The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set

by Catherine Lea

  “Oh, my goodness,” said Diana. “This could turn into a rough ride.”

  “What are they doing?” asked Elizabeth. “Why are they so angry?”

  “This will be the beginning of Ray Townsend’s response to Richard’s campaign. I knew things would get ugly, but I didn’t think it would happen this soon.” She was about to say something else, when her phone rang. She lifted her purse, fished the phone out, saying, “Would you excuse me, Elizabeth?” and hit the answer button. After a few yes’s and no’s, she cut the connection. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you here, Elizabeth. I have another meeting, but I’ll see you at the school at ten-thirty.”

  “Fine,” said Elizabeth, who was only listening with half an ear. She was more concerned with how she was going to get out of the car with all these people around. When the car finally stopped in front of the doors, the crowd closed in, pushing and jostling and shouting. Four bodyguards immediately moved forward, surrounding the door to form a barrier while she stepped out.

  “Ten-thirty,” Diana called from the car. “Don’t forget.” The car door slammed and she was gone.

  Flanked by security, Elizabeth was jostled in through the front doors of the hotel, leaving the shouts and jeers of the surrounding crowd outside. How the hell she would ever get away from all these people was anyone’s guess. At this rate, she’d never escape them long enough to find Holly, and time was running out.

  As they entered the lobby the guards stepped away and ushered her to the elevators, then to her room. As she slipped in the door, Richard peered quickly out over her shoulder, pulled her in, and closed it behind her. He was hurriedly tying his tie and smoothing his hair, preparing for another press conference.

  “How was the hospital visit?” he asked her as he slid the tie up to the collar and checked his look in the mirror.

  She tossed her purse onto the sofa. “Fine. What the hell is going on?”

  Blake was over by the window with a cell phone clamped between his shoulder and his ear while he zipped from screen to screen on his iPad. Alice, on the other hand, stood in the center of the room with the fingers of one hand pressed to her mouth while she flicked from channel to channel with the TV remote. The sour expression on her face solidified as she paused to watch a news item in which hard-faced redhead was interviewing a panel of three women and two men. The camera angled in on a young black woman who was pounding the desk top with the side of her fist and saying:

  “… and all I can say is, this is blatant abuse of position. Richard McClaine is using his own child as a political pawn …”

  Alice dropped her face into her left hand and groaned, “Oh, for chrissake, someone shoot me.” When she flicked channels to the Morning Show, the same charade was being played out. “And someone shoot her,” she groaned and jabbed the remote at the TV. It flicked to yet another channel where a protest rally had spread across several city streets. “Dear God, we’ll have the running of the bulls next,” she said and savagely hit the off button.

  “What’s going on?” Elizabeth asked. “What’s all this about?”

  Alice answered, saying, “Townsend fired David Rattley—his campaign manager of six years, if you can believe it. Now he’s hired Jacinda Hayes and she’s come out firing with all her guns set on nuclear. If we don’t make some ground in the next two hours, she’ll have us buried by the end of the day.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” said Elizabeth. “Nobody fires their campaign manager days before the election.”

  “Try telling Ray Townsend,” Alice said and threw the remote on the sofa where it bounced onto the floor. “Seems like he’s the only one that doesn’t know that.”

  Blake pocketed his phone. “Townsend’s ratings just surged. He’s up six points already, and climbing.”

  Alice rocked her head back and groaned again. “Jesus Christ.”

  Richard said nothing. The haunted look on his face said it all.

  “So what happens now?” Elizabeth asked. “What about Holly? You said the police called. What did they say?” Noting the quick exchange of looks between Alice and Richard, she said, “What’s happened? Tell me for chrissake, I’m her mother. I have a right to know.”

  Then it hit her—perhaps Holly was already dead. Here she’d been wasting time with schools and hospitals, and all the while, her daughter was being brutally murdered. The thought unleashed such a surge of fear and anger, she felt suddenly faint. “Well?” she demanded of each of them in the room. “Tell me, goddammit!”

  Richard scrubbed at his cheeks, obviously frustrated. “Delaney was on his way over, but he got called away.”

