Exposure

by Brandilyn Collins

  Coffee mug to her lips, Kaycee reluctantly reached for the mouse. At her touch the desktop picture blipped off — to a photo of the dead man with half-open eyes. Blood spilled from his head in a sickening puddle. And he lay on a dark yellow floor.

  FIFTEEN

  Martin was knotting his tie before the bedroom mirror when the phone rang out in the living room. He barely registered it. His head felt like mush, and his insides still trembled. He hadn’t slept all night, going over and over his interview with the police. Had he tripped up anywhere?

  Lorraine’s voice filtered from Tammy’s room. She was trying to get their daughter up for preschool. The rundown school, as inexpensive as they could find, was sponsored by a church. Even so it pinched their budget. But Lorraine had insisted Tammy needed the “socializing” even if she couldn’t go every day.

  Soon they could send her to a much better school.

  Martin finished the knot and pushed it upward. Nico was supposed to send one of his men over with the money today. Martin still didn’t know where he’d hide it. He sure couldn’t stick it in their account at Trust Bank.

  The phone rang again. This time the sound drilled through Martin’s head. Nico?

  He dashed for the living room and snatched up the receiver. “AC Storage.”

  “Martin.” Nico’s voice.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m comin’ to see you. Ten minutes.”

  Ten minutes! Martin threw a look down the hall toward Tammy’s bedroom. He turned toward the wall, lowering his voice. “My family’s still here.”

  “Your wife know anything?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes!”

  “Good. Get ’em out.”

  “It’s not that easy. My daughter’s slow getting dressed.”

  “You’ll think of something.”

  Martin pressed a hand to his forehead. “I just don’t know how to do that.”

  “You want your money or not?”

  “Yeah, but — ”

  “See you in ten minutes. Unlock your front door to let me know they’re gone, or you lose the money. Don’t cross me, Giordano.”

  The line clicked.

  Martin slammed down the phone. What was he supposed to tell Lorraine?

  “Who was that?”

  He whirled around. Lorraine stood at the top of the hall, Tammy’s hairbrush in her hands. Lorraine’s own long strawberry blonde hair wasn’t even combed, and she still wore her pajamas. This would never work.

  “I — nobody.”

  “What do you mean, nobody?”

  “Wrong number.”

  Lorraine gave him a look. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting strange since you woke up.”

  Martin’s eyes flicked to the kitchen wall clock. Nine minutes. “I was held up at gunpoint last night, in case you forgot.”

  Her face softened. “Of course I didn’t forget, honey.” Lorraine followed his glance to the clock, then refocused on him, puzzled.

  He stared at her. “Why don’t you go get dressed?”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “Well, work faster.”

  She cocked her head. “Okay, what’s going on. Who was on the phone?”

  “Just get dressed. Please. You and Tammy need to leave.”

  “Tammy’s still in bed, sick again. She’s not going anywhere today.”

  Martin felt the blood drain from his face. “You have to take her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . . because she’s missing too many days.”

  “But she’s sick.”

  Panic ballooned in Martin’s chest. “She’ll feel better. Just take her!”

  “Martin, what is wrong with you?”

  He looked at her, helpless, a dozen lies trailing through his head. His wife was too smart and independent. She wasn’t going to just let him push her out the door.

  “Please, Lorraine, just trust me.” He looked at the clock. Seven minutes. “I need you out of here.”

  She drew herself up, her expression firming. Defiance shone in her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”

  “I — I can’t.”

  “Why? ”

  “Because it’s . . .” He thrust a hand into his hair. A hundred thousand dollars. For Tammy. For them. In six minutes they were going to lose a hundred thousand dollars. “Please, Lorraine, just go.”

  Her jaw flexed. “No.”

  In seconds Martin closed the gap between them. He pushed his face in hers. “Get out of here. Now.”

  She glared back. “I told you — I’m not taking Tammy out today.”

  “You have to!”

  “No, I don’t!”

  “Lorraine — ” He swung away, head swiveling left and right. His brain could hardly focus. “Where are your car keys?”

