The Girl Who Knew My Daughter

For several seconds, I couldn't hear anything except the blood pounding in my ears.

My wife was alive.

Someone knew where she was.

And whoever had sent that message knew about Maya.

More terrifyingly, he knew we were on this plane.

"Lock the cockpit," I ordered.

Captain Harris nodded and returned to the front.

"Rebecca, secure the cabin. Nobody leaves their seat without my permission.""

The flight attendant looked at Maya.

"Should I take the baby?""

"No," I answered immediately.

Maya tightened her hold on Lily.

"She stays with me.""

Under different circumstances, I might have found the statement presumptuous.

Instead, I found myself trusting the girl more than the adults surrounding us.

I sat across from her and placed Eleanor's photograph on the table.

"Start talking.""

Maya glanced toward the cockpit door.

"Are we going to land where we're supposed to?""

"I don't know yet.""

"Will that man be there?""

"I don't know.""

"Then how can you tell me to talk?""

I rubbed my face.

She was ten years old, frightened, and carrying information that could destroy whatever remained of my family. Yet she was asking questions I couldn't answer.

"You're right," I admitted.

"I can't promise everything will be okay. But I can promise that nobody will take Lily from you while I'm here.""

Maya studied my face.

Then she nodded.

"My mother found Eleanor last winter.""

I leaned forward.

"Your mother found my wife?""

"Not at first. Eleanor found us.""

Maya explained that she and her mother, Grace, lived in a small coastal town in Maine. Grace worked as a nurse at a rehabilitation clinic outside Portland. One evening, during a violent snowstorm, she had discovered a woman sitting beside the road with a bleeding hand and no identification.

The woman had refused to go to the hospital.

She had been frightened of anyone asking questions.

"Mom said she looked like someone had been chasing her for days," Maya continued.

"She had a cut on her forehead, and she kept asking whether anybody had followed us.""

"What did your mother do?""

"She took Eleanor home.""

I stared at her.

"And she never contacted the police?""

"Mom tried. Eleanor begged her not to.""

"Why?""

Maya looked at the photograph.

"She said the police couldn't protect her from someone who had friends everywhere.""

I thought of the investigator I had hired immediately after Eleanor disappeared. He had been a former federal agent named Marcus Hale, a man with impeccable references and a reputation for finding people others couldn't.

He had spent months telling me Eleanor's disappearance was probably a suicide.

He had even shown me records suggesting she had purchased a one-way bus ticket under a false name.

I had believed him.

"Did Eleanor ever explain why she disappeared?""

Maya shook her head.

"She told us she had a daughter. She cried whenever she talked about her.""

I swallowed hard.

"Did she tell you anything about me?""

"She said you loved Lily.""

The answer was so simple that it hurt.

"Did she say she loved me?""

Maya's eyes lifted to mine.

"Yes.""

I looked away.

For months, I had tortured myself with the possibility that Eleanor had left because she couldn't bear our life anymore. Our marriage had not been perfect. My company consumed most of my attention, and after Lily's birth, I had become obsessed with protecting my family from every conceivable danger.

Eleanor had once told me I was turning our home into a fortress.

I had dismissed her concerns.

Now I wondered whether she had been trying to warn me.

"Why did she send you to me?"" I asked.

Maya hesitated.

"Because she couldn't come herself.""

"Why not?""

"She said someone was watching the house.""

I reached for my phone and called my head of security, Thomas Reed.

He answered on the second ring.

"Mr. Whitmore?""

"Tell me whether anyone has accessed our flight information.""

A pause.

"What happened?""

"Someone altered our arrival arrangements. I need you to find out who did it.""

"Understood. I'll investigate immediately.""

"Thomas, listen carefully. I have a child aboard who may be in danger. I want our destination kept confidential, and I want local authorities contacted only after you verify they're not connected to this.""

"Sir, are you saying someone inside our organization—"

"I'm saying I don't know whom to trust.""

I ended the call.

Maya was watching me.

"Is that man your friend?""

"Thomas? He's worked for me for six years.""

"Does he know where Eleanor is?""

"No.""

She looked unconvinced.

"Then why did she tell me not to trust anyone who says they want to help you?""

The question silenced me.

"What exactly did Eleanor tell you?""

Maya took a slow breath.

"She said that if I met you, I should give you the envelope and tell you about the red notebook.""

"What red notebook?""

