by Alice Sharpe
As for Jack? He was hopefully doing what he knew how to do best and that was locating Sabrina, and there was no way she was going to get in the middle of that. She’d change places with her sister in a blink if she could, but the depressing fact was that there’d been no further sense of contact. Sabrina had disappeared, it seemed, from the earth and from Sophie’s psyche.
She took a taxi—not a green one—back to the Cromwell house and used the back door key she’d taken from the hook in the kitchen the last time she was there. She was careful to relock the door before making her way to Sabrina’s computer. The light was blinking on the desk answering machine and Sophie decided to listen to the messages. How ironic would it be if Sabrina had called home on the off chance someone was there to answer her call and no one knew it.
But the calls were from Jack, people at work, people Sophie didn’t know, the vet’s office and Buzz, all begging her to respond. And these were just the calls to the home phone—who knew how many had been made to Sabrina’s cell wherever that was?
She’d heard them all and learned zilch. She pressed the save button, just in case...
Just in case this all wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed. She switched on a lamp to combat the darkness, plugged in her cell to recharge the battery that had gone dead hours before and booted up the computer, where she looked for and found the email she recalled reading a couple of days ago.
Guess what? He asked me again. This time, I don’t know, it was different. It was as though he was finally seeing me the way he used to... It made me remember what we once had. I know he’s been confiding in you and I want you to know that your advice has been invaluable to both of us. I still love him and if we can make this marriage work, well, that would be wonderful. So, no calls, no email or texting, no internet or television. Just him and me in a friend’s cabin, alone, together for five days. Maybe we can recapture what we lost.
Thanks for being his friend and mine. You’re an angel. Have a great time on your hiking trip. Bunny.
On the night Sophie was shot, Joy had told her about her husband’s friend with the broken marriage and the way Sabrina had helped. The friend’s husband was a fireman just like Joy’s husband was. Somewhere in her medicated mind, Sophie had connected some of these dots with this email she’d read days before, an email signed by Bunny, which today Joy confirmed was Barbara Woods’s nickname.
Sabrina was Kyle’s friend, not his lover. Kyle was off with Bunny in an apparently secluded location, purposely shutting out the world in a battle to win back his wife.
As Sophie picked up the desk phone to call Reece, the computer went dark and the lights went off, plunging the bedroom into near blackness. The sounds of the storm—the creaking, the rain pounding on the metal roof and the wind banging limbs against the windows—now escalated, making the unfamiliar house feel scary. She carefully found her way to the bedroom door from which, through the front window, she could see falling rain highlighted by the sidewalk lamps outside. A porch light flicked on down the block. And that upped the spook factor.
Hairs on the back of her neck rose for no reason. She had to get out of this house. She turned on her heels to run to the kitchen but an explosion of shattering glass drove her to the floor, where she instinctively covered her face. She heard a thud as something heavy landed inside the room with her, then crunching sounds. Glass pieces fell from her shoulders and hair as she scrambled to her feet. She glanced at what was left of the front window, where the dark hulking shape of a man approached through the rubble. She took off again, desperate to reach the back door, where she could escape into the neighbor’s yard. She hadn’t taken more than a half a dozen steps when two hands grabbed her from behind. A cloth covered her lower face, killing a scream before it could escape her throat. She sank into unconsciousness.
Chapter Twelve
It took a while to jump through the hoops but Jack finally found himself seated in Sheriff Leroy Donner’s office. “You see, son, Reece,” he said in what sounded like a Deep South drawl, “has to please Chief Holt and Holt has to please the commissioner—plus we’re just getting over a holiday weekend. I swear, this whole city stops on a holiday, any holiday. Plus Reece is a cautious man. I am not. No siree. My calling card is blazing guns and everyone knows it.”
Well, Jack had wanted someone who would act and it looked as though he’d found his man. Still, the guy was over the top. Big, florid, stuffed into his tan uniform and bursting with self-importance, he made a hard pill to swallow.