  “Why? What did he say? Richard, what’s happened?”

  He hesitated a second. “There was an incident. Over in Lorain…”

  “An incident?” said Elizabeth. She wanted to shake him. “What kind of incident? Have they found her? Is she all right?”

  “Apparently there was some kind of gang brawl—”

  “—a gang brawl? What the hell has a gang brawl got to do with Holly? Why is Delaney going to gang brawls when he’s … oh God,” she said as the implication struck her cold. “Don’t tell me she’s been murdered by a gang. Tell me she’s …”

  Richard threw both hands up. “Calm down. Nothing’s happened. He said a car was stolen and one of the neighbors saw two people putting a small blond child into a Ford SUV. It may be Holly. Delaney’s gone over to check it out.”

  “When? What time was this?”

  “A few minutes ago.”

  “I’m going to find her,” Elizabeth said and snatched up her purse.

  “How?” asked Richard, stepping across to cut her off. “Where would you even start? And that’s assuming you get two feet out the door.”

  “I don’t know but I have to try,” she said.

  Alice stepped across and cut her off. “Sit down, you’re not going anywhere. Richard’s right. The second you’re out that door, the rumor mill will crank into action and we’ll be fighting fires we don’t need to. Let Richard and me figure this out.”

  “That’s what we’ve been doing,” Elizabeth said. “And has that brought my daughter home? It hasn’t done anything. Even your precious ratings are dropping now.”

  Across the room, Blake was silent, but his glare sent needles into her flesh.

  Alice was on her feet. “And what good have you been? Moping around like second runner-up on prom night. Everything’s too hard, everything’s a problem—”

  “Will you all shut up,” Richard cut in. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. For chrissakes, bitching at each other isn’t helping.” Just then, his phone rang. He hooked it out of his pocket to answer it, but Elizabeth snatched it out of his hand, twisting away from him as she hit the answer button. “He’ll call you back,” she told the caller and hung up. Then she tossed the phone on the table.

  Richard pushed past her and grabbed the phone. “What the hell are you doing?” he said as he raked through the menu to find who the caller was.

  “I’m not done. You’re right,” she said to Alice. “I haven’t been a great mother, if that’s what you’re waiting for. I haven’t committed myself to this plan of yours. But what about you? This has become all about your election. News flash, Richard. This is about our daughter’s life. Do you even give a shit about her?” Elizabeth asked him. “Does anybody here actually care whether my daughter lives or dies?” she shouted, looking from him to Blake and Alice, both of whom looked away.

  Richard grabbed her elbow and spun her around. “Will you excuse us?” he said and steered her to the adjacent room. “Let’s talk in here,” he said to Elizabeth and pulled her inside. When the door was closed, he turned on her. “What the hell are you trying to do? Ruin me?”

  “I’m trying to get our daughter back. Something that seems to have slipped to the bottom of your priority list.”

  “Keep your voice down, for chrissakes.” Even the rage couldn’t mask his exhaustion. His jaw clenched for a momen
t, then he said, “Do you think I’ve forgotten about her?”

  “Yes, I do. You’re so busy propping up your lousy campaign you can’t even think straight. You’re a lousy husband, a lousy father, and now you’re a lousy politician …”

  “Shut up,” he said and slapped her hard across the face. Immediately, his eyes widened and he stepped back, aghast.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …” Richard stammered. “But this isn’t the time or the place.”

  She put her hand to her face. “You never loved her.”

  For the longest time, he said nothing. Just stood there, staring down at his hands. When he finally spoke, it was a whisper. “It wasn’t that I didn’t love her. But from the minute she came into our lives, everything changed. Everything got so goddamned hard. You threw yourself into your charities and your luncheons. I never saw you. You have no idea what Holly’s birth did to my mother.”

  “You’re blaming Holly because your mother is a selfish bitch?”