"I don't have it.""

"Where is it?""

"Eleanor hid it.""

"Where?""

Maya looked at Lily.

"Somewhere nobody would look.""

I leaned closer.

"Maya, every minute matters. If that notebook can explain what's happening, we need to find it.""

"I know.""

"Then tell me where she hid it.""

"She didn't tell me.""

I stared at her, frustrated.

"Then how are we supposed to find it?""

Maya shifted Lily into the crook of her arm and reached into the pocket of her lavender hoodie.

She pulled out a tiny brass key.

"I think this is why she sent me.""

I took the key.

A number had been engraved on its flat surface.

*317.*

It looked like an ordinary locker key.

"Where did you get this?""

"She gave it to me last night. She said if anything happened to her, I should find the place where the trains sleep.""

I frowned.

"The trains sleep?""

"That's what she called it.""

A cold sensation crept up my spine.

I knew exactly what she meant.

There was an abandoned railway station outside Portland, a nineteenth-century building that had been converted into storage units. Years ago, Eleanor and I had visited it while searching for antique furniture for our first apartment.

We had laughed at the rusted lockers and the old railway signs.

She had called the place a museum for forgotten things.

I had forgotten it existed.

Apparently, she hadn't.

I looked at Maya.

"Did Eleanor say anything else?""

Maya's face tightened.

"She said I should tell you one more thing.""

"What?""

"She said you need to remember what happened the night Lily was born.""

My stomach turned.

"What does Lily's birth have to do with this?""

Maya opened her mouth, but before she could answer, the plane shuddered.

The cabin lights flickered.

Captain Harris's voice came over the intercom.

"Mr. Whitmore, please come forward immediately.""

I hurried toward the cockpit.

"What's happening?""

The captain pointed to the navigation screen.

"We've lost our primary communication link. And our destination has been changed in the flight management system.""

"Changed to where?""

He turned the screen toward me.

A remote airfield in northern Maine appeared on the display.

I recognized the name.

It was owned by a private security company that had once provided consulting services to my corporation.

A company I had dismissed from a major contract six months ago.

"Can you override it?"" I asked.

"I'm trying. But someone has restricted the system.""

I stared at the screen.

"Can we land somewhere else?""

"Not safely without restoring our navigation and communication systems.""

My hands curled into fists.

"Then restore them.""

Captain Harris worked the controls while I called Thomas again.

No answer.

I tried a second time.

Voicemail.

Then my phone vibrated.

A message from an unknown number appeared.

The girl has something that belongs to me.

Another message followed.

Ask her what her mother took from the Whitmore house.

I turned toward the cabin.

Maya stood in the aisle, holding Lily.

She had heard enough to understand.

"What did your mother take?"" I asked.

Maya shook her head frantically.

"Nothing. We didn't steal anything.""

"Someone believes you did.""

"I don't know what he's talking about!""

I wanted to believe her.

Then I remembered something from eight months earlier.

The night Eleanor disappeared, I had returned home from the hospital after spending three days beside her bed following Lily's premature birth.

Eleanor had been exhausted, but she had insisted on holding our daughter alone for a few minutes.

I had gone downstairs to make a phone call.

When I returned, she was staring at Lily with an expression I couldn't understand.

Fear.

Not the ordinary fear of a new mother.

Something deeper.

Something that had made her whisper, "Daniel, what if someone tries to take her?""

I had kissed her forehead and promised that nobody ever would.

Two nights later, Eleanor was gone.

Now I looked at Maya and realized there was a question I had never asked.

"Maya, did Eleanor ever tell you why she was afraid for Lily?""

She nodded slowly.

"She said Lily wasn't supposed to survive.""

The words seemed to empty the air from the cabin.

"What?""

Maya began crying.

"She said the doctors told her the baby was too weak. But somebody changed the medical records, and then a man came into her room and told her that if she wanted Lily to live, she had to disappear.""

I gripped the doorframe.

"Who told her that?""

"I don't know.""

"Did she describe him?""

Maya wiped her cheek with her sleeve.

"She said he wore a silver ring with a black stone.""

My blood ran cold.

Because I knew only one man who wore a ring like that.

My older brother, Richard Whitmore.

The man who had held my daughter in the hospital and promised he would protect her as if she were his own.

The man who had helped me bury my missing wife.

The man who had stood beside me at Eleanor's memorial and cried harder than anyone.