After She's Gone (26 page)

Her knees threatened to buckle and she clung to the edge of the pedestal sink for support. “Promise?”

Big arms surrounded her again, the scent of wet leather from his jacket over the smell of his aftershave and a deeper, earthier male scent. Familiar. Calming. Safe. The smells she associated with him that caused her heart to tick a little faster. Today they weren’t calming. Nothing was. Rain peppered the small window in the room, and she saw Shane holding her in the mirror’s reflection. Her face was thin and drawn, devoid of makeup. His eyebrows were pulled into a line of concern, his lips a thin, hard blade as he tried to soothe her.

It was all she could do to not break down completely.

“I want twenty-four-hour protection for Cassie,” she whispered. “And she should live here with us. We’ll get a bigger dog and have an alarm system installed and . . .” She let her voice trail off. Hadn’t she tried all those techniques ten years before? And still the monster had easily breached the walls of her fortress.

“I’ll take care of things.”

How?
Jenna wondered, and knew his statement was little more than a platitude, just as Cassie promising to find Allie was only to ease her mother’s mind. Well, nothing could. At least no words were the bromide for her deep-seated worries. She blinked back the damned tears that had been threatening all morning, then set her jaw. She could not, would not collapse. Not now.

She swallowed hard. Stiffened her spine.

First things first: They had to find Allie. And she had to remain sane. Not fall apart.

In the past few weeks, Jenna had been so desperate to locate her daughter, so unhinged at the thought of Allie being stalked by a crazed fan, being abducted or worse, that her mind had been playing tricks on her. Twice she’d thought she’d caught a glimpse of Allie, always at a distance, but when she’d tried to call out to the woman, reach her, she’d disappeared. It had happened once in the supermarket and another time when she’d seen “Allie” getting into a car. Each time the look-alike had appeared to stare straight at her, only to ignore her and leave.

Had those sightings been tricks of her imagination?

Wishful thinking?

Or something deeper, a mental weakness that seemed to run in her family? Cassie’s mental state had been fragile for the past ten years, ever since the unthinkable had happened. Her grip on reality had faltered, and she claimed to have seen things that hadn’t existed. Sometimes Cassie swore she couldn’t remember hours of her life. So what about herself? Or Allie? Couldn’t they, too, be affected by the trauma they’d suffered? Couldn’t their mental states be weakened, allowing paranoia or worse to creep in and take hold?

Don’t go there,
she warned herself.
Nothing good will come of it.

She couldn’t have Shane thinking she was unraveling.

“It’ll be okay,” Shane said now, kissing the top of her head.

She muffled a little choking sound.

She hoped to hell he was right, but deep down she didn’t believe him for a second.

 

T
he digital clock on her dash indicated it was after three when Cassie and Trent finally drove across the Marquam Bridge and wound their way to Mercy Hospital. Cassie had spent most of the day at Jenna’s house bringing her mother and stepfather up to speed on what had happened to her and where she was in her own amateur attempts at finding Allie.

Jenna had been freaked, of course, and Cassie didn’t blame her. Over coffee and eventually lunch, Jenna, Cassie, Trent, and Shane had mapped out a loose game plan. While Trent and Cassie were visiting Mercy Hospital, Shane would call Detective Nash and later they would converge at the police station with the mask.

Cassie wasn’t looking forward to the meeting with Detective Nash. Now, her car lugged down and she had to step on the accelerator to climb the steep hill to Mercy Hospital. Fir and maple trees lining the road shivered with the rain, the windshield wipers scraping water off the glass and the car’s heater working overtime to clear condensation from the windshield.

“I hope you’re right about this,” Cassie said to Trent, who had called his ranch hand, Shorty Something-Or-Other, to take care of the place while Cassie and Trent drove into Portland. The street was rain-washed, asphalt shining, headlights reflecting off the pavement in the gloom of the deep cloud cover.

As they rounded a final curve, the entrance to Mercy Hospital came into view. Cassie’s hands clenched over the wheel and though she fought it, she felt her pulse elevate a notch. She hadn’t left the hospital under the best of conditions and she expected nothing more than a frosty reception.

Which she got at the front desk when she asked to see Steven Rinko.

“Miss Kramer,” the woman seated importantly behind the counter said. “You of all people should know hospital policy. When you were a patient here, and you specifically asked for your privacy, we ensured it.” Her beady eyes, intense behind rimless glasses, drilled straight into Trent, who was standing next to Cassie, but Trent’s gaze had drifted to the reception area.

Cassie said, “If you asked him, I’m certain Steven would want to talk to me.”

“His family has asked for his privacy.” Staunch. Unmoving. A gleam of satisfaction in her eyes that she had this authority, the keys to the kingdom, as it were.

“We can wait while someone contacts him,” Cassie said.

