days with London. The nanny was there during business hours, but just knowing that she was in the other room was enough to calm his ever-present anxiety about her safety.
And then she started school. For the first few weeks he couldn’t stop himself from sitting in his car, watching the school from across the street to make sure she was okay. He only stopped because a concerned parent reported him to the police, followed by another round of explanations, trips to the psychologist and visits from social services.
The threat of her being taken away because of his obsession was enough to convince him to do a better job of hiding it, but in the end it was London herself who finally got him to back off. One day after school when he was trying to play with her, she looked up at him with her mother’s, bright green eyes and said, “Daddy...go away!”
“What?” He struggled to keep the smile on his face from faltering.
“I want to play by myself!”
There was no maliciousness behind the statement: just a child stating what was on her mind, but it reminded Russell so much of Amber, who’d sometimes said the same thing – when she wanted to let her free spirit fly, she’d said. In that moment of recognition, he remembered what the psychologist had told him in one of his sessions. You have to let go. You have to let kids be, on their own. They need to have that feeling of independence. They need that freedom to let their imaginations run free. Kids need the space to be kids. Suddenly, it made sense.
It was the shock he needed to back off, to let London have some room. His anxiety over her safety never completely went away, but he managed to get into a mindset that allowed him to let her be a kid, to let her have some fun. He still tried to be constantly available, to give her everything she wanted, to answer any questions she had, to read to her – when she wanted him to – and watch cartoons with her. But he backed up far enough to give her a little freedom.
Chapter 13
The FBI Swat Team had the house surrounded and they were waiting for word to break down the door, but looking at it, Stevens was having a hard time deciding why they were there. Yes, the IP trail connected to the Craigslist ad for the handyman and the escort service had led them to this address in the Georgetown suburbs, but the building in front of him looked abandoned. Outside, it looked cared for: the lawn cut, the windows washed...someone had been taking in the advertisements and picking up the mail, but other than that it looked dead, like the man who supposedly owned it.
Everything that came back on Don Fellows was wrong. There was a death certificate on file, but his bank and brokerage accounts were still open. His bills were all current. His taxes were paid for. But he’d been dead for over a year. Evidence said that someone else was in the house. That Stone could be captive in the basement. But Stevens knew something was wrong, and even as he gave the signal to hit the door he knew that they weren’t going to find anything – least of all Stone.
The Swat team moved forward, Stevens following close behind. They lined up next to the windows and doors of the small house. Stevens looked in the window next to the door – no furniture, no television – nothing, other than the curtains on the windows. Stevens looked at the Swat commander, held up three fingers, then two, then one, and the battering rams smashed through the front and back doors at the same moment, and men streamed into the house.
Stevens pushed through with the wave of men in black. The Swat team was swinging guns from left to right in front of them, moving from empty room to empty room, clearing the house until they found the doorway down to the basement. Stevens gave them the okay to hit that door and they slammed through it and went down the stairs single file, Stevens following closely behind.
The house was empty except for a single chair, sitting in front of a
And then she started school. For the first few weeks he couldn’t stop himself from sitting in his car, watching the school from across the street to make sure she was okay. He only stopped because a concerned parent reported him to the police, followed by another round of explanations, trips to the psychologist and visits from social services.
The threat of her being taken away because of his obsession was enough to convince him to do a better job of hiding it, but in the end it was London herself who finally got him to back off. One day after school when he was trying to play with her, she looked up at him with her mother’s, bright green eyes and said, “Daddy...go away!”
“What?” He struggled to keep the smile on his face from faltering.
“I want to play by myself!”
There was no maliciousness behind the statement: just a child stating what was on her mind, but it reminded Russell so much of Amber, who’d sometimes said the same thing – when she wanted to let her free spirit fly, she’d said. In that moment of recognition, he remembered what the psychologist had told him in one of his sessions. You have to let go. You have to let kids be, on their own. They need to have that feeling of independence. They need that freedom to let their imaginations run free. Kids need the space to be kids. Suddenly, it made sense.
It was the shock he needed to back off, to let London have some room. His anxiety over her safety never completely went away, but he managed to get into a mindset that allowed him to let her be a kid, to let her have some fun. He still tried to be constantly available, to give her everything she wanted, to answer any questions she had, to read to her – when she wanted him to – and watch cartoons with her. But he backed up far enough to give her a little freedom.
Chapter 13
The FBI Swat Team had the house surrounded and they were waiting for word to break down the door, but looking at it, Stevens was having a hard time deciding why they were there. Yes, the IP trail connected to the Craigslist ad for the handyman and the escort service had led them to this address in the Georgetown suburbs, but the building in front of him looked abandoned. Outside, it looked cared for: the lawn cut, the windows washed...someone had been taking in the advertisements and picking up the mail, but other than that it looked dead, like the man who supposedly owned it.
Everything that came back on Don Fellows was wrong. There was a death certificate on file, but his bank and brokerage accounts were still open. His bills were all current. His taxes were paid for. But he’d been dead for over a year. Evidence said that someone else was in the house. That Stone could be captive in the basement. But Stevens knew something was wrong, and even as he gave the signal to hit the door he knew that they weren’t going to find anything – least of all Stone.
The Swat team moved forward, Stevens following close behind. They lined up next to the windows and doors of the small house. Stevens looked in the window next to the door – no furniture, no television – nothing, other than the curtains on the windows. Stevens looked at the Swat commander, held up three fingers, then two, then one, and the battering rams smashed through the front and back doors at the same moment, and men streamed into the house.
Stevens pushed through with the wave of men in black. The Swat team was swinging guns from left to right in front of them, moving from empty room to empty room, clearing the house until they found the doorway down to the basement. Stevens gave them the okay to hit that door and they slammed through it and went down the stairs single file, Stevens following closely behind.
The house was empty except for a single chair, sitting in front of a
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