Exposure

by Brandilyn Collins

  If she survived this night, what would be left of her?

  “You have no choice but to come with me, Kaycee. Without sound, with no resistance.”

  Mark. Dead. Because of her. Tears clawed her eyes.

  “Why should I?”

  “Because Hannah is waiting for you.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  The flashlight beam shone on hundred dollar bills. Stacks of them.

  The box flaps slipped from Lorraine’s hand and closed. She rocked back on her knees, heart thudding.

  For a long second her brain blanked to whiteness.

  Lorraine set the flashlight on its end and reached for the flaps again, spreading them apart. She snatched up a tightly bound stack of bills and feathered the ends with her gloved thumb. Then explored the lower layers in the box with the flashlight. More hundred dollar stacks.

  Separated by denomination, Martin had told her. They’d repacked the bills into these boxes in the same way.

  Reality screamed down on her head. They. The Mafia. And all this money. This was real. She had to get out of here.

  Lorraine leapt to her feet and grabbed up the open box. She lumbered to the van with weighted steps and heaved it inside. With both hands she pushed it back as far as she could. Sweeping aside the bolt cutter, she climbed into the van and shoved the box up toward the driver’s seat, right behind her suitcase and purse.

  She threw a glance at Tammy. Still sleeping.

  Lorraine reversed out of the van, her knees slapping against the thin rubber flooring. On her feet she hesitated, then ripped off the heavy gloves and tossed them to the ground. It would be easier working without them. She twisted back into the storage unit for a second box.

  Back and forth she went, waddling out of the unit, arms loaded, then running back for more. In her head she counted the boxes. One . . . two . . . three . . . She pushed each one toward the front of the van. Kneeling inside, she had to stack the boxes in two layers. Without the leverage of her legs, they pulled at her arms like lead.

  By the time the fifth box was loaded, Lorraine was exhausted. Her pace slowed.

  As she backed out of the van after the eighth one, a pickup truck passed on Huff Street. Lorraine carved to a stop, chest heaving.

  The truck drove on.

  For interminable seconds she hung there, eyes glued to the pavement in front of the apartment. Watching for the wash of headlights. In one minute she could be dead, Tammy left here in the dark all alone. What had she been thinking? Her grief had clouded her head.

  No lights came.

  Lorraine whirled back inside the unit.

  She snatched up the flashlight and aimed it at her watch. Twelve forty-five. Every minute she stayed tempted fate. Maybe the robbers would stay away from this place for days. Maybe not.

  Lorraine picked up the ninth box — and her hands gave out. The box slipped sideways from her fingers. One end landed on her right toes.

  Breath hissed between her teeth. She yanked her foot from beneath the box, and it whumped on its top to the floor. Lorraine bent over, whimpers spilling from her throat. She pressed a hand against the throbbing toes, blinking back tears.

  “Mommy!” Tammy’s frightened wail rose from the van. “Mommy!”

  No.

  Lorraine jerked up and hobbled toward the passenger side door. Flinging it open, she pulled Tammy into a hug. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

  Tammy clung to her. “Where were you?” Her voice was thick from sleep.

  “Just behind the van. I’m close, sweetie. Always close.”

  Tammy’s chest convulsed. She raised her head. “What’re you doing? Why’re we here?”

  Lorraine smoothed her daughter’s hair. Her gaze flicked over Tammy’s head and out the driver’s window toward Starling Street. They needed to leave. “I’m just putting some things in the back, that’s all. You need to go back to sleep.”

  “Stay here.”

  Fear chewed Lorraine’s nerves. She fought to keep her voice even. “Tammy, I’ll be just a few feet away, I promise. I need to load some more stuff. You know, like when we go to the grocery store?”

  “We’re not at the store.”

  “I know. Please, Tammy, just . . . Can you go back to sleep? Here’s Belinda.” Lorraine pushed the bear into her little girl’s arms.

  “I wanna help.”

  “You can’t help. Just stay here.”

  “But — ”

  “No, Tammy.” Panic edged Lorraine’s voice. What was she doing out here? Now her daughter was awake, and her toes pulsed with pain, and she had four more boxes to load.

