Exposure

where are you? Kaycee stared at the center of the table — and her thoughts flipped to the camera sitting there the previous night. She hadn’t imagined it. Unless she now wanted to believe she’d imagined the picture on her desktop too.

The horrific realization sank into her being.

But how did they know about the yellow floor in her dream? How were they doing this?

No. This couldn’t be. Maybe that desktop photo was all in her mind. With the dream still echoing in her head, she’d subconsciously conjured the picture with details to match.

But deep in her heart she knew she hadn’t. She’d seen that picture on her computer. It was real.

Exposure. We see you.

The skin on Kaycee’s back crawled. She twisted to look behind her.

Nothing. Just a silent house. It roared in her ears.

But someone had been here last night. They’d put that camera on this very table. And they’d hacked into her computer to flash a second picture on her desktop. They were watching.

Her worst fear come true.

Panic burst in Kaycee’s chest. She had to tell Chief Davis!

Kaycee threw down the ice bag and shoved back her chair. She jumped to her feet and made for the phone —

Wait.

She jerked to a stop, hands hanging in the air. She couldn’t do this, not now. Call the chief and pull some officer from looking for Hannah so he could come here and look around? And what would he find anyway? The camera was gone. The photo on her computer had vanished into cyberspace. Mark had checked the whole house last night and found nothing.

No way could she take police attention away from Hannah for another dead-end search. Besides, they’d just think she was seeing things again.

A tremble started in Kaycee’s gut. She stumbled to the table and sat again, thinking of her mother. What would Monica Raye have done in a situation like this?

Gone stark raving mad, that’s what.

“God.” Kaycee tipped her face toward the heavens. “Please help me. And bring Hannah home safe. Now. ” The minute Hannah was found, Kaycee would call Chief Davis about all this. He’d get to the bottom of it. Somehow. He’d make it stop. Maybe he’d call in a tech, and they’d take apart her computer, find out who’d hacked into it . . .

If he believed her at all.

For now Kaycee had to fight her fear alone. Just for a little while. Hannah was more important. Surely she’d turn up soon.

Minutes ticked by. Kaycee couldn’t get up. She could only continue begging God to protect Hannah and herself, careening from one nightmare to the other.

Kaycee’s bleary focus happened to graze the microwave clock. Eight-thirty.

My column.

Imminent responsibility rushed in. Kaycee lowered her head in her hands. She had three and a half hours to finish her work. This was the newspaper business. Her deadline could not be missed.

A deadline that could only be met by sitting at her computer. What if the dead man’s picture jumped onto the screen again?

A new thought spun into her mind. Kaycee’s breath hitched. What if the camera and photos were the work of some sick readers of her column? People preying on her worst fear. She’d never said where she lived in any of her columns. But with the Internet, plus the fact that she’d initially started writing for the Jessamine Journal in nearby Nicholasville, anyone who really wanted to find her could do it.

The idea bloomed within her. This had to be it. Some crazy “Who’s There?” readers were sneaking in and out of her house, hacking into her computer. So smart, so obsessed —

Could they have taken Hannah?

Kaycee stilled. Her insides went utterly cold.

But why would they? What would they want with a nine-year-old?

“No,” Kaycee said aloud. That was another dead end. Nobody had taken Hannah. The police didn’t think so, even if they did have to pursue a “worst-case scenario.” Hannah’s note proved she’d run away.

In fact, she’d probably done it for attention from her dad. Her note practically said so.

The twelve o’clock deadline ticked in Kaycee’s head. Time was running out.

She forced herself to her feet. She had to write the column and get it out of the way. If Hannah hadn’t been found by the time she was done, she’d insist on going out to help look.

And if those crazy people were out there watching as she searched, if they were watching this very minute through some hidden lens Mark never found — so be it. She’d beat them and her fear. She would.

Kaycee hadn’t gone two steps before terror nearly drove her to the floor.

SEVENTEEN

Lorraine had just scooped Tammy from bed when she heard Martin running down the hall. He carved to a stop in Tammy’s doorway, breathing hard.

“He’s here.”

Lorraine froze.

Tammy blinked from her to Daddy. “Who’s here? Where’re we going?”

Multiple sensations hit Lorraine at once. The warmth of Tammy’s body in her arms, the little-girl smell of shampoo and sleepiness. The abject terror on Martin’s face. What was happening here?

A car door slammed outside.

Lorraine clutched Tammy to her chest. “What should I do?”

Martin’s gaze bounced around the room. He bounded toward the closet and yanked open the door. “Hide in here.” He swept clothes aside on the hanging rod.

Tammy wailed. Lorraine pressed fingers over her mouth. “Shh-shh. It’s a game; you have to be quiet.” Ducking down, she shoved herself and Tammy inside, all the way to the deep back. She crouched on shoes and toys, their edges biting into her bare feet, and held Tammy tight.

Martin pushed the clothes back in place to hide them. “Don’t move till I come get you.” He banged the door shut. The closet went black.

“Mommyyy!” Tammy twisted in her arms.

“Shh.” Lorraine’s heart rammed against her ribs. The darkness closed in on her. Her leg muscles already burned, Tammy’s weight dragging at her shoulders. “You have to be quiet.”

“I’m scared!”

“Hush!” Lorraine pressed the little girl’s face against her thudding chest. Tammy squirmed and fought, fear driving her limbs. Lorraine held on tighter as Martin’s words echoed in her mind: He’ll kill us all.

Tammy bucked her head back and started to sob loudly. Lorraine did the only thing she could — what just minutes ago she’d have considered child abuse. She clapped a hand over her daughter’s mouth and dug her fingers into the tender cheeks.