Scream For Me

Chapter Twenty-three

Arcadia , Georgia , Friday, February 2, 11:35 a.m.

It fits,” Luke said over the speakerphone in Chase’s office.

Daniel was on the phone in Sheriff Corchran’s office, relating Annette O’Brien’s story while he waited for an agent to take her and her two sons to a safe house. “Now we just have to find him.”

“We revised the APB,” Chase said. “We got his parole file. He’s a lot bulkier now than he was when he went in.”

“They usually are,” Daniel said grimly. “He may also have changed his hair. While we were driving to Corchran’s office, Mrs. O’Brien remembered that a box of blond hair coloring she’d bought was missing.”

“I’ll update it again,” Luke said. “Here’s something else-Mack O’Brien was often put on roadside cleanup while he was in prison. He’d been on crews assigned to every one of the areas where he left the bodies.”

“We need to search the mill property-especially the new warehouse that was put up where the O’Briens’ house used to be.”

“I’ve already dispatched a team,” Chase said. “They’re going in as pest inspectors so we don’t raise the alarm too soon. What about a warrant for that safe-deposit box?”

“Chloe’s working on it. As soon as we’re done, I’m driving to Dutton so I can go right to the bank as soon as she gets it signed by the judge. What about Hatton?”

“He’s still in surgery,” Chase said. “Crighton’s lawyered up. Won’t talk to us.”

“Sonofabitch,” Daniel muttered. “I’d so like to get him for Kathy Tremaine.”

“After all this time…” Luke said, a shrug in his voice. “I don’t see it happening.”

“I know, but at least Alex could get some closure. Has she asked to see him yet?”

“No,” Chase said. “She hasn’t mentioned him at all. She’s pacing the floor over Hatton, but hasn’t asked word one about Crighton.”

Daniel sighed. “She will when she’s ready. I’m headed out to Dutton. I’ll call as soon as I get inside the box. Cross your fingers.”

Atlanta, Friday, February 2, 12:30 p.m.

Alex stood, pacing the short length of the outer office. “They should have called.”

“Surgery takes a while,” Leigh said calmly. “When Hatton’s out, they’ll call.”

Leigh’s face was calm, but her eyes were scared. Somehow that made Alex feel a little less alone. She’d opened her mouth to say as much when her cell phone trilled. It was a Cincinnati area code, but she didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Miss Alex Fallon?”

“Yes,” she said warily. “Who is this?”

“My name is Officer Morse. I’m with the Cincinnati police.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Your apartment was broken into last night. Your building manager noticed the door was open this morning when she came to bring in your mail.”

“No, I called my friend yesterday to ask her to check my mail. She must have forgotten to pull the door shut.”

“Your apartment was ransacked, Miss Fallon. Pillows and mattresses are slashed, contents of your pantry are all dumped on the floor, and-”

Alex’s heart had started to race at ransacked. “And my clothing’s been slashed.”

There was a hesitant pause. “How did you know?”

Trust no one, Wade had said in his letter to Bailey. “Officer, could you give me your badge number and a phone number where I can call you back after I check you out?”

“Not a problem.” He gave her the information and she promised to call him back.

“Leigh, can you please check this officer’s ID? He says my apartment was trashed.”

“Oh my God.” Wide-eyed, Leigh took the information. “I’ll do it right now.”

“Thanks. I need to make a few calls before I call him back.” Alex called the hospital and was relieved to hear Letta answer. She told her to be careful, then asked her to give the same message to Richard, who was on shift.

Leigh was hanging up her phone. “The Cincinnati cop’s legit, Alex.”

“Good.” She called Morse back. “Thanks for waiting.”

“You were prudent to check. Do you know who could have broken into your place?”

“Yes, kind of. Probably the same ones who ransacked my rental house down here. Can I refer you to Agent Daniel Vartanian? He’ll know what information to give you.”

“I’ll call him. Do you know what they were looking for?”

“Yes, because I got to it first. It was at my ex-husband’s house. If whoever did this realizes that, they might go there next.”

“Give me his address. We’ll send someone out to make sure they’re okay.”

“Thank you,” Alex said, touched and surprised.

“We have been watching the news, Miss Fallon. Sounds like Agent Vartanian has his hands full.”

Alex blew out a breath. “That he does.”

Dutton, Friday, February 2, 12:30 p.m.

