The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

  “Plenty of time for post-mortems,” he said. “Let’s go find your sister.”

  They drove back to the street where the flash mob-turned-riot had happened. It was quiet now. One of the broken storefront windows was boarded up, and the other was being fixed by glass company workers. A security guard stood by their van, watching for trouble. Looking at the glass being replaced, Cady wondered where Reid was now. If he’d been arrested, they hadn’t taken him to the same police station.

  “That way, I think.” She pointed down the side street she thought Shelby had turned down, before chaos broke out completely. “The bus should be around the corner at the end of this street.”

  But when they got there, there was no sign of the bus. “I’m sure this was it,” she said. “That’s the house we were parked in front of.”

  “They’ve probably moved it somewhere for the night,” he suggested. “Any ideas?”

  She nodded slowly. “Maybe.”

  First they went by Diorama, in case the team had retreated there for drinks. Cady was going to just run in, but Holt insisted on parking the truck and going too. He didn’t want any more trouble at this time of night, he said. Given that it was pushing midnight, and the streets around the Mission were jumping with barflies and revelers, she was glad enough of the company. Cady asked at the little Sanctuary bar inside, but no one had seen Kyle or any of the Flashpointers.

  “What went down today? That sounded major,” the barman said. “Not cool.”

  Cady could only shrug and agree that it wasn’t cool at all.

  They drove up to the park near Tino’s house, where they’d spent the first night on the bus, but it lay hushed in the moonlight and the parking lot was empty. As Holt drove, Cady used his phone to keep trying Shelby’s number, but each time it rang out and went to answerphone.

  “Is it okay if I check Twitter?” she asked Holt. When he nodded, she signed in and went to the Flashpoint profile page. Nothing. Suddenly it occurred to her that someone needed to tweet something about today’s debacle. Damn. She should sign in as them and say…what? She probably had less clue than anyone what was going on. The internet could wait. She had bigger problems right now—like the whereabouts of her one and only, stubborn-assed sister.

  Running out of ideas, she looked up the number and phoned Marian at the bed and breakfast. Maybe Shelby had gone there.

  “I’m so sorry to wake you,” she apologized. “I didn’t want to get you out of bed, but I really need to ask you something.”

  “Oh, honey, you didn’t get me out of bed,” Marian said. “And I wasn’t asleep.” The murmur of a male voice in the background assured Cady of that.

  “Oh no, sorry. I’m totally interrupting.”

  “No, it’s fine. Your timing was just right.” She laughed. “What’s happening?”

  Cady explained what had happened, and that she was looking for Shelby. Marian was serious then. “She didn’t come here. I’m sorry I can’t be any help. If you can’t find her soon, you should call the police and the hospitals.”

  “I will.” Cady tried not to let her mind go there. “Thanks so much, and sorry again.”

  They hung up, and Cady tried Shelby’s number again. By now, she must have seen all the missed calls from Holt’s number. But this time, it went straight to answerphone, giving Cady a jolt. Surely she wouldn’t have switched it off in a huff. Had it run out of battery? Or maybe—best case scenario—she was calling Cady’s lost phone at that very same moment. Now she was starting to seriously worry. Even Shelby—infuriatingly obstinate at the best of times—would realize that her sister would be worried. Wouldn’t she?

  “Now it’s going straight to answerphone,” she told Holt, as he waited patiently in the driver’s seat. She leaned her head back against the Dodge’s leather upholstery, letting out a shaky breath. She was so tired, but she had to find her pig-headed sister. Not to mention all her worldly goods—almost everything she had in this country was on that bus, wherever it was.

  “It’s getting late,” Holt said. “I think we should go home. I can phone around some more when we get there.”

  “Home?” she said. The thought of leafy Santa Almendra—the big white house with its shady columned porch, the library lined to the ceiling with books, and her bed dressed with ridiculously high thread count linen—almost made her burst into tears. The idea that it might count as home, for her too, just about undid her. “I am a bit tired,” she admitted, pressing her fingers against her burning eyes.

  “I can see that,” he said, restarting the engine. “It’s been a big day. But everything will be okay.”

