The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set

by Catherine Lea

  The car bounced over ruts with rocks scraping the underside, followed by the hiss of grass brushing along beneath her.

  A woman standing on the neighbor’s back porch yelled something.

  Stacy didn’t flinch. She just kept going; she had to concentrate. Three years since she’d driven a car; it was like flying a freaking spaceship. The thing rocked and bounced, the body swaying like a fairground ride over the ruts and ridges. When she hit a ditch that formed the boundary between her mother’s place and the rear neighbor’s, the wheels lost traction. A jolt of panic scorched down her spine and she hit the gas again. The car roared and the wheels spun. Behind her, she could see the journalists closing in and taking photos. Another blast, and the tires found solid ground. The car bucked under her and leaped forward again, up over the edge. She clung to the wheel and headed down the side of the rear neighbor’s house, across a flower garden, and around to the front. When she reached a bend in the driveway, she spun the wheel and headed for the street. In the rearview mirror she spotted the homeowner running down the front steps behind her, yelling, “Hey! What are you doing?” then turning with his hands laced over the top of his head in anguish while he surveyed the damage the car had done.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she muttered, but she didn’t stop. As soon as she hit the curb, she slammed her foot down and swerved out into the street with a squeal of tires, only to see a young woman crossing the street right in front of her. She jerked the wheel around, missing the woman by inches. The woman leaped aside and held up a cell phone, snapping photos—but Stacy had her foot to the floor, heading east.

  Behind her she could see the homeowner running into the street to join the woman, the two of them watching her disappear around the corner into Lester Street. As she slowed to cross the intersection at the end of her mother’s street, she could see the media trucks with people crowded around, pressing in on her mother’s front gate. She took the first turn right, ripped off the wig and the scarf, and sped off.

  This may have been the dumbest idea she’d ever had. But it worked. Now here she was—a half hour behind schedule, but if she hurried she could still make it.

  A wave of relief rolled over her. She lowered the window and let the wind blow through her short brown hair.

  The sweat on her face stung in the chill air, and her muscles twanged like piano wires. She sucked in a deep breath and tried to relax. But as she turned toward the freeway, a cop car coming the other way sent another blast of adrenaline down her spine and another wave of sweat flashed over her forehead. She slowed the car, took her elbow off the window frame, and kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead. On the other side of the street, the cop pulled over, watching her as she drove by.

  “Shit!”

  A look in the rearview mirror told her the cop had swung a U-turn and was now following her. She tapped the turn signal and swung a left. The cop followed.

  Her heart rate kicked up into high gear and heat prickled across her scalp. She ran her tongue around her lips, and blew out a long, slow breath while she kept driving. The cop signaled right and turned. She watched in the rearview mirror, then cast her eyes back to the road in front just in time to see brake lights in front of her. She stamped her foot on the brake, snapping her head forward and stopping inches from the car in front.

  When she checked behind her, the cop had gone. She was in the clear.

  An uneasy smile broke across her face and her shoulders sank in relief. Now she had no time to lose. The instant the light changed and the car in front took off, she planted her foot, swung the car into the right-hand lane, and headed south.

  She had four minutes to get to Tyler.

  She knew exactly where his school was. She’d recognized it in the background of the photograph someone had left in her cell. It showed Tyler standing outside the school with a wisp of fine, dark hair blown back from his face, a troubled frown lifting his brows to a peak on his forehead. He was with a woman Stacy guessed was either his teacher or his foster mother—both of them looking down the street, perhaps waiting for a car, or waiting to cross.

  Around the periphery of the shot, someone had circled Tyler with a red Sharpie, then drawn lines representing crosshairs that bisected over his heart. On the back was written He’s first, you’re next. Now only two questions blazed in her mind: Who else would have known where he was? And could she get to him before they did?

  CHAPTER THREE

  DAY ONE: 2:21 PM—ELIZABETH

  Elizabeth snatched her phone from her purse, answered the call, and listened. Frowning, she excused herself and stepped towards the hallway, away from the din outside.

  “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” she said, pressing one finger into her other ear.