Daniel looked down at the heavy volume of poetry in his hands. He’d stopped by a bookstore on his way from the Arcadia’s sheriff’s office. Chloe Hathaway was still working on his warrant, so he had some time to kill. He was now parked across the street from the bench in front of the Dutton barbershop. He wanted to talk to his old English teacher, Mr. Grant, who sat on the barbershop bench watching with a sharp eye.

Daniel got out of his car. “Mr. Grant,” he called.

“Daniel Vartanian,” Grant called back while the other men looked on.

Daniel motioned Grant to come to him and waited as he shuffled his way to Daniel’s car. “I have something for you,” he said when Grant reached him. He handed the man the collection of poems. “I’ve been thinking of your English class,” he said in a normal voice, then whispered, “I need to talk to you, but I needed to be discreet.”

Grant smoothed the volume with a reverent gesture. “It’s a beautiful book,” he said, then whispered. “I’ve been waiting for you to come to me. What do you want to know?”

Daniel blinked. “What do you know?”

“Probably more than would fill this book, but not much of it pertinent. Ask your questions. If I can answer, I will.” He opened the book and leafed until he found the John Donne poem that had been Daniel’s favorite. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

“I need to know about Mack O’Brien.”

“Quick mind, but a hot temper.”

“Who did he lose his temper with?”

“Damn near everybody, especially after they lost everything. While he was at Bryson, he fancied himself a real ladies’ man. Like his big brother.” Grant tilted his head as if he were contemplating the poem. “Mack was bad news. He vandalized school property, drove that Corvette of his like he was some hotshot NASCAR racer, got into some major fights.”

“You said he was a ladies’ man.”

“No, I said he fancied himself to be a ladies’ man. It’s different.” Grant turned pages until he came to another poem. “I remember overhearing conversations some of the female students had after Mack changed schools. They’d chatter, thinking I was busy grading papers. They were laughing that Mack had expected to come to Prom-he no longer went to the school and they scorned him. They said he’d only been tolerable because of his car. Without that, they didn’t want to give him the time of day. He wasn’t nearly as handsome as his big brother. Mack had terrible acne, and it left him pockmarked. The girls treated him pretty badly.”

“Which girls, Mr. Grant?”

“The dead ones. Janet was the worst, as I recall. Gemma laughed that she’d gotten drunk and ‘done him’ in his ’Vette. She said she would have had to have been drunk.”

“And Claudia?”

“Claudia usually went along with the others. Kate Davis was the one who usually told them to stop.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

Grant made a show of examining the book before flipping to another passage. “Because Mack wasn’t anything special. They were cruel to a lot of the boys. I wouldn’t have even thought about it if you hadn’t mentioned his name. Besides, he’s in prison.”

“No he’s not,” Daniel said quietly. “Not anymore.”

The old man’s back tensed, then he relaxed. “Good to know.”

“What about Lisa Woolf?”

Grant frowned. “I remember Mack missing about two weeks of school before he transferred in his junior year. When I asked what was wrong with him, the girls giggled. They said he’d gotten bitten by a dog. I found out Mack was home recuperating from a fight. Apparently he’d tried to put the moves on Lisa and her brothers beat the snot out of him. He was pretty embarrassed. When he came back, he’d walk down the halls and kids would howl behind him, you know, like they were wolves howling at the moon. He’d turn and glare, but he never knew who was making fun.”

Daniel’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. It was SA Chloe Hathaway. “Excuse me.” He turned slightly. “Vartanian.”

“It’s Chloe. You are the proud owner of one warrant for a safe- deposit box in the name of Charles Wayne Bundy. Hope this is what you were looking for.”

“Me, too. Thanks.” He closed his phone. “I have to go.”

Grant closed the book and extended it. “I’ve enjoyed reminiscing with you, Daniel Vartanian. It’s nice to see a former student turn out well.”

Daniel lightly pushed the book back. “Keep the book, Mr. Grant. I bought it for you.”

Grant hugged the book to his chest. “Thank you, Daniel. Take care.”

Daniel watched the old man shuffle back across the street and hoped he’d been discreet. Too many innocent people had paid for the sins of a handful of spoiled, willful young men. Some rich, some poor, but all with a flagrant disregard for decency, humanity. The law. If tradition held, the men vacated the barbershop bench for the night right at five o’clock. He’d make sure someone was watching Grant’s house. He didn’t want to live with more blood on his hands.

