Larry stared at him for a moment, then broke into a sly grin. “Who is this girl, Nick? She sounds important. Something you haven’t told us?”
Nick rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Actually, I just met her a few days ago. But yeah, I like her. She’s a little young. Only twenty-one—”
“And you’re an old man at . . . what? Thirty?”
Nick grinned. “Not quite.”
Tony had to laugh. “Nick Hutchins, the guy who’s too busy for a woman. Looks like he’s clearing some time.”
“Don’t get carried away,” Nick said. “I’ve just been trying to help her out some. She’s nice. Smart. Savvy. Different than the other women I know.”
“Uh-oh. Famous last words,” Tony teased.
Nick got to his feet, fighting his own grin. “All right, guys. I’m just worried about the lady, that’s all.” He grabbed a pen off Tony’s desk and jotted her address on a pad. “If you could get someone to patrol around there, just watching for anything suspicious—a dark Buick in particular—I’d really appreciate it.”
Larry looked down at the pad. “All right. No guarantees, though.”
“Didn’t expect any.”
He gave them both friendly handshakes, then walked out of the police station, wishing he could rest easy now. But he knew he wouldn’t—it would be a long night for him.
And it wouldn’t be any better for Beth.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Beth loaded her tape recorder and began to play back the tapes of her conversation with Marlene, quickly typing the words into her laptop computer. Beside her, Dodger slept, his little rhythmic snore making her wish she could lie down herself. But she had to get this done— and she was too tense to sleep anyway.
She heard something creak over her head. Lifting her hands from the keyboard, she looked at the ceiling. Was it her imagination, or had the floor squeaked upstairs? She cut off the tape recorder and listened.
There it was again. Quickly, she grabbed for the gun she kept in the table beside the couch. She went to the stairs and stared up at the top. Nothing there. She started to go up, then thought better of it. Still aiming at the stairs, she backed up and groped for the telephone. She snatched it up and dialed 911.
Her voice trembled as she tried to get the words out quietly. “There’s someone in my house. Please—send someone right away. It’s on Kramer Road, the number 343 is on the mailbox at the beginning of a long dirt road. Turn in there, and you’ll see my house about a quarter of a mile in. Please hurry.”
She hung up, but kept the gun aimed at the stairs. If he came down, she would shoot him. She had no choice. If Bill Brandon had found her, if he had broken into her home, then he was planning to kill her. Her only hope was to kill him first.
At the police station, one of the sergeants grabbed Tony on his way out. “Hey, Danks. That address you gave us to patrol? We just got a call from the lady who lives there. Says someone’s in her house.”
Surprised, Tony glanced over his shoulder at Larry, then back at the sergeant. “Have you sent a car out?”
“Yeah, there was one real close. In fact, he’d just made a swing by there and didn’t see anything. Jane sent him back.”
“We’ll head over there, too,” Larry said.
“Should we call Nick?” Tony asked as they hurried out to their car.
Larry shook his head grimly. “Let’s see what’s up first.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Fraser Gas Station was closed this time of night, and Bill Brandon sat in the shadows of the pumps with his headlights off, waiting for the kid to get there. It shouldn’t have taken Jimmy this long to make it the five miles from her house to the gas pumps. What if he’d gotten caught? What if he’d made an even bigger mess of this?
He should have expected it. Jimmy was too soft, too young. Bill knew he should have used one of the more experienced kids. But this should have been an easy job, and Jimmy was so small for his age that slipping him in through the small bathroom window they’d found unlocked had been a snap. Besides, Jimmy was a whiz when it came to computers, and he knew that if anyone could handle the computer end of the job, it would be him.
Yeah, that was the way it was supposed to have gone. That was the plan. Send Jimmy in through a window, then the kid gets all the tapes and papers he can find, copies her files onto a disk, then erases her hard drive. Then everything went wrong. Bill had planned to stop her from getting home, but she’d gotten away from him. And then the stupid kid had picked up the phone. He’d pay for that.
