Exposure

“Oh?”

“Guy was sweatin’ bullets.”

“You said he came through.”

“He did. Last night he did it up right. His nerves just made him look more the part.”

“So what’s the problem?” Bear waved at the food. “Eat, eat.”

Now that it was half cold. Nico reached for the platter. “He was too nervous. He blabbered. Asked me how we’d gotten into the bank when the doors were locked.” Nico took his first bite of ham and eggs. The velvety, salty flavor exploded in his mouth.

“Sounds like a decent question, comin’ from a guy who’s supposed to look like he might get popped any minute.”

“Maybe. But what’s he gonna do if the Feds lean on him day after day?”

Bear’s coffee mug stopped at his lips. “Think he’ll talk?”

“I don’t know.”

A sigh rattled Bear’s throat. He set down his coffee cup. “Why didn’t you take care of this last night?”

Nico bit back a smirk. “And have a murder attached to the heist?”

Bear grunted. He stared at his plate for a minute, then pushed more food onto his fork. “You told me Giordano was solid. You vouched for the guy.” Bear’s tone threatened.

“Giordano’s perfect. Got a sick kid who needs a bunch of medical tests. That’s reason enough to keep his mouth shut. Besides, without him I wouldn’t have known about the bank’s security system. What kind of locks on the doors. How many employees would be there after closing.” Nico kept his voice even. This was not the big deal Bear was trying to make of it, even on top of the Fed problem. Everything was under control. “I’m just tellin’ you he was more nervous than I figured. I’ll take care of him.”

“Take care of him now, Nico. Seven million’s a lot of money.”

That he’d brought in. “Sure.”

Bear wiped his lips with a napkin and stared out the window at the ocean. “What’s with this guy? Got a good job. Health insurance. Then he gets involved in somethin’ like this.” Bear shook his head. “A man gets greedy . . .”

Nico said nothing.

The underboss went back to eating. “The kid — boy or girl?”

“Girl.”

“How old?”

“Just turned four.”

Bear shook his head again. He had a four-year-old granddaughter. Nico knew he was crazy about the kid.

“And you got Giordano’s cut. A hundred thousand.”

“It’s in a closet in my house.”

“Make sure it gets put back.”

Nico clamped his jaws down. Seven million dollars, and the man was worried about a lousy hundred grand. Nico gestured with his hand — yeah, sure.

The underboss sniffed. “You shouldn’t have brought him in, Nico. Now we got problems.”

“I said I’ll take care of it.”

“How you know it’s not too late? What if he talked last night?”

“Nobody beat down my door this morning.” Nico shifted in his chair. “He didn’t talk ’cause of the kid.”

Bear pressed his hands flat on the table and leaned back. “I don’t want him found. And I want you to do this personally.”

Nico’s anger rose. Any of his soldiers could have done the burn. That’s what they were there for. This was Bear’s way of rubbing his face in it. So much for pulling off a record heist.

“Sure.”

Bear’s fork poked up another bite of egg and ham. “The little girl — she lives with her mother?”

“Yeah.”

“And the mother knows nothin’ about this.”

“No.”

“How you know? A man doesn’t just find a hundred thousand dollars on his way to take a leak.”

“I warned him. Giordano knows he needs to sit on the money for now. If he tells his wife, so what? Guy’s in too deep. But now — don’t matter. He won’t get the chance.”

He wouldn’t even get the cash.

Bear chewed, then swigged coffee. “Never underestimate the vengeance of a woman. If she knows, then her husband goes missin’ — she’ll sing to anybody who’ll listen.”

Nico shrugged. “If she knows, I’ll whack her too.”

TWELVE

Kaycee awoke to the smell of blood.

Her eyes popped open. Her chugging brain took in the walls of Tricia’s guestroom, the framed print of flying mallards. White dresser.

No blood.

Kaycee let out a breath and rubbed a hand across her forehead. Her face and chest were hot. Deep in her mind the dream played on — the running feet and screams, the dead man on a dark yellow floor. She tried in vain to shake off the senses.

Her body felt heavy. She’d gotten little sleep.

Kaycee checked the digital clock on the nightstand. Six-fifty-five.

Tricia’s doorbell rang.

Rising up on one elbow, Kaycee frowned. The doorbell — at this hour?

She slipped from bed and crossed the room. As she pulled the door open she heard Tricia’s muted footsteps in the tiled entryway, the sound of a lock clicking open. Kaycee trotted down the short hall. She reached the foyer as Tricia, wrapped in a robe, opened the front door. Mark Burnett stood on the porch, still in uniform. His face looked grim.

Kaycee ran a hand over her bed-head curls. They had to be sticking out like Pippi Longstocking’s braids.

“Tricia, Kaycee.” He made eye contact with them both. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.” Tricia stood back and held out her arm, ushering him inside. As he stepped onto the tile, she shut the door behind him.

Mark looked to Kaycee. “We got a call this morning from Ryan Parksley. Hannah’s missing. She wasn’t in her room when her stepmother went to wake her for school. Bed wasn’t slept in.”

Tricia gasped. Kaycee’s mouth creaked open, but no words came to her tongue.

“They think she ran away. Her suitcase is missing, plus a baby pillow from her bed. Also a picture of her mom that she keeps on the dresser.”

“Oh.” Kaycee’s voice blurted, thin and bleak. “I was at her house last night. She begged me to let her come live with me. She’s so unhappy at home . . .”

Mark nodded. “Mr. Parksley said you’d been there. You were the first person he thought to call, but of course you weren’t home. He and Mrs. Parksley phoned all Hannah’s friends they could think of. No one knows where she is.”

Kaycee’s gaze bounced to Tricia, who stood round-eyed, fingers pressed to her lips. Suddenly, worries about some nonexistent dead man and a dream seemed so insignificant. “Did you check around my house?” Kaycee asked. “Maybe she slept on the porch?” It would have been cold and so frightening. Kaycee couldn’t bear the thought of Hannah waiting for her, alone and crying.