Exposure (22 page)

“We’re going to find you, honey,” Kaycee whispered.

Even before she finished forming the words a whirlwind of screams and running feet careened through her head.

Nico hunched over a steak and potatoes in his kitchen. From the TV in the next room he heard canned laughter from some comedy. Noise to keep him company, not that he was really listening. Nico had spent the day in his house, nearly climbing the walls. Stupid Bear, ordering him to stay here. What was the point? If the cops thought he had anything to do with Giordano’s murder, this was the first place they’d look.

In the back of his mind, Nico knew the score. Bear didn’t trust him anymore.

Nico snorted as he cut off a huge bite of steak. He chewed the rare meat, barely tasting it, glaring out a sliding glass door into his backyard. He pictured Bear’s hand trailing down his scar. Nico supposed he should count himself lucky. At least he had a chance. Deliver that money before dawn, and maybe he’d live to see another day.

The phone rang. Nico snatched up the receiver from the counter, steak still in his mouth. “Hello.”

“The cops are outta Giordano’s place.” Dom’s voice.

Nico swallowed. “Everybody?”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Any talk who did the murder?”

“Didn’t hear none of that. I don’t think they gotta clue.”

“Okay, Dom. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Nico finished his steak before calling Bear with the news that Giordano’s place was clear.

“All right. Take the boxes down to the Harding warehouse by the wharf. Put it in the storage area at the back. Bring me a million in hundred dollar bills early tomorrow morning.”

Bear wouldn’t keep all of the million, Nico knew. Well over half would be kicked up to the boss. “It’s done.”

“I hear the cops got no leads on Giordano.”

Nico’s gut twisted. Bear had someone else reporting to him on this? Was Dom informing Denny, not even his own captain? Maybe Denny had his own soldiers on it. Either way, Bear’s message came through loud and clear. He hadn’t relied only on Nico’s boys.

“Yeah. True.”

The underboss paused, letting his unspoken words sink in deeper. “See you in the morning.”

Bear’s house. The million-dollar drop-off would force Nico to prove he’d removed the money from the storage unit. At least Bear hadn’t ordered him to take Denny along with him. That would have signaled the nail in Nico’s coffin.

On the other hand Denny could be waiting for him at the warehouse.

“I’ll be there.”

In the apartment Lorraine could barely breathe. The smell hit her as soon as she walked in the door. Coppery mixed with sweet — and something utterly horrible.

Death?

Her mind turned inward. She wasn’t here. Not really. She wasn’t smelling her husband’s blood, seeing the stained hallway flooring from the corners of her eyes.

She looked toward the kitchen — and saw red spots on the wall.

The black chasm within her yawned open. Terror and grief wrapped skeletal fingers around Lorraine’s throat. She couldn’t stay in this place. Not for a minute. Never again for a night. No matter how much professionals cleaned, even if every bit of carpet and floor and every piece of furniture was replaced — none of that could erase what had happened here.

Get what you need and get out!

Heart drumming, Lorraine edged toward the hall, both hands drawn to her chest. Part of her wanted to wail out her pain. Part of her wanted to scream with rage. But she did neither. Once she started she wouldn’t stop.

At the edge of the living room carpet she stared at the stained floor. The bright red she remembered had muted to rust. Tears squeezed from her eyes. For a crazy moment she nearly dropped to her knees and raked her fingers through the gore. Yes, it was blood, but it was
Martin’s
blood, and right now it was all she had left of him —

Stop it
,
Lorraine.

Holding her breath she lifted one shaking foot and made a wide step over the blood.

In her bedroom she pulled a small suitcase from the closet and threw in two changes of clothes. She hurried into the bathroom to snatch up toiletries. Then she carried the suitcase into Tammy’s room and threw it on the bed. In went two pairs of pants, underwear, and two tops. Tammy’s hairbrush and an old pair of pajamas. The pink pair lay in the corner where Lorraine had thrown them this morning, stained with patches of red.

Lorraine yanked the zipper shut and lugged the suitcase from the room.

At the end of the hallway, clutching the suitcase with both hands, she pressed against one wall and skirted around the stain on the floor. After peeking through a window to check the lot, she rushed out the door and slammed it behind her without looking back.

Spent, she sagged against the doorpost and breathed.

As she carried the suitcase to her van, Lorraine’s eyes pulled toward storage unit seven.

With the bag stowed in the passenger seat, Lorraine found herself staring at the unit again. She narrowed her eyes, biting one side of her cheek.
Had
those robbers stashed that money in there? Then come back to kill her husband?

She could call Detective Tuckney right now and tell him her suspicions. But that would only drag Martin into the robbery. No way would the detective think the money being hidden on this property was a coincidence. Besides, right now she could at least hope Martin’s killer wouldn’t come back for her. If she talked, her life wouldn’t be worth two cents. Then what would happen to Tammy?

A series of insane thoughts catapulted through Lorraine’s mind. Slowly her head pulled back.

Her gaze raked toward the office.

An unseen hand pulled Lorraine across the concrete toward unit seven. She looked up and down the street running along the far side of the lot but saw no sign of someone parked and watching. At the unit, glancing around again, she moved in close to examine the lock. She lifted it up in her palm. It was a strong padlock. The best.

Her gaze rested on the door’s hasp.

Lorraine strode back to the van and snatched her purse from under the front seat. She pulled out the key to the office and returned the bag.

As she entered the dim office, Lorraine told herself this was as far as her crazy idea would go. Tomorrow she would come to her senses.

The cabinet door squeaked as she opened it.

