A Defiant Woman, page 1
To Chris, for everything
Changes in fortune make a woman stronger.
—Margaret of Austria
PROLOGUE NAN
The first text message came through at midnight. She had just come off her shift at the restaurant and was on her way home when the phone pinged.
We have your daughter.
She frowned, thinking of her son, who was spending the night with his friend Gabriel. The text must have been meant for someone else. She was about to delete the message and report it as spam when the second text came through.
This time, though, it wasn’t a message but a photograph.
She squinted at the small screen and recognized the young girl with long red hair, dark gray eyes, a pointed chin, and high cheekbones.
The girl was her daughter. There was no mistake. She forced herself to breathe slowly, in and out, willing her heart to stop beating so fast and trying to sort this out. She couldn’t let herself panic.
Who knew this was her number? She considered the people with whom she’d shared it: her son, Gabriel’s parents, the restaurant.
She was distracted by the three dots pulsating on the screen, the indication that the person on the other end was typing.
Finally, information for a flight from Paris to Boston—in less than forty-eight hours.
If you’re not on that flight, we’ll know.
The threat lay beneath the words. Her hands began to shake. But as she tried to process it, she realized there was no real proof that they had her. In the photograph, the girl looked well, looked happy. For a moment, she was distracted by that. Had it been best that she’d left? What would the girl’s life have been like if she’d stayed?
She shook the thoughts away. She’d asked herself those questions so many times over the past years and never had any answers. It was better to leave the past in the past.
Except now, the past was creeping into her present.
She’d been gone a long time. Long enough that she was no longer a threat to anyone. Yet it was clear that someone wanted her back in the States badly enough to take her daughter—or at least threaten her with the thought of that. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be about money. If it were, they would have texted her daughter’s father, who had plenty.
So, why? Why would someone say they’d taken her daughter and demand that she return?
What do you want? she texted back, her fingers feeling too large and clumsy for the tiny keyboard.
As she waited for a response, she again ran through the names of those who had this number. Her old friend Margaret Pole used to, but Margaret had died a couple of months ago. Had she given the number to someone? Margaret had always been trustworthy, but she’d also had a touch of dementia.
What she wouldn’t give to forget the years before she came back to France. There was a time when she had everything she’d ever dreamed of: a husband whose empire stretched to every continent, who’d been devoted to her, wooed her for years, brought her into his business and gave her almost as much power as he had. When his divorce was finally granted and she became pregnant, she had believed she’d never have another worry again. She had the man she’d waited for, and they had a beautiful daughter. Her life was perfect.
And then it wasn’t.
She could blame the infertility drugs; she should have been happy with what she had. She shouldn’t have reached for more. But in the end, it was in his nature to wander, grow tired of her, find another woman. He’d cheated on his first wife with her, after all, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when someone else caught his eye.
But that was years ago now. She wasn’t fighting for him any longer.
She had abandoned her husband, a powerful man she was convinced would kill her rather than give her what she wanted in the divorce. He’d taken their daughter, threatened that she’d never see her little girl again. The familiar guilt gnawed at her. She’d been a coward. She’d left her three-year-old daughter behind. Should she have stayed? Fought for her?
There was nothing she could do about it now. She’d made her decision. And she had a son. A boy for whom she’d sacrificed everything. She’d left before he was born, when he was still a mere flutter inside her. She went to the only place she felt safe, where she could disappear and no one would find her.
By leaving, she saved her son’s life as well as her own—she’d never told her husband that she was pregnant—and Margaret kept an eye on her daughter, making sure she was well cared for despite not knowing what had happened to her mother.
She was supposed to be dead, but instead she survived.
She started fresh in a small city in France, where she took a culinary course and spent her days and nights in restaurant kitchens—far removed from the sophisticated wife and businesswoman she’d been. She was an unwed mother, as far as anyone was concerned, and she raised her son without the extravagant wealth she’d been accustomed to. They lived a simple, uncomplicated life.
Until now.
Because as the words appeared on her phone’s screen, she knew everything was about to change.
Be on that flight or we’ll kill her.
There were no more pulsating dots. Whoever was on the other end was done.
Police Investigate Disappearance of Billionaire’s Daughter
MARTHA’S VINEYARD, MASS. (AP)—Elizabeth Tudor, 11, daughter of billionaire businessman Hank Tudor, has been reported missing. Police are investigating, and an Amber Alert has been issued.
Elizabeth, who has been staying at her father’s estate in Tisbury, was last seen Monday afternoon as she headed to the beach to meet a friend, but she never showed up, according to police. She was wearing a white T-shirt, denim shorts, and white sneakers and carried a large white tote bag decorated with a yellow stenciled pineapple.
Police said Blanche Parry, 12, waited for her friend for half an hour, but when she received a text allegedly from Elizabeth saying she couldn’t meet her, Blanche went home. She said she wasn’t aware her friend was missing until Elizabeth’s half sister, Maril Tudor, came to her house looking for her.
Ms. Tudor told police she watched Elizabeth head to the beach but did not report her missing until 10 P.M.
