… the distant clunk of the front door.
“Shit.”
She stuffed the lion into her jacket pocket. Trust her to be pissing around in the parents’ room when she should have got what she came for and gone. She tiptoed to the window. This side of the house looked out over the pool. It was a sheer drop onto the tiled barbecue area beneath. With no ledges or frames to climb on, exiting that way was a sure invitation to a broken ankle and the noise would wake the entire neighborhood.
She exited Holly’s room and paused. Someone was moving around downstairs. She did a running tiptoe into the next doorway along and leaned out. The hallway was dim, darkened doorways set along it. She crept toward the top of the stairs and dropped into a crouch, scanning the area downstairs. In the living room just off the left she spotted someone, a woman. Kelsey duck-walked to a point just behind the railing and bent her head low. The instant she came into view, Kelsey recognized her; knew the curve of her cheek, the angular shape of her slim frame; the tousled hair wrenched back from her face.
Shit. Kelsey checked the time. The woman took several bottles from the liquor cabinet and tucked them into a large canvas bag beside her. Then she moved out of sight.
Kelsey leaned to survey the foyer. She’d never get out without being seen, and there was no way she could leave by the rear of the house.
She retraced her steps, searching the hallway for options when she heard footsteps on the stairs and her heart did a barrel-roll.
In desperation, she darted back to the McClaines’ bedroom, crossed straight to the closet and stepped inside. That woman would never dare come in here. She just wouldn’t …
… but Kelsey had no sooner pushed the door closed, when the light snapped on, and through the gap she saw Sienna Alvarez, the nanny, sweep into the room.
Kelsey hunkered down with her eye to the crack, tracking her as she moved from drawer to drawer, pulling them out, selecting items and depositing them into the bag. At the faint sound of movement in the hallway outside, Sienna froze and her eyes cut to the doorway.
Kelsey could just see the edge of the bedroom door through the crack. Sienna stood rock solid still, eyes wide on the door. So did Kelsey. The door moved a little and Sienna gasped.
Someone thumped the bedroom door from the other side and it flew open. Sienna folded over with her hand on her chest, saying,
“Ay dis mio, you frighten me. Why are you here?”
Through the gap, Kelsey saw a guy move into the room—black leather jacket, dirty jeans, long stringy hair. He stepped across with his back to Kelsey so she put her hand on the door and gently narrowed the crack. The hinge let out the softest whine and the guy’s head jerked around, hollow eyes searching the room, and Kelsey recognized him immediately.
Deitz. He had the skeletal features and the eroded teeth of a regular drug user. Kelsey only knew Deitz in passing. But Matt knew him. So did Lionel—merciless, cruel, lacking anything approaching a conscience, Deitz was his dealer.
So what the hell was he doing here? And how did Sienna know him?
Deitz silently scanned the room. When he came to the closet, his eyes locked on it. “Who’s there?”
Kelsey pulled her head back. Panic and fear drove a thousand tiny needles into her flesh. A bolt of adrenaline shot up her spine like molten steel and her pulse hammered at her temples. She blew out a long slow breath and tried to relax.
“There is no one here,” Sienna said. “I been here ten minutes. I see no one.”
A silence stretched. He broke it, saying, “What about Kelsey? You see her? Her car’s outside.”
So it was Deitz following her. Why?
“I tell you, there is no one here. Just me.” Sienna’s tone had developed an edge. She went to say something else but stopped midway like he’d hushed her. Kelsey heard movement—the soft rustle and squeak of Deitz’s jacket. It stopped and she realized he was inches from her, on the other side of the door.
Sweat flashed on her forehead and chin. She inched back from the door and held her breath. Outside, the silence echoed. Not a movement; not a whisper.
She eased out another breath, wondering if they’d left the room, when the light snapped on and Deitz punched the door open. It swung hard enough to hit Kelsey on the knee and spring back, and the stink of stale cigarettes and sweat wafted into the closet with him. Kelsey was standing right behind him now, frozen in place behind the door with her face squeezed and her muscles burning. Still with his back to her, he reached up and parted a few hangers.
