Gone in the Night

by Anna J. Stewart

  “But—”

  “She’s not your patient anymore, Allie,” Max blasted. “She’s not Chloe. She’s Hope. And she’s alive. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep her that way.”

  Allie gasped. She wasn’t putting Hope in any danger. She needed to do her job. She needed to close this case, once and for all, to make sure there weren’t any more Hopes or Chloes. “Max, please—”

  “Please don’t fight.” Hope began to cry. “Not you, Uncle Max. Please don’t fight with Dr. Allie. I don’t want to hear anyone fight ever again.”

  “Hush, we aren’t fighting, Hope.” Max cradled her head against him. “Not anymore.” He glared at Allie over the top of his niece’s head. “Let’s get you taken care of and somewhere safe.”

  “I’ll come with you then.” Allie moved to follow only to feel Eden grab her when Max’s eyes narrowed.

  “Please, don’t,” Max said. “She’s been traumatized enough for now. We’ll be fine on our own.”

  “But—”

  “Allie.” Simone swooped in and joined forces with Eden. “He’s right. She’s been through enough.”

  “Thank you, Simone.” But it was Allie he stared at. “For putting my niece first. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that.” He turned and walked away.

  * * *

  “You can’t blame him for going off the rails,” Eden said as she and Simone bookended Allie back at Cole’s SUV. The highway had been blocked off, traffic was being diverted, and the crime scene unit had arrived and had taken charge of the scene where Hope had been found. “It’s been a pretty rough time for him.”

  “For all of us,” Simone added as she rubbed Allie’s back. “He’s just worried about his niece, Allie. He’s not angry with you.”

  “I don’t care if he is,” Allie lied. She’d never seen anyone look at her with such loathing before, as if he didn’t know who she was. What she was. “I need to talk to her. I need to know what happened, what she saw.” It might be over for Max, it might be over with Max, but Hope still had information they needed.

  “Let’s pray she didn’t see all this,” Jack said as he joined them by Cole’s car. “Whoever killed Patrick did a number on the scene. It’s a mess. Almost like they threw some kind of fit after.”

  “I want to see it. I want to see him.” Allie didn’t wait for permission. She trudged forward and through the path left by the crashed vehicle. She spotted Tammy by the open trunk taking pictures while her assistant shifted the angles of the spotlights as the sun continued to rise, others placing evidence markers in the appropriate places.

  “Allie, you don’t have to do this,” Eden said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. “We can look at the pictures later—”

  “He was my brother,” Allie cut her off, pushing aside any sentimentality. “It might sound strange, and I don’t expect you to understand, but I need to see this.”

  “But—”

  Simone pulled Eden away, shook her head. “Let her do this.”

  Allie left them behind and walked toward the bashed-up car. Both the driver and passenger doors were open, the windshield obscured by spider-webbed cracks. She saw his feet first. The expensive Italian loafers she remembered him dreaming about when they were children. Patrick could spend hours perusing mail-order catalogues, marking off items that one day he’d be able to afford. His tailored black slacks were torn and ripped, the button-down shirt glistening with blood. His pale face, even paler in death, seemed gaunt and stricken, as if he’d died of shock despite the bullets in his chest.

  His eyes stared up to the sky, vacant, dull, that same sweep of bangs brushing the tips of his lashes. Such a waste. Such a horrible, horrible waste of a life.

  Allie stooped down, forced herself to memorize every detail. “What did you do, Patrick? Why did you do this to us?”

  But Patrick Goodale didn’t answer. He never would.

  She pushed to her feet, closed her eyes to clear her thoughts and faced her friends.

  “I want to talk to Nicole.”

  Chapter 17

  “Max?” Joe burst through the door to the emergency room, eyes frantic behind his crooked glasses. Despite the wrinkled clothes, messed hair and pale skin, a flicker of something akin to happiness shone in his eyes. “She’s all right? She’s really all right?” The last word erupted on a sob as he grabbed hold of Max’s arms and squeezed.