“I actually remember old Alastair Becket,” Donner added. “He’s the geezer who left Adam Cook that nice little piece of hillside up there near Glenville. Quiet guy. Traveled all over the countryside taking pictures and developing them in his basement darkroom. The library and courthouse are full of his work. Personally, I think it’s boring.”
Unlike, Jack supposed, the painting of a tiger hauling its prey off into the jungle that hung above the sheriff’s desk. “There’s a darkroom in the basement of that old house?” Jack asked.
“Yeah. Nice one, or at least it used to be.”
He mentally slapped himself. Adam Cook had a link to photography, too. What if he’d also been taking pictures of Sabrina? Why hadn’t Adam gone inside that dumpy tan house and looked for a basement?
“Anyway,” the sheriff continued, “I wouldn’t mind going up there and introducing myself to Adam, have a look around, push a few buttons. First thing tomorrow, that’s what I’ll do. If anything makes me suspect the guy is involved in Mrs. Cromwell’s disappearance, I’ll tear the place apart. You have my word.”
“Your word is good enough for me,” Jack said, and endured a bone-crushing handshake. He had hoped things would start happening tonight but maybe it was better this way. The sheriff was a bulldozer—pushing too hard in the wrong places might drive things forward with awful consequences.
One way or another, he’d finesse Cook into showing him the basement before the sheriff got there.
He left the station with big plans. First Cook’s basement and, if that didn’t produce any results, on to Betty Nash’s place. If she’d been off to an appointment surely she’d be home by now. Back in the car, he checked his phone again and found that though he still hadn’t received any calls, he had been sent a text from someone he didn’t know two hours before.
Hi, it’s me, Sophie, he read. I’m using Joy’s phone because my battery is dead. The thing is, I need to look at something at Sabrina’s house so I’m taking a taxi over there (not with Paul Rey at the wheel, I promise). I don’t want you to drop everything and come running, okay? Just wanted you to know that’s where I am. I’ll meet you there whenever. Love you.
His lips curved. She loved him.
He immediately punched in her number and once again, it went to voice mail. Must still be out of juice.
All the same, he decided to go to the Cromwell house before driving back out into the country to check Cook’s and Nash’s places. The car’s wipers fought the deluge while an annoying bumper-hugging orange subcompact rode his tailpipe. He wasn’t positive why he felt anxious unless he was worried Sophie might be in danger. Hell, as long as Paul Rey was running around loose, of course she was in danger! He took a wrong turn, twice, and gritted his teeth.
The sight of Buzz and Sabrina’s utterly dark house on a block of illuminated homes took a big old bite out of his gut. He grabbed a flashlight out of the console and ran up the front walk to come to a dead halt on the porch. The front window was gone, broken, glass both inside and out. He glimpsed something at his feet and bent to pick up one of the hated origami foxes. He climbed into the living room, where glass covered almost every surface. He conducted a hasty search of the house and found Sophie’s phone plugged in next to Sabrina’s computer. The flashlight died as he searched the backyard. Dripping wet again, he called the police.
He gave Dispatch the address. “A woman has been attacked a
nd is now missing. Paul Rey may be chasing her. Get people out here to search the neighborhood. Her name is Sophia Sparrow. Have Reece call Jack Travers ASAP.”
He ran outside and looked up and down the street, then he got in his car and unfolded his fist to reveal the crumpled dollar bill. Had they all underestimated Rey’s determination and adaptability? He had been escalating his attempts—was this blatant in-your-face destruction his last step?
Jack’s phone rang and his heart leaped but it was only Reece. “I’ve been trying to reach you,” the detective said. “We finally heard from the fireman, Kyle Woods. He was off with his estranged wife. That leaves Sabrina Cromwell’s safety an issue. The chief is finally willing to take this seriously.”
