Gone in the Night

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Different how?”

  In so many ways, Allie thought. “You know how I’m usually good at reading people? At figuring out how to—”

  “Manipulate them? Yes, I’m well aware of that special talent of yours.”

  “It’s not manipulating, not really,” Allie argued. “I can’t do it with him. And I don’t want to. He scares me.”

  Eden’s entire body went stiff. “Scares you how?”

  “Oh, please. I’ve already got two bodyguards out there watching every move I make. I don’t need to add you to the mix. I don’t mean he scares me physically.” Allie bit her lip and scratched a nail down the damp side of her soda can. “I can’t explain it. I’ve never met anyone like him before. Well, I have, of course. He’s very, um, overwhelming.”

  Eden’s ferocious glare shifted to amusement. “You think he’s hot.”

  “Geez, Eden.” Even as her friend cackled, Allie felt her cheeks warm. As if discussing her future career plans wasn’t inappropriate enough. “Now isn’t exactly the best time to be talking about—”

  “About what? Living? Allie, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last couple of months, it’s that we’ve put our lives on hold. We let what happened twenty years ago dictate virtually everything we’ve ever done. I’m not giving Chloe’s murderer another day of my life. Once this is over, that is. And neither should you. I do find it interesting that you’ve brought this up just after you’ve admitted to feeling off-kilter about other aspects of your life. Tell me you have a picture of this Max guy.”

  “Sure, sure. We stopped and snapped some selfies on our way to look for his kidnapped niece.”

  “Defensive, too. That’s a good sign. About time you stopped living vicariously through me and Simone and took care of things.” She grinned and sipped, kicking her legs like a kid when Allie smacked her knee.

  “Took care of which things?” Simone Armstrong’s long elegant legs made an appearance in the cabin before the rest of her, not surprising considering the curvy blonde turned as many heads as she did stomachs of adversaries in the courtroom. “You know we can hold a police convention out in that parking lot, right? There isn’t a safer area in the entire valley. Well.” Simone stopped at the bottom of the stairs, a manicured hand planted on one white-skirt-encased hip, all those lush curls Allie had spent years being envious of spilling around her shoulders. “You have had a day, Dr. Hollister.” She set her briefcase and purse down and beelined for the couch, situating herself on the arm and pulling Allie into a hug that rivaled Eden’s. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’d really like a do-over.” Just like that, bookended by the best friends a girl could ever hope for, Allie felt her world right itself. “But I’ll settle for finding Hope and bringing her home.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me. Vince and Kyla are both running those names you came up with on your excursions, Eden. And you know if Vince can’t come up with something, my assistant can.” Simone reached across Allie and plucked the beer bottle out of Eden’s hand, finished it in a couple of healthy glugs and sighed. “Okay, that hit the spot.”

  “I’ve got plenty in the fridge,” Eden muttered. “Woman can’t even finish her own drink. You want wine?”

  “No.” Simone laughed at Allie’s and Eden’s wide-eyed shock. “I’m afraid if I start, I won’t stop, and no offense, Eden, but I don’t believe you have room for a slumber party on this boat of yours.”

  “You’d be surprised what we have room for.” Eden waggled her eyebrows.

  “How did dinner go last night with Patrick and Nicole, Allie?” Simone asked.

  “Fine,” Allie said. “I wish you both had been able to come. Their new restaurant is amazing. The food’s really good. Just this side of frou-frou, you know?”

  “Oh, Vince will love that.” Simone laughed. “I told him we had to try it out soon. He was not thrilled.”

  “That’s because at the bar he owns he serves food people can afford and don’t need a dictionary to pronounce,” Eden said. “You did okay with the family stuff?”

  Allie assured her she had. “Though it would have been nice to take someone with me and share the evening with them.”

  “Speaking of such a someone,” Eden announced, “Allie’s got the hots for Hope’s firefighter uncle.”