He’d pulled away from the curb when his cell phone buzzed again. This time it was the office, and immediately his thoughts went to Hatton. He’d been in surgery when Daniel had called the last time. “Vartanian.”

“Daniel, it’s Alex. Somebody trashed my apartment in Cincinnati yesterday.”

“Hell.” He blew out a breath. “They were looking for the key.”

“How would they know I had the letter up there?”

“Could Bailey’s friend have told them, too?”

“I had Chase check. Nobody’s visited her and nobody’s called her.”

“There are a lot of ways she could have communicated it if she wanted to.”

“I know, but, Daniel, I was thinking… The only other person who knew was Bailey.”

It was a long shot, but he heard the hope in her voice and couldn’t bear to shoot it down. “You’re thinking whoever took her finally got her to talk.”

“I’m thinking she might still be alive.”

He sighed. She might be right. “If she is alive-”

“If she is alive, then one of those men knows where she is. Davis or Mansfield. Daniel, please, bring them in and make them tell.”

“If they’ve gone to this much trouble, it’s unlikely they’ll just tell,” Daniel said, trying to soothe without sounding patronizing. “It’s more likely they’ll get nervous and go to her. If it’s Davis or Mansfield, we have them under surveillance. I know it’s hard, but this is the most critical time to stay patient.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know, honey.” He pulled his car into a metered space along the curb across from the bank. “Anything else? I’m heading into the bank to ask Rob Davis to give me that box, so if Davis and Mansfield are watching, I’m about to set off a flare.”

“Well, there is one little thing. The vet’s office called. Riley can leave.”

Daniel shook his head, perplexed at her timing. “I can’t get him right now.”

“Oh, I know, but I was wondering if the agent watching Hope and Meredith could take Riley to the safe house. Hope’s been asking for the sad dog.”

That made him smile. “Sure. I’ll call you later. You stay put.”

“I am.” And she sounded none too happy about it. “You be careful.”

“I am. Alex…” He hesitated, a little afraid of the words he wanted to say. It had happened so fast. In the end he decided to keep the words to himself a little longer. “Tell Meredith not to feed Riley anything other than his dry food. Trust me.”

“I do,” she said, and he knew she wasn’t talking about Riley. “Call when you can.”

“I will. This will be over soon.” Feeling as if he stood at the edge of a precipice, Daniel crossed the street to the bank. As soon as he asked for that safe-deposit box, everyone would know, and whatever shit was out there would hit the fan. You gotta love small towns. No, he didn’t.

Friday, February 2, 12:45 p.m.

Annoyed, Mack pulled his earphones from his ears as Vartanian drove up Main Street, out of range. Fancied himself a ladies’ man, my ass. He’d hated Mr. Grant-stuffy, arrogant old prick. When he’d finished off the others, he’d come back for Grant and the man would regret talking to Daniel Vartanian.

Daniel knew about him. It gave Mack a kick, knowing the man was probably combing the countryside looking for him while he’d sat just fifty feet away.

But his satisfaction was short-lived. Vartanian had come alone.

He never dreamed Vartanian would come alone. He’d just assumed Alex Fallon would be permanently attached to him as she had been for the last five days. He was finally ready for them and Vartanian had come alone.

If he wanted Alex Fallon to be the icing on his cake, he’d have to find a way to get her to come to him. Otherwise his coup de grâce would fall miserably flat and that would be a real shame. And speaking of his coup de grâce, he had invitations to mail.

He’d started up his van when he saw Vartanian walking across Main Street way up by the bank. Interesting. Daniel was finally visiting the bank. Mack thought finding keys tied to the toes of four dead women would have had the man visiting the bank sooner, but at last he was there.

Mack smiled when he thought about the pictures he knew Vartanian would find inside “Charles Wayne Bundy’s” safe-deposit box. Soon the pillars of the community would be humiliated, and at a minimum they’d all be sent to jail.

Of course, if over the next few hours Mack was successful, they’d all be dead.

Atlanta, Friday, February 2, 12:45 p.m.

Alex hung up the phone on Daniel’s desk and let her shoulders sag.

“Anything wrong?”