Mr. Houger’s long-handled, powerful bolt cutter sat on the bottom shelf. She should use it, he’d told her, only when a renter defaulted long enough on payment that the contents of his storage unit could legally be put up for sale. In that case an auctioneer would come in, people bidding on the contents of the unit as a whole. Some auctioneers brought their own bolt cutters for the padlock. Others expected him to furnish it. Mr. Houger showed her how to work the tool, its long handles providing leverage to move the blades together. “Takes some power,” he said, “but it works. Most padlocks are less strong than the hasps on our doors. But if the padlock’s impossible to break this way, go for the hasp.”

Lorraine didn’t tell him she’d used a bolt cutter before. In high school one of her friends lost the key to a padlock she’d used to chain up her bike. Her father had a bolt cutter, but he was at work. Lorraine had managed to break through the lock.

She lifted Mr. Houger’s tool from the cabinet, plus a pair of thick gloves lying beside it.

At the office door she poked her head out and looked around, heart beating in her ears.

Holding the items close to her body, Lorraine pulled the door shut. She hurried to the van and opened up the expansive, empty back. From every direction eyes seemed to follow her. But she saw no one.

“This guy’s in the mob . . .”

Lorraine laid the items on the floor of the van and closed it up.

Her hands trembled as she started the engine. Pulling out of the parking space, she stopped for a long, aching look at Martin’s abandoned car.

She drove back to Michelle’s house to pick up Tammy, telling herself how stupid she was. She’d never go through with this. Not in a million years.

Even so, her rebellious mind sifted through details of a plan.

Do not take counsel of your fears.

George Patton

Nearly midnight. Clouds had clustered in, gobbling up the moon and stars.

Restless and nerve-ridden, Kaycee huddled in her den on the old brown couch she’d inherited from her mother. Both arms were wrapped around her drawn-up knees. She stared unseeing at some rerun of a legal drama on TV. Every room in the house blazed with light. The porch lamps in front and back were on. All blinds and curtains were drawn.

Hours ago she’d watched as Officer Statler dusted her front and back doorways, the kitchen table, and her office desk. Of course he lifted fingerprints. But how many would be her own? In her heart Kaycee knew her watchers would not be so careless as to leave such evidence behind. They were far too cunning for that.

Heart skidding and palms moist, Kaycee then had walked through the house with Officer Statler, checking every room. All clear, he pronounced, but she didn’t believe it. As she watched him drive away, the living room seemed to close in on her, vibrating with unseen evil. For a wild moment she pictured alien eyes in the framework of the walls, watching.

We see you.

This plan was crazy. If they were watching, they’d know full well who Mrs. Foley’s visitor was. The civilian clothes and baseball cap wouldn’t throw them at all. Plus, they’d know another officer was hiding in the black barn. These people were all-seeing, omniscient. They even messed with her dreams.

What would happen if they didn’t show up tonight? How many nights would she have to go through this?

Kaycee snatched up the remote and hit the channel button. A crime show blitzed on. Great, just what she needed.

Mark had called Kaycee’s cell an hour ago as she paced her kitchen. “Just want you to know I’m here and set up.” He spoke in low tones with a certain hesitation, as if his concentration lay elsewhere.

“Where are you?”

“In the kitchen, watching your backyard. I can see this side of your house from here, but not the front door. Officer Nelson’s got that and his side of your place covered.”

Officer Nelson, from the State Police. He also carried a cell phone — on vibrate. Police radios were too loud.

“Where is . . . she?” Kaycee didn’t want to say too much. What if they’d rigged her house and were listening right now?

If Mark caught her paranoia, he didn’t let on. “Upstairs in her bedroom. The chief asked her to stay up there.”

Anger flashed through Kaycee. Maybe by now the old woman finally believed Hannah was in trouble. “She’s actually doing what she’s told?”

“Ah, she’s not so bad. Just set in her ways. I got a great aunt like that.”

“Aunt Battery Acid?”

He chuckled.

“I was in her living room once,” Kaycee said. “She’s got so many colors in there it probably glows in the dark.”

“Close to it.”

Silence. She could hear him breathing.

“How you doing, Kaycee?”

“Fabulous. I’m thinking about taking up espionage for a living.”

“No room for fear in that.”

“Hey, after tonight, I could do anything.”

“Stand in a hive of bumblebees?”

Yikes.
“Sure, why not?”

“Walk across High Bridge?”

A railroad bridge not too far outside Wilmore, stretching across the Kentucky River Palisades — once the highest of its kind in the world. People told horror stories of getting caught up there when a train went by — mere feet from the railing. The thought of that bridge’s dizzying height, train or no train, sent Kaycee’s stomach dropping. “Going up there hasn’t been allowed for years, Mr. Policeman.”

“It’s the willingness that counts.”

“I thought you were supposed to be watching out for me, not trying to make me panic.”

“You don’t sound panicked.”

“Easy for you to say.”

They fell silent again.

“Everybody’s got fears, you know,” Mark said. “You’re just more honest about yours. Most people don’t have the courage to be that honest.”

Kaycee blinked. It was one of the nicest things anyone could say to her. She’d never thought of her honesty as courage. She’d never thought of a single bone in her body as courageous.

“Thank you for saying that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Kaycee stared at the kitchen table where the camera had sat. “Why’d the chief want you to bring . . . that certain thing with you?”

“Uh, my laptop?”

“Yeah.”

“You know those cameras around town? We can review any film from our own computers.”

Kaycee processed the information. “Oh.”