“So when does Lionel give me my money?” Sienna called after him.
Kelsey felt her jaw drop. Lionel’s paying her?
Deitz threw a look back over his shoulder. If he’d glanced to his right, he’d have seen Kelsey. She didn’t flinch, didn’t breathe, just watched as he bent down, picked up a shoe, turned it in his hand like it was something hateful, and threw it back.
“Well?” said Sienna. “When does he pay me? I done what he say and now I wan’ my money.”
Deitz let his hand slide down the edge of the door as he stepped out into the bedroom again. The light went off and the door closed. Kelsey wilted inside the closet and heaved out a silent breath.
“How much did he say?” Deitz was asking.
“Ten. Thousand. Dollars,” Sienna replied, emphasizing each word so he heard it right.
Kelsey also heard it. So, Sienna had sold Holly out, the bitch. A little kid. Jesus! Kelsey clenched her mouth shut and squeezed her eyes closed. She wanted to punch something. If she got the chance, maybe she would.
Deitz let out an amused snort. “Ten grand. Just for goin’ to visit your mom, huh? Holy shit.”
“Not just to visit my mother,” Sienna replied like he’d offended her. “He tell me to call the driver, tell him go late to the school. I done that, too. Now tell him I wan’ my money.”
This was Holly’s nanny—the person who was supposed to watch over her, care for her. Kelsey felt every muscle tighten, lips pressing in a hard line, breaths coming long and slow. When she looked down, both her fists were clenched.
Deitz was saying, “You’ll get your money when Lionel’s ready. Not before.”
“You tell him,” Sienna insisted. “He don’t give me my money, I go to the police. I tell them everything.”
“Yeah, we thought about that.” The reply was so soft, Kelsey almost missed it. She leaned closer to the door, straining to hear more. But a muffled grunt was followed by the sounds of slapping and groping and the rustle of clothing. Kelsey rocked her head back, mouth open. She couldn’t believe it—they were making out and here she was stuck in the closet. She stood there with her stomach churning and her fists squeezed. After a while, she glanced down at her watch, aware of how much time she’d been away, when she heard a thunk—like someone falling against the dresser. It was followed by hurried footsteps back down the stairs. Then nothing.
She frowned and pressed her ear to the door again. Still nothing. After another long silence, she eased the door open and peeped out.
The first thing she saw was Sienna slumped awkwardly against the dresser.
Kelsey flew across and dropped at her side. She reached out, not knowing whether to shake her, give her mouth-to-mouth or what.
“Sienna! Can you hear me?” She drew her back by the shoulder. But the girl’s head lolled back and Kelsey saw the marks on her neck and the tiny specks of blood in her eyes.
Sienna was dead.
“Oh, Holy shit.” She dropped the girl like something contagious and scrambled backwards. “Holy fucking shit.”
She jumped to her feet and stepped wide. Think. Think!
She had to get out. She had to get back to Holly. Then she had to tell Matt what she’d seen and convince him to take Holly home. And she had to do it now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DAY ONE: 11:39 PM—ELIZABETH
Delaney drove while Elizabeth sat in the back seat of the car, staring out the window like a petulant teen dragged h
ome from a party by an angry parent. In front of her, Officer Wallace sat in the passenger seat, answering radio calls and snapping out instructions and locations, then listening to their incomprehensible replies. Why she couldn’t have taken her car to the press conference was beyond her. It was a plain and sensible Ford Fusion Hybrid—nothing extravagant, nothing that would incense Richard’s precious voters. If she had been allowed to take her car, she could have gone home as soon as the press conference was over. She wouldn’t have had to suffer the pitying looks of hangers-on pretending they cared, when all they wanted was something to report in their papers, or tell their friends over cocktails. The very thought of them disgusted her. They didn’t have the tact to keep their stupid questions to themselves. Instead they insisted on making comments they weren’t qualified to and expected her to lap it up.