“That’s great,” Jack said with all the patience he could muster. “But—”
“That’s not all,” Reece continued. “We got a call about fifteen minutes ago. Someone saw a man fitting Rey’s description out by the state park. He’s driving north in an older-model black Chevy with stolen plates. There was a dark-haired woman with him. My officers are keeping their distance while we work out the best way to go about stopping the car. There’s no way of knowing if the woman is Sabrina—”
“Or Sophie,” Jack interrupted. “She’s been taken from the Cromwell house. I found her phone. I also found one of those origami foxes.”
“That places Rey at the scene. Know when this all happened?”
“Not exactly but I called it in and I can hear sirens approaching. Your guys can question the neighbors. I’m on my way to join you,” Jack said. He hung up as Reece told him to stay put. Sure.
He tore out of the subdivision right as two police cars rolled in. He kept going. It wasn’t until he was a mile along that he noticed a car tagging him. Not again. He drove under a streetlight and glanced in his rearview mirror in time to see an orange subcompact that looked just like the one that had followed him from the hospital to Sabrina’s house.
The only person he knew who liked to follow people was Paul Rey. On the other hand, Paul Rey was, first, supposedly driving north in a stolen car, not southeast. Secondly, the man had proved pretty damned accomplished at remaining out of sight.
No rock unturned, he decided. Somewhere up here was one of those annoying unposted no-outlet streets that he’d run into earlier that day. He turned onto the first one that looked vaguely familiar. After a block or two, he realized this was the one that back-ended a forest preserve with a seasonal day park. He drove past the closed-for-the-season sign and hit a sawhorse barricade before circling the small parking lot, the orange car following. Then he immediately turned his bigger car to block the exit and got out. A man popped out of the orange compact, fired a round of shots that went wild and took off at a run down a heavily wooded path, his own headlights illuminating his retreating figure. Jack took off after him.
The helpful headlights extended until the path curved and they were plunged into a dripping, dark world of massive ferns and towering trees. Jack chased the guy’s shadowy silhouette and the hollow sound of his footsteps until the timbre of those steps changed. His quarry had to be on a bridge—wood by the sound of it. He heard a scrambling sound and an oath followed by a thud as his prey apparently lost footing and skated on mossy, slippery boards. There was the sound of a splash into the stream running under the bridge, then more oaths as Jack raced to get to the guy before he took off again. He reached for the writhing shape as it tried to slither from his grasp. With adrenaline pumping through his veins, he yanked the man to his feet.
He was too short to be Cook or Nash. Jack frisked him and found no weapon. “Where’s your gun?” he demanded.
“I dropped it when I fell,” the guy said. “Why are you chasing me?”
“Why am I chasing you?” Jack said. “Nice try.” He marched his complaining catch back to the parking lot, where the headlights once again proved their worth.
The guy was covered in wet moss and slime. “Paul Rey,” Jack said. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Reynard. My name is Paul Reynard.”
“Your mother shortened the name two decades ago.”
“I’ll make her respect it again, you wait and see,” Rey blustered. “When she and my precious brother find out what I’ve done for them, for all of us, they’ll change their tune. They’ll know who they owe, you watch. I won’t be the screwup anymore, I’ll be the one with vision.”
“You’ve been chasing the wrong woman, you moron,” Jack interrupted. “Sabrina Cromwell was taken from her hotel room days ago.”
“Don’t give me that,” Rey protested. “I saw you and her standing at her hotel door. I saw her in the parking garage and outside her house.”
“Who you saw is Sabrina’s twin sister. You’ve been shooting at Sophia Sparrow, your older brother’s former ticket to riches. Now she’s missing, too. Guess who the cops want for both women’s abductions?”
“Me?” Paul choked out, the bravado slipping from his voice.
“Yeah, and for a murder down in Seaport, too. You’re a real popular guy right now.” Jack walked him to his own car, where he opened the trunk and took out his bag of supplies. His gun was still in his shoulder holster but he dug out handcuffs and used them and a lot of threats to secure a swearing, kicking Rey’s arms around a small but substantial tree.
“What time today did you leave the origami on Sabrina’s porch?” he asked.
“Wait a second,” Rey said, his face buried in bark. He tried to look back over his shoulder at Jack. “I have nothing to do with either girl’s disappearance.”