  “She’s okay.” Max could feel what energy he had left begin to drain, as the last forty-eight hours took their toll. “The doctor is still in with her. She has a mild concussion, some bumps and bruises, and they think she’s suffering some aftereffects of being sedated.” The latter was probably the reason she’d escaped the crash with so few injuries.

  Max rested his hands on his brother’s shoulders in the same way he’d seen Eamon focus Allie. “She’s still a bit scared, but otherwise she’s going to be fine. She’s already asking to see her friends.”

  “I called the Vandermonts before I left the house,” Joe said. “They’re on their way with the girls.”

  “Mr. Kellan?” A young, scrubs-wearing nurse approached them, a kind smile on her round face. “I’m Debbie and I’ll be taking care of Hope while she’s here. We’re going to get her settled in a room, but if you’d like, I’ll bring you to her now. She’s asking for you. And her uncle Max.”

  “Thank you.” Joe turned grateful eyes on Max. “I can’t thank you and Allie enough for everything you did. You kept your promise. Just like you always do.” He smiled and erased the days of suffering from his face. “I’m going to have to make some changes, I know. No more traveling, no more putting business first. Hope is all that matters now.”

  “What about Gemma?” Max hated to bring up his sister-in-law, but there didn’t seem to be a way around it. “Is she coming?”

  “Gemma’s gone.” Joe’s expression hardened. “She finally showed up last night, signed the papers, packed her things and left. Didn’t even ask about Hope.”

  “I’m sorry, Joe.” Allie was right. Gemma had finally shown her true colors. She didn’t deserve Joe Kellan and she certainly didn’t deserve Hope. As angry as he wanted to be, he couldn’t muster the emotion. “I think for the first time I feel sorry for her. She’s going to miss so much.”

  “Where’s Allie?” Joe asked. “I want to thank her in person.”

  “She’s helping the detectives with the rest of the case,” Max said even as the words and accusations he’d thrown at Allie struck him. “I’m sure you’ll have a chance to talk to her soon.”

  “At least the man responsible is dead,” Joe said. “I couldn’t imagine Hope having to testify in court about what’s happened.”

  Max nodded, unwilling to burst his brother’s happiness by telling him Patrick hadn’t been acting alone.

  “You sticking around?” Joe asked as he followed the nurse down the hall.

  “I’m here for as long as you need me.” He motioned to the seating area near the nurses’ station even as he fought the desire to find Allie and explain and apologize. He’d messed up. Big time. “You need anything, you let me know.”

  “Thank you,” Joe said again and clapped his hand on Max’s shoulder. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

  Max nodded as that nagging feeling in his gut returned, the one that told him he’d made a huge miscalculation about Allie. He’d been so worried about Hope, so determined to make sure she was somewhere safe and protected, that he’d forgotten what had started all this in the first place. Even as he’d accused Allie of tunnel vision, of not putting Hope’s needs first, he’d done exactly the same thing. He’d dismissed Allie’s need for answers as being cruel and callous when they were just the opposite.

  Whoever had taken Hope—whoever had murdered Chloe Evans—was still out there.

  And he
’d bet his entire firefighter pension that they weren’t done yet.

  * * *

  “Just got off the phone with the hospital,” Simone told Allie as she opened the door to the interview observation room. The smell of stale coffee lingered in the air. “Hope is settled in her room for the night. Minor injuries, but they’re keeping her a few days to be sure. The Vandermonts just got there with her friends and her dad is there, so she’s being well looked after.”

  Allie stood, arms crossed tight against her chest, and stared through the one-way mirror at the foster sister she’d once called her friend. “Thanks.” In the few hours since she’d left the crime scene she’d attempted to process every bit of information she could, but nothing could cut through the suffocating self-doubt and grief. Hope was safe; that was all that mattered.

  “Apparently Max is still there, as well,” Simone continued. “He’s quite the subject of conversation at the nurses’ station. Seems he can’t sit still.”

  “He only stops moving when he sleeps,” Allie said.

  “Have firsthand evidence of that, do you?”

  Allie wanted to smile, wanted to laugh. But the attempt at humor only saddened her more. “Don’t tease me about Max. Not now.”