  “There’s a missing girl, Eden. Now isn’t the time to discuss my love life.” Her friends cackled. “Ah, man. I just walked into that, didn’t I?”

  “Our little Allie is growing up.” Simone laughed, but when Allie tilted her chin up, she saw understanding and the trace of sadness in her prosecutor friend’s face. Despite her reputation as Sacramento’s “Avenging Angel,” Simone’s limitless compassion was one of the things Allie admired most about her.

  “Uncle Max scares her,” Eden added. “In that good way.”

  “Does he?” Simone gave a nod of approval. “That does sound promising. Guess now we know what it takes to pull your nose out of those research books of yours.”

  Allie’s cheeks warmed. “Before you have us marching down the aisle—”

  “Exactly what is it about Max that scares you, Allie?” Simone got up and retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge.

  Leave it to Simone to ask the hard questions. “Max is not my type. Not looks-wise, not profession-wise and not personality-wise. He’s so physical. And he’s got this hair.” She made a chopping motion by her shoulder. “It’s so long and messy and his beard scratches—” She stopped. Pursed her lips. Looked first at Eden and then at Simone. She grinned. “But he’s a seriously good kisser.”

  Eden whooped and then covered her mouth and giggled when they heard male voices coming from above deck. “Food’s here. Save the rest of this conversation for dessert, would you?” She jumped off the couch to greet her husband and Simone’s fiancé.

  “What aren’t you saying, Al?” Simone returned to the sofa and sat next to her, plucking the edge of her fuchsia blouse down over her waistband. “You don’t scare easily. Or at least you never appear to.”

  Allie hid a smile behind her hand. After years of wearing only white, Simone was still getting used to adding splashes of color to her wardrobe. As if pinks and yellows were made out of cholera.

  “I never could keep a secret from you, could I?” Except Allie was keeping more than one these days, but Simone and Eden were too distracted to tell. “She’s so happy.” Allie envied Eden’s resiliency, not to mention the changes that had taken place inside her friend since she’d moved forward with her life after putting a serial killer—two of them, actually—behind bars. “With everything that’s going on—”

  “Happiness doesn’t preclude reality.” Simone flinched. “And right now, I think it’s more of a protective shield against the rage. Believe me, Eden and I understand how personal this is for you. Even if there wasn’t the connection to Chloe, we’d have your back. Eden’s tempering things, trying to remind herself that there’s more to life than chasing our nightmares.”

  “What happens when we catch that nightmare?” Allie asked, but she watched Simone’s eyes light up as Vince Sutton followed Cole down the stairs. The former marine now private investigator and pub owner caught them watching him. He gave them a cautious smile and then winked at Simone.

  “What happens is we get to live our lives on our terms,” Simone said with a flush of color in her cheeks. “What’s bothering you about Max Kellan? And I don’t mean romantically.”

  “I don’t like lying to him. About Hope. He still thinks this is a random kidnapping.” She took a deep breath and said what she’d been trying to avoid all day. “He needs to know the truth before he finds out in the wrong way.”

  “Agreed, but what does his reaction matter? There’s nothing you can do to change it, nothing you can do to control it. It honestly doesn’t affect you, does it?”


  Now who was acting like a psychologist? “Maybe I don’t like the idea of him thinking badly of me.”

  “Sounds like Eden’s off the mark on this one, then.” Simone patted her leg. “You like a lot more about Max Kellan than his appearance. Or the way he kisses.”

  “He’s a good guy.” And she knew how very few of them there were. “He’s crazy about his niece. His entire face lights up when he talks about her.” She couldn’t, didn’t want to think about that light being extinguished should Hope not come home.

  Had all her objectivity disappeared where the Kellan clan was concerned?

  “That’s so appealing—a man who dotes wholeheartedly on a child. Something you and I have almost no experience with, given our absentee fathers,” Simone said. “You’re right. You owe him the truth. Only then can the two of you decide if what’s going on between you is real or adrenaline-induced.”

  “Is that what you’d call what happened with you and Vince?” Allie teased.

