She was in a hospital. Even if the nurse hadn’t been standing at the foot of her bed, she’d have known it instantly from the smell. She remembered it from the time she’d had her tonsils out last year. That and the fact that they let her have ice cream for breakfast. I wonder if I’ll get that this time?
The room had been designed for children. A cheerily colorful Winnie the Pooh frieze circled the whitewashed walls, and the visitors’ armchair was smothered with teddy bears. It was a comforting room, bright and pleasant. But something wasn’t right.
The nurse was smiling at her. Lexi could see her lips moving.
That’s strange. Why isn’t she talking out loud?
Dimly, memories of her kidnap and rescue floated back to her. Nothing coherent. Fragments of fragments. The sound of gunfire. Doors opening. Blinding light. She remembered the face of the man who had scooped her into his arms. He had pale skin and kind eyes. His lips had moved, too, like the nurse’s.
I wonder where he is now?
The next moment the door swung open and Peter walked in. Lexi’s heart leaped for joy. He rushed to her side, wrapping his arms around her and smothering her in kisses. She could feel the warmth and strength of his body, taste the salty wetness of his tears. It was wonderful, a dream come true. And yet something was still not quite right. She felt distant. Detached. As though a part of her wasn’t really there. But which part?
Oh, Daddy! I knew you’d come.
That was when it hit her.
The silence.
Her mouth was shaping words. She could feel the sound of them in her chest, feel her breath pushing them out into the room. But she couldn’t hear them. With slow dawning horror, she realized that she couldn’t hear anything.
Dad.
She tried the word again.
Daddy!
She started to panic. It was the same feeling of terror she had waking up in the kidnappers’ car. Dizzyness, racing heart, nausea. Her mind flashed back to the mill. She was in her bed in the cell. The door creaked open. The pig! He was moving toward her.
One word and I will slit your throat.
Lexi threw back her head and screamed.
“What’s happening?” Peter panicked. The noise Lexi was making was earsplitting, bloodcurdling, like nothing he’d ever heard before. Like an animal being slaughtered. “For God’s sake, somebody help her!”
The woman doctor moved toward them, but Lexi wouldn’t let her near, clinging to Peter like a baby chimpanzee to its mother. Her screams got louder. Her nails were digging into Peter’s shoulder. Blood seeped onto his shirt.
“Do something!”
The doctor filled a syringe, but it was difficult. The child was wriggling uncontrollably. Pulling aside Lexi’s hospital gown, she made a lunge, sinking the needle into her thigh.
Lexi’s eyes widened with shock. Then suddenly her small body relaxed. She was a rag doll in Peter’s arms.
Peter laid her down softly on the bed. He was shaking.
“What the hell was all that about?”
“It could be any number of things,” the doctor explained. “Please. Sit down.”
Mindlessly Peter pushed the teddies onto the floor and sank into the visitors’ chair.
“We need to run some more tests. Your daughter…there are signs of…mistreatment.”
Peter looked blank. He noticed that the doctor had hazel eyes that matched her hair and a smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose.
“There’s no easy way to say this, I’m afraid. But we believe Lexi may have been sexually assaulted, Dr. Templeton. In addition to the trauma of her abduction, there are signs…”
The doctor’s voice trailed off. She may still have been speaking, but Peter heard nothing except a low ringing in his ears. The ringing turned into a rumble, then a clatter, like a train gaining speed as it hurtled down the track:
Sexual assault, sexual assault, sexual assault…
He put his hands over his ears.
“Dr. Templeton? Are you all right?”
“She’s eight years old. She’s a baby.”
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“I know it’s a lot to take in.” The doctor’s hands were on his, warm, sympathetic. “Try to hold on to the fact that she’s alive. No burns, no serious injury, other than her hearing, of course. Agent Edwards saved her life.”
“Her hearing?”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you, Dr. Templeton. We need to run some more tests. But you should try to prepare yourself for the worst. There’s a strong chance that your daughter may never be able to hear again.”
ELEVEN
GABE MCGREGOR HAD TOLD HIS MOTHER HE COULD TAKE care of himself. But he proved to be a poor prophet.
Although by no means stupid, Gabe was dyslexic and easily bored. As a result, he had left school at sixteen without any qualifications, despite being naturally good with numbers. He arrived in London with nothing but his good looks, optimism and fifty pounds in cash in his back pocket. Work was scarce.
“I’m a hard worker. I know I’ll have to start at the bottom. What about the mail room?”
He was sitting opposite the head of human resources at May & Lorriman, an investment bank in the city.
“I’m sorry, son, but this isn’t a Michael J. Fox movie. Even our mail boys have a minimum of five GCSEs-General Certificates of Secondary Education.”
The head of human resources felt sorry for Gabe, but there was nothing she could do. Rules were rules. She’d only agreed to see him because he’d shown up at the office every morning for the past week, begging for an interview.