Bill cranked his car, turned on the lights, and started back toward her house, hoping he’d see Jimmy on the road somewhere. He drove slowly, scanning the trees, watching, waiting. The kid had been trained too well to be seen easily, but Bill hoped he’d recognize the Buick and show himself.
Nothing.
He pulled over to the side of the road and thought for a moment, trying to build a strategy. Maybe he needed to go back to the house, look into the windows, see if she was home.
He pulled back onto the street and headed for her dirt road.
But before he reached it, he heard a siren, then saw a police car’s lights flickering through the trees. The squad car turned onto her dirt road.
She called the police, he thought, driving quickly past. Which means the kid got caught. Now what?
He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and decided to return to the home. The cops would probably call him to report that they had one of his kids in custody, and he’d better be there to take the call. He’d pretend that the kid had escaped through a window when Bill thought he was sleeping, that he always had trouble with this one.
Jimmy wouldn’t dare tell them differently. Bill had done too good a job preparing him for a time like this.
Upstairs in Beth’s house, the boy heard the sound of a siren approaching outside, and he strained to see through the window without moving. He saw blue lights flashing against the glass, a pale flicker illuminating the shadows of the attic. Did she know he was here? Had she called the police?
He heard the front door open, the dog yelping, and the lady’s voice outside. With no one downstairs to hear him, he ran across the floor to the biggest box he could find, pulled out a four-foot Christmas tree, climbed into the box, then pulled the tree in on top of him. Trying to settle his breathing, he curled into as tight a ball as he could and waited.
It didn’t take long. The door opened and a light came on, a light that seemed to flood through the attic, lighting every crack, every shadow, every particle of dust. He was sure it exposed him, too. Could they see him? Could they tell where he was hiding?
He heard voices—several of them—as they filed through the attic, searching. He squeezed his eyes shut and chanted in his mind, Don’t let them find me . . . don’t let them find me . . .
“There’s nobody here,” one of the men said. “Maybe she heard a mouse or something.”
Someone else’s feet creaked as he came closer to the Christmas tree box. Jimmy braced himself. “Yeah, this house is pretty old. Probably wouldn’t take more than a mouse to make the floor squeak.”
“But what about the guy following her, Tony? You don’t think this is a coincidence?”
“Didn’t seem like it at first. But there’s nobody here. Are you sure you checked thoroughly downstairs?”
“Positive.”
“Well, she’s probably jumpy because of what happened in the car. Maybe she just needs a little reassurance. We can tell her we’ll step up our patrols of her house. Maybe that’ll put her mind to rest.”
“Let’s look again, just in case.”
He heard them shuffling boxes near him, and suddenly panicked: he had left his backpack out, lying on top of a box. They would see it and know, and then they’d empty out all of the boxes until he came tumbling out . . .
“I give up,” one of the cops said, finally. “Cut the light, will you?”
The light went out, and Jimmy sat paralyzed as the door c
losed. He was soaked with sweat, trembling, and the tree was cutting into his arm and the back of his neck, but he didn’t dare move. What if they heard him? What if they came back? Even after they left, she could still hear him and call them back.
A tear rolled out of his eye, a tear that Bill would not have tolerated. He managed to wipe his wet face on his shoulder. This was hopeless. He was never going to get out of here.
Downstairs, Beth tried to find comfort in Larry and Tony’s assurances that no one was in her house. “I’m really sorry to bother you guys. I guess I’m just getting paranoid.”
“I can understand that,” Larry said. “And don’t apologize. It’s our job to check things like this out.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect two detectives when I called.”
Larry and Tony looked at each other, and finally, Larry decided to come clean. “The truth is that Nick Hutchins was worried about you and asked us to keep an eye on you.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Nick? What did he tell you?”
Tony looked apologetic. “He said you were followed home tonight—and when we drove up, we saw the dents on your car. It’s no wonder you would be nervous after that.”