  “Mrs. McClaine, it’s the Cleveland Central Station. We’ve been monitoring the bracelet on Stacy May Charms.”

  Elizabeth looked toward the front windows in frustration. With the commotion out there, she could hardly think, let alone hear. “Yes, what is it?”

  “The bracelet is showing that Miss Charms is outside the designated area. Can you confirm her presence for us, please?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she growled and massaged her forehead. Between the media circus and the pressure she’d been under from every politician who’d put their vote to the program, she could feel a headache coming on. The guy on the phone repeated the request.

  “Yes, yes,” she snapped. “I heard you the first time. Just wait a minute, will you?” Turning to Gayleen, she said, “Would you excuse me a moment, Mrs. Charms?”

  Penny Rickman frowned and got to her feet. Elizabeth gestured for her to follow her to the kitchen. “If you’ll hold the line, we’re checking with Stacy now.”

  She rested one hand on her hip and lowered the phone while she waited for Penny, who entered the kitchen behind her, hands spread questioningly.

  Elizabeth let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s the bracelet. There’s a problem. Go and ask Stacy to come in here. We’ll have someone do something about it or it’ll be setting off their alarms all hours of the night.”

  Penny disappeared to the rear of the house.

  “Ah, Mrs. McClaine, can you confirm Miss Charms is with you?” the guy asked again.

  “Yes, I can. If you could just hold a minute,” Elizabeth replied.

  Penny came back. “She’s not here. I can’t find her.”

  Elizabeth put her hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, “What do you mean she’s not here? She has to be here somewhere. Have you tried the bathroom?”

  “That was the first place I looked.” They both looked to Gayleen, who was approaching from the living room.

  “What’s the problem?” Gayleen asked.

  Elizabeth said, “May I?” and headed for the hallway without waiting for a reply.

  “Hey, excuse me. What are you looking for?” Gayleen demanded as she followed along, peering into each room after Elizabeth. “What are you doing? This is a private house.”

  “Where is she?” Elizabeth asked no one in particular.

  “We’re looking for Stacy,” Penny told Gayleen. “Have you seen her?”

  “Course I have,” Gayleen replied like they were both nuts. “She’s right here.” She followed Elizabeth as she made her way to the back of the house, opening doors to the bathroom, the bedroom, the storeroom, and leaving them all standing open.

  “So where’d she go?” Penny asked Gayleen, like it was her fault. “I thought she was in the bathroom.”

  “I didn’t say she was in the bathroom. You said she was in the bathroom.”

  Elizabeth let out an irritated huff and put the phone to her ear. “Can you hold the line a second? We’re just trying to locate her.”

  “According to the reading, she’s outside the area,” the guy said again.

  “Yes, I heard you the first time. Penny,” she said, and pointed to the back door. “See if she’s out back.”

  Penny leaned out, looking across the back
yard. “Nope. But there are car tracks to the rear of the property and a bunch of reporters out there. Do you have a car?” she asked Gayleen.

  The woman pushed past her to the back door, saying, “Course I got a car. What are those reporters doing in my back yard?”

  “I don’t believe this,” Elizabeth groaned. “I’ll call you back,” she told the guy on the phone, then hung up as she stepped out to join Penny in the back yard. There a garbage can had been knocked over and tire marks led to straight across to the neighbor’s place, and about half of the crowd was milling about.

  Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her forehead while she did a 180-degree turn, scanning the entire yard, boundary to boundary with reporters closing in, calling questions and shoving phones in her face. “Please stay back,” she called. Then she turned to Penny, voice lowered. “This is ridiculous. How could she just drive off without anyone seeing her? Where are the security officers?”

  “Good question.”

  “Mrs. McClaine! May I ask you a few questions?” It was one of several reporters who pushed out from the crowd with his phone held up.

  “I want them offa my property right this minute,” Gayleen told Elizabeth, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. “And I want my car found. Anything happens to that car, you’ll be the one paying for it.”

  Elizabeth held up both hands, fending off the questions. “I’m sorry, not right now.” Then turned to Penny, hissing, “Get them out of here.”

