Nico lifted a shoulder. “They’re spinnin’ circles. They got nothin’.”
Bear’s eyes locked on Nico. “I put Slim on it. He says give him twenty-four hours and we can swallow the money.”
Nico kept his mouth shut. Bear knew he’d cold-cocked him. Slim, another captain. Always trying to muscle by Nico. Not this time. So the Feds went right instead of left. Figuring out how to launder the money wasn’t nothin’ like bringing it in. Nico was the earner.
Bear ran his tongue over his teeth — a signal he’d made his point and was moving on. But this wouldn’t be the end of it, Nico knew. Everything had to go down perfect from here. Bear picked up his mug and swigged coffee. “How about Giordano?”
Nico tapped the rim of his empty plate. Anger mashed around in his gut. Bear was starving him on purpose. “He came through last night. But he worries me.”
“Oh?”
“Guy was sweatin’ bullets.”
“You said he came through.”
“He did. Last night he did it up right. His nerves just made him look more the part.”
“So what’s the problem?” Bear waved at the food. “Eat, eat.”
Now that it was half cold. Nico reached for the platter. “He was too nervous. He blabbered. Asked me how we’d gotten into the bank when the doors were locked.” Nico took his first bite of ham and eggs. The velvety, salty flavor exploded in his mouth.
“Sounds like a decent question, comin’ from a guy who’s supposed to look like he might get popped any minute.”
“Maybe. But what’s he gonna do if the Feds lean on him day after day?”
Bear’s coffee mug stopped at his lips. “Think he’ll talk?”
“I don’t know.”
A sigh rattled Bear’s throat. He set down his coffee cup. “Why didn’t you take care of this last night?”
Nico bit back a smirk. “And have a murder attached to the heist?”
Bear grunted. He stared at his plate for a minute, then pushed more food onto his fork. “You told me Giordano was solid. You vouched for the guy.” Bear’s tone threatened.
“Giordano’s perfect. Got a sick kid who needs a bunch of medical tests. That’s reason enough to keep his mouth shut. Besides, without him I wouldn’t have known about the bank’s security system. What kind of locks on the doors. How many employees would be there after closing.” Nico kept his voice even. This was not the big deal Bear was trying to make of it, even on top of the Fed problem. Everything was under control. “I’m just tellin’ you he was more nervous than I figured. I’ll take care of him.”
“Take care of him now, Nico. Seven million’s a lot of money.”
That he’d brought in. “Sure.”
Bear wiped his lips with a napkin and stared out the window at the ocean. “What’s with this guy? Got a good job. Health insurance. Then he gets involved in somethin’ like this.” Bear shook his head. “A man gets greedy . . .”
Nico said nothing.
The underboss went back to eating. “The kid — boy or girl?”
“Girl.”
“How old?”
“Just turned four.”
Bear shook his head again. He had a four-year-old granddaughter. Nico knew he was crazy about the kid.
“And you got Giordano’s cut. A hundred thousand.”
“It’s in a closet in my house.”
“Make sure it gets put back.”
Nico clamped his jaws down. Seven million dollars, and the man was worried about a lousy hundred grand. Nico gestured with his hand — yeah, sure.
The underboss sniffed. “You shouldn’t have brought him in, Nico. Now we got problems.”
“I said I’ll take care of it.”
“How you know it’s not too late? What if he talked last night?”
“Nobody beat down my door this morning.” Nico shifted in his chair. “He didn’t talk ’cause of the kid.”
Bear pressed his hands flat on the table and leaned back. “I don’t want him found. And I want you to do this personally.”
Nico’s anger rose. Any of his soldiers could have done the burn. That’s what they were there for. This was Bear’s way of rubbing his face in it. So much for pulling off a record heist.
“Sure.”
Bear’s fork poked up another bite of egg and ham. “The little girl — she lives with her mother?”
“Yeah.”
“And the mother knows nothin’ about this.”
“No.”
“How you know? A man doesn’t just find a hundred thousand dollars on his way to take a leak.”