She turned to find Luke Papadopoulos watching her in that thoughtful way he had. “I have this feeling that Bailey’s still alive. I’m so… frustrated.”

“And you wish somebody would just do something.”

“Yeah. And I know Daniel’s right and that he has all these other people to worry about, but… Bailey’s mine. It makes me feel whiny and selfish.”

“You’re not being selfish or whiny. Come on. I’m taking a break for lunch. Usually I eat food from home, but it seems someone has appropriated my lunch.” He narrowed his eyes in the direction of Chase’s office. “He will pay.”

Alex had to smile. “Chase is quite a character. Leigh said the cafeteria has pizza on Fridays.” And she realized she was hungry. She’d left Daniel’s house in such a hurry that morning, she’d skipped breakfast. “Let’s go.” She looked up at him as they left Daniel’s office. He was a breathtakingly handsome man, she thought. Meredith’s type, actually. “So… you got a girlfriend?”

His smile flashed bright against his tanned skin. “Why, you tired of Danny already?”

She thought of that morning in Daniel’s bed and felt her cheeks heat. “No. I’m talking about Meredith. You’d like her. She’s fun.”

“Does she like to fish?”

“I really couldn’t say, but I could ask…” Her words drained away and she and Luke stopped in the same moment. Standing at the counter talking to Leigh was a woman with a face she recognized. From the tensing of Luke’s body, he recognized her, too.

She was small with sleek dark hair and sad, sad eyes. Her clothes said New York and her body language said she’d rather be anyplace other than where she now stood.

“Susannah,” Alex murmured, and the woman met her eyes.

“You know me?”

“I’m Alex Fallon.”

Susannah nodded. “I’ve read about you.” She turned to Luke. “And you’re Daniel’s friend. I met you at the funeral last week. Agent Papadopoulos, right?”

“Right,” Luke said. “Why are you here, Susannah?”

Susannah Vartanian’s lips curved humorlessly. “I’m not entirely sure. But I think I came to get my life back. And maybe my self-respect.”

Dutton, Friday, February 2, 12:55 p.m.

Such a lure could not be resisted. He watched Frank Loomis stop on the police department steps, open his phone, and check the text message. Loomis narrowed his eyes at the darkened windows of the newspaper office, closed today due to a death in the family. Mack had to smile. The Woolfs were grieving and he was the reason. It took a long time to pay a debt sometimes. When enough time had passed, the interest was huge.

He thought killing Woolf’s sister was a good start toward making good on that debt. He’d used the Woolfs this week and he’d use them a few more times before this was over. But for now, Frank Loomis was getting into his car and driving in the right direction.

The text message had been concise: Got anon tip. Know where Bailey C is. Go 2 old O’B mill by river. Find BC + *many* others. Can’t follow up-at funl home. Wanted you 2 have 411 before Var beat you 2 it. Good luck. Signed, Marianne Woolf.

Frank was on his way. Soon, Vartanian would join him. Mansfield should already be there along with Harvard, the last pillar to fall. It had taken Mack a while to figure out who he was and when he had, even he’d been stunned.

As for Alex Fallon, he had a few ideas for drawing her out. Alex’s entire focus in the last week had been on finding Bailey. And I know where Bailey is. Once the dust from the coming events of the afternoon settled, Alex would want to believe Bailey lived. Now that Delia was dead, Mack had no more plans to leave any more bodies in ditches, until Alex, that was. Perhaps the inactivity would lure her into a false sense of security.

Then again, she’d be grieving Daniel Vartanian’s death, and grief did make people do some very unwise things. Sooner or later, she’d let her guard down, and then he’d have his final victim. His closed circle.

Friday, February 2, 1:25 p.m.

Mansfield stopped next to his desk. “Okay, Harvard, here I am.”

He looked up, eyes widening, then narrowing in a fraction of a second. “Why?”

Mansfield frowned. “Because you sent for me.”

“I did no such thing.”

Mansfield’s heart begin to pound. “I got a text on the disposable. Nobody has that number but you.”

“Obviously someone else does,” Harvard said coldly. “Let me see it.”

Mansfield handed over the phone.

“ ‘Come ASAP. DVar knows about the goods. Moving out today.’ ” His face darkened. “Somebody knows, even if Vartanian doesn’t. You were followed, you fuck-up.”

