Exposure (9 page)

“I’ll help you. What should I do first? Report to the police station? Drive around the streets and look?”

The last question chilled her. What did she expect to find, Hannah’s body lying beside the road?

“It’ll be all right, Kaycee. We’ll find her.” Mark’s brown eyes looked deep into hers, as if he saw her fear. “Best thing you can do is call Ryan Parksley and go over the names of those friends. See if he missed somebody.”

“Okay. I need to go home first. I have a list of her closest friends and their phone numbers.” A month ago they’d all had a slumber party at Kaycee’s house, and she’d talked to each parent beforehand.

“Good. You should get home as soon as you can. Hannah may turn up there yet. She could be hiding out somewhere, afraid of getting in trouble.”

The words spit fire at Kaycee. Hannah, waiting in desperation for her, while she’d run off to Tricia’s because of her own weakness. Why hadn’t she stayed put last night? She should have been strong, should have fought the fear.

Kaycee pulled in a breath. “Okay. You have my home phone number in your files. Plus I’ll give you my cell. I want to know the minute you learn anything. And I’ll keep in touch with the station.”

Tricia fetched paper and pen. Kaycee scratched out her cell number and thrust the paper into Mark’s hands. Briefly, he gripped her fingers. “We’ll find her, Kaycee.”

She nodded, throat tight, then swiveled toward the guestroom to dress.

Cold anger coiled in Nico’s gut as he drove away from Bear’s mansion. The ham and eggs sat like mud in his stomach. Good food couldn’t make up for the threats. Or comparing him to Slim. Nico had to fix one issue he’d “created,” Bear said, while Slim fixed the second. Two too many mistakes. Too much clean-up.

For three years as captain Nico had kept his soldiers in line, made sure his street rackets ran like well-oiled machines. Anybody tried to muscle in, he got taken care of. He’d never made a wrong move. Always proved his loyalty to the family. Had consistently been an earner. Now look at him. This job was the biggest single take the family’d ever seen. And he’d planned it from start to finish.

Some thanks he got.

“Anything goes wrong here, it’s on you.” Bear had leaned over his emptied plate, piercing Nico with a look that said more than the words.

Yeah
,
yeah.

Nico swerved into the driveway of his two-story house and turned off the engine. He slid out and slammed the door. A phone call to Giordano and a change of cars, and he’d be on his way.

Just as well Bear told him to do this himself, Nico thought as he stalked into his empty house. After the breakfast he’d had, his fingers were itching to pull a trigger.

Kaycee left Tricia’s house on trembling legs.

Hannah’s features hung foremost in her mind — the sad gray eyes, the sweet round face framed by light brown hair with bangs. Kaycee could almost see Hannah out there somewhere, begging for her to help.

As Kaycee traipsed down the sidewalk the weight of unseen eyes pressed upon her.

Looking in all directions, she slid into her PT Cruiser. Her fingers pressed like claws against the steering wheel.

Minutes later Kaycee pulled into her own driveway — and the full terror of last night flooded back. In her mind she saw the flash go off in her kitchen, saw the dead man’s photo in her hands.
We see you.
Her white wood house, once so inviting with its wrap-around porch and columns, now loomed like some bleached monster.

Kaycee’s gaze cruised the front and side yards. No Hannah.

The dimness inside her garage hung threatening and heavy as the automatic door closed. The one light in the ceiling wasn’t enough to dispel the shadows in her head. Clutching her overnight bag and purse, Kaycee stepped out of the garage and walked around to the back. No Hannah. Kaycee gazed across her backyard, the two oak trees, the small shed in the far corner.

Had the police looked there?

She tossed her belongings on the ground and cut across the lawn toward the shed. Kaycee never used the thing, couldn’t remember looking inside it since she moved in. As she reached the middle of her yard, an unspeakable thought rose in her mind. What if Hannah
was
in there — dead?

A small moan pushed from her. Kaycee raced across the grass and drew up at the shed, hands clasped against her neck. Seconds passed before she found the courage to open the door.

It squeaked on unused hinges. The smell of mold and dirt filtered out. Steeling herself, Kaycee looked inside.

Empty.

Relief overwhelmed her. She pulled back and let go of the handle. The door banged shut.

She walked around to the rear of the shed. No Hannah.

Back near the garage, Kaycee picked up her purse and overnight bag, chiding herself. How could she possibly think Hannah would come this far at night? Surely there were a dozen friends in her own neighborhood she could have run to.

But she never made it
,
did she?

Kaycee couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that thought. She needed to get in her house and call Ryan Parksley right away. And she didn’t need the distraction of worrying about some camera and a dead man.

With resolve she thrust her key into its lock. She pushed open the door, intending to barrel inside — and a new wave of fright washed over her. Kaycee stopped, peering inside her kitchen like some orphan come to beg. No camera on the table. Nothing out of place.

Heart scudding, she slipped into the house.

The door closed behind Kaycee with finality, as if she’d just entered a tomb.

She dropped her overnight case on the floor, her purse and keys on the counter. The room was too dark. Kaycee flung open the window blinds.

We see you.

The unknown “they” watched as she walked down the short hall off the kitchen. The feeling shivered her skin, but she pushed on. She needed to get to the list of Hannah’s friends in her desk drawer — the ones she’d called for the slumber party. She could imagine Ryan Parksley, beside himself, needing to hear from her.

Kaycee slowed at the doorway to her office and surveyed the room.

Everything looked normal.

She walked to her desk and shuffled through papers from the bottom tier of a metal inbox.
There.
A list of eight friends. Kaycee sank into her chair and picked up the phone beside her computer.