“I spent four hours looking for her,” a distraught Ms. Tudor said. “After the beach, I drove everywhere, searching for her. She’s vanished.”
Mr. Tudor could not be reached for comment. Police said he is on the island, assisting in their investigation.
Elizabeth is the daughter of Mr. Tudor and his second wife, Nan, who disappeared eight years ago while staying at the same property with her daughter, who was three at the time.
A headless body of a woman was found nearby, but a DNA analysis indicated it was not the second Mrs. Tudor.
Police are asking that anyone with any information about Elizabeth contact them immediately.
PART I
1 KATE
Kate Parker Tudor glanced at her watch and wondered why it took so long to make a coffee. Five people were in line ahead of her. She resisted the impulse to tap her foot impatiently. The baristas were making coffee for the absent people, the ones who had ordered online and would swoop in, grab their cardboard cups off the counter, and give those in line a smug smile. Granted, she could have ordered online for pickup, too, but that always felt like cheating, somehow. She was perfectly capable of walking three blocks to the coffee shop and ordering in person. Except every time she did, she regretted it.
It wasn’t as though she didn’t have the time. She had all the time in the world these days, days that stretched lazily from one to the next, without the stressful pressure of the job she’d had for the past three years. She’d been Hank Tudor’s assistant, a high-powered position for the high-profile CEO and owner of Tudor Enterprises, an international multimedia corporation.
And then she’d married him. Hank Tudor, the billionaire who’d been married five times previously, his last wife brutally murdered and found decapitated on his Greenwich, Connecticut, property.
They’d had two weeks of wedded bliss before Caitlyn Howard’s body was discovered and two more weeks before Kate left him. That was two months ago. Since then, he had communicated with her only through his lawyer, Thomas Cromwell. He said he didn’t want a divorce, but he couldn’t be bothered to talk to her face-to-face.
Kate finally reached the counter. She ordered a decaf latte, a remarkably simple drink but one she knew would take at least another ten minutes to make. She moved to the side to wait.
“Kate?”
She resisted the urge to turn. There must be another Kate. She’d taken the sublet on the Upper West Side specifically because she didn’t know anyone in the neighborhood, although it was possible someone had recognized her because of Hank. She hoped that wasn’t the case.
“Kate?” the voice came again from behind her, a deep baritone.
Reluctantly, she glanced around. It wasn’t a stranger. Even though it had been years, she still recognized him: tall and well built under the dark suit jacket, tousled dark hair—a tiny touch of gray now around the temples—bright blue eyes, sharp jaw, and a wide grin.
“Tommy?” She couldn’t believe it. “Tommy Seymour?”
“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”
“Yours? Do you live up here?”
He put his hand over his heart, feigning dismay. “I’m devastated you haven’t been stalking me all these years.”
Kate felt herself blushing. It had been a long time since she’d done that, although she couldn’t help but see his bylines out of Washington. He’d always wanted to cover politics, and she’d been happy that his journalism career went the way he’d hoped. He’d been her first—her first friend at Columbia, her first love, her first, well, everything. And now, here he was, standing in front of her in the coffee shop. She never thought she’d see him again—especially in New York. When had he moved back?
“Of course, I know what you’ve been up to,” he said without waiting for a response. “Mrs. Tudor.” He gave a short bow.
She shook her head. “No, no, Tommy. With you, I’m just Kate.” She was acutely aware that it sounded like she was flirting with him. Was she flirting? Could Mrs. Hank Tudor flirt, even though she was separated from her husband?
The barista interrupted her thoughts by calling out, “Kate!”
Kate grabbed her cup off the counter and thanked him, happy for the momentary distraction. She’d felt somewhat isolated these past weeks. Was that why she was so glad to see Tommy?
He was saying something.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked.
“Why don’t we get out of here? It’s a bit too crowded and loud.” He held out his hand to indicate she should go ahead of him.
Once out on the sidewalk, Kate again felt flustered. She took a sip of her coffee. It was too hot and burned the top of her mouth. Served her right for stalling. But Tommy Seymour had always made her weak in the knees, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know whether he still might be capable of it.
“It’s okay, Kate. I know what you’ve been going through,” Tommy said kindly, his eyes locking with hers. It unnerved her, as though he were privy to all her secrets. But he couldn’t possibly know she’d found Caitlyn’s diamond engagement ring and phone in Hank’s carryall, how her husband didn’t have a real explanation for why he had them. While the police had closed the case on Caitlyn’s murder—the man who’d killed her was dead now, too—she still didn’t know if Hank had played a role in it.
What Tommy probably meant was that he knew about Caitlyn’s death and how it had come so soon after Kate’s wedding—not to mention that she had been shot by Caitlyn’s killer—but she was tongue-tied as she struggled with how to respond.
Her hesitation prompted him to pivot. “So, what are you doing here? In this neighborhood, I mean.”
She gave him a small smile. “Walking.” It seemed the simplest and easiest explanation. He didn’t have to know she was living two blocks away in a two-room sublet instead of with her husband in his opulent Central Park West penthouse.
