Exposure

the flesh. In her living room. He’d killed two men because of her, one of them Mark. He’d probably killed Mrs. Foley too. Mark. Kaycee couldn’t think of that, couldn’t bear it.

If she survived this night, what would be left of her?

“You have no choice but to come with me, Kaycee. Without sound, with no resistance.”

Mark. Dead. Because of her. Tears clawed her eyes.

“Why should I?”

“Because Hannah is waiting for you.”

FORTY-FOUR

The flashlight beam shone on hundred dollar bills. Stacks of them.

The box flaps slipped from Lorraine’s hand and closed. She rocked back on her knees, heart thudding.

For a long second her brain blanked to whiteness.

Lorraine set the flashlight on its end and reached for the flaps again, spreading them apart. She snatched up a tightly bound stack of bills and feathered the ends with her gloved thumb. Then explored the lower layers in the box with the flashlight. More hundred dollar stacks.

Separated by denomination, Martin had told her. They’d repacked the bills into these boxes in the same way.

Reality screamed down on her head. They. The Mafia. And all this money. This was real. She had to get out of here.

Lorraine leapt to her feet and grabbed up the open box. She lumbered to the van with weighted steps and heaved it inside. With both hands she pushed it back as far as she could. Sweeping aside the bolt cutter, she climbed into the van and shoved the box up toward the driver’s seat, right behind her suitcase and purse.

She threw a glance at Tammy. Still sleeping.

Lorraine reversed out of the van, her knees slapping against the thin rubber flooring. On her feet she hesitated, then ripped off the heavy gloves and tossed them to the ground. It would be easier working without them. She twisted back into the storage unit for a second box.

Back and forth she went, waddling out of the unit, arms loaded, then running back for more. In her head she counted the boxes. One . . . two . . . three . . . She pushed each one toward the front of the van. Kneeling inside, she had to stack the boxes in two layers. Without the leverage of her legs, they pulled at her arms like lead.

By the time the fifth box was loaded, Lorraine was exhausted. Her pace slowed.

As she backed out of the van after the eighth one, a pickup truck passed on Huff Street. Lorraine carved to a stop, chest heaving.

The truck drove on.

For interminable seconds she hung there, eyes glued to the pavement in front of the apartment. Watching for the wash of headlights. In one minute she could be dead, Tammy left here in the dark all alone. What had she been thinking? Her grief had clouded her head.

No lights came.

Lorraine whirled back inside the unit.

She snatched up the flashlight and aimed it at her watch. Twelve forty-five. Every minute she stayed tempted fate. Maybe the robbers would stay away from this place for days. Maybe not.

Lorraine picked up the ninth box — and her hands gave out. The box slipped sideways from her fingers. One end landed on her right toes.

Breath hissed between her teeth. She yanked her foot from beneath the box, and it whumped on its top to the floor. Lorraine bent over, whimpers spilling from her throat. She pressed a hand against the throbbing toes, blinking back tears.

“Mommy!” Tammy’s frightened wail rose from the van. “Mommy!”

No.

Lorraine jerked up and hobbled toward the passenger side door. Flinging it open, she pulled Tammy into a hug. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Tammy clung to her. “Where were you?” Her voice was thick from sleep.

“Just behind the van. I’m close, sweetie. Always close.”

Tammy’s chest convulsed. She raised her head. “What’re you doing? Why’re we here?”

Lorraine smoothed her daughter’s hair. Her gaze flicked over Tammy’s head and out the driver’s window toward Starling Street. They needed to leave. “I’m just putting some things in the back, that’s all. You need to go back to sleep.”

“Stay here.”

Fear chewed Lorraine’s nerves. She fought to keep her voice even. “Tammy, I’ll be just a few feet away, I promise. I need to load some more stuff. You know, like when we go to the grocery store?”

“We’re not at the store.”

“I know. Please, Tammy, just . . . Can you go back to sleep? Here’s Belinda.” Lorraine pushed the bear into her little girl’s arms.

“I wanna help.”

“You can’t help. Just stay here.”

“But — ”

“No, Tammy.” Panic edged Lorraine’s voice. What was she doing out here? Now her daughter was awake, and her toes pulsed with pain, and she had four more boxes to load.

Tammy started to cry. Lorraine’s eyes slipped shut. Now she’d done it. Why hadn’t she kept her tone calm?

She pressed her palms against Tammy’s cheeks, feeling moisture beneath her fingertips. Lorraine’s heart rat-tatted, and her ankles shook. “Look at me.” She forced a little smile. “Your mommy’s right here. I’m just going to finish loading the van, then I’ll get back in my seat. But you need to stay here. You need to wait. Okay?”

Tammy’s big eyes blinked, her mouth trembling. She hugged Belinda to her chest. “Okay.”

Relief flooded Lorraine. “That’s my girl.” She backed up and started to shut the door.

“No, leave it open!”

Lorraine’s arms halted, her mouth opening to say no.

“Okay. I’ll leave it like this. Halfway.”

Before Tammy could protest, she turned and ran, limping, toward the storage unit.

Her toes throbbed as she moved the ninth box. The van was nearly filled. Tammy stayed quiet. Even if she called out now, Lorraine couldn’t stop. A terrified voice in her brain screamed for her to get out of here.

Her arms could barely carry the tenth box. By the eleventh her wrists threatened to give out. Teethed clenched, she dropped it into the back of the van with a heavy thud. She pushed it to the right, even with the two stacked boxes on the left. The last box would have to be lifted on top of this one.

Lorraine’s legs wobbled. Shoving her fists onto the floor of the van, she slumped over and pulled in air. She couldn’t manage that final box. No way.

The memories flooded back — Martin’s frozen face, his blood on the floor. In her mind’s eye she pictured his killer’s corpse, twice as bloody. The other three robbers — also dead. She imagined the rage within the Mafia family as they searched for money they’d never find.

Lorraine’s mouth twisted. She pushed up straight, every muscle in her body flaring.

For you, Martin.

She turned and reentered the storage unit.

Her arms could not handle the last box. She shoved it with one foot across the floor and out to the van. There she bent down, took a deep breath, and willed herself to lift it. Her back strained as she struggled to edge one corner above the floor of the van. That done, she rested for a moment, holding the box’s other end and gulping air.