  “I’m blaming her because you changed.” His expression hardened. It was as if he had been holding the words back for so long he’d forgotten they were there. “One day I had everything. I had a wife and a job I loved. Suddenly, I woke up with a woman I didn’t know, and a life I hated. My God, there were days I could have …”

  His eyes went briefly to his hands, but when they came up to meet hers, the anguish had been replaced by something deep and cold. “The only thing holding me here was my work. It certainly wasn’t you. Now will you get out of my way and let me get on with my campaign? Or are you planning on destroying that, too?”

  And there it was. All that hatred, all that anger, all that disappointment was out in the open. But everything Elizabeth saw in her husband—all that venom, all that rage—were merely a reflection of her own and she knew it. Like Mr. Rochester’s mad wife in Jane Eyre, a hidden presence remained locked up in that dark place where she hoped it would lay quiet and let her find happiness. But under pressure, it escaped and turned against her.

  “I have a press meeting,” he said. “Put some ice on your face. I’m … I’m sorry,” he said again and turned to leave.

  “Talk to me, Richard,” she said quietly. “Tell me you love her—tell me you hate her, tell me any damned thing, I don’t care. Just talk to me.” Suddenly, tears welled and splashed onto her cheeks.

  He paused to stare down at her, perhaps not knowing what to say or do. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now I need to get back and prop up this show before Townsend wipes us out completely.” She withdrew her hand and he opened the door. Just before he left, he said, “I have a press meeting in twenty minutes and you’re meeting Diana du Plessis in five. We’ll meet back here afterwards.” And he walked out, leaving her feeling drained.

  Almost as soon as she was alone again, it was as if the exchange had never even taken place. The poison had been expelled; the Band Aid back on the wound. But, along with a clanging emptiness and exhaustion, came a wash of relief. Releasing some of that demon—that self-hatred—meant she could function again, even if she was running on empty.

  One day soon, she knew she would have to pick this up, and roll it all out once more. When that day came, she would have to find a way to address and exorcize these demons or she would live like this for the rest of her life. And if her stint on the roof was anything to go by, that time wasn’t far away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  DAY TWO: 9:48 AM—KELSEY

  Kelsey got back in the car and headed for Pollard Street where Delmar lived. She had no idea what she would do when she got there. Maybe once she had some idea of the setup, she’d come up with a plan.

  She nursed the Taurus across town, avoiding the main streets where she might pick up police attention. After forty-nine minutes, she turned into Pollard Street and did a slow drive-through, cruising cautiously along the entire street while she searched the houses on either side. Matt had only known Delmar six months. He had met him a month after Delmar had entered the country under refugee status from Somalia. Six months, that’s all. She still couldn’t believe Matt would trust someone he’d known such a short time with ten million dollars. Then again, if Delmar cheated him, she wouldn’t want to be within fifty miles of Delmar’s ass when Matt caught up with him. So, taking that into account, maybe six months was enough.

  As it turned out, Pollard Street had three houses painted various shades of purple, all run-down, and all within a few doors of each other. Only one had a blue Ford SUV sitting in the driveway.

  Kelsey did a U-turn at the end of the street and drove past the house again, slowing to search the place for signs of life. The SUV looked empty. So did the house. That didn’t mean anything. None of the houses in this street looked lived in. They were all in various states of disrepair, with grass in the front yard you could get lost in, and windows smashed from both inside and out. Every one of these places looked like it would fall down under a good storm.

  She rolled to the next intersection and turned left onto Kramer. Twenty or so yards down Kramer, she pulled to the curb, mulling over what she should do next. It was doubtful they’d leave the child in the car while they went inside. So she was probably in there with them. And the only way Kelsey would get into the house without being seen was to come in through the back.

  She got out of the car and walked back to the corner. After checking Pollard was all clear, she returned to where she’d left the car and hopped the wire fence at the corner house. She trotted through a yard strewn with broken toys, a rusted bicycle and an empty sandbox, then hopped the fence on the opposite side, but just as her feet hit the ground a woman sitting on the back steps and smoking a cigarette spotted her and got to her feet.

  “Hey, you get outta my yard!” she yelled.