  Tammy started to cry. Lorraine’s eyes slipped shut. Now she’d done it. Why hadn’t she kept her tone calm?

  She pressed her palms against Tammy’s cheeks, feeling moisture beneath her fingertips. Lorraine’s heart rat-tatted, and her ankles shook. “Look at me.” She forced a little smile. “Your mommy’s right here. I’m just going to finish loading the van, then I’ll get back in my seat. But you need to stay here. You need to wait. Okay?”

  Tammy’s big eyes blinked, her mouth trembling. She hugged Belinda to her chest. “Okay.”

  Relief flooded Lorraine. “That’s my girl.” She backed up and started to shut the door.

  “No, leave it open!”

  Lorraine’s arms halted, her mouth opening to say no.

  “Okay. I’ll leave it like this. Halfway.”

  Before Tammy could protest, she turned and ran, limping, toward the storage unit.

  Her toes throbbed as she moved the ninth box. The van was nearly filled. Tammy stayed quiet. Even if she called out now, Lorraine couldn’t stop. A terrified voice in her brain screamed for her to get out of here.

  Her arms could barely carry the tenth box. By the eleventh her wrists threatened to give out. Teethed clenched, she dropped it into the back of the van with a heavy thud. She pushed it to the right, even with the two stacked boxes on the left. The last box would have to be lifted on top of this one.

  Lorraine’s legs wobbled. Shoving her fists onto the floor of the van, she slumped over and pulled in air. She couldn’t manage that final box. No way.

  The memories flooded back — Martin’s frozen face, his blood on the floor. In her mind’s eye she pictured his killer’s corpse, twice as bloody. The other three robbers — also dead. She imagined the rage within the Mafia family as they searched for money they’d never find.

  Lorraine’s mouth twisted. She pushed up straight, every muscle in her body flaring.

  For you, Martin.

  She turned and reentered the storage unit.

  Her arms could not handle the last box. She shoved it with one foot across the floor and out to the van. There she bent down, took a deep breath, and willed herself to lift it. Her back strained as she struggled to edge one corner above the floor of the van. That done, she rested for a moment, holding the box’s other end and gulping air.

  Lorraine eyed the eleventh box, envisioning this one on top. You can do this.

  A final wave of power flushed through her. Grimacing, Lorraine lifted her burden one more time and raised it inch by inch until its bottom cleared the eleventh box. With two hands she pushed it into place.

  Puffing, she stood back and blinked in amazement at the loaded van. The doors would just close.

  Lorraine glanced toward Huff and Starling streets, then reached down to pick up the gloves. Putting them on, she hurried inside the unit to fetch her flashlight and the bolt cutter. She threw them into the van on top of a box. Lorraine pulled down the unit door, wincing at the sound it made. She tore off the gloves and tossed them into the van. Nerves humming, she closed up the rear.

  Almost there.

  Lorraine ran to the driver’s door and yanked it open. She flung herself into the seat, slammed the door, and started the engine. Only then did she notice the passenger door hanging ajar. Tammy had wriggled toward the console, her head flopped in Lorraine’s direction, Belinda on the seat to her right. Lorraine thrust a
hand on the console and heaved over her daughter toward the door. Tammy shifted beneath her weight and mumbled. Lorraine leaned farther, left hand reaching for the door handle.

  “Nnnn.” Tammy tried to push her off.

  Lorraine stretched her arm out but couldn’t touch the door. Tammy fought. Lorraine ignored her. She jerked her right hand from the console to the far side of Tammy’s seat and lunged for the door.

  Belinda rolled off the seat to the ground.

  “No!” Tammy cried.

  Lorraine’s fingers closed on the handle. She yanked the door closed.

  “Belinda!” Tammy reached for the door handle.

  “Stop!” Lorraine caught her arms. “I’ll get her.”

  Movement past the two storage buildings caught Lorraine’s eye. Her gaze cut toward it.

  Light. Washing the concrete. Someone had turned in off Huff Street.