Her face tightened, and she looked down at the puppy. “I told him I could protect myself.”
“That’s what he said, but since we’re here—why don’t you file a complaint? Give us an idea who followed you so we can arrest him.”
“He’d be out by morning. Besides, I can’t prove it. I can only guess who it was.”
“If you give us a name and he has complementary dents in his car, that’ll be proof enough.”
She thought it over for a moment as she peered off into the trees surrounding her yard. There were risks either way. If they could keep him in jail for a day or two, that might help her finish her investigation. “It’s Bill Brandon. He runs the St. Clair Children’s Home.”
Tony wrote down the name. “I’ve heard of him.”
“Yeah. Probably as a hero and protector of children. All lies.”
“Why do you say that?”
She thought of telling them everything, but she just didn’t have enough evidence yet. Alerting them to part of the problem might do more harm than good. “It’ll all come out in the paper in the next couple of days, detectives. Then you’ll see.”
“So that’s why you think it was him? Because you’re doing some kind of story on him?”
“You got it.”
“Would you be willing to file a complaint against him tonight?”
She considered that, then shook her head. “No, I’d rather hit him with the big guns in a couple of days. There’s a lot at stake.”
She walked them to the door, and the little dog bounded out into the night, its tail wagging. She grabbed his leash and hurried after him, clipped it to his collar, and watched as he found a bush to do his business. “Thanks for coming,” she told the cops.
Larry held back. “I’d feel better if you were locked in before we left.”
“Yeah, I guess I would, too.” She waited for the puppy to finish, then hustled him back inside. “Thanks again.”
She locked and bolted the door, then watched out the window as the car drove out of sight. She was losing it, she told herself. Calling the police just because the house creaked. Of course it creaked. It was old. It had probably creaked every day since she’d moved in. But that was before she’d taken on Bill Brandon. Now, everything was suspect.
But she was okay, she reminded herself. He couldn’t find her here.
CHAPTER NINE
Marlene Brandon lay awake in bed, her mind reeling with the confessions she’d made to Beth tonight. She’d had to do it. It was the only way to set things right. Her newfound faith required it of her. It wasn’t enough to simply believe; she had to put feet to that belief. Even if those feet led her into danger.
She looked at the clock and realized she had been lying here for two hours without closing her eyes. That uneasy feeling that had gripped her all day was almost strangling her now.
She turned over, fluffed her pillow, adjusted the covers, and tried to push her conversation with Beth out of her mind. Marlene had told her things that, most likely, would land her in jail, unless the prosecutor granted her immunity for testifying against her brother. The thought covered her in cold sweat.
I do not give to you as the world gives. Let not your heart be troubled, and do not be afraid. The remembered words brought her comfort, wrapping themselves around her heart. A strange, unexpected peace washed over her, and she began to think that she might sleep tonight, after all.
Her mind shifted back to Beth, so young and bright, so ambitious, so alone. She was proud of the way Beth was supporting herself through college by working at the small-town newspaper. Only twenty-one, but she’d come so far. And she was living a clean life with a pure heart, going to church faithfully and trying to follow the letter of God’s law. Marlene only hoped that Beth would learn about his grace, as well. Maybe she should have made sure. Maybe she would call her tomorrow and do just that.
Her eyes began to drift shut, and her mind released its hold on her troubles as sleep pulled her under.
“Hello, Marlene.”
She sat bolt upright in bed at the voice, and saw the silhouette of her brother standing in the doorway of her bedroom. “Bill!”
“Surprised?” he asked with that sinister amusement she’d heard so often when he spoke to the children. She had learned it from him, and had gotten good at using it herself over the years.
“How did you get in here?” she asked, pulling her covers up over her as though they could shield her from his wrath.
He laughed then, that condescending laugh that had crushed the spirits of young and old alike. “Marlene, Marlene. You know there isn’t a lock anywhere that can keep me out.” He came in and sat on the foot of her bed, gazing at her. “I’m hurt, you know. I always thought that, of all people, I could trust my sister.”