  “Martin, I’m not — ”

  He grabbed her arms. “Where are your car keys?”

  “Get off me!” She flung him away. The hairbrush fell to the floor.

  “Mommy!” Tammy’s voice cut through Martin’s senses. He jerked his head toward the hallway. She stood outside her door, teddy bear trailing in her hand.

  “Tammy, go back to bed!” he snapped. Instant tears welled in her eyes.

  “Don’t you yell at her.” Lorraine turned and bent down, putting her hands on her knees. “Tammy, honey, go back to bed.”

  “But Daddy’s — ”

  Lorraine scooted down the hall toward her. “Go on now. I’ll be with you in a sec.” She nudged Tammy back into her room.

  Martin’s eyes raked to the clock. Less than five minutes. He slapped both hands to his head. Too late, this wouldn’t work. He’d go outside, wait for Nico in the parking lot —

  And watch the man drive right on by. One thing Nico had insisted on from day one: follow instructions perfectly or all bets are off.

  Surely Nico would come back and hand him the money later. He’d have to pay up or Martin might give him over to the cops.

  Right, and give himself up in the process? Nico knew he wouldn’t do that. Besides, if he did, he wouldn’t live to see nightfall. And what about Lorraine and Tammy?

  “Don’t cross me, Martin. ” If he didn’t do this right, they could all be killed.

  Lorraine closed Tammy’s door and stalked back to him, arms folded. “You better talk to me.”

  Martin’s wild gaze fell to the kitchen table by the window — and Lorraine’s purse. He yanked it up and thrust it into her arms, crazy words spilling from his mouth. “Listen to me. Grab Tammy and drive away from here right now. Stay gone for half an hour. A man’s coming over, and if he finds you here we’re going to lose a lot of money. Go!”

  She gawked at him. “What money?”

  “Leave.” Martin pushed her hard. Lorraine stumbled sideways two steps, shock creasing her forehead, then righted herself. She twisted back to stare at Martin.

  “Is this about the bank robbery?”

  Martin felt his face crumble. “Please, Lorraine.”

  Her eyes widened. “It isn’t, right? Tell me it isn’t.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “Then why don’t I believe you?”

  He licked his lips. “I . . . I just want Tammy to get well.”

  Lorraine processed the words. She looked at him from the corner of her eye, as if afraid to hear what was coming next. “I want her to get well too, Martin.”

  Desperation flooded his veins. “Lorraine, go. This man’s part of the mob. If he finds you here, he’ll kill us all.”

  “The mob? As in Mafia?” Color drained from Lorraine’s cheeks. Martin could read her thoughts. The Mafia were in movies, not real life. Not their life. “What have you done?”

  “Just get Tammy out of here!”

  Mouth open, she ogled Martin, fear and confusion wrenching her expression. He knew she’d never leave him alone in trouble. But the thought of Tammy being hurt . . .

&nbs
p; She snatched up Tammy’s hairbrush and ran down the hall.

  Martin dropped his head in his hands. A second . . . two ticked by. He was going to explode. Suddenly he remembered Nico’s instruction about the door. He hurried over and unlocked it.

  From outside drifted the sound of a car. Heart in his throat, Martin jumped to a window and peered through the curtains.

  Nico had arrived.

  SIXTEEN

  At the sight of the horrific picture, Kaycee rocked back in her chair. The coffee mug smacked against her mouth, sloshing hot liquid across her lips. “Aah!” She dropped the mug and shoved her rolling chair away from the desk. The mug landed with a crack, spewing coffee on the hardwood floor.

  Robotlike, she bent over and righted it.

  Kaycee stared at the monitor, lips throbbing.

  Same dead man. But this shot wasn’t a close-up. It showed the body down to the chest, the man’s arms splayed out. In bold letters across the bottom of the picture ran one word.

  Exposure.

  A strangled sound seeped from Kaycee’s throat. That dark yellow floor. It was the same one from her dream. And the spilled blood looked just the same.

  How did they know her dream?

