Exposure

Just one more long street and she’d be at Kaycee’s house.

Tears filled her eyes as she ran on, the dark world turning blurry. Just go, just go, just go. She passed the Bethel Pointe homes on her left and the gray Potters Inn B&B house on her right, thinking, Almost there, almost there. Hannah focused her mind on Kaycee’s pretty face, how she would hug Hannah and pull her inside to a warm, lighted home.

Past the Potters Inn was a small field. Somebody grew corn there in the summer. A house came up on Hannah’s left. She blinked against tears as she neared a large bush. She ran harder — and her foot scuffed over something in the street. She flew forward, the suitcase falling from her grasp. Hannah went down on both knees and her left palm. Pavement scraped her skin like a razor, right through her jeans. Hannah yelled out. She curled into a ball, crying at the pain, unable to move.

Something rushed from behind the bush. Hannah’s head jerked toward it. She looked up to see a figure towering against the night sky.

Her mouth opened to scream, but something hard clamped against it.

The figure snatched her up in silence.

SEVEN

Lorraine Giordano peeked through the curtains of the apartment’s living room window, hoping to see Martin. She’d heard a car engine. Behind her Tammy sat on the sofa, watching a tape of Snow White and hugging her ever-present stuffed bear — a present from her daddy. Lorraine’s roving gaze took in the lighted concrete lot and the off-white siding of the two long storage unit buildings that ran parallel to each other and perpendicular to the apartment.

Martin’s car was nowhere in sight.

The sound was coming from a blue van backing up toward number seven, a newly rented unit close to the middle of building one. Fifteen units, each ten feet square, formed that building. The opposite units in building two measured ten feet wide by fifteen deep. The front edge of that second building sat directly across from the window where Lorraine stood. She gazed diagonally toward unit seven. The van had entered from the north entrance off Starling Street — the same direction from which Martin would come. A man jumped from the passenger side and ran over to open the storage unit. He was very short for a man, but stocky. Dressed in black. It was hard to see his features from this distance, but Lorraine didn’t think he was the one who’d signed the rental contract for the unit. That man wasn’t so short. His name was Peter Johns, owner of a tire shop. He’d paid the down payment and first month’s rent in cash.

This man was sure in a hurry.

Lorraine’s gaze moved beyond him to the north entrance, seeking Martin’s car. She glanced back at the van as the door to the storage unit rolled up. The van jerked in reverse until its rear backed into the unit. From the far side of the van the driver slid out. Lorraine caught a glimpse of him at an angle over the hood before he disappeared behind the vehicle. The guy looked as tall as the other one was short. He was wearing a black shirt.

She searched the street beyond the north entrance again. No Martin. Letting the curtain fall closed, she turned from the window.

“Is it Daddy?” Tammy pushed back a strand of long hair. Her little eyebrows slanted up, her rosebud mouth pursed. The skin beneath her eyes looked blue, almost translucent. She’d not had a good day.

“No. But he’ll be here soon.”

Lorraine glanced at the clock. Where was Martin? He should have been home an hour ago.

The phone rang. Lorraine snatched up the receiver from a worn end table. “AC Storage.” Her boss had told her and Martin they could use the business line for personal use, as long as they paid for long distance. It saved them money, but it did mean having to answer customer’s calls day or night.

“Hi, it’s me.” Martin’s voice sounded tight, his words clipped.

“Where are you? What’s wrong?”

Lorraine heard an intake of breath. “The bank was robbed tonight.”

“Oh!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Nobody got hurt.”

“Not at all?”

“No, really. I was there, and two women. We’re all fine.”

“Is it Daddy?” Hope lit Tammy’s face.

“Yes, honey, he’s coming home.” Lorraine threw her a fake smile, then headed for the bedroom, the phone smashed against her ear. She could hardly think what question to ask next. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m okay. Just shook up.”

“What happened?”

“Four men picked the lock on the back door. They rushed in so fast, none of us could sound the alarm.”

“Did they take a lot of money?”

“Everything in the daily carts in the vault. Almost seven million.”

The vault. Martin would have been forced to open it, and he was claustrophobic. “Did they make you go inside?”

“Yeah.”

Oh, no. “They pulled a gun on you?”

He hesitated. “Lorraine, I’m okay.”

“Did they?”

“Yes, but — ”

“Martin!” Lorraine’s hand pressed against her cheek. “Could you see their faces? Can you identify them?”

“They were wearing masks. All I know is the first guy was tall and thin, and the second was real short but muscular. I don’t even remember what the other two looked like, except they all wore solid black.”

Men with masks. And guns. Rage shot through Lorraine. What those criminals had put her husband through! How would he ever feel safe at his desk again?

“Martin — ”

“Look, I can’t talk right now. The police just got here, and I have to give them my statement.”

Lorraine sank down on the bed. He was trying to keep her from worrying, but what he’d endured had to have been terrifying. “Okay. Just . . . get home as soon as you can.”

“I will.”

“Martin. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The line clicked. Lorraine lowered the phone and stared at the thin brown carpet. A gun aimed at her husband. Martin, who worked so hard trying to support his family. Who’d held her for hours when her mother died, who couldn’t wait to rock their newborn. Who’d moved “his girls” here to Atlantic City with dreams of buying a house with a fenced backyard where Tammy could play. Martin, her Martin could have been killed. He could have been killed!

Lorraine started to shake.

She had dreams of her own, and Martin was in the center of all of them. Lorraine wanted a big family — something she’d never had. Now both her parents were dead, and she had no siblings. She wanted four, maybe five kids. The old Ford van she’d driven to Atlantic City full of moving boxes in the back still only had its front two seats — one for her, one for Tammy. How big and empty it seemed. When the three of them drove somewhere as a family, they used Martin’s car. Lorraine dreamed of needing a new van full of seats, every