  “That got the ball rolling. Speaking of, let’s see what he’s brought us for dinner. And then...” She grabbed hold of Allie’s hand and squeezed “We’ll get back to work finding your Hope.”

  Chapter 8

  For a criminal psychologist with a police escort, Allie had an absolute joke of a home alarm system.

  Or she would if she’d switched it on, Max told himself as he closed her front door behind him. Did she really think a sticker in the window and blinking lights on a panel would act as deterrents? Granted, the second deadbolt on the door had been a surprise, but he recognized the brand, knew how easy it would be to bump it with the right leverage—and tools. A flathead screwdriver and hammer from the toolbox he stashed behind the driver’s seat did the trick. He was inside in less than three minutes.

  His foot kicked a small, padded envelope with Allie’s name in big block letters. Something slipped through the mail slot, Max figured as he bent down to pick it up. He stopped. Pulled his hand back. Max glanced over his shoulder. She didn’t have a mail slot.

  He waved his hand along the base of the door, checking to see if there was enough space to slip it under. There wasn’t.

  Leaving it alone, he pushed to his feet, pulled out his cell phone and tapped his flashlight app open. He shined it around the comfortable living room. Nothing too pricey. Not surprisingly, she leaned toward the practical. He avoided the large front window, staying close to the perimeter of the room as he looked over the sofa piled high with pillows, the two matching chairs on the other side of the coffee table. She had tiers of candles in the tiled fireplace that was accented with a large gold-framed mirror complementing the crystal table lamps. Bookcases lined either side of the fireplace, shelves packed with a combination of leather-bound collectable books and well-read, dog-eared paperbacks, including a number of titles he’d read himself. What space wasn’t occupied with books she’d filled with candles, statuary, and odds and ends.

  The hardwood floors barely creaked under his weight. The neutral colors of the house didn’t feel stark, but complemented her chosen furnishings. He stepped into the kitchen, where he found metal mesh bowls stocked with fresh fruit, avocados and tomatoes. A pile of mail sat on one edge of the breakfast bar. He shuffled through the bills and junk flyers.

  The staircase at the back of the house led up to what he discovered was her loft bedroom. Spacious, with a triangular ceiling and two windows overlooking the street. A cursory look gave him enough of a feel to conclude she didn’t bring work up here with her. No computer table and only a small TV in the corner, a stack of books by the padded chair in the corner. A queen-size bed that looked way too big for the likes of her, but she’d added a thick cover and half a pillow store to fill it up. This was her escape, her sanctuary. He could smell her perfume, that same scent that had lingered in his truck all day. Roses and stubbornness, an intoxicating combination.

  Max retreated downstairs and found a small guest room and bath before hitting the jackpot with her office across the hall. Laptop on the antique wood desk, matching filing cabinets, wall-to-wall bookcases lined with medical journals, binders and textbooks. More photos. He closed the door, drew the heavy curtains and flicked on the lights. He slipped his phone into his pocket as he got to work. With the fingerprint-protected computer, he didn’t get very far, but the one other thing she did lock, the filing cabinet, was easy enough to pick.

  He worked his way through dozens of patient files, glancing at their names and bypassing the information. Max wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he had a pretty strong suspicion he’d know it when he found it. Right now, he didn’t particularly care if he ended up in jail. If his instincts were right, something in the good doctor’s office was going to help him find his niece.

  He slammed the last drawer shut with more force than was necessary. The crash echoed through the silence of the empty house.

  Max gripped the edge of the cabinet. He knew he wasn’t wrong. The doc had secrets. The question was, where did she keep them?

  Time to view this from a different perspective. He walked around the desk, sat in her chair and almost lodged his knees into his chest given how low she had the height set. He didn’t dare change it, though. Middle drawer was typical junk stuff: pens, paper clips, highlighters. He sat back, perused the top of her desk. It was the photographs that caught his attention next. Two of them, framed. Nice frames, he noticed. Expensive.