  While Elizabeth stood surveying the damage, Penny began herding the crowds back, both arms rolling like she was rounding up sheep. “Would you mind moving back? This is private property—”

  But one of the reporters interrupted her, shouting over her shoulder, “Mrs. McClaine, can you confirm this is a photo of Stacy May Charms driving a green ’67 Chevy down St. Clair Avenue five minutes ago?” He was holding his phone aloft.

  Elizabeth spun around and pushed through the crowd with her hand out. “Excuse me, give me that.”

  “You’re welcome to it,” he said and passed it to her with a smug smile. “But it was uploaded on Instagram just a couple of minutes ago.”

  Penny leaned over her shoulder. “Holy shit,” she blurted out, in a rare lapse of public composure.

  Elizabeth handed the phone back to the guy. “Find out who put it up there, and get it off the internet before anyone sees it,” she told Penny, who was already dialing her cell phone.

  Almost at once, the cordless phone in Gayleen’s hand rang. Gayleen hit the call button, put the phone to her ear, finger stuck in the other so she could hear. “What?” She nodded, then said, “Yes, it is.” After a short pause, she said, “I have no idea, but Mrs. McClaine is right here. You can talk to her about it.” She shoved the phone at Elizabeth, saying, “It’s for you. It’s Governor Straussman. He’s asking if you have access to Twitter.”

  Penny pressed the key on her phone, abandoning the call, and looked to Elizabeth, who took the phone, swallowing hard and muttering, “Oh, dear God.”

  “Elizabeth,” Penny said quietly, “given the current events, I don’t think ‘Oh, dear God’ even scratches the surface.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DAY ONE: 2:39 PM—STACY

  Stacy pulled the Chevy around the last corner to find the school almost deserted except for a handful of kids still playing out front, waiting for their parents or nannies under the watchful gaze of two teachers.

  Ever since the McClaines’ daughter, Holly, had been kidnapped five years back, every school in the state had increased after-school security. No one wanted to be responsible for the abduction of another kid. The security didn’t bother Stacy. She knew it would be like this. It’s what she’d planned for. She wasn’t dumb enough to try to snatch Tyler out of the teacher’s grasp like the stupid girl that had snatched Holly McClaine. She didn’t have to talk to anyone. All she had to do was to get a lock on the car that picked Tyler up, then follow them.

  This was definitely the right place. But now, looking around, it was becoming obvious that she’d wasted too much time back at Gayleen’s. A car rounded the corner and stopped. The last three remaining kids whooped and squealed and raced towards it. The rear door opened and they threw their backpacks in and jumped in after them, and the car pulled out and drove off. In a matter of minutes, the school yard was empty and the two supervising teachers were making their way back across the yard to the main door.

  Stacy cursed and thumped the steering wheel with the side of her fist. How could this have happened? How could she have come this far to miss him by a matter of minutes? Originally, it wouldn’t have mattered. When she’d first applied for the program, the release date was a Monday. Stacy could have come back the following morning and waited again. But delays in the paperwork and all the bureaucratic bullshit had meant the release date was delayed. Now it was Friday. Coming back Monday wasn’t an option. She had an 8:30 a.m. appointment with her parole officer. From that point on she’d be with her employer, or her mother or somebody every second of the day. It’d be days, maybe weeks, before she got this chance again. By then it could be too late. Tyler could be dead.

  Across the road two elementary school boys trailed a girl of around eighteen or so down the street. Maybe their older sister or their after-school babysitter, too busy texting on her phone to notice the kids shoving each other back and forth and fighting. Stacy got out of the car and followed on the opposite side of the street to the next corner where the girl had walked on, almost out of sight of the boys, who had stopped to grab sticks from alongside the sidewalk and started a play sword fight.

  Stacy checked the road both ways and trotted after them.

  “Excuse me!” she called after them. When the girl kept walking, she ran up behind her and called again, louder this time.

  “Hey, excuse me.”

  The girl turned around and yanked earbuds from her ears and looked up. The two kids stopped fighting and also turned their attention on Stacy.

  “You talking to me?” the girl asked as Stacy approached.