  We see you. Exposure.

  On her desktop the dead man flashed away. The crimson-yellow sunset reappeared.

  Kaycee’s heartbeat sounded in her ears.

  A loud bang burst from the street. Kaycee yelped. She jerked to her right, peered through the den and out a front window.

  A truck. Just an old truck. Backfiring. Kaycee pressed a hand to her racing heart. She was about to throw up.

  Her mouth and chin burned. Leaving the spilled coffee, she jumped up and ran to the kitchen. She yanked open the freezer door and grabbed three ice cubes. With fumbling fingers she threw them into a plastic zip bag and pressed the coldness against her skin.

  Kaycee leaned weakly against the counter. Her mind couldn’t process what had just happened. How could somebody do that to her computer? Why? Who were these people? What did they want?

  Exposure. Like the title of her column about the woman afraid of cameras . . .

  The phone rang.

  Hannah.

  Kaycee threw the ice bag in the sink and snatched up the receiver, not stopping to check the incoming ID. “Hello?”

  “Kaycee, this is Chief Davis.”

  The police chief — a kind and patient man in his mid-fifties, with little hair left and a lean, angular face. “Did you find Hannah?”

  “No. We went through her house. No sign of forced entry. Her parents report no strange phone calls. And Hannah doesn’t have access to Internet that they don’t know about. Has she ever been on the Internet at your house?”

  His words were clipped, but he sounded so calm. Kaycee knew that was part of his job, but how could he sound so calm?

  “No. She’s never been on my computer at all. Hannah doesn’t even talk about MySpace or anything like that.”

  “Okay, good. I’m calling to give you a heads-up. In searching her room we found a note beneath her pillow. Her father says it’s Hannah’s handwriting.”

  “What did it say?”

  “Let me read it to you. I’ve got it bagged up here.”

  Kaycee’s lips throbbed.

  “ ‘I’ve run away. Don’t look for me. I’ll come back when I’m ready. Dad, why did you marry Gail? You act like you’ve forgotten Mom. And me. I asked Kaycee if I could live with her, but she said no. So I’m leaving.’ ”

  She said no. Heat shot through Kaycee’s limbs. She couldn’t bear to imagine it — Hannah walking out into the night because of her. If she’d just let the girl stay with her for a few days . . .

  “Kaycee?”

  “I — yeah.” She could hardly breathe. What had happened to Hannah? She apparently hadn’t tried to come here after all. So where did she go? They should have found her by now. A beautiful little girl out alone after dark.

  “Listen to me, Kaycee, this is not your fault.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It isn’t. Don’t go there. Believe me, Ryan Parksley is feeling enough guilt for the both of you. I’ve left an officer to stay with them and help them get through this.” Kaycee heard muted voices in the background. “But guilt won’t help Hannah right now. We need everyone involved to focus on any possibilities of where she might have gone.”

  “I just can’t think of any place else. I talked to Ryan about her friends who spent the night here. He’d called them all.”

  “We’re already starting to interview each of those girls. Maybe one of them knows something.”

  “What else can you do?” Kaycee couldn’t imagine where to look first, if Hannah’s friends proved to be no help.

  “I’ve called in everyone on our force — that’s eleven officers total. We’re giving this our full attention. I’ve got officers going door to door in Hannah’s neighborhood, and we’ll come through yours. Her room has been sealed. We’re putting her information out on NCIC — the National Crime Information Center. It will start being disseminated regionally, then on throughout the country.”

  Kaycee’s nerves prickled. Her mouth wouldn’t stop stinging. This didn’t sound right. NCIC, checking the house for forced entry, sealing Hannah’s room . . . “But that sounds so . . . I mean, she ran away. She’s somewhere close.”

  “Most likely so.” The chief’s voice remained even. Kaycee knew he was trying to console her. In the worst of circumstances, or talking to the craziest of people, the chief was known to employ what he called his “velvet touch.” No matter what was said — or had to be said — he remained calm and respectful. “But we always work on a worst-case scenario. We have to.”