“You don’t trust anyone,” she said, sliding back against her headboard.
His face was half lit by the hall night-light, half shadowed by the darkness in her room. “That’s true, I guess. Sad, but true. It’s hard to trust, Marlene, when people betray you left and right.”
She swallowed, and her mind searched for the comfort of Scripture she’d recalled moments ago. Let not your heart be troubled . . .
“You want to talk betrayal, Bill, let’s talk about what you’re doing to those children.”
He leaned back against the post at the foot of her bed. “I’m teaching them a trade, Marlene. One they can use all their lives.”
“One that can ruin their lives and land them in prison when they’re older. You’re warping their minds, Bill; you’re dragging them into hell. You’ll pay for it. You’ll be accountable for it someday.”
“Is that what they tell you down at that church you’ve been going to? That some invisible force out there is going to swoop down and strike me dead?”
The fear seemed to have fled, and in its place was a boldness she had rarely felt around her brother. “You’ll pay, Bill.”
“And so will you.”
“Yes, I was a part of it. I’m prepared to suffer the consequences. But I’ve been forgiven.”
“What did you tell her, Marlene?”
His voice sliced like a knife through her words. She swallowed. “Very little that she didn’t already know. She’s going to expose you, Bill. She’s not afraid of you.”
“She should be. And so should you.”
He pulled his hand out of his pocket, and she saw the shiny metal of the pistol as the hall light fell upon it. He got up and came closer; he aimed the gun at her forehead. Even so, that peace hung on, and so did the boldness. She wasn’t afraid to die. “What are you going to do, Bill? Kill all of us? One by one? Me? Beth? Her editors? All the adults who grew up in your home, the ones who know the real story? The children who are working as your little slaves now?”
“M
aybe,” he said. “But I think for now I’ll just settle for you.”
CHAPTER TEN
In Cottage B on the back side of the St. Clair Children’s Home campus, seven-year-old Lisa Westin lay still in her bed, clutching her threadbare teddy bear with one arm. She stared up at the ceiling and forced her ears to listen hard, so hard that she’d hear her brother when he finally came home. But some long-held fear told her that he wasn’t coming home.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold in the tears and block out the memories of three years ago. She had been only four, and Jimmy told her often that she was too young to remember, that she had gotten it all wrong, but she knew he was just trying to make the memories seem like a misty dream that hadn’t really happened. But she knew better. They weren’t her first memories—there were others, but they came more in sensations and scents, feelings that seemed warm and sad, tiny glimpses of happiness that she knew she’d felt then. The memory she had of what happened that day—the day their mother hadn’t come home—was more vivid, more distinct. She remembered harsh faces of policemen, words that she didn’t understand: neglect, abandonment, addiction. She remembered the realization, after two whole days of going without food, that their mother had forgotten them. And she remembered the inescapable panic, the what’s-going-to-happen- to-us terror. Jimmy had seemed so much older than seven at the time; he had been the rock she had clung to, her big brother. But he had been the age then that she was now. He had promised her, as the policemen had carted them off to become wards of the state, that he wouldn’t allow them to be separated—that, even though no one else in their lives had stuck around, he would never leave her.
She wiped her tears, held back the sob pulling at her throat, and slid out of bed, careful not to wake the other little girls sleeping in the beds around her. The home was supposed to look and feel like a real home, with ruffly bedspreads donated by local church groups, and frilly little dolls that no one was allowed to play with. But Lisa suspected that real homes weren’t filled with fear, as this place was. Her long white gown dragged the floor as she padded barefoot across the carpet and peered out the window. Maybe Jimmy was out with Bill, doing that job he had said was so important. But she had heard Bill’s car a few minutes ago, and had gotten up then to see if Jimmy was with him. When she saw under the streetlight in front of Bill’s cottage that he was alone, she had known something was wrong.