And the more she looked at pictures of him, the more she managed to drown out the depression that was creeping in. Soon it was gone altogether — or at least suppressed to the point where she could ignore it — and a low-level excitement ran all through her body as she imagined herself and Bobby together. A nervous dread filled her, too, as she flicked from photo to photo to see if he was cuddling or kissing any other girls.
When she saw that he wasn’t, she felt better, but her anxiety stayed.
She right-clicked on a few of her Bobby favourites, then saved them to the folder on her desktop. When done, she opened up the one she loved most — the one with him smiling and holding a Starbucks cup — and made it her screensaver.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, she let go of him. She clicked off of the Friends tab and returned to her Home tab. She needed to add her own personal blog for the day, but all she could come up with was a big fat zero. She slumped in her chair, looked at her tagline, and felt dismayed. So far, all it read was:
The Court is…
She finally finished it honestly with:
Missing Mom.
But then she thought it might make her look sappy — God, what if Bobby looked at it, or even worse, that bitch from English class, Mandy? She’d laugh at her, tell all their friends. The thought was agonising, so Courtney quickly deleted the words, then changed them to:
Tired of living here with Dad.
She looked at it. Grinned. That definitely sounded better. Tougher. More angsty. A twinge of guilt fluttered in the corner of her heart, but she drowned it out, thinking that Dad wasn’t even on Facebook, so what would he know? Besides, all he cared about was work and investigations and that goddam Felicia Santos.
But Felicia…
She would be on Facebook. No doubt about it. She was into all the cool things. Which was kind of weird, really.
Courtney typed her name in the search bar and found her in seconds.
Felicia wasn’t added as a Friend yet — not that she ever would be — so all Courtney got was her main picture. But that was enough. There she was, Felicia Santos, staring back with her big pretty eyes and long beautiful brown hair brushed over her shoulders. In some ways she reminded Courtney of Raine. So confident. So alluring. And as much as Courtney hated to admit it, Felicia was pretty cool in her own right. She was hot and Spanish and had big boobs busting out everywhere and a perfect smile — all the things men liked.
Made no sense why she was into Dad. The thought made her feel miserable, and she was grateful when she saw Raine sign on with a similar message:
Raine is gonna lose her freakin’ mind if Mom doesn’t just BACK OFF!!!!
Courtney laughed, felt suddenly good inside. Misery loves company, right? She typed back in:
Wanna go out?
The response came back quickly:
Already am. Going to meet Que.
At Que’s place?
At his friend’s pad. Like he asked me to yesterday. At the restaurant. Am going for the night. Already got key. And chii-illls!
You mean???; 0)
Courtney just stared at the screen, put a hand against her chest. Her heart was beating fast and hard. She typed back another message:
R U sure? U can stay here.
Call U 2morrow. Parade and Britney!
Call me now!
L8R. Now.: 0)
Raine signed off.
Courtney sat there, staring at the monitor. Thoughts of Raine fell through her head. Raine out there with Que. Raine going back to his pad. Raine losing her virginity. The thought had excited her moments ago; now it made her feel completely alone. Isolated.
Trapped.
The house seemed dark and quiet and filled with so many wonderful memories that now brought her so much pain. She wished she could close her eyes, go to sleep and never wake up. And that notion made her realise one thing more than ever: she had to get away from here. Really get away. Or else she’d die. She’d really die.
Just like Mom.
Fifty-One
Over an hour later, Striker stood in the crowded admitting area of St Paul’s Hospital and sipped coffee from a paper cup. The nurse had kindly brought it to him, and it was just as bad as the sludge they cooked up in Homicide.
Striker’s hands shook as he held the cup. Enough to spill some of the brew over the rim and burn his skin. It was a normal reaction, he told himself. Especially after his second firefight in two days.
He only wished he could believe the inner voice.
With almost two days gone, it felt like they were losing ground. Red Mask had escaped again. And Patricia Kwan was now fighting for her life. All they’d found in the gunman’s wake was a stolen Toyota Camry parked out front. Even with a priority rush, the blood results would take weeks, and he had little faith in any prints coming back.
It ate away at him.
Even worse was the woman’s daughter, Riku Kwan. The girl was missing, which was only one step away from the worst possible scenario. When Felicia entered the room, Striker broke from the negativity that was sucking him down and met her in the doorway.
‘Did they find her?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Felicia said. ‘Riku Kwan is nowhere to be found. We got her flagged as a missing person on CPIC, but so far no one’s got a clue.’
Striker ran through the list in his head. ‘What about her father?’
‘Separated from the mom, we think. Turns out he’s an international lawyer. Pretty good one, too. Makes a gazillion dollars a year. He’s away on business right now — somewhere in Asia. We’re trying to get a hold of him, but so far no luck.’
‘We got lots of luck — it’s just all bad. What about the Amber Alert?’
‘On all the stations.’
‘TV or radio?’
‘Both. They’re broadcasting her name on every station.’
‘And photo?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I want her picture up there too.’
‘They’re working on it, Jacob.’ Felicia looked past Striker towards the Fast Track Admittance and bit her lip. ‘The mother in there?’
‘They took her to surgery a while ago.’
Felicia sighed. ‘Let’s hope she knows something when she wakes up.’
‘Let’s just hope she wakes up.’
The words felt heavy. And Striker couldn’t help thinking things might have been different if he’d gotten there sooner. If, if, if. If Deputy Chief Laroche hadn’t told Ich to shelve the feed. If they’d gotten the audio sooner. If he’d pressed just a little bit harder and stood his ground.
There were a million ifs.
Felicia touched his shoulder. ‘You did good in there.’