  FORTY-FIVE

  They left through Kaycee’s dining room door that opened onto the wrap-around section of the porch. It was already unlocked. Rodney smirked at her. “Locks never stopped me. But you know that.”

  He closed the door and pushed her off the porch onto grass. “Over there. Toward the barn.”

  Terror bubbled in Kaycee’s lungs. That barn was dark. With a dead man in it. “I know Hannah’s not in there. That barn was searched.”

  “Keep your voice down. We’re going around the fence to the back.”

  He gripped her arm hard and pulled her forward. As they neared the fence he veered right. Kaycee stumbled along, trying not to fall. God, just let me get to Hannah.

  They hit an area of trees bordering the backyard of a house on South Walnut. Rodney yanked Kaycee left, all the way down until South Walnut dead-ended. A dark-colored SUV sat waiting. Rodney shoved her into the backseat.

  “Lie down.”

  She obeyed.

  He ran around to the driver’s side, jumped in, and started the car.

  Gripping the edge of the seat, Kaycee lifted her head a few inches. She focused her gaze high, angled through the window, intent on watching where they were headed. All she could see was trees and telephone poles going by. The car drove a block, maybe two, and turned left.

  East Linden. Kaycee pictured the street in her mind.

  A short distance, a stop. A second left turn.

  South Lexington — Highway 29.

  Kaycee sat up.

  “Get down!”

  “You see anybody on the streets?” She turned around and looked back toward the stoplight at the East Main intersection. “This is Wilmore.”

  “Do you want Hannah to live?”

  Kaycee lay down.

  No more turns. They were headed out of Wilmore toward High Bridge. She felt the car climb a hill. They stopped. Kaycee twisted her head up and saw a stoplight. Lowry Lane. On the edge of town.

  Rodney drove on, past all streetlights into darkness.

  Kaycee pressed her face into the seat. This road was long and rural, passing wooded areas and curving toward the Kentucky River. So many hiding places. They’d never find her and Hannah.

  The car slowed. Already? Kaycee stretched her neck up and peered around the front seat through the windshield. Rodney turned right, the headlights washing over a sign that read Shanty Hill Road.

  Shanty Hill. A narrow hilly road, practically one lane. Kaycee had driven down it once. She’d seen an occasional house, and some distance down on the right, a sign for the Asbury College Equine Center. College students boarded their horses there and studied Equine Management. The program was run by the mayor of Wilmore.

  In daylight Shanty Hill was a pretty road. Now after midnight, blackness claimed the countryside in thick, smothering velvet.

  Kaycee’s breath snagged. She shrank down to the seat and held on.

  They curved sharply to the left. Kaycee remembered that hairpin turn. It was past the Equine Center. She counted about thirty seconds. The car slowed and turned left. Gravel popped under the tires.

  A driveway.

  The popping ceased. The SUV hitched and bumped. Seconds drew out, a minute, and still they drove. Kaycee visualized an unused rutted road snaking into the woods. Far from people and help.

  Without warning the screams and running footsteps from her dream rose in her brain. The shrinking, stifling sense of a dark, closed space.

  Panic wrapped around Kaycee’s throat. Rodney had made her dream about whatever horror he had planned, hadn’t he? I still need something from you . . .

  They rounded a curve. Long seconds later the car stopped. She couldn’t move.

  Rodney slid from behind the wheel and opened the back door. He snatched up a handful of Kaycee’s hair and yanked hard. “Get out.”

  FORTY-SIX

  Headlights.

  Lorraine had only seconds. She threw the van into gear and surged left toward Starling.

  “No!” Tammy writhed in her seat. “Belinda!”

  “We’ll get her, we’ll get her!”

  Lorraine’s back was rammed straight, her fingers like claws around the steering wheel. She had no time to disappear down Starling. At the corner of building two she cut to the right and drove behind the units. Her headlights were off, illumination from the nearest tall lamp receding behind her. She strained to see in the growing dimness. No wash of light was visible from the vehicle at the other end of the lot. Lorraine could only hope that as she passed this side of the building, it passed the other.