The woman flashed a grim, unyielding smile. “I’ll contact his doctor and then we’ll see. Unfortunately Dr. Sherling is out of the hospital now, in clinic, I think, so you might be waiting a while and even then . . .” She lifted her slim, stiff shoulders. “. . . you might not be in luck.” Again the cold grin with no hint of teeth showing. “Why don’t you leave a message for Dr. Sherling and go out and go shopping or grab a bite? Portland’s known for its great restaurants, you know, farm fresh, organic and all that. Then call back. I’ll see what I can do.”

Cassie’s temper started to boil. “Just tell Steven we’re here.”

“I’m sorry.” She folded her hands, fingers neatly manicured. “Are we going to have a problem, Ms. Kramer?”

Cassie’s temper went through the stratosphere. “No problem, Connie,” she gritted out, knowing the woman always went by Constance.

The receptionist’s lips pulled into a knot of disapproval. “I can call security, if you’d like.”

“What I’d like is to talk to Steven Rinko. Now tell him we’re here to see him and—” She felt Trent’s hand on her shoulder and stopped midsentence.

“And?” Constance prompted, raising her plucked brows above the tops of her rimless glasses.

“We’ll be back,” Trent replied calmly.

Cassie was having none of it. “I want to see Steven.” She tried to shrug off Trent’s hand, but his grip tightened. He was folding? Just like that? After he’d come up with this wild theory and they’d driven over an hour to get here? He was ready to just walk out the door?

“Let’s go.” He started pulling on her arm a little too hard.

“Ouch!” She actually winced.

“What?”

She started to answer, then said, “Nothing.” She didn’t want to go into it about the cat scratches.

“Come on.” He said the words through a taut smile, and his gaze, when she found it, drilled into hers as if he was sending her some unspoken message. What the hell was wrong with him?

“I need to talk to—”

“Rinko. I know. We
will.
” With an iron grip he ushered her to the front door and down the steps.

“We came all this way—”

“I
know.”
He marched her all the way to the car and she wanted to slap him, but obviously something was going on. “Get behind the wheel.”

“For the love of God, Trent.” But when he opened the Honda’s door and released her, she slid inside and waited until he climbed into the passenger seat. “Are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on? Or have you just decided to be a moronic brute all of a sudden?”

“Start the engine.”

With an effort Cassie fought her natural inclination to argue and switched on the ignition. The motor sparked to life as she said, “Happy now?” sarcastically.

He didn’t answer, just rolled down his window. As soon as the glass lowered, from out of nowhere Steven Rinko’s head popped up, his face framed in the open space. He was crouched down beside the car, his body hidden from view of the hospital by the SUV.

Cassie physically started before she recognized him, his hair wet, rain running down his face. She turned her gaze on Trent. “How did you know?”

“He gave me the high sign in the reception area,” Trent said quickly, then turned to Rinko and said, “You sent a message to Cassie using Dr. Sherling’s phone, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” He said it as if it were common knowledge.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was you?” Cassie asked, but Trent held up a hand, cutting her off.

“The message was about a Hyundai Santa Fe? Right? The SUV?” Trent asked.

A curt nod. “Most customers are satisfied, some complain about the fuel gauge and sun visors, but overall they like the vehicle.”

Cassie tried not to be irritated with his review. “So this car—”

“The 2007 Hyundai Santa Fe is an SUV.”

“Yes.” She fought back her frustration and said more calmly, “I know. Why did you text the information to me? Is it because the car, er, SUV, wasn’t usually in the lot?” She knew he observed what vehicles parked near the hospital.

“The nurse drove it.” Blond hair plastered to his head, he stared through the open window at her as if she were a complete idiot.

“The nurse? The one who came into my room?” Cassie questioned. “With the white shoes and dress. And that blue cape. The one who lost the earring?”

“She drove the 2007 Hyundai Santa Fe and parked it in the lot.” His gaze moved from Cassie’s face to Trent’s. “I saw her leave in it.”

He knew this? And didn’t say anything?
Cassie couldn’t believe it. The car, idling, was beginning to warm, the windows fogging a little.

Trent asked, “What color was it?”

“Arctic white. Beige interior. Automatic transmission.” Without expression, Rinko repeated the information as if reading the data from an ad in the classified section. “V-6. Mag wheels.”

“Did you notice anything else about it? The license plate?” Trent asked.

Rinko nodded. “Oregon plates. Man on a bucking bronco.”

“That image was part of the plate?” Trent asked.

Rinko didn’t reply, just stared with that same faraway look that sometimes came over him. As far as Cassie knew, there was no image of a bronco rider on plates issued by the state. There had been different plates over the years, some decorative, but none Cassie remembered with images of a rodeo rider. Then again, it was possible that Rinko could be wrong. It could all be a figment of his imagination.

“How about the number?” Trent asked. “On the plate?”