  Sealed. As in crime scene. Abduction. A shudder ran down Kaycee’s back. She couldn’t consider the possibility. She couldn’t.

  Papers rustled. “Now while I’ve got you — I have a report on my desk about Officer Burnett being called to your house last night. I’ve only had time to glance at it. You thought someone had broken in. Something about a camera — ”

  “It’s nothing.” Kaycee pictured the dead man on her computer, the dark yellow floor.

  “You obviously didn’t think that last night.”

  “Chief, really, forget it. It’s just like before — I got scared over nothing. Just find Hannah. I want to help look for her. What can I do?”

  “Nothing right now. Ryan Parksley wants to be doing something too. The hardest thing is simply to wait. But if Hannah ran away as we expect, she could return anytime. I’ve asked Mr. Parksley to stay home in case she comes back. And it’s just as possible — perhaps even more — that Hannah will call you. So the best thing you can do for now is stay by the phone.”

  “I can’t help knock on doors? Do something?”

  “The Parksleys’ neighbors are already calling to volunteer their help. This is Wilmore. You know how fast news travels.”

  Yes, she did. Every person called would phone ten more.

  “But they don’t know Hannah like I do.”

  “I understand.” The chief’s tone remained gentle. “You are special to Hannah. That’s why we think she may try to contact you. At least for the next couple hours, the best thing you can do is stay there. If she calls, you need to persuade her to tell you where she is.”

  Kaycee’s chin dropped. “Okay.” But it wasn’t. Hanging around her house didn’t feel productive at all.

  “Thanks, Kaycee. I — yes?” The last word muffled, as if Chief Davis had turned from his receiver. “Be right there.” His voice cleared. “Kaycee, let me know the minute you hear or think of anything. And we’ll keep in touch with you.”

  “Okay, Chief — thanks for telling me about the note.”

  “No problem.”

  The line clicked in her ear.

  Mind whirling, Kaycee set the phone on the counter and picked up the ice bag from the sink, pressing it to her mouth and chin. She stumbled to the kitchen table, sank into a chair. H
annah, where are you? Kaycee stared at the center of the table — and her thoughts flipped to the camera sitting there the previous night. She hadn’t imagined it. Unless she now wanted to believe she’d imagined the picture on her desktop too.

  The horrific realization sank into her being.

  But how did they know about the yellow floor in her dream? How were they doing this?

  No. This couldn’t be. Maybe that desktop photo was all in her mind. With the dream still echoing in her head, she’d subconsciously conjured the picture with details to match.

  But deep in her heart she knew she hadn’t. She’d seen that picture on her computer. It was real.

  Exposure. We see you.

  The skin on Kaycee’s back crawled. She twisted to look behind her.

  Nothing. Just a silent house. It roared in her ears.

  But someone had been here last night. They’d put that camera on this very table. And they’d hacked into her computer to flash a second picture on her desktop. They were watching.

  Her worst fear come true.

  Panic burst in Kaycee’s chest. She had to tell Chief Davis!

  Kaycee threw down the ice bag and shoved back her chair. She jumped to her feet and made for the phone —

  Wait.

  She jerked to a stop, hands hanging in the air. She couldn’t do this, not now. Call the chief and pull some officer from looking for Hannah so he could come here and look around? And what would he find anyway? The camera was gone. The photo on her computer had vanished into cyberspace. Mark had checked the whole house last night and found nothing.

  No way could she take police attention away from Hannah for another dead-end search. Besides, they’d just think she was seeing things again.

  A tremble started in Kaycee’s gut. She stumbled to the table and sat again, thinking of her mother. What would Monica Raye have done in a situation like this?

  Gone stark raving mad, that’s what.

  “God.” Kaycee tipped her face toward the heavens. “Please help me. And bring Hannah home safe. Now. ” The minute Hannah was found, Kaycee would call Chief Davis about all this. He’d get to the bottom of it. Somehow. He’d make it stop. Maybe he’d call in a tech, and they’d take apart her computer, find out who’d hacked into it . . .