“No, I wasn’t. I’m sure of it. Initially I was, but I lost the tail.” Technically he’d killed the tail, but Mansfield saw no need to make things worse for himself. “What do we do?”

He was dangerously quiet for a moment. “We’ll take them on the boat.”

“We can only fit half a dozen on the boat.”

Harvard stood, rage coming off him in waves. “When you have something to say that I don’t already know, then speak. Otherwise keep your mouth shut. You get the healthy ones on the boat. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Dutton, Friday, February 2, 1:30 p.m.

Daniel waited until he was outside the Dutton city limits before slamming his fist onto his steering wheel. Swallowing back his temper, he dialed Chase on his cell. “The safe-deposit box was empty,” he snarled without preamble.

“You’re kidding,” Chase said. “Completely empty?”

“Not entirely. There was one little scrap of paper. It said ‘Ha ha.’ ”

“Fuck,” Chase muttered. “Did Rob Davis have a record of who last touched it?”

“Somebody with an ID that said Charles Wayne Bundy. The last time somebody was in the box was about six months after Simon died the first time. I really doubt it was Simon. He wouldn’t have dared appear in public like that, and had Davis known he was really alive, it wouldn’t have stayed a secret long.”

“But I thought Jared’s journal said that Simon had the main key.”

“Either Annette remembered wrong or Jared was mistaken, because somebody else used a copy of Simon’s key to get into the box.”

“Could Rob Davis have had a master?”

“Of course, but he seemed pretty stunned when the box was empty.”

“What did Davis say when you opened the box?”

“Before we opened it he was sweating bullets. Afterward he was relieved… and smug.”

“Well, relax. Um, I mean, really relax, because someone here wants to talk to you.”

“Tell Alex I’ll call her back. I’m too-”

“Hello, Daniel.”

Daniel’s mouth dropped open and immediately he slowed his car and pulled to the shoulder. His hands were shaking. “Susannah? You’re here? In Atlanta?”

“I’m here. Your friend Luke told me about the pictures you hoped to get from the safe-deposit box. I take it they weren’t there.”

“No, they weren’t. I’m sorry, Suze. We could’ve nailed those bastards.”

She was quiet. “I know where the pictures might be.”

“Where?” But he thought he knew and his stomach got all tight.

“The house, Daniel. I’ll meet you there.”

“Wait.” He clenched his jaw. “Not alone. Put Luke on the phone.”

“I’ll bring her,” Luke said when he took the phone. “I’ll meet you at your parents’ house. Daniel, Alex is standing here. She wants to come.”

“No. Tell her to-”

“Daniel.” Alex had taken the phone from Luke. “You stood by me when I went into my house. Let me do the same for you. Please,” she added softly.

He closed his eyes. His house was filled with ghosts, too. Not in the same way, of course, but ghosts, just the same. And he trusted Luke with his life.

But Alex was even more important than that. And because she was, he needed her there. “All right. Stay with Luke. I’ll meet you all there.”

Friday, February 2, 2:20 p.m.

“Bailey,” Beardsley hissed.

Bailey forced her eyes to open. She had the shakes, real bad. “I’m here.”

“I’m ready for you.”

In another time, another place, those words could have meant something beautiful. Now, here, it meant they were both going to die very soon.

“Bailey?” Beardsley whispered again. “Hurry.”

Oh, God, she needed a fix. Hope needs you. She gritted her teeth. “I’m ready.”

She watched as he moved huge handfuls of the dirt he’d dug away over days until there was a hole barely big enough for Hope. “I won’t fit.”

“You have to. We don’t have time for any more digging. Get on your stomach and put your feet through.” She did and he began to pull, none too gently. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

She almost laughed. He kept tugging, angling her this way then that. He put his hands on her hips to turn her body to pull her through, but when he came to her breasts, he stopped abruptly. Bailey rolled her eyes. She was on her stomach, half in, half out, filthy and reeking of God only knew what, and Beardsley picked now to get shy.

“Pull,” she whispered. One of his hands slid up her front, one up her back, and he maneuvered her through until he could reach her shoulders. That was even more painful.

“Turn your face to the side.”

She did, and he helped her wiggle her head through so that she didn’t get dirt up her nose. Finally she was on his side of the wall.

And seeing him for the very first time. That he was seeing her for the first time wasn’t anything she even wanted to contemplate. She stared down, ashamed of how she knew she looked. Gently he cupped her chin with a dirty hand. “Bailey. Let me see you.”