Steven, who was getting soaked, shrugged. He was shivering in the cold, his lips turning blue, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Maybe the SUV had some identifying marks on it. Like a broken headlight, or damaged window, or some dents?” Cassie suggested, leaning over Trent. When Rinko didn’t respond, she added, “Maybe a bumper sticker?”

“Kill Your Television.”

“That was on the Hyundai?” Trent asked.

Rinko’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. Rain dripped from the tip of his nose. “A map of Oregon with a green heart in the middle of it.”

Cassie had seen that one, a white background, the black outline of the state’s shape surrounding a forest-green heart. Trent glanced at Cassie. “That should narrow it down,” he said.

Cassie asked, “Has the nurse, the one with the car, been back?”

He shook his head. “She only came to see you.”

“You’re sure?”

He didn’t bother to answer. Of course. When Steven Rinko said anything, it was a fact. At least in his mind.

She and Trent asked a few more questions, but Rinko had no more information to share, and the poor kid was obviously freezing. She couldn’t keep him a second more. “Thanks,” she said. “Now, go inside, and get warm. Dry off and make an aide bring you cocoa.”

He smiled a bit. “With marshmallows.”

“Definitely. Oh, and Steven, how did you get Doctor Sherling’s phone?”

“I have keys to all the rooms. All the lockers. All the doors. All the cupboards.”

“How?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes Elmo’s not so careful.”

Elmo was in charge of maintenance. Cassie had seen him play chess with Rinko. Once in a while, he even won.

Then again, maybe he never had. Maybe Rinko had lost on purpose. Cassie wouldn’t put it past the kid.

Before she put the car into gear, Cassie finally asked Rinko one last question. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

He stared at her and said, “Because you didn’t ask.”

Then he took off, keeping near the shrubbery, sprinting through the wet grass and up the steps to the side of the building where he disappeared and, presumably, crept inside the same way he’d exited minutes before.

“How did you know he’d be out here?” Cassie asked.

“I saw him peeking through the same door he’d come through before, around the corner from the receptionist, not visible in any mirrors or cameras, I’m guessing. Maybe he’s fixed it so that he can use it at will. He didn’t even poke his head through, just stared at me through the crack when it was ajar and pointed toward the front door. I figured he’d find us if we went outside. He’s clever and seems to be able to get where he wants to without being seen.”

“A ghost,” she said, backing out of the parking spot and driving away from the hospital.

“Why’s he in here?”

“He slips in and out of reality and gets violent, I guess. No one really knows. His family has a lot of money. I think a wing of the hospital is named after his grandfather, but whatever happened to him, it had to have been really bad.” She looked in her rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of the hospital, white bricks and pillared porch visible in the gloom of the dark day.

For a second she thought she saw someone standing off to the side of the porch, a dark figure half-hidden in the thick rhododendrons and staring down the drive, watching her leave.

She blinked and the figure was gone. Uneasy, she convinced herself she’d been mistaken, had only seen a shadow in the thick foliage flanking the hospital. There had been nothing sinister lurking in the wet umbra, just her mind playing tricks on her.

Even with Trent sitting close enough to touch, she couldn’t wait to pass through the gates guarding the grounds and drive away from Mercy Hospital. Whether in her imagination or not, she believed evil lurked within its hallowed walls.

 

“Shane Carter wants to see me?” Nash asked into her cell phone as she threw her keys onto the desk in her den. She checked the time. Eight thirty-seven PM. The house was empty. Cold. More of a mausoleum than a home. And it was all hers. Every last slab of Carrera marble, every glossy plank of Brazilian hardwood, every glass tile in the pool and every one of five—count ’em,
five—
sports cars parked in the six bays of the garage. All hers. The final bay was proud home to the car she drove, her beloved Ford Focus. Everything else had, until recently, been owned by her stepmother, the ultimate collector of
things.
Now, thank you very much, Edwina Maria Phillips Rolland Nash, they all belonged to Rhonda.

And all of it, aside from some of the bottles in the wine cellar and the Ford of course, was for sale.

God, she hated this place.

“That’s right,” Double T was confirming. “Not only Carter, but Cassie Kramer and her husband want a sit-down.”

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Guess we’ll find out.”

“Guess we will. What time?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Four.”

“Works for me. It’ll give me time to pull some things together.” She hung up and felt better. Things were looking up. And the real estate agent had called saying she had an offer on this place. She went to the wine cellar, half a flight down to a climate-controlled room behind thick glass, and pulled out a bottle from Edwina’s selection. A Pinot Gris. Good enough. She had no idea what the wine was worth, only that she was going to carry it upstairs to her bedroom, open the bottle, and sip the wine in the bathtub with its amazing view of Portland. That luxury, she would miss. The rest of it, not at all.

She stripped, put on a robe, and added bubble bath to the tub. Picked up in Paris by Edwina a decade earlier, the soap was mild and non-stinging as if for a child, yet exotic and smelling of lavender. To top off her ritual Nash poured herself a glass of wine and paused to light a candle, as she did every night.