Would she have felt differently if Holly had been born a normal, healthy child? Would her desperation to find her be any deeper? Maybe she’d never know. From that first day, there was no joy, no burst of new-motherly excitement and wonder at the birth of her child. That had been replaced by an all-consuming shroud of hopelessness and despair. Even when her own mother had died, there was pain, there was grief; but time took that away. Time healed the wounds and allowed them to close over.
This pain was different. These wounds had never healed. They had stayed with her, weighing her down like a burden strapped to her back. Every morning she had woken to find the pain and anguish waiting for her, dragging her down and bending her at the waist like a woman twice her age.
Now, those chains were broken—the severed ends left raw and unfinished. Yet still there remained an invisible thread, an unbreakable connection that stretched through distance and time, bonding her to her child. Elizabeth wondered once again how she would ever live with herself again, regardless of the outcome.
As if sensing her anguish, Delaney caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “Are you all right, Mrs. McClaine?”
She pulled in a ragged breath and folded her arms across her chest. “Yes, I’m fine. Can you tell me what’s happening with the investigation?”
“We’ve put an APB out on the vehicle that was used in the kidnapping,” he told her. “The witness didn’t get the license plate but she managed to identify it as a blue Ford Explorer. Probably an older model.”
“And you’ve heard nothing? Not one person has seen it? I find that hard to believe.”
His sharp look in the rearview mirror told her she’d crossed a line. “These things take time, Mrs. McClaine,” he replied.
Elizabeth bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … I’m sure you’re doing everything you can.” Feeling uncomfortable, she turned her attention to the window where a blur of scenery rushed by. Every time she thought about the interviews Alice had set up for her, her stomach clenched. First the hospital, and then the school—both visits in the company of the du Plessis woman. Why she had to go along with a reporter, she had no idea. All in the name of Alice Cressley’s election campaign. A surge of resentment flashed through her. That woman didn’t care that their little daughter was being held somewhere by people who would do her harm if their demands weren’t met. She probably wouldn’t even notice if Richard vanished in a puff of smoke. She would continue on her campaign regardless, working like a spider spinning a web that had been damaged beyond repair—still adding to it, forming silken ties that went nowhere and had no use.
When did I last hold her? Elizabeth thought. The realization struck her so unexpectedly, she heard herself gasp. She glanced up to find Delaney’s questioning gaze on her again.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs. McClaine?”
She laced her fingers in her lap, squeezing them until her knuckles ached. “I’m fine. Do you know who these people are who have taken my daughter? Would they … would they hurt her?”
Delaney turned into Belle Vue Drive, directing Wallace’s attention to the rear lights of a vehicle turning right at the end of the street. He slowed, ducking his head as both officers watched it disappear from view. Wallace picked up the radio and made a call while Delaney accelerated gently and swung the car into the driveway to bring it to a stop. He pulled the key from the ignition, then turned around, leaning his elbow across the back of the seat while he addressed Elizabeth. “Well, we know the woman who took Holly is Kelsey Terrasone. She calls herself Kelsey Money after her mother’s de facto husband, although in fact, there’s no record of her ever being adopted,” he said, dusting something from the front of his shirt. “Officer Wallace here has been following up her associations with Matthew Subritzski, and his brother Lionel. Lionel was recently released from prison.” He lifted one shoulder. “We thought they could be involved but three people have come forward claiming they were with them at the time of the kidnapping. Matthew Subritzski’s certainly had his share of problems, but no arrests in the past year. I wish I could say the same of Miss Terrasone. She’s been in and out of trouble with the law for most of her life. We believe either she’s working with someone who’s off the radar, or she’s working alone.”
“Is it possible she took Holly because she just wants a child of her own? Maybe she just wants to love her and care for her …” she began, but Delaney was already shaking his head.
“It’s unlikely. The ransom demand suggests money is the motive.”
The dull ache of disappointment sat heavy in the pit of her stomach. The thought of someone wanting to care for Holly so badly that they would steal her away from her family, somehow offered her a glimmer of hope—a heartfelt, if somewhat distant, possibility that the child would finally be loved the way she deserved. The way Elizabeth had never been able to. Now, to find that her little child was only seen by those around her as a meal ticket brought Elizabeth a sudden pang of sadness and regret.