  “If not now, when?”

  When and if he ever spoke to her again? She couldn’t get rid of the image of that accusatory, disillusioned look in his eyes. His feelings must have rivaled what he’d felt back in Florida, when his entire world turned against him. She’d put this case first, ahead of Hope, ahead of Max. And why? What was the point? To solve a murder that wouldn’t change anything?

  Chloe would still be dead. Patrick would still be dead. And Nicole would still be pacing the interrogation room while Allie got up the courage to confront her.

  “I can’t think about Max right now,” Allie said. “I need every ounce of brainpower to talk to her.”

  “You don’t have to talk to her at all,” Simone said. “Let Cole and Jack question her. Or Eamon. You know he’s dying to.”

  “Which is why it has to be me. I know Nicole.” Or at least she thought she did. “For whatever reason, she sees me as her prey, her adversary. She’ll want to keep playing whatever game this is.”

  Cole strode in, Jack right behind him waving a file folder. “Before you go in there, there’s this,” Jack said. “Remember during the old Iceman investigation when Agent Simmons got his throat cut by that vagrant?”

  “That’s a bit difficult to forget,” Eden said.

  Allie shivered. She’d been sitting in the car with Eden when those shots rang out, watched the color drain from her friend’s face as she realized Cole was in danger. There had been no stopping Eden from racing to Cole’s side—not Allie and not the threat of getting shot herself. That was love. Allie’s heart twisted in her chest.

  “You know we went over that scene several times,” Cole said. “We found a bullet lodged under the siding of the building. Guess which bullets match that one?”

  Allie frowned. “The bullets that killed Patrick?”

  “Got it in one. And we’ve confirmed the surveillance photos left on Simone’s windshield weeks ago were taken with the same camera as the one that took the picture of you all twenty years ago. Or at least the same lens. Same defect. Anyone want to lay odds who the new photographer in the family is?”

  “We need to find that camera,” Simone said. “We need to figure out where they’ve been holed up, keeping Hope.”

  “We’re going through all the known residences the Goodales have occupied over the years,” Jack confirmed.

  “Let’s get this over with.” Allie smoothed a hand down the front of her shirt. She was ready. Or at least as ready as she was going to be. “What do you think? Do I lead with the fact that Patrick’s dead or that we found Hope alive?”

  “You’ll know what to say when you have to say it,” Eden said. “You’ve got this, Allie. It’s almost over.”

  “It is.” Allie looked at Simone slipping her hand into Vince’s as Cole slid his arm around his wife’s waist. She missed Max. She missed how he boosted her confidence, how he smiled at her. She missed how he made her laugh even in the worst situations. But he was where he needed to be. And that wasn’t with her. How could it be when she’d neglected her patient, put her own needs ahead of those of a traumatized nine-year-old? But what was done was done. All the more reason to make sure her relationship with Max didn’t die in vain.

  She headed for the interrogation room, stopping for a moment to get herself in the right frame of mind before she pushed open the door and walked inside.

  “Allie.” Nicole sagged with relief. “I’ve been asking to talk to you for hours! All of this, it’s not what you think. I promise, I’ll explain—”

  “Sit down, Nicole.” Allie forced herself to keep her arms at her side. She would not pull into her shell; that’s what got her into trouble. And she’d had enough trouble to last a lifetime. “I said sit down.”

  Nicole jumped at Allie’s tone. She took a shaky step to the metal chair across the table and sat. “They arrested me,” she whispered. “But we didn’t do anything wrong. I promise, this is all a misunderstanding. Patrick and I, we’ve been trying to stop it!”

  “Where’s Tyler, Nicole?”

  “What?” Nicole couldn’t have looked more shocked if Allie had pulled out a gun and shot her. “What are you talking about? He’s dead. He killed himself—”

  “He survived the hanging, Nicole. You know it. I know it. He may have had brain damage, but Patrick arranged to have him transferred, still, there’s no record of him having arrived. Where did Patrick take him, Nicole?”