“I warned him. Giordano knows he needs to sit on the money for now. If he tells his wife, so what? Guy’s in too deep. But now — don’t matter. He won’t get the chance.”
He wouldn’t even get the cash.
Bear chewed, then swigged coffee. “Never underestimate the vengeance of a woman. If she knows, then her husband goes missin’ — she’ll sing to anybody who’ll listen.”
Nico shrugged. “If she knows, I’ll whack her too.”
TWELVE
Kaycee awoke to the smell of blood.
Her eyes popped open. Her chugging brain took in the walls of Tricia’s guestroom, the framed print of flying mallards. White dresser.
No blood.
Kaycee let out a breath and rubbed a hand across her forehead. Her face and chest were hot. Deep in her mind the dream played on — the running feet and screams, the dead man on a dark yellow floor. She tried in vain to shake off the senses.
Her body felt heavy. She’d gotten little sleep.
Kaycee checked the digital clock on the nightstand. Six-fifty-five.
Tricia’s doorbell rang.
Rising up on one elbow, Kaycee frowned. The doorbell — at this hour?
She slipped from bed and crossed the room. As she pulled the door open she heard Tricia’s muted footsteps in the tiled entryway, the sound of a lock clicking open. Kaycee trotted down the short hall. She reached the foyer as Tricia, wrapped in a robe, opened the front door. Mark Burnett stood on the porch, still in uniform. His face looked grim.
Kaycee ran a hand over her bed-head curls. They had to be sticking out like Pippi Longstocking’s braids.
“Tricia, Kaycee.” He made eye contact with them both. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure.” Tricia stood back and held out her arm, ushering him inside. As he stepped onto the tile, she shut the door behind him.
Mark looked to Kaycee. “We got a call this morning from Ryan Parksley. Hannah’s missing. She wasn’t in her room when her stepmother went to wake her for school. Bed wasn’t slept in.”
Tricia gasped. Kaycee’s mouth creaked open, but no words came to her tongue.
“They think she ran away. Her suitcase is missing, plus a baby pillow from her bed. Also a picture of her mom that she keeps on the dresser.”
“Oh.” Kaycee’s voice blurted, thin and bleak. “I was at her house last night. She begged me to let her come live with me. She’s so unhappy at home . . .”
Mark nodded. “Mr. Parksley said you’d been there. You were the first person he thought to call, but of course you weren’t home. He and Mrs. Parksley phoned all Hannah’s friends they could think of. No one knows where she is.”
Kaycee’s gaze bounced to Tricia, who stood round-eyed, fingers pressed to her lips. Suddenly, worries about some nonexistent dead man and a dream seemed so insignificant. “Did you check around my house?” Kaycee asked. “Maybe she slept on the porch?” It would have been cold and so frightening. Kaycee couldn’t bear the thought of Hannah waiting for her, alone and crying.
“Yeah. She’s not there. Any idea where else she might go?”
“How about the black barn next door?”
“Checked that too.”
Kaycee stared at the floor, replaying conversations she’d had with Hannah. Other than the friends the girl’s parents would know to call, she could think of no one. She shook her head. “I don’t know what
else to tell you.”
Mark nodded. “Chief Davis is on it, and Deputy Chief Norrel. I’m supposed to be going off duty, but I’ll stay till we find her.”
“I’ll help you. What should I do first? Report to the police station? Drive around the streets and look?”
The last question chilled her. What did she expect to find, Hannah’s body lying beside the road?
“It’ll be all right, Kaycee. We’ll find her.” Mark’s brown eyes looked deep into hers, as if he saw her fear. “Best thing you can do is call Ryan Parksley and go over the names of those friends. See if he missed somebody.”
“Okay. I need to go home first. I have a list of her closest friends and their phone numbers.” A month ago they’d all had a slumber party at Kaycee’s house, and she’d talked to each parent beforehand.
“Good. You should get home as soon as you can. Hannah may turn up there yet. She could be hiding out somewhere, afraid of getting in trouble.”
The words spit fire at Kaycee. Hannah, waiting in desperation for her, while she’d run off to Tricia’s because of her own weakness. Why hadn’t she stayed put last night? She should have been strong, should have fought the fear.
