Exposure

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.

FIFTEEN

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.”