Shyly she let him lift her face and even more shyly lifted her eyelids. And she wanted to cry. Under the dirt and the grime and the blood, he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen in her life. He smiled at her, his teeth white against his filthy face. “I’m not that bad, am I?” he murmured teasingly, and the tears she fought welled and spilled.

He pulled her onto his lap and into his arms and rocked her as she’d done Hope so many times. “Sshh,” he whispered. “Don’t cry, baby. We’re almost there.” It made her cry harder, because they were going to die and she’d never get the chance to show him or anyone else what she could have been. They were going to die.

“We’re going to do this,” he whispered fiercely. “They’re moving things. Something’s happening. Close your eyes.” She did and he wiped her tears with his thumbs. “I think I made it worse,” he said lightly, then pulled her back to him for one more hard hug.

“Whatever happens,” she murmured, “thank you.”

He set her off his lap and rose, tall and strong despite his ordeal. He held out his hand. “We don’t have much time.”

She stood on shaky legs. “What are we going to do?”

He smiled again, approval in his eyes. His eyes were warm and brown. She’d remember that, whatever happened. He handed her what had been a chunk of rock, about four inches long, its edge sharpened to a razor finish. “This is yours.”

She stared at it, wide-eyed. “You made this?”

“God made the rock. I just sharpened it. You hold on to it. You may need it if we get separated.”

“What will you do?”

He went to the corner of his cell and brushed at the dirt until he pulled out a sharpened stone, easily three times bigger than hers. “Have you slept at all?” she whispered, and he smiled again.

“Catnaps.” He spent the next ten minutes showing her where and how to pierce an assailant’s body to do the most damage.

Then a door slammed open in the hall and her eyes flew up to his. He looked grim and she was suddenly more afraid than ever. “He’s coming,” she said, shaking.

Beardsley smoothed his hands over her arms. “Then he’s coming,” he said with finality. “We’re ready. Right?”

She nodded.

“Then go curl up over there in the corner. Make yourself as big as you can. You’re supposed to be me.”

“I’d need two of me,” she said, and one side of his mouth lifted fleetingly.

“Three, actually. Bailey, you can’t falter. And if I give you an order, you obey me without question. Do you understand?”

He was coming closer now, opening a door, then firing a single shot. She heard screams from where she’d only heard the weeping before. Horrified, Bailey met Beardsley’s eyes as more doors were opened and more shots fired. The screaming faded as the voices were silenced one by one. “He’s killing them.”

A muscle twitched in Beardsley’s jaw. “I know. Change in plan. You hide behind the door, I’ll stand on the other side. Move, Bailey.”

She obeyed and he took up position next to the door, his big dagger in one hand. A second later the door flew open and she covered her face to keep from being hit. Bailey heard a strangled cry and a gurgle and then a thump.

“Let’s go,” Beardsley said. She stepped over the body of one of the guards she’d seen one of the times he’d taken her back to the office. Beardsley wiped the dagger against his pants, cleaning off the blood, then he was running, dragging her behind him.

But her knees were weak and her legs so bruised she kept stumbling. “Just go,” she said. “You run. Leave me here.”

But he didn’t let go, dragging her past one cell, then another. Some were empty. Most were not. Bailey gagged at the sight of the girls, chained and bleeding. Dead.

“Don’t look,” he barked. “Just run.”

“I can’t.”

He picked her up and tucked her under his arm like she was a football. “You’re not dying on my watch, Bailey,” he gritted, running around the corner.

Then Beardsley stopped and she looked up. He stood in the middle of the hall and he had a gun. Beardsley tossed her and she landed on her knees. “Run,” he barked.

Then Beardsley plowed into him and knocked him against the wall. Bailey made herself get up and run while the two men grappled behind her. She heard the sickening sound of bone hitting the concrete wall, but she kept going.

Until she saw the girl. She was battered and blood oozed from a hole in her side and a second, glancing wound to her head. She’d clawed her way across her cell and had stretched out one arm into the hall. But she was still alive.

Weakly the girl lifted her hand. “Help me,” she whispered. “Please.”

Without thinking Bailey grabbed the girl’s hand and dragged her to her feet. “Move.”

Dutton, Friday, February 2, 2:35 p.m.

