The Abduction by James Grippando Read Free Book Online Page A

somber expression on her face. “Something wrong?” he asked.
    “I don’t know. I guess I suddenly felt funny about you and me sitting here laughing about a kidnapping.”
    Their eyes joined. A stillness fell over their table, as if the sounds of the sea in the background were suddenly more audible. Allison looked away.
    Mitch turned very serious. “You blamed me for Emily, didn’t you?”
    Her mouth opened, but she said nothing for a moment. The question seemed out of the blue—but then again, it didn’t. “I don’t think blame is the right word, Mitch. I did associate it with you. Maybe that’s not fair, but I can’t get it out of my mind that I was on the phone with you when it happened.”
    He glanced at the swimming pool, then back at Allison. “Do you think we would have gotten back together? I mean, if that had never happened.”
    “No.”
    He fell back in his chair. “Whoa. Didn’t even have to think about that one, did you.”
    She sighed. “Mitch, none of this matters. I’m married now. I have a wonderful husband.”
    “Yeah, and after seven years he still works in New York and visits you on weekends.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “You’re a public figure, Allison.”
    She shifted uncomfortably. “What else do you know?”
    “I know he spent over a million dollars of his own money trying to help you find Emily. I’m truly sorry you never found her.”
    “Thank you.”
    He leaned forward, cupping his empty glass with both hands. “I’m also sorry that you rewarded his generosity by promising to marry him.”
    Allison looked him straight in the eye. Her mouth was suddenly dry.
    Mitch didn’t blink. His stare only tightened.
    “I really think I should go now.” She rose quickly, digging in her purse for a ten-dollar bill. She dropped it on the table.
    He frowned at the money. “You won’t even let me buy you a drink?”
    “Good-bye, Mitch.” She turned and started away. Her FBI escort rose from his discreet post by the door, ready to take her to her room.
    “Allison,” Mitch called.
    She stopped, then turned around reluctantly. It was the eyes. He snared her again with those eyes.
    “It’s definitely not your fault,” he said, speaking softly enough so that no one could overhear. “But somebody still loves you.”
    She blinked hard, barely comprehending. She turned away nervously and headed for the hotel.
    The alarm clock sounded on the nightstand, rousing her from her memories. Her heart skipped a beat as she lunged for the snooze button.
    Peter stirred and rubbed his eyes, then rolled toward her. He had the beaming face of a kid cutting school. “Good morning,” he said, looking up from his pillow.
    Allison wiped a bead of sweat from her upper lip. “Yes,” she said with a troubled smile. “It’s going to be a very good morning.”

6
    Early Monday morning, David Wilcox entered the White House through the tunnel that connected a subbasement in the East Wing to the basement of the Treasury Building. It was an alternative entrance for recognizable visitors who didn’t want their arrival noted by the press. Wilcox had insisted on using it, fearing that a highly visible, personal visit with the president might be seen as an act of desperation by the Leahy campaign.
    Two Secret Service agents led the underground journey. One flanked Wilcox. The other watched Eric Helmers, the popular governor of Georgia whom Allison had selected as her vice presidential running mate. Helmers brought balance to the ticket in more ways than one. Aside from being a handsome and well-spoken southern man, he was a decorated Vietnam War veteran who had lost half of his left foot to a land mine. His lifelong work on behalf of the physically challenged had earned him national acclaim, and his well-publicized participation in the Boston Marathon each year was a genuine inspiration to everyone. Wilcox and the Secret Service agents were struggling to keep pace with him, short of breath and sweating