  She hoped he was right. Her head was swimming with Shelby’s Wodarski-Ebner revelation, Kyle’s illicit activities and badly judged flash mob, and Reid’s hot-and-coldness and unexpected violence. She tried to keep her eyes open as they drove, scanning the streets in the unrealistic hope that she might spy the bus, or even Shelby herself. But they only made it as far as the outskirts of the city before she fell asleep.

  Thirty-One

  The next morning she woke suddenly from a deep, exhausted sleep, completely disoriented. Then the memory of the day before came slamming down into her brain, forcing the fog out. Straight away the sick feeling clutched at her stomach again. The flash mob, gone wrong. Reid, apparently gone to the other side. And most of all, Shelby—just gone. And tested positive, in the most negative of ways.

  She leapt out of bed, the old John Deere t-shirt Holt had lent her almost an insult to the beautiful linen she’d slept in. She ran her fingers through her hair. Not much she could do about that, without any of her things. She cleaned her teeth with the wrapped toothbrush she found in the en suite bathroom, washed her face, and put on some of the tinted moisturizer she had in her bag. Then she pulled on yesterday’s sundress, smoothed herself out as best she could, and went down to find Holt. Time for action.

  He was in the big kitchen, eating breakfast at the long farmhouse-style table. Next to him was Preston Bridges, as sleek and well-combed in his suit as he’d been the night before.

  “Good morning,” she said to them both, wishing she didn’t look as much of a mess as she felt.

  They both stood up, wishing her good morning too. “Would you like breakfast?” Holt asked, pouring her a coffee and setting it in front of an empty chair. “It’s nothing fancy—Elva isn’t coming in until this afternoon.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “But, have you heard anything? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have slept so long.”

  The men looked at each other, and she felt a knot begin to form in her stomach.

  “We haven’t found Shelby,” Holt said. “But the bus has been found.” He paused. Preston pulled out the chair and made her sit down, only increasing her feeling of dread.

  “What? Where is it?” Far from hunger now, her stomach did a one-eighty as fear set in.

  “It was found in a parking lot, in a not very…desirable neighborhood. It was burned out. The police tell us they weren’t able to retrieve anything from inside.”

  “Oh my God. And Shelby? All the others?” She braced herself for the worst, the very worst she could imagine, but had never even considered yesterday. The loss of all the things in her suitcase was nothing compared to the safety of Shelby, all the team…Reid. “Was anyone in the bus?”

  “No.” Holt shook his head, and a tiny bit of relief crept in. But she still didn’t know what she needed to.

  “Where are they, then?” she said to the universe at large.

  Preston cleared his throat. “We don’t know. Nothing has come up at the hospitals or police stations yet.”

  “Maybe they’re just laying low,” Cady suggested, hoping more than believing. She could see why Kyle might have extra reason for doing that.

  “Maybe,” Preston said, but his tone gave away that he was trying to be soothing. “We’ve reported her missing. Given the state of the bus, and yesterday’s drama, the police are likely to get an investigation started at the earlie
st opportunity.”

  Well, this was no time for soothing, or waiting. Without anyone’s numbers, she needed to get online and send direct messages via Twitter and Facebook. And she needed to be on the spot, on the streets, looking. She stood up again.

  “I have to get back to the city.” She looked down at her wrinkled dress. “Maybe I should borrow an iron.”

  “Bee’s coming,” Holt said. “If all your clothes are ruined in the bus, you’ll need new things. She’ll be here soon to take you into Santa Almendra for whatever you need.”

  “That’s kind of her.” Then she realized that Holt must have phoned her to arrange it. “And of you. I have my wallet, thank goodness.”

  “No, this is on me,” Holt said, taking his own wallet out of his pocket. “Save your money for the big things.”

  She looked at the credit card he slid across the table. Yesterday, she’d felt reluctant to ask for his help, given how ambivalent she was about him after the disturbing revelation from Mrs. G. But there at the police station, she hadn’t had a lot of choice. With Bee’s contradiction, and then his denial last night, she’d been struggling to work out who she should believe about the abortion. Right now, though, that question wasn’t the biggest issue. Finding her sister was. It over-rode everything else. But taking his money wasn’t like accepting his help to find Shelby—who was his daughter, as well as her sister, after all.

