Chapter 170

Almara’s Pov

It’s been forty-eight hours since Grace was taken away, but it feels like years. As soon as I composed myself that day leaving the park, I called Arthur and explained everything that happened. We haven’t stopped investigating since.

Reluctantly we had to inform Roman and Elenor of our therapy sessions who did a poor job of keeping their snickering to themselves. Still, when even only after a few hours passed and they haven’t seen Grace they asked where she was. There was no point in lying and we need their help anyways.

Once the judgements regarding me and Arthur’s therapy sessions passed Roman got in contact with a private investigator. We’re sitting on the burnt caramel-colored leather sofa in the living room waiting for the PI to show up with his findings.

The waiting is the worst part. That’s when my mind runs wild. At least when I’m keeping my body busy it’s easier to ignore the thoughts that pop into my head like jump scares out of a horror movie.

My knee won’t stop shaking, not even with Arthur’s reassuring hand resting firmly on my knee. I admire his seemingly calm demeanor, but I know deep down he’s riddled with anxiety like I am. We didn’t spend months in therapy for me not to have learned that about him.

Though every time an anxious thought works it’s way into my brain I have to reason with myself. We are getting Grace back. There is absolutely nothing in the world that will prevent this from happening. It doesn’t matter if the government ships her off to another country. There is nothing we don’t do.

Still, I try to focus on my physical surroundings to distract me from my internal turmoil. I glance at Elenor who has the audacity to look bored, even in a time like this. Roman has his eyes fixated on a hairline crack on an expensive vase.

Either he’s trying to distract himself as we all are, or his hard stare really is due to dissatisfaction with his possessions. I give him the benefit of the doubt and go with the former.

Though the room is wide with high ceilings all painted white to give it an even more expansive feel, I can’t help but notice my difficulty breathing. I notice a pair of virtual reality glasses and the urge to slip them on over takes me.

No one has said a word for the last thirty minutes. Maybe I could slip the glasses on and escape to a world where Grace, Arthur and I can be alone for awhile. A world without ships, without fame, no government. Just family.

Just when a shadow casts over the mahogany coffee tables straight down the middle, indicating high noon does the doorbell finally ring. We all jump out of our skin, except Elenor who at the very least decidedly pulled her eyes away from the ends of her hair she’s been toying with.

Arthur reaches the door before any of us make another move. Roman, Elenor, and I all exchange anticipated looks as Arthur disappears for a brief moment. When he returns, a tall man is close behind him. I appreciate his air of confidence, like we’re in good hands.

My heart thumps against my chest, seizing complete control of all my attention. Arthur steps aside and allows the PI to enter into the room. We rise to greet him and he nods a greeting in our general direction. “You might want to see this.” Is all he says in a voice deeper than I expected.

He slaps a manilla folder down on the coffee table. I reach to pick it up, my hands trembling as I flip through the loose-leaf paper inside. The first thing I notice is every paper pertain to Maurice. Except one sheet in particular stands out, the one where it’s her mugshot.

I slip this one out of the folder, my eyebrows raising high. I look at the PI who just simply nods as if confirming that what I’m seeing is true. Arthur take it out of my hand and looks just as dumbfounded as I’m sure I did.

We researched this woman before we agreed to meet with her, given it wasn’t a PI in-depth type of research. For goddess sake we gave her our insurance information. Is that what she was arrested for? Insurance fraud? Still, that wouldn’t explain why she called Pup Services on us.

A million questions begin to surface on my tongue, but before a single one can escape the PI continues.

“Her real name is Janice Clyde. She did study psychology which is probably why she’s such a master manipulator.” The PI continues.

“What are you saying, Crew?” Roman asks. The PI, or Crew, shakes his head like what he’s about to say is to shameful to even talk about.

“She’s a stalker. Been in and out of court dozens of times for five different charges. Not one of them has ever stuck though. She’s slippery, and she has money that gives her the edge to the best lawyers.”

“We have money, we have lawyers. What are we waiting for?” Elenor say with a flip of her wrist.

“She hasn’t done anything illegal.” Crew says. “She made a phone call to a buddy she has in the Pups Services Department, all she did was her job.”

My blood begins to boil at the thought that she played us like putty. “So, you’re certain this was her? It wasn’t any of the other names we mentioned?” I ask that last part quietly, almost ashamed to admit that I Crew look into Cathy and Robert as well.

I don’t care as much about invading Robet’s personal space, it’s more so Cathy- but when it comes to my daughter you just can’t be too careful.

“Positive.” Crew says and hands me another document. “I have the phone call transcription here.” Arthur and I take it from his extended hand and read over it. It’s nothing out of the ordinary except that Maurice or Janice is on a first name basis with the phone operator.

Clearly this isn’t the first phone call like this she’s made. Crew is right though, the rest of it is pretty formal, business-as usual type of conversation. What pains me the most is how carefully Maurice-Janice selected her words just to give enough hint of concern. Bitch.

“You said she’s had stalker reports. What’s that about?” Arthur asks. Crew nods his head and begins pacing the white carpet in his brown leather shoes.

“The cases are always the same. She has a client who’s famous or powerful, she gets attached, and she watches them. Like she’s trying to live vicariously through them, getting a rush on the feeling of living like a celebrity- then she finds ways to bring them down.”

Crew takes the folder and flips through it, pointing to lines on the document. “This case the client’s marriage ended in divorce.” He licks his thumb and moves on. “This client lost her house and a record deal.” He looks at us with solemn eyes. “For you guys, it’s the loss of your child.”

“So, what do we do?” I ask not seeing how the solution is going to be anything desirable. Crew draws out the silence like he doesn’t want to answer. He waits so long before answering that I wonder if I even asked the question aloud.

“Legally, you take her to court. Which you’ll have to do anyways if you want to fight for your daughter.”

“Damn right we’re going to fight for our daughter.” Arthur snaps.

“Of course.” Crew says, holding his hands up apologetically. “I just mean, best case scenario you get your daughter back and worst case scenario is the court rules that you don’t. In both cases, it’s not likely Janice will be held responsible for stalking or malpractice.”

“Wrong.” Arthur says closing the folder. “Only scenario, we get our daughter back and the psycho pays for what she did.” I take my husbands hand in mine, letting him to know that I’m with him. No matter what.