“Remember how we walked all the way to Chinatown for dumplings in the rain that time?” He grinned.
“Because the subway line broke down, and we didn’t have cab fare,” she added, smiling at the memory.
He snorted. “Well, you certainly have the cab fare now.”
Was it her imagination or did he sound a tad bit resentful? On one hand, she couldn’t blame him; she was married to a billionaire. But on the other hand, he’d never asked her to marry him. He broke up with her right before graduation and then headed off to Europe with Molly Fitzroy, leaving her with a broken heart. It was a long time before she got over him; she’d married her first husband on the rebound. A big mistake.
Kate stood up a little straighter as she tightened her hold on her cup, her mouth set in a grim line. “Yes, I suppose I do have the cab fare.”
Tommy chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “No need to get your back up, Mrs. Tudor.”
She couldn’t help herself. Kate relaxed, smiled back, but then felt her cell phone buzz in her trousers’ pocket. She pulled it out to check the caller ID. “I’ve got to take this,” she told him.
He nodded. “I understand.” He probably thought it was Hank. “Maybe we could meet up sometime. Take a walk down memory lane. We can get a pastry at the Hungarian bakery. Like old times.” He produced a pen and scrawled a number on her coffee cup. “Don’t lose it,” he said, grinning as he sauntered away.
Kate’s phone was still buzzing as she stared after him. He hadn’t even given her a backward glance, and she was surprised that she’d hoped he would. Absently, she answered the call.
“Hi, Anna,” she said. Anna Klein, Hank’s fourth wife. “What’s up?”
“Have you seen Lizzie?”
“No, why would I?” As far as Kate knew, Hank’s daughter Lizzie and her younger brother, Ted, were still at the house on Martha’s Vineyard with their half sister, Maril, at least until they were packed up and sent back to their boarding schools for the fall semester.
“I just thought I’d check with you.” Anna’s voice was laced with stress.
“What’s going on?” Kate had started to walk again but stopped now, her hand gripping the phone. Something was definitely wrong. And Anna’s next words validated her concern.
“Lizzie’s missing.”
2
What do you mean Lizzie’s missing?” Kate asked.
“She was supposed to meet a friend at the beach, but she never showed.”
Kate didn’t like the sound of that. Lizzie was almost twelve and a lot more mature than most girls her age, but she was still a child.
She had another thought that caused her to take pause. Lizzie’s mother, Nan, had disappeared from that very same house on Martha’s Vineyard eight years ago, and no one had seen or heard from her since.
“How long?” Kate asked. “I mean, how long has she been missing?”
“Since yesterday. Maril called me last night. I came out to the Vineyard this morning.” Anna had been a surrogate mother to Hank’s children since her short marriage to their father, so it wasn’t a surprise she’d gone to the island to help look for Lizzie and take care of Ted. “There’s no sign of her, Kate.”
“You don’t think she ran away, do you?”
“That’s what the police think.”
“But not you.”
Anna was quiet a moment, then said, “No.” Something lingered in her tone, though, that Kate couldn’t pinpoint.
“Why not?”
“It’s just, well, it reminds me a little of Joan.”
Anna’s wife, Joan Carey, had vanished two months ago, not long after Caitlyn Howard’s body was found, and hadn’t turned up—dead or alive—since. All the police had found was one of her sneakers with blood on it. Everyone was assuming Joan had been killed by the same man who’d killed Caitlyn—and shot Kate in her apartment.
“Will Stafford is dead,” Kate gently reminded her. “He can’t hurt anyone anymore.” It was cold comfort, though, and something she’d been repeating to herself on a daily basis.
“I know, it’s just…”
Anna wasn’t convinced that Joan was dead. Or at least she couldn’t let herself believe it.
“For now, Lizzie’s the focus, okay?” Kate said softly.
“I know.” Anna took a breath. “Hank and Cromwell have brought in a private investigator.”
“Are they sure they want to go that route?” Kate asked.
“What do you think?”
Kate realized how ridiculous her question was. Of course they would hire their own investigator. It was the way Hank Tudor operated. He wasn’t a fan of the police, and he had a lot of resources at his fingertips. Anyway, the more people looking for Lizzie the better.
Kate resumed her walk back toward her apartment. She took the last drink of her coffee and was about to toss it into a trash can on the corner when she saw Tommy’s phone number scrawled on the side. After only a moment of hesitation, she dropped the cup in the can.
“Is there anything I can do?” Kate asked, instantly regretting the question. What if Anna wanted her to go to the Vineyard? Was Hank there, too? He must be, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask about him. She wasn’t ready to see her husband, although the longer their estrangement went on, the easier it was to accept that perhaps their marriage was over.
She touched her abdomen as though she had felt the baby inside her. She hadn’t told him about the pregnancy yet, but she didn’t want that to be the only reason they reconciled.
“I don’t think so,” Anna said, and Kate let out a sigh of relief that she hoped wasn’t audible. “I just wanted to check in with you.”