Kaycee pulled in a breath. “Okay. You have my home phone number in your files. Plus I’ll give you my cell. I want to know the minute you learn anything. And I’ll keep in touch with the station.”
Tricia fetched paper and pen. Kaycee scratched out her cell number and thrust the paper into Mark’s hands. Briefly, he gripped her fingers. “We’ll find her, Kaycee.”
She nodded, throat tight, then swiveled toward the guestroom to dress.
THIRTEEN
Cold anger coiled in Nico’s gut as he drove away from Bear’s mansion. The ham and eggs sat like mud in his stomach. Good food couldn’t make up for the threats. Or comparing him to Slim. Nico had to fix one issue he’d “created,” Bear said, while Slim fixed the second. Two too many mistakes. Too much clean-up.
For three years as captain Nico had kept his soldiers in line, made sure his street rackets ran like well-oiled machines. Anybody tried to muscle in, he got taken care of. He’d never made a wrong move. Always proved his loyalty to the family. Had consistently been an earner. Now look at him. This job was the biggest single take the family’d ever seen. And he’d planned it from start to finish.
Some thanks he got.
“Anything goes wrong here, it’s on you.” Bear had leaned over his emptied plate, piercing Nico with a look that said more than the words.
Yeah, yeah.
Nico swerved into the driveway of his two-story house and turned off the engine. He slid out and slammed the door. A phone call to Giordano and a change of cars, and he’d be on his way.
Just as well Bear told him to do this himself, Nico thought as he stalked into his empty house. After the breakfast he’d had, his fingers were itching to pull a trigger.
FOURTEEN
Kaycee left Tricia’s house on trembling legs.
Hannah’s features hung foremost in her mind — the sad gray eyes, the sweet round face framed by light brown hair with bangs. Kaycee could almost see Hannah out there somewhere, begging for her to help.
As Kaycee traipsed down the sidewalk the weight of unseen eyes pressed upon her.
Looking in all directions, she slid into her PT Cruiser. Her fingers pressed like claws against the steering wheel.
Minutes later Kaycee pulled into her own driveway — and the full terror of last night flooded back. In her mind she saw the flash go off in her kitchen, saw the dead man’s photo in her hands. We see you. Her white wood house, once so inviting with its wrap-around porch and columns, now loomed like some bleached monster.
Kaycee’s gaze cruised the front and side yards. No Hannah.
The dimness inside her garage hung threatening and heavy as the automatic door closed. The one light in the ceiling wasn’t enough to dispel the shadows in her head. Clutching her overnight bag and purse, Kaycee stepped out of the garage and walked around to the back. No Hannah. Kaycee gazed across her backyard, the two oak trees, the small shed in the far corner.
Had the police looked there?
She tossed her belongings on the ground and cut across the lawn toward the shed. Kaycee never used the thing, couldn’t remember looking inside it since she moved in. As she reached the middle of her yard, an unspeakable thought rose in her mind. What if Hannah was in there — dead?
A small moan pushed from her. Kaycee raced across the grass and drew up at the shed, hands clasped against her neck. Seconds passed before she found the courage to open the door.
It squeaked on unused hinges. The smell of mold and dirt filtered out. Steeling herself, Kaycee looked inside.
Empty.
Relief overwhelmed her. She pulled back and let go of the handle. The door banged shut.
She walked around to the rear of the shed. No Hannah.
Back near the garage, Kaycee picked up her purse and overnight bag, chiding herself. How could she possibly think Hannah would come this far at night? Surely there were a dozen friends in her own neighborhood she could have run to.
But she never made it, did she?
Kaycee couldn’t allow herself to dwell on that thought. She needed to get in her house and call Ryan Parksley right away. And she didn’t need the distraction of worrying about some camera and a dead man.
With resolve she thrust her key into its lock. She pushed open the door, intending to barrel inside — and a new wave of fright washed over her. Kaycee stopped, peering inside her kitchen like some orphan come to beg. No camera on the table. Nothing out of place.