Daniel stood on the front porch of his family’s house, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. It was here he’d stood, nearly three weeks ago, with Frank Loomis. Frank had told him his parents “might be missing.” Of course they were already long dead. But Daniel’s search for them had led him to Philadelphia and Simon and the pictures. His search for the pictures had led him right back here.

“Déjà vu all over again?” Luke asked softly and Daniel nodded.

“Yeah.” He unlocked the door and pushed it open and found his feet wouldn’t move.

Alex slipped her arm around his waist. “Come on.” She tugged him over the threshold and he stopped in the foyer, his eyes doing a sweep of the place. He’d hated this house. Hated every brick of it. He turned to find Susannah doing a similar sweep. She was pale, but as she had during the entire ordeal in Philly, she was holding up.

“Where?” he asked.

Susannah pushed by him and started up the stairs. He followed, holding Alex’s hand as tightly as he dared. Luke brought up the rear, alert and watching.

Upstairs, Daniel frowned. Doors he’d closed the last time he was here were opened and a painting on the hall wall was askew. He pushed open the door to his parents’ bedroom. The room had been ransacked, the mattress slashed.

“They’ve been here,” he said flatly. “Looking for Simon’s key.”

“This way,” Susannah said tightly, and they followed her into what had been Simon’s room. It, too, had been ransacked, but there had been nothing in the drawers or under the bed for them to find. Daniel’s father had disposed of that a long time ago.

There was, he thought, an evilness hanging in the air. Or perhaps it was just his imagination. But Alex’s face had taken on an uncomfortable cast.

“It has kind of a presence, doesn’t it?” she whispered, and he squeezed her hand.

Susannah stood at the closet door, her hands opening and closing into fists at her sides. She was still pale, but she squared her shoulders resolutely. “I could be wrong. There might be nothing here,” she said, then opened the door. The closet was empty, but she walked inside anyway. “Did you know this house has hidey-holes, Daniel?”

Something in her voice had the hairs rising on the back of his neck. “Yes. I thought I knew them all.”

She knelt, feeling around the baseboards. “I found the hidey-hole off my closet one night when I was hiding from Simon. I’d huddled up against the wall and I must have pushed the right way because the panel opened and I rolled behind the wall.” She steadily worked as she talked. “I wondered if all the closets had these hidey-holes. One day when I thought Simon was gone, I tried to see if I could open his.”

The flat finality with which she’d said it twisted his stomach. “He caught you.”

“At first I didn’t think he had. I heard him thumping up the stairs and I ran to my room. But he had,” she said, quietly now. “When I woke up with a whiskey bottle in my hand, it was inside my hidey-hole. He’d stuffed me in there.”

Alex smoothed her hand down his arm and he realized he’d been holding her hand too tightly. He let go, but she held on, comforting him.

Daniel cleared his throat. “He knew about your hiding place.”

Susannah shrugged with a matter-of-factness that broke his heart. “There was nowhere to hide,” she said. “Later, he showed me the picture he’d taken of me with…” Again she shrugged. “He told me to stay out of his affairs. After that, I obeyed him.” She pushed the panel and it gave way. “After he died, I just wanted to forget.” She leaned into the hole, then reappeared, dragging a dusty box. Luke took it from her and put it on Simon’s slashed-up bed. “Thank you,” she murmured and gestured to the box. “I think that’s what you’re looking for,” she said.

Now that he had them, Daniel was almost afraid to look. His heart beating hard, he lifted the lid. And wanted to throw up.

“Dear God,” Alex whispered beside him.

Friday, February 2, 2:50 p.m.

“Come on.” Bailey tugged the girl’s hand, dragging her through the dark hallways. Beardsley had pointed this way. He couldn’t be wrong. Beardsley. Her heart clenched hard. He’d given up his freedom… for me. Now he’d die. For me.

Concentrate, Bailey. You have to get out of here. Don’t let that man have given up his life in vain. Focus. Find the door. After another few minutes, she saw light.

Light at the end of the tunnel. She almost laughed, but dragged the girl harder with a spurt of new energy. She opened the door, expecting a loud alarm or barking dogs.

But there was silence. And fresh air and trees and sunshine.

And freedom. Thank you, Beardsley.

And then it all shattered. Standing in front of her was Frank Loomis. And he had a gun in his hand.