  She shook her head. “Thank you. But I have plenty already. Thanks to you.”

  “Just say yes,” he said. “I haven’t been able to do much for you over the years.”

  She hesitated, aware that Preston was watching. Arguing any further would be ungracious. Okay, the truth was she was turning him down because of the abortion—but that was a whole other thing to figure out. In the meantime, every minute they spent not looking for Shelby was another minute wasted. She gave in. “Well…that’s very kind. Thank you.”

  He nodded. “Have some breakfast. We’re going over to my office to make some phone calls. Once you’ve got what you need with Bee, the best thing you can do is stay here safely. We’ll find her.”

  “We will,” said Preston, his voice as authoritative as the pinstripes on his suit. “Leave it to us.”

  She had no intention of sitting here, miles away, while Shelby was somewhere out there in San Francisco. Last night, she was worried in a mid- to high-level way. In the back of her mind she knew that Shelby was feisty enough to handle herself in all kinds of situations. And after their argument, she might even be ignoring Cady’s calls on purpose. But this morning, the news about the destroyed bus kicked her worry up to a new level of alarm. And what the hell was she going to tell their dad?

  She reluctantly sat back down and took a croissant from the plate Holt held out. “Thank you,” she said. But what she really meant was, there’s no way I’ll be leaving it to you.

  They excused themselves, leaving her at the table. She forced herself to eat while she waited for Bee, but every mouthful seemed to have jagged edges as she swallowed. She slugged down some strong coffee. There was only one place she wanted to be—back in San Francisco, searching for Shelby herself. For all the times they’d argued, and fought, and wished the other would just get lost, they knew—didn’t they?—that their twinny sisterness trumped everything else. Especially now they were facing a genetic fate they’d dreaded. It was hard enough to get her head around the world without her mother. The world without her exasperating, maddening, tiresomely contrary sister was unimaginable.

  * * *

  Bee arrived not long after, and found Cady waiting on the porch, antsy and unable to sit down. As they said hello, their previous uncomfortable goodbye seemed to be still echoing around them. Walking to the car, Cady had to say something.

  “About Mrs. G…” she tentatively began.

  “Let’s not,” Bee said. “Let’s just concentrate on getting you sorted, and your sister back.” Her voice was definite, practical, but gentle.

  “All right. Thank you so much for this. It’d be great to get it done as fast as we can—I just want to find her.”

  “I know. We all do. And if anyone can make it happen, it’s Holt and Preston. They’re a formidable team—and they won’t let the police slack off.”

  Cady nodded. She didn’t mention that she fully intended to scoot back to San Francisco herself as soon as she could. Although she was yet to figure out quite how she’d get there.

  “I brought you a spare suitcase of mine—I figured you’ll need one.”

  “Oh, thank you! That’s really thoughtful.”

  Bee shrugged. “It’s not fancy, but it’ll get you through.”

  As they drove the short distance to town, Cady told Bee firsthand what had happened the day before. Even the edited version was enough to make her eyes widen. As Cady recounted the story, leaving out the condom wrapper and the meth pipe, she became even more sure Kyle would be staying out of view on purpose. Any police questioning might uncover things he’d rather keep hidden.

  “What a disaster,” Bee said. “But I’m sure we’ll find her.”

  “I hope so.” She sighed. “I need a phone too—mine’s somewhere out in the streets. I suppose I can claim it on my insurance.”

  Bee nodded. “We can grab you a phone when we’re at the pharmacy, keep you going in the meantime.”

  In Santa Almendra, Bee found a parking spot and they walked along to the pharmacy. As soon as they came through the door, the eager pharmacist was upon them.

  “Hello again!” he welcomed Cady enthusiastically. “And hello, Bee. How are you? That rash clear away all right?”

  “Hello, Roger,” she said. “Yes, I’m fine now, thanks. Got tangled up in poison oak trying to catch one of the neighbor’s horses,” she explained for Cady’s benefit.

  Cady winced. “Ouch.”

  “A bit of hydrocortisone does wonders,” Roger said confidingly.