  “Yeah,” she replied, trying to sound casual. “Listen, do the boys here go to the elementary school back there?”

  They both looked back in the direction of the school, then at the boys. The bigger of the two was punching the smaller kid, who said, “Leave me alone, Darin. I’m telling Mom.”

  “Shut up, you two,” the girl told them, then turned back to Stacy. “Yeah, so?”

  Stacy stuck her hands on her hips, and surveyed the empty street, not quite sure where to go from here. “Okay, so my friend’s boy goes to that school, and she asked to make sure he got picked up today. But I got caught in traffic, so I’m late. I thought maybe your boys might know if somebody picked him up already.”

  The girl gave her a curious once-over, her gaze stopping briefly on the crude tattoos across the knuckles of Stacy’s right hand, so Stacy folded her arms with her hand tucked down and hidden.

  “Whyn’t you go ask the teacher?” the girl asked.

  Stacy glanced back at the school again. “All the teachers just went back in. And all I want to know is if one of your boys knows him—knows if he got picked up. That’s all.” And she shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

  “Who got picked up?” Darin asked, giving the little kid another thump on the arm as he approached.

  “A little boy that goes to your school,” Stacy told him.“His name is Tyler Charms. Do you know him?”

  Darin’s lip hooked up in a sneer. “Yeah. He’s in the special needs class. He’s a retard,” he said, and elbowed his brother, who tried unsuccessfully to hit him back.

  “He’s not a retard,” Stacy snapped before she could stop herself. Modifying her tone, she added, “He has learning difficulties, that’s all.”

  “Quit hitting your brother, Darin,” the girl told the older kid.

  Stacy tamped down her frustration. “So hey, Darin. Do you know if Tyler’s mom picked him up from school already?”

  Darin gave her
a grin that was altogether too sly for someone his age. “No.”

  Then his brother piped up, saying, “His mom’s in prison. Tommy Redmond said she killed a lady.”

  Darin sneered at him. “Shut up. You don’t know nothin’. But I heard his mom’s real crazy. She goes around at night, killing people,” he told Stacy.

  Stacy gave him a cutting look and kept the response she’d like to have given him to herself. She slipped her hands into her back pockets and scanned the street again. “Listen, all I want to know is if Tyler’s gone for the day. Can you tell me or not?” Her tone came out a little harsher than she’d meant.

  Darin didn’t seem to notice. He’d picked up his stick again and struck a pose, as if to strike out at some unseen foe. “Yeah, he went early. Cory West said a lady from Child Services came and got him. Cory said he’s going to a retard school.”

  The girl looked up from where she’d been scrolling through her phone, cocked her head to one side, and frowned at Stacy. “Who’d you say you were again?”

  Stacy looked down at the phone in the girl’s hand. Up until now, her thumb had been constantly swiping at the screen, shifting from one image to the next. Now it was paused on one picture. When their eyes met and locked, Stacy knew she’d been found out. She plucked at the short, spiky hair over her forehead and backed away, saying, “Ah, doesn’t matter. I’ll call his teacher. Thanks.”

  Then she turned, quickly crossed the street, and walked straight past the car so the girl wouldn’t connect her with it.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” the girl called.

  “Sorry, gotta run,” she called over her shoulder. She broke into a trot and took a left down the next street where she dropped down behind a parked car, leaning with her back to the rear wheel, forearms on her knees with her head back and her eyes closed.

  Automatically, she felt her pocket, then pulled out the toy car and turned it in her fingers. For the first two years she was in Carringway, the Child Services lady had brought Tyler to visit. Every other weekend Stacy had sat cross-legged on the floor next to him, watching him run that same car back and forth. A few words here and there. It took a good part of the visit to even engage him. By the time he’d notice her, the hour was almost up and her heart would sink. Did he even notice her? Did he even care? She’d almost given up. Thought she’d lost him. Then it happened. The Child Services lady had told Tyler it was time to go. Just like she always did. Normally, she’d take his hand and he’d walk out the door without a word or a backward look. But this time was different. This time Tyler got up to leave, but when he got to the door, he stopped and came back to crouch beside her.