  This was where she spent money. Displaying the people she cared about.

  The picture on the right was of her and two other women around the same age: a stunning, blue-eyed blonde in a tailored white suit and a spunky-looking redhead who had a defiant twinkle in her expression Max could relate to.

  And then there was the doc. Small, bright eyes, short dark hair, the gleam of happiness on her face that was something he personally hadn’t been witness to. The three women reminded him of those advertisements for girlfriend getaways, the bonds of friendship evident in the way they clung to each other, laughing at whoever was behind the camera.

  “Nice to meet you, Simone and Eden.” He set the frame down, picked up the other.

  Four girls this time. Simone and Eden were instantly recognizable as neither had changed much. Allie had, however. Her eyes were the same; the dimple in her left cheek was just as pronounced. Allie’s hair, however... Max blinked. Was he seeing this right? She’d been a redhead? Long hair, nearly down to her waist and the same distinctive bright red color as the girl on her left.

  A young redheaded girl with long straight hair, freckles dotting her nose and a crooked gap-toothed smile.

  “Hope.” Max’s heart skipped a beat. He flipped the frame over, pried open the prongs and ripped off the back. He read the faded writing on the back. “Simone, Eden, Allie and Chloe.” The date? Twenty years ago.

  He pulled out his phone and accessed the picture Hope had sent him last night. He held it up beside the photo of Allie and her friends.

  The two girls could have been identical.

  Max tensed. This was like trying to assemble a puzzle when you didn’t know what the final picture would be. Too many pieces, none of them corners to give him any boundaries, any guidelines.

  He wrenched open the other drawers of the desk, nearly pulling the handle off when the bottom right one wouldn’t open. Max dropped to his knees, grabbed the letter opener off the desk and jammed it hard into the space between the drawer and desk. He didn’t care about damage. When the lock gave way, he sat back on his heels and stared down at the thick file.

  Chloe Evans.

  Max couldn’t believe how his hands shook as he pulled the file free, set it on the desk. After staring at it for a long moment, he flipped open the cover.

  And began to read.

  * * *

  “You found how many murders connected to Chloe’s?” Allie reclaimed her seat on the sofa
next to Simone, who was sliding the tiny heart pendant along the thin gold necklace she always wore.

  The pasta primavera Vince had brought them from his bar and grill wasn’t sitting well in Allie’s stomach. Neither were the potential results of Eden’s investigation. Allie couldn’t seem to stay still. Shades of Max, she told herself. He must be rubbing off on her. She was coming out of her shell.

  “Three murders, each five years apart. Hope’s kidnapping makes it four, and, I hate to say it, but it’s right on schedule. But I didn’t say they conclusively connect to Chloe,” Eden replied. “I said there were specific similarities to her case. I was able to get copies of the victims’ most recent school portraits.”

  Cole finished clearing the table and counter, his spine ramrod-stiff as he listened to his wife explain. Vince, ever the silent observer, stood at the base of the stairs, the muscles in his jaw working so hard Allie could practically hear them pop across the room.

  “There are times I really wish Eden wasn’t so good at this.” Simone kicked off her stiletto pumps and crossed her legs while Eden pinned up disturbingly innocent pictures of the preadolescent girls. “Vince?” Simone called. “You okay?”

  “Not even a little.”

  “No one ever gets used to dealing with murdered children,” Allie said.

  “I would hope not.” The serious glint in Vince’s eyes made Allie very glad he was on their side.

  “When dead kids stop bothering you, it’s time to retire,” Cole cut in. Since getting home, the detective had traded in his blazer, button-down shirt and tie for jeans and an old Sac Metro PD sweatshirt. Like his wife, he’d abandoned the idea of shoes, displaying a bit of the carefree attitude Allie had spent many years envying. The complete opposite of stoic, intense Vince. If ever there was a visual example of bad boy meets good guy, they were it. That said, there was nothing else carefree about Cole tonight.