  Nicole shook her head, her black hair cascading around her bloodless face. “I don’t know. Allie, you have to believe me—” She reached her hands out and then brought them back when Allie didn’t even glance down. She watched Nicole’s face, saw the panic fade behind cool, detached realization. “You’re not buying it, are you?”

  Allie’s heart shattered. What she would have given to be wrong. “No, Nicole. I’m not.”

  Nicole sat back, an overdone pout on her face. “And I had such a good story to tell you. Oh, well. The truth is always so much more satisfying. You take the lead, little sister. Ask me whatever you want.” She smirked. “No reason to lie now.”

  She didn’t know, Allie realized. Nicole honestly didn’t know that Patrick was dead or that they had found Hope. Alive. “Where’s Tyler, Nicole?”

  “Dead.” She narrowed her eyes, sat up straight and shifted into a position of defiance. “No, he didn’t die when I told you he did. He died a little over a year ago. Mom and I buried him near that trailer park we lived in before they stuck her in the hospital. Right by the river, where he used to play.”

  “So you found time for that while you and Patrick were here looking for your new restaurant location?”

  “You do what you have to do for family. Chloe’s death drove Tyler insane. Well, drove him the rest of the way.” Nicole shrugged. “If he could have just let it go, but no. Because of you, because of your pathetic ‘woe is me, I lost my best friend’ attitude, he started looking for ways to bring her back. He needed you to like him again, so he could live with you and your ridiculous parents. He was happy there. Then he read some stupid book about flowers with mystical powers and he got obsessed with violets, convinced himself they could bring the dead back to life. So he tried. With a girl who looked just like Chloe. And when that didn’t work, he lost himself. Then he came back, tried again. Then again. It never took.”

  “Imagine that.” As much as she hated the monster who had killed Chloe, the idea that Tyler had spent the rest of his life so tortured was almost more than she could bear. “I don’t suppose you and Patrick tried to convince him it wasn’t possible. That he was only killing more innocent girls.” Allie pushed the disgu
st deep into her belly.

  Nicole smiled. “How was I to know it wouldn’t work eventually? I thought maybe he just needed to find the right replacement.”

  “And that’s when he tried to kill himself,” Allie guessed. “He couldn’t have done all that alone, Nicole. He had to have help from you and Patrick. PNT Photography was your way of helping him, wasn’t it? Your way of placating him, of controlling him.”

  “Patrick involved?” Nicole frowned. “Good heavens, no. What gave you that... Oh.” She actually laughed. “Mom said that would throw people off. It was the P.G. Ale, wasn’t it? You remember my mother, don’t you? Mina? Short for Philomina, of course. I do love how moms are always right. Oh, I can’t wait to tell her the ploy worked.”

  Allie hoped her shock didn’t show. Patrick wasn’t P. G. Ale? “So exactly how is Patrick involved in all this?”

  “He’s not.” Nicole rolled her eyes. “Coward. He got away. For years. Started over. Until I called to tell him Tyler was dead. That’s when he knew he had to come back. He knew what would happen if he stayed away. Not that it mattered. Nothing was going to stop it.”

  “Stop what?” Allie asked.

  “Mom blaming you for Tyler’s death. The guilt he lived with. Not even that stupid treasure box of things he’d stolen from you all those years ago brought him any peace. Letters and notes and perfume bottles. Barrettes and ribbons and pictures of you and your friends. They were just reminders of what he’d done. It drove Tyler mad. And we knew you needed to be made to suffer for it.”

  “But why?” Allie’s focus slipped as fear settled into her chest. How could they possibly blame the nine-year-old she was for what Tyler had done? “Why do you hate me so much that you’d put the life of an innocent girl, a girl I cared about, at such risk?”

  “You honestly don’t know, do you?”

  It was then Allie realized she was the one being studied. She was the one who’d been lured into this web, slowly wrapped up in Nicole’s and her mother’s delusions.

  Nicole leaned forward, placed her folded hands on the table and gave Allie a slow, evil smile. “Because it was never supposed to be Chloe Tyler took that night.” Her eyes narrowed. “It was supposed to be you.”