Heart scudding, she slipped into the house.
The door closed behind Kaycee with finality, as if she’d just entered a tomb.
She dropped her overnight case on the floor, her purse and keys on the counter. The room was too dark. Kaycee flung open the window blinds.
We see you.
The unknown “they” watched as she walked down the short hall off the kitchen. The feeling shivered her skin, but she pushed on. She needed to get to the list of Hannah’s friends in her desk drawer — the ones she’d called for the slumber party. She could imagine Ryan Parksley, beside himself, needing to hear from her.
Kaycee slowed at the doorway to her office and surveyed the room.
Everything looked normal.
She walked to her desk and shuffled through papers from the bottom tier of a metal inbox. There. A list of eight friends. Kaycee sank into her chair and picked up the phone beside her computer.
As she punched in the Parksley’s number, Kaycee remembered she had to finish her newspaper column today. She’d been about to start it last night when Hannah called, asking her to come over right away. The deadline was noon.
How in the world could she possibly think to write?
Ryan answered on the first ring. He sounded like a man on a tight wire. Kaycee read him the names. He’d already called every one.
She closed her eyes, not knowing what to say.
“She’d come to you first, Kaycee.”
“I . . . wasn’t here.”
“I know.”
“And it’s so far. Hannah would be scared to death in the dark. I’m thinking she must have a new friend somewhere . . .”
But who? Hannah confided in Kaycee about everything, and she’d never mentioned a new friend.
Ryan breathed over the line. Kaycee could feel his despair. “It’s my fault,” he said. “Since her mother died, we’ve hardly been able to talk.”
Anger twinged within Kaycee. He and Hannah couldn’t talk? Maybe because he’d shoved the memory of her mother aside in no time and rushed out to get married again. He should have been man enough to face his own grieving. Now he’d caused his daughter double the pain.
“Is there anything she told you, Kaycee? Any place she mentioned where she might go?”
Kaycee racked her brain. Trouble was, Hannah hadn’t wanted to be anywhere but with her. And Kaycee had
told her no. If she’d only said yes — just for the night. This wasn’t Ryan’s fault, it was hers. “I can’t think of anything. I wish I could.”
“Yeah.” The defeat in his voice was palpable. “Okay, well. Keep in touch if you think of something.”
“I will. I’ll be looking for her, Ryan. She’s somewhere close, probably just scared to come out of hiding now.”
“Right. I think so too.”
Of course he did. It was the best solace they had at the moment.
Kaycee hung up the phone, pressed her face in her hands, and prayed.
When she straightened, she focused dull eyes on the wall clock. Seven-forty-five. Had she really woken up only fifty minutes ago? It seemed like hours. Tiredness seeped through her. She needed a shower and coffee. She longed to go out and look for Hannah but knew she should stay in the house. Mark Burnett was right. Officers were searching the streets. She could only remain here and hope Hannah would show up.
Her column. She’d better finish it while she had the chance.
If she could write at all.
With a deep sigh, Kaycee flicked on the computer and pushed to her feet. She headed into the kitchen, anxiety over Hannah clawing at her back and the sensation of being watched tingling her veins. By rote she made coffee and poured it with cream into a stainless-steel mug. She pressed down the lid.
Snatches of lines she should write stole into her mind. It was the second of a humorous two-parter about a recent foray to the dentist. Part one had told the sordid tale of dragging herself into the dreaded dentist’s office because a tooth was bothering her — only to learn she needed two crowns and two large fillings. The only way she’d survive? Drugs, administered by the dentist. Kaycee had decided not to tell him she couldn’t function on such medication.
Toting her coffee, Kaycee circled the long way around to her office, stopping first to open curtains in the dining room, the living room, and den. At each window she peered outside, praying to catch sight of Hannah, afraid she would see them. Whoever they were.
Kaycee returned to her desk and sat down. Staring at the fiery sunset picture on her desktop, she searched within herself for the concentration to write. Her eyes soon pulled to the phone. Please, somebody, call. Tell me Hannah’s safe.
Exposure Page 6