“Do you have any idea where they could be?” she asked, then realized how ridiculous the question was. As if he’d be sitting there talking to her when he knew where her daughter was.
“I’m afraid we’re still working on that, Mrs. McClaine. But rest assured, we will find them.”
She hunched her shoulders and hugged herself. For all her bravado and her desperation to find her child, that old sense of powerlessness was already leaching back. “Is she dangerous, Mr. Delaney? This girl, would she hurt her?” Noting his hesitation, she added, “You can tell me. I need to know the worst. I need to be prepared.”
“I think we have to try and stay positive. Chances are Holly is safe, and she’ll be home soon.”
Elizabeth stared at him, barely daring to breathe. “But what if we don’t find her? What if …” That overwhelming sense of loss hit her again, stealing away the words.
“It’s late, Mrs. McClaine. You’ve had a hell of a day. No doubt you’ll have another tomorrow. I suggest you get some rest.”
She plucked her keys from her purse. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see you safely inside.”
As soon as they got to the door, Elizabeth hit the remote for the alarm, then looked up.
Delaney noticed her surprised expression and followed her gaze. “Is something wrong?”
“The alarm wasn’t set.”
“Perhaps you forgot.”
“Perhaps.”
Inside the house, Elizabeth flicked on the lights and placed her keys in the crystal bowl in front of the water feature. “Thank you,” she said to Delaney. She couldn’t wait for him to leave. All she wanted was a drink. One solid hit of vodka and she would feel better. Maybe she’d take the bottle up to bed with her. Who was there to object?
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” he asked a little awkwardly, obviously embarrassed.
“Of course. There’s one right down the hallway there,” she said, pointing towards the downstairs bathroom at the rear of the house. And then please go, she thought but didn’t say. She watched him tentatively moving down the hallway, then went straight into the living room and pulled open the liquor cabinet doors, stopp
ed and blinked. It was almost empty. She frowned and turned as if someone in the room might be playing a joke on her and watching for her reaction. Then she turned her attention back to the empty shelves.
Delaney leaned briefly in through the doorway. “Thank you, Mrs. McClaine. I’ll see myself … is something wrong?”
“The liquor cabinet. I had three bottles of vodka in here. They’re gone.” She crouched low to look in the back of the cabinet. “So is the scotch. And the bourbon. Who could have taken it?”
“Would your husband have removed it?”
“No. He was with me.” She cast a look towards the stairs, then across to the front windows. “Someone’s been here.”
“Stay here,” he said, and went back to the foyer. After searching the rooms leading directly off the foyer, he started up the stairs. “Is anybody up there?” he called as he made his way up.
Elizabeth stood at the foot of the staircase, watching him. When she glanced back towards the front door, she spotted a white envelope lying on the floor, just to the left of the door. She went across, scooped it up, opened it and read the message. “Mr. Delaney! Detective!” she cried out. “They’ve been here. They left the letter. Mr. Delaney?”
A moment later, he appeared at the top of the stairs and descended them quickly, his face ashen, his expression grim. Immediately she knew something was wrong, something upstairs. She moved towards him, looking up.
“Don’t go up there,” he said, wrenching his phone from his pocket. “And don’t touch anything.”
She started for the stairs again. “Why? What’s happened?” As she reached the foot of the stairs, he reached out and placed a restraining hand on her arm, stopping her.
“Please. Just wait.” He hit a key on his phone, put it to his ear and paused while it rang. “This is Detective Warren Delaney,” he said and gave his police ID number. “I need a crime scene unit at 243 Belle Vue …” and he spelled the street name out, assigning each letter its respective radio code. Then he stalked around the room, barking out instructions and massaging his forehead with his fingers before finally hanging up. “I’m afraid there’s been an incident upstairs, Mrs. McClaine,” he said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “You can’t stay here. You’ll have to find somewhere else to stay tonight.”
The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set Page 10