“Answer my question.”
He sputtered moss and bark from his lips. “This morning. I left it this morning. Then I went to the hospital. Honest. When she left, I followed her to the house but she went in the back door and didn’t even see the fox. That’s my calling card, you know, because Reynard is pronounced like renard, which is—”
“French for fox. Yeah, I know.”
“The dollar bill signifies her only value in the world.”
Jack’s jaw knotted. “What else did you see?”
“Nothing. I decided to wait and get her when she came back outside but then this dude showed up in a van. He disappeared around the side.”
“Was there anything funny about the way he walked?”
“I wasn’t watching him walk. I was watching the front door for the girl. Instead, all the lights go off in the house, then he comes back to the front and knocks out the window. In he goes. The next thing I know, out he comes with the girl over his shoulder. He threw her in the back of a van and off they went.”
“You must have seen him then. Did he limp?”
“I don’t know, I swear. It was dark and raining and I was—”
“Did you follow him?”
“Yeah. But I lost him. I decided to go back to the hospital but then your car drove right past me so I followed you back to the house. Take these handcuffs off,” he begged. “My arms are killing me.”
“Too bad.” Jack thrust the muzzle of his gun against Rey’s spine to emphasize his point. “Exactly where did you lose the van? I swear if you lie to me, come spring, the park rangers are going find your rotting corpse still hugging this tree.”
“I’ll tell you the truth, I swear,” Paul Rey shouted. “Just stop poking me with that gun!”
“Start talking,” Jack said.
* * *
SOPHIE AWOKE IN a twilight space surrounded by cinder block walls. She groaned when she moved her head. A tsunami of nausea rose in her throat and she rolled over on hands and knees to throw up.
Where was she?
She remembered a man coming through the broken glass, remembered big hands, a cloth—
She hadn’t seen the guy’s face. She wasn’t sure if he was Adam Cook or Louis Nash or someone else entirely, just that it wasn’t Paul Rey.
A
nearby moan drew her attention. It seemed to come from what appeared to be a pile of cast-off clothes in the corner. She found she was not restrained and crawled the distance to discover the rags covered the body of another woman.
Sophie turned the woman’s face toward the light coming through the two inches between the bottom of the door and the threshold. Even in the murky light, even with the woman’s bloody split lip, her face streaked with dirt and caked with blood from an angry red slash down one cheek, Sophie recognized her. She’d seen that face every day for the past twenty-six years when she caught her own reflection in a mirror.
“Sabrina?” she whispered. At last.
Sabrina’s trembling lips were her only response. Sophie discovered her sister was naked beneath the pile of clothes, her body bruised, her left leg swollen with what appeared to be a bullet wound in her thigh. The wound was infected. Alarmed, she touched Sabrina’s forehead and found it dry and hot. “Oh, Sabrina,” she said.
“Water,” Sabrina moaned. Sophie’s gaze traveled in every direction. The room itself was small, empty, dank, cold. Besides herself and Sabrina, the only object she could see was an overturned metal bucket with an attached length of chain as though it had been yanked from a well. She walked first to the door to pull on the knob. Surprise, the door didn’t budge. She picked up the bucket, wincing at the clattering sound the chain made as it hit metal on metal, stilling it by grasping the links.
The bucket smelled horrible but she extended her fingers into the murky depths until she touched a substance near the bottom that felt almost as thick as mud. She took the bucket back to her sister’s side and sat down.
“Water,” Sabrina moaned again.
“Hang on,” Sophie said as she pulled out the hem of her thermal shirt from beneath her sweater and scooped a handful of the muddy substance onto the box weave of the garment. She tightened the cloth around it and squeezed. Moisture dripped out. She held the gooey wad over Sabrina’s face and directed a few precious drops onto her sister’s dry lips. Undoubtedly it was filthy and germ laden but that seemed like the least of their problems at the moment. Sabrina’s dry lips parted and she swallowed. Sophie repeated the process until at last Sabrina opened her eyes.