  Bee changed the subject. “Cady has just come in for a few things.”

  “No sister today?” He looked around as though expecting Shelby to pop out from behind a display rack.

  “No, not today,” Bee said firmly, dissuading him from any further questions.

  “Oh, well…” He tried another tack, addressing Cady again. “Did you meet Mrs. G yet? She hasn’t been well, you know. She’s on her second round of antibiotics.”

  Cady and Bee looked at each other. “She seemed okay when we saw her in the library,” Cady said.

  “You did see her! That’s good. Well, she must have had a relapse. I hear she’s tucked up in bed.”

  A relapse. Cady sincerely hoped that didn’t have anything to do with their encounter. If she was as fragile as people said, maybe that would have been enough to knock her sideways. She hadn’t seemed like that kind of character—but then a few minutes wasn’t enough to reveal the pressure points in a person’s heart.

  “Maybe you should go and visit her,” he persisted.

  “Maybe,” Bee said abruptly. “Now, where would we find a mobile phone?”

  As they emerged back into the street with Cady’s supplies, Bee let out a muffled scream. “He is so insufferable! Goddamn busybody. He knows full well the story about me and Cady. Mrs. G, I mean. He just loves to stir things up.”

  “It’s not very professional,” Cady said. “What if you had something really personal wrong? Would he tell everyone that?”

  “Probably not,” she conceded. “Not if he wanted to stay in business. Come on, let’s get you a few things to wear.”

  As she hurriedly tried on jeans and tops and dresses in the town’s surprisingly good little boutique, Roger’s words kept running through Cady’s head. Maybe she should go and see Mrs. G. Not with Bee, obviously. But if she and Shelby had anything to do with this relapse, maybe they owed her a visit to smooth things over. When they found Shelby—she doggedly stuck to when, not if—they could go together. The first priority, though, was to find her, and make sure she was okay. If Preston Bridges was as good a
detective as he was attorney—or if he knew the right people, as he said he did—hopefully it wouldn’t take long. Meanwhile, she’d be out there doing her bit. And then, after she gave her sister a hug, she’d give her that major, kick-in-the-pants wake-up call she so richly deserved.

  Thirty-Two

  Back at the house, Cady thanked Bee again for her help. Then she paused before she got out of the car. “Would you like to come in?” she asked.

  Bee shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ll leave you to it. You all need to concentrate on finding Shelby.”

  Last time they were here, Cady would have insisted. It was so tempting to try to re-engineer that thwarted love match. Now, though, she wouldn’t push a sweet person like Bee together with Holt—not until she knew the truth about the baby. Okay, her view was slanted by the possibility that she wouldn’t have children, which had increased with Shelby’s test result. Soon, she’d have to face the test too. Despite her own situation, she understood how sometimes there were reasons why a woman would opt for a termination. But as far as she could see, there was never any reason for a man to make that decision on a woman’s behalf, let alone force her into it. So she let Bee drive away, with a promise to keep her updated.

  She came around the corner of the house, struggling with all her things. The suitcase wheels wouldn’t run smoothly on the gravel path, so she turned and picked it up, cursing aloud as she juggled it and the phone with her shopping bags. Why hadn’t she put everything into it? Damn it, she just wanted to get inside, get the phone charged up, and get back to the city. Somehow.

  She was halfway up the wide porch steps before she noticed that someone was sitting in Holt’s wicker chair—and it wasn’t Holt.

  He stood up. “Not very regal language, Lady Cady.”

  Her heart and her belly leapt in unison as the reality of him, here, washed over her. But just as quickly, images from the day before filled her head, doing battle with her delight. On the outside, he was just the same. The dark hair pulled back roughly, a strand or two always astray. The rock goatee, and another version of the black t-shirt, Kings of Leon this time. That very slight kink in his nose, adding character to an already compelling face. Tiger eyes under strong, straight brows. And, oh hell, there was her kryptonite—his direct, half-amused look that sparked an irresistible, spreading heat in her. Even as she knew she should fight it, she let it swell up, hot and heady. Like an addict, her body craved a taste of that reckless exhilaration.