As she punched in the Parksley’s number, Kaycee remembered she had to finish her newspaper column today. She’d been about to start it last night when Hannah called, asking her to come over right away. The deadline was noon.

How in the world could she possibly think to write?

Ryan answered on the first ring. He sounded like a man on a tight wire. Kaycee read him the names. He’d already called every one.

She closed her eyes, not knowing what to say.

“She’d come to you first, Kaycee.”

“I . . . wasn’t here.”

“I know.”

“And it’s so far. Hannah would be scared to death in the dark. I’m thinking she must have a new friend somewhere . . .”

But who? Hannah confided in Kaycee about everything, and she’d never mentioned a new friend.

Ryan breathed over the line. Kaycee could feel his despair. “It’s my fault,” he said. “Since her mother died, we’ve hardly been able to talk.”

Anger twinged within Kaycee. He and Hannah couldn’t talk? Maybe because he’d shoved the memory of her mother aside in no time and rushed out to get married again. He should have been man enough to face his own grieving. Now he’d caused his daughter double the pain.

“Is there anything she told you, Kaycee? Any place she mentioned where she might go?”

Kaycee racked her brain. Trouble was, Hannah hadn’t wanted to be anywhere but with her. And Kaycee had told her no. If she’d only said yes — just for the night. This wasn’t Ryan’s fault, it was
hers
. “I can’t think of anything. I wish I could.”

“Yeah.” The defeat in his voice was palpable. “Okay, well. Keep in touch if you think of something.”

“I will. I’ll be looking for her, Ryan. She’s somewhere close, probably just scared to come out of hiding now.”

“Right. I think so too.”

Of course he did. It was the best solace they had at the moment.

Kaycee hung up the phone, pressed her face in her hands, and prayed.

When she straightened, she focused dull eyes on the wall clock. Seven-forty-five. Had she really woken up only fifty minutes ago? It seemed like hours. Tiredness seeped through her. She needed a shower and coffee. She longed to go out and look for Hannah but knew she should stay in the house. Mark Burnett was right. Officers were searching the streets. She could only remain here and hope Hannah would show up.

Her column. She’d better finish it while she had the chance.

If
she could write at all.

With a deep sigh, Kaycee flicked on the computer and pushed to her feet. She headed into the kitchen, anxiety over Hannah clawing at her back and the sensation of being watched tingling her veins. By rote she made coffee and poured it with cream into a stainless-steel mug. She pressed down the lid.

Snatches of lines she should write stole into her mind. It was the second of a humorous two-parter about a recent foray to the dentist. Part one had told the sordid tale of dragging herself into the dreaded dentist’s office because a tooth was bothering her — only to learn she needed two crowns and two large fillings. The only way she’d survive? Drugs, administered by the dentist. Kaycee had decided not to tell him she couldn’t function on such medication.

Toting her coffee, Kaycee circled the long way around to her office, stopping first to open curtains in the dining room, the living room, and den. At each window she peered outside, praying to catch sight of Hannah, afraid she would see
them
. Whoever they were.

Kaycee returned to her desk and sat down. Staring at the fiery sunset picture on her desktop, she searched within herself for the concentration to write. Her eyes soon pulled to the phone.
Please
,
somebody
,
call. Tell me Hannah’s safe.

Coffee mug to her lips, Kaycee reluctantly reached for the mouse. At her touch the desktop picture blipped off — to a photo of the dead man with half-open eyes. Blood spilled from his head in a sickening puddle. And he lay on a dark yellow floor.

Martin was knotting his tie before the bedroom mirror when the phone rang out in the living room. He barely registered it. His head felt like mush, and his insides still trembled. He hadn’t slept all night, going over and over his interview with the police. Had he tripped up anywhere?

Lorraine’s voice filtered from Tammy’s room. She was trying to get their daughter up for preschool. The rundown school, as inexpensive as they could find, was sponsored by a church. Even so it pinched their budget. But Lorraine had insisted Tammy needed the “socializing” even if she couldn’t go every day.

Soon they could send her to a much better school.

Martin finished the knot and pushed it upward. Nico was supposed to send one of his men over with the money today. Martin still didn’t know where he’d hide it. He sure couldn’t stick it in their account at Trust Bank.

The phone rang again. This time the sound drilled through Martin’s head.
Nico?

He dashed for the living room and snatched up the receiver. “AC Storage.”

“Martin.” Nico’s voice.

“Yeah.”

“I’m comin’ to see you. Ten minutes.”

Ten minutes!
Martin threw a look down the hall toward Tammy’s bedroom. He turned toward the wall, lowering his voice. “My family’s still here.”

“Your wife know anything?”

“Of course not.”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“Good. Get ’em out.”

“It’s not that easy. My daughter’s slow getting dressed.”

“You’ll think of something.”

Martin pressed a hand to his forehead. “I just don’t know how to do that.”

“You want your money or not?”

“Yeah, but — ”

“See you in ten minutes. Unlock your front door to let me know they’re gone, or you lose the money.
Don’t
cross me, Giordano.”

The line clicked.

Martin slammed down the phone. What was he supposed to tell Lorraine?

“Who was that?”

He whirled around. Lorraine stood at the top of the hall, Tammy’s hairbrush in her hands. Lorraine’s own long strawberry blonde hair wasn’t even combed, and she still wore her pajamas. This would never work.

“I — nobody.”

“What do you mean, nobody?”

“Wrong number.”

Lorraine gave him a look. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting strange since you woke up.”

Martin’s eyes flicked to the kitchen wall clock.
Nine minutes.
“I
was
held up at gunpoint last night, in case you forgot.”