  Kelsey called, “I’m sorry, okay. I’m going,” and she sprinted across the yard and hopped the next one. No sooner had she cleared this fence when she heard the rattle of chain and she knew it was a dog before it even appeared around the corner. She caught a flash of black, heard the whiz of the chain unraveling and an incensed Rottweiler came straight at her. She jumped the next fence like a steeplechaser, stopping only long enough to watch the dog lunge and spring back on the end of the chain.

  “Stupid dog,” she said and dropped into a crouch. After a second, she did a duck-and-run across to the next fence, jumped and kept going. At the third fence she jumped and found herself standing on a pile of garbage that was stacked up to the top of the fence in the back yard of the last purple house she had seen. She scrambled down and hid behind a ragged-looking shrub while she looked the place over.

  It was a run-down, three-story clapboard place with a veranda running across the front and ten miles of shit piled up front and back. Half the windows were broken and boarded up and the grass hadn’t been cut in forever. So, no different than any of the other houses on this street. A place like this, Delmar must have been living pretty much rent free since he got here. And judging by the size of the house, chances were he didn’t live alone. She crept through the undergrowth until she was a few feet from the back door. The place was huge. Three floors plus a basement was a lot of house to have to get into and sneak through unnoticed. She was wondering what to do when a broken basement window caught her eye. She scurried along the side of the house, pulled the window open, and slid feetfirst into the darkness below.

  The first thing her feet hit was an old table. It wobbled under her weight, but once she got her balance, she carefully lowered herself onto it, then jumped to the floor. The place smelled of earth and mold, the only light filtering in through the dirty windows. She squeezed through a gap between two stacks of boxes and headed for the stairway that led up to the ground floor. On the first step, she paused to listen.

  At first she heard nothing, just the resounding silence of the house. But as she moved up the stairs, she picked up a faint rasping sound. At the basement door, she put her ear to the wood panel and listened.

  Nothing but the
distant rasping.

  It sounded like two pieces of rusted metal grinding against each other. She gently eased the handle down and cracked the door. The hinges whined softly so she paused again. The rasping was coming from upstairs. Other than that, nothing. A narrow, high-ceilinged hallway ran from the front of the house to the back. She moved quietly along, moving from doorway to doorway, peering in each until she reached the living room. She pressed her back in beside the doorway and angled a look inside. Still nothing, so she went in.

  The place stunk of marijuana and damp. A threadbare sofa and a couple of battered chairs were arranged around a low table that was cluttered with pipes and spoons and various drug paraphernalia. Kelsey moved quickly across to the front window and looked out. The car was still in the driveway. But now the rasping sound upstairs had changed rhythm. Instead of a steady one, two, it missed a beat every now and then and she recognized the sound of irregular breathing.

  “Shit.” She moved quickly out into the hallway where a flight of stairs ran steeply to the second floor. From here she could see no one, hear no movement. She took the stairs cautiously, dropping into a crouch as she reached the top. Finding nothing and no one, she straightened and tiptoed down a second hallway that ran from front to rear with doors leading off to either side, peering into room after room as she moved along. When she came to the third room on the left she drew back, pushed open the door and peered in. In the middle of an otherwise empty room Delmar lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands clutched to his stomach and gasping for air like a drowning man.

  “Oh, my God, Delmar,” she said and dashed in. But before she was even halfway across to him she saw the pool of blood surrounding him and flinched. His face was gray, eyes fixed on the ceiling above.

  “Delmar, can you hear me? What happened?” she said and carefully lifted back his sodden shirt. Beneath was a mess of blackened blood pooled in a crater that was once his stomach. “Oh. Shit,” she said and swallowed hard. It looked like he’d been shot in the back and the cartridge had exploded outwards. “I’ll call nine-one-one,” she said. “Just … you’ll be fine,” she told him and pulled out her phone and dialed. When the operator answered, she said, “There’s been a shooting, Pollard Street, I don’t know the number but it’s a big purple place with a … blue Taurus outside.” And she hung up. Matt and Lionel were gone. She figured she could take the SUV and replace it in the driveway with the Taurus. At least she’d have a reliable vehicle.