter’s case, and although I understand you have been put through the wringer, I wanted to chat with you concerning Mikayla.”

Libby’s confusion clouded her head, so she reached out to steady herself on the doorframe. As she fumbled for her words and flared her nostrils, she held her elbows wide from her body with her chest thrust out once she could stand without the fear of fainting. “What do you mean? I thought this was federal.”

“We tried to get the FBI to take this case. I truly fought for it, but in the end, there wasn’t enough evidence to prove your daughter was abducted, ma’am.”

The mother inside her wanted to reach out and strangle this petite detective. No one knew Mikayla as her mother did, and everyone was making assumptions on limited facts concerning Mikayla Miller. She knew without a doubt that her Mikayla would never leave willingly.

* * *

Mikayla

With the first week down in her six-month mandatory vacation, he’d strongly encouraged her to go on walks with him. It was as she thought; they were certainly in the middle of nowhere. If for some reason she could get away, where would she go in this weather? They had to be farther north than she’d ever been before.

When she became familiar with the house, it reminded her of a home modeled from a Pottery Barn catalog. It had old wood floors, but they’d been well maintained. A wood-burning fireplace accented the wall near the floor-to-ceiling windows. In a distressed cabinet sat a television that could close when the TV was not in use. The kitchen was quaint with an old whitewashed table that connected the living space.

Every morning, a knock on the door would remind her of the imprisonment when he’d unhooked the chain from where he’d locked it at night and stood in her doorframe. This morning was different though; he didn’t have a tray for her. Instead, in his stance, a slow smile formed on his face as his lips parted. “Good morning, sweetness. I would like for you to join me for breakfast.”

“No, thanks,” she said.

Smiling at her again, he replied, “Suit yourself, but I’m not going to serve you in your room anymore. If you want to eat, you have to come to the kitchen.” His harsh words were a shock at first—after all, he was keeping her against her will, so why should his stern words surprise her?

He’d made the most lavish breakfast, and though she wanted to protest, when it came to food, the man had found her weakness. She reluctantly strolled into the kitchen to eggs benedict, sausage links, and rye toast. He pointed at a plate. “Now that you are out of your room, we can get to know each other better.”

With a reddening face from livid anger and not embarrassment, she was more than curt with her reply. “I’m only here because my stomach will willingly protest through starvation, but the rest of me will dig in my heels. We aren’t going to be pals or bosom buddies, you hear me?” She stood as close to his face as she could and watched as his lips turned up into a half smile. If she had to guess, it was almost borderline arrogant. Then she caught a whiff of his scent; sandalwood with a light hint of something floral. The more she took in, the more his masculinity fueled her need to be closer. It wasn’t enough because, fuck, he smelled too good.

Hovering just shy of her lips, he licked his own when his smile widened. “You know, Mikayla, you’re going to have to realize I had my reasons for helping you.” He still calmly wore his shit-eating grin as if he really believed he was doing her a favor by keeping her captive.

“Oh, all right then, let me get on that thank-you card as soon as breakfast is over.” Her reply was witty, but the rage that coursed through her was attached to every word she spoke. What she needed was animosity and a tantrum of sorts to offset the effects his body was having on hers.

It was then she walked away from him, tempted and disgusted all in the same breath. After all, this man lured her away from her normally guarded and reserved life.

“You are funny. I know that wasn’t meant to be funny, about the thank-you notes, but it was,” he replied sincerely.

“Well, don’t get used to conversations with me,” she spat as he wiped a little bit of her spit from his cheek.

“Actually, you’ve been cooped up enough. I need to get you outside for some fresh air. Granted, it’s January in Canada, and that means it’s as cold as a witch’s tit, but you still need some vitamin D. So let’s go for a walk after this. And by the way, I’m not a controlling man, but you seem like a very stubborn girl. For your own good, I’m going to have to insist we take these walks. Okay?”

“Witch’s tit? Well, that’s pretty crude,” she retorted with only a wink from him. She worked hard to ignore this man, and though the wink was suggestive, she continued. “I guess I don’t have a choice,” she replied dryly, though in her mind, getting outside to see her surroundings was not a bad idea.

“And just so you know, we’re isolated by many kilometers, and it’s so cold outside, if you were to run, you wouldn’t get far. Not that I want anything bad to happen to you, but remember, our agreement is six months.” He stopped for a brief second to touch Mikayla, who tried to pull her arm from him, but he was quicker and held on. “I look forward to getting to know you. Then you can decide for yourself that I’m not a bad man.”

Giving him a maniacal laugh, she persisted. “Funny, a normal person who keeps someone against his or her will is never considered a good man.”

Again, he just smiled at her. “I know.” It was all he said as he cleared her empty plate from the table.

* * *

Sitting in the living room after dinner, she cuddled on the couch, watching the snowfall on the already white acreage. With a couple of tears in her eyes, she wiped them away as Nolan approached from the kitchen.

“Sweetness, are you okay?”

“What the fuck do you think?” Never in her eighteen years had she said the word fuck as many times as she had in the week of being with Nolan.

Sitting on the ottoman in front of the couch, he leaned on his knees, and if Mikayla had to guess, she’d think he was conveying comfort with the deep chocolate of his eyes penetrating hers.

“Sweetness, I saw you that night in your car. Someone approached you and put his hands on you. I will never be able to watch anyone abuse a woman when it’s someone you should trust.”

Turning toward him, she asked, “How?”

“After we connected, you told me everything,” he stated plainly.

Reaching for her arm, he positioned his hands on her. “No one should ever live a life scared of a man.”

“Ah, that’s rich, coming from you and I don’t believe you that I’d share anything with you.” All emotion had drained from her, and with it, her tone was dull and cold.

He stood after staring for a couple of minutes. “Ask yourself this, sweetness, are you really scared of me, or is your heart trying to convince yourself that you can trust me?” At the door to the hallway, he continued, “Don’t worry, I’m sure I know the answer and so do you.”

* * *

Taylor

Fear was crippling. It came upon her, and she couldn’t escape, especially since she kept it prisoner. For Taylor Jennings, it had done just that. The hold Mikayla Miller’s disappearance had on her was one she wouldn’t let go of soon.

In her obsession with this case, it wasn’t just the fear that she could have been kidnapped that fascinated her. It was something in the way the victim’s eyes played on the many pictures that were posted through the media; she believed they were speaking to her in some way.