  Tammy smacked her window and wailed for Belinda. The sounds hissed in Lorraine’s ears. “Be quiet!”

  The little girl only cried louder.

  At the next corner Lorraine braked hard. Tammy slid forward in her seat, caught by her seatbelt.

  “Mommy, stop it!”

  Lorraine edged the van forward. Leaning as far toward the windshield as possible, she peered to the right down the long side of the building. No car. No lights. The Huff entrance, at the other end of the lot and to the left, was empty. Whoever turned in had passed building two. The driver would now be between the parallel storage buildings.

  “I want Belinda!” Tammy threw herself across the console as far as the belt would let her, little hands pummeling Lorraine’s shoulder. Surely she was loud enough to be heard. Lorraine wanted to clamp both hands over her mouth.

  “Be quiet, Tammy!”

  She swerved around the corner and sped down the length of building two.

  At the bottom she slid to another stop. Tammy pitched forward again. Her seatbelt caught with a snap. She let out a wail.

  Lorraine rolled forward until she could see around the corner.

  No one there.

  It was him. Had to be. Martin’s killer, maybe some of the other robbers, skulking in the night to unit seven to clean out their millions.

  Lorraine threw a wild look toward the Huff entrance. She could make it without being seen — as long as those men stayed up by unit seven. She wanted to roll down her window and listen in the darkness, but Tammy shrieked on. One crack of the window, and they’d hear her.

  Lorraine’s chest tightened. By now they would be finding the broken hasp. They’d see Belinda.

  “Mommyyy!”

  Gritting her teeth, Lorraine whipped the wheel toward the entrance and hit the gas.

  Every second seemed a lifetime. She wanted to screech out of there but couldn’t risk being heard. The van was old, but at least its engine ran quietly.

  She checked in the rearview mirror, seeing only the long stretch of concrete leading up to the apartment. It would be the last glimpse of the life she’d had with Martin.

  The Huff entrance jumped into view on her right. Barely slowing to check traffic, she darted into the road.

  Lorraine accelerated to the next block, then swerved in a right turn. Her muscles hardened to granite. Any minute she expected a car to materialize behind her, shots to ring out.

  At the next block she veered left.

  Then right again. Then left.

  She kept up
the jagged pattern, her mind clamped down, all thoughts on hold.

  Tammy cried herself out and lay back in her seat, panting. “You didn’t get Belinda.” Her voice trembled with exhaustion and bitterness. “You lied to me, you said you’d get her, but you didn’t.”

  Lorraine’s throat ached. What had she done to her daughter this night? What would they do for the rest of their lives?

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you another bear.”

  “I don’t want another bear.”

  At the edge of town Lorraine spotted a sign for the freeway. She sped up the on ramp, not knowing, not caring which way they were headed.

  Not until a few exits had passed did she see they were traveling south.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Kaycee half fell from the SUV, her pulse a hard, steady grind. By the roots of her hair Rodney pulled her up. Needles dug through her scalp. She gasped and staggered, getting her bearings. Through the blackness she could barely make out trees all around her. Vague dual tracks ribboned behind the car’s wheels, soon disappearing into the night. Before her slumped an abandoned cabin with sagging porch and soulless windows.

  Rodney dug his fingers into her arm. She flinched. “Where’s Hannah?”

  “Inside.”

  “There’s no lights in there.” The thought of a young girl in the dark by herself made Kaycee want to shriek. Was Hannah tied up? Hurt?

  Rodney pushed Kaycee’s back. “Go.”

  She tripped up the two porch steps and went down on one knee. Rodney lugged her upright. At the battered entrance he fished in his pocket for a key.

  When he pulled the door open its hinges moaned.

  They stepped into greater darkness, dispelled only from a wedge of light oozing beneath a closed door on the left. Kaycee blinked, her eyes adjusting. They stood in a sullen and tangled room, a ragged couch, table and chairs at angles, a bookcase of broken, emptied shelves. A bare bulb hung from the ceiling. To the back on the right lay a semblance of a kitchen. The place smelled of must and dirt and a thick heaviness.