Intervention

  The door opened, and a strange man looked out. “Yes?”

  He frowned. “Where’s my mom?”

  “Son, you must have the wrong room.”

  “No, this is my room. Who are you?”

  “I just checked in. Why don’t you go down to the desk and tell them you forgot your room number?”

  The door closed, and Lance stood there, dripping on the carpet.

  He headed back to the elevator, and went to the desk. There was a line, and only one clerk. He stepped to the front of it, raising his voice. “Where’s my mother?” he asked. “Barbara Covington? There’s some guy in our room.”

  The woman looked troubled. “Your mother checked out a little while ago. She didn’t tell you?”

  “What? Where did she go?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  What was he going to do now? “Could I use your phone?”

  “Of course.”

  He took the phone, dialed his mother’s cell phone, and prayed she would answer.

  Barbara’s phone started to ring, and she looked down at it, hoping it was Emily again.

  It wasn’t. Instead, it was the hotel she’d just checked out of. Probably the manager calling to make her explain the broken television. He’d probably told the reporters, and her fit of rage would be all over the news.

  She couldn’t deal with it now.

  When it quit ringing, she tried Kent’s number again while she had a signal. She only got voicemail. Quickly, she blurted out what had happened and told him where Emily was. As she drove through the storm that had overtaken her, she hoped Kent would call back soon.

  forty-seven

  Lance stood at the hotel desk, shivering as his wet clothes clung to his body. He hung up and tried to think. What would his mother want him to do now?

  Duh. She wanted him on that plane to Jeff City. She wanted him staying at Jacob’s house.

  But if she knew that he’d bucked her orders, and wound up stranded with no money or phone … she would totally freak out. And now he couldn’t reach her. What did that mean?

  He should call Detective Harlan.

  He turned back to the desk clerk who was clicking on her computer. “Do you have a phone book?”

  “Sure.” She pulled it out from under her counter, slid it to him.

  He opened it and flipped to the yellow pages. No police department there. Despite his chill, his face burned. He flipped back to the white pages. There were only names. “Where the heck is the police department?” he asked.

  “You could call 911.”

  “No, it’s not an emergency. I just need to talk to a guy I know.”

  Huffing out a sigh, the desk clerk turned the book around and flipped to the blue government pages. “You know the precinct?”

  “It’s the head one.”

  She showed him the number.

  “Score,” he whispered, and dialed the number. Someone answered, and he asked for Kent Harlan.

  “He’s not in. You want his voicemail?”

  He wanted to hit something. “When will he be back? This is really important.”

  “I don’t know. Can I help you?”

  He hesitated a moment. “Um … this is Lance Covington. Emily Covington’s brother? I’m sort of stranded and I need to reach him.”

  He told the officer what he’d done, and expected him to yell. Instead, he said, “Wait there. I’m sending a car to pick you up.”

  “Pick me up?” he asked. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Calm down, kid. I’ll have them bring you here. Can’t have you wandering around Atlanta alone. One missing Covington kid is enough.”

  “Okay … thanks.”

  His heart was pounding as though he’d committed a crime and now had to face the music. He thanked the desk clerk and went to stand by the door. Shivering and longing for dry clothes, he watched the rain and wondered where his mother was.

  forty-nine

  Rain burst from the sky, soaking Emily. It was cold, and all she had on was the T-shirt and jeans she’d worn for the last few days. She didn’t know how far she’d gone from the shopping center where she’d called her mother. She ran down a quiet street, making her way between buildings, looking for a place to hide.

  Maybe by now Dr. Leigh had stopped searching and gone to the hospital to get stitches. She hoped she’d done a lot of damage … enough to slow him down for a while, enough to scar him for life.

  It was getting dark. Rain poured down. Her clothes were plastered against her skin. She may be out here all night, so she had to find shelter.

  There was a dumpster up ahead. She hated the thought of sleeping in a giant garbage can, but what else could she do? She approached it cautiously, looked in the square opening, saw that it held only cardboard boxes. Maybe it didn’t have rotting food or rats. It didn’t reek like some did. She could tolerate it.

  She climbed in, her head touching the slimy, mold-covered top. Wincing, she ducked and stomped down some of the boxes, making a clean place for herself to sit.

  Thunder cracked, and the rain came harder, pounding down on the metal lid. The last vestiges of daylight showed her just how dismal her shelter was. She moved the box next to her, bracing herself for a rat to come running out. Nothing did. She hugged her knees, shivering against the cold. How long would she have to hide here?

  She needed to call her mother again, to let her know where she was. But if she ventured out of the dumpster, the doctor would find her, drag her back, and throw her back in the basement. There was a simmering, bubbling insanity inside him.

  He wouldn’t stop until he found her, unless someone stopped him first.

  So she sat among the boxes, quietly biding her time as the rain hammered around her. It was a strange protector, a wall of rain that slowed down her enemy. She supposed she should be thankful for it.

  forty-eight

  Kent was just leaving the judge’s office, warrants in hand, when the front-desk sergeant called.

  “Kent, there’s a kid here. Says he needs to talk to you.”

  He turned on his windshield wipers and tried to see where he was going. “What kid?”

  “Lance Covington.”

  “What? What’s he doing there?”

  “Says he missed his plane or something, can’t reach his mother.”

  He sighed. “Okay, I’ll call her. Just keep him there.”

  “I’m not a babysitter.”

  “All right, I’ll get there quick. Just … don’t let him leave.”

  Kent tried calling Barbara, but she didn’t answer. Where was she? He parked in front of the department and ran through the rain, into the station. Lance stood near the front desk, soaking wet and clearly out of his element. “I thought you were on a plane home,” Kent said.

  “I kind of messed up.” Lance told him what he’d done. “Now Mom’s checked out of the hotel, and I have no idea where she is. She’s not answering her phone, so I don’t know what to do.”

  “She’s not answering your calls? Lance, she thinks you’re in Jefferson City. She’s going to be a wreck when she finds out you never got there.”

  He threw up his hands. “I know, but what am I supposed to do?”

  “You should have stayed on the plane like she told you.”

  “But I didn’t, so now what?”

  Kent stared at him for a moment. What was he going to do with him? “Come on up to my office.”

  They got on the elevator, rode up, and Kent hurried across the floor of his office to the phone. “I’ll call your mom right now.”

  “She might answer,” Lance said. “I was calling from the hotel phone. She probably ignored it when she saw the caller ID.”

  Kent dialed her number again, put the phone to his ear. “I didn’t know she was checking out. She should have told me.”

  “Well, you’re not exactly answering your calls, either.”

  “I was with a judge, trying to get a warrant.” This was ridiculous. Was he really expla
ining himself to a kid? A voice answered: “We’re sorry. The number you are trying to reach is out of range at this time. Please try again later.” He slammed the phone down. “Out of range.”

  “Out of range, where? Isn’t Atlanta in range?”

  Maybe there was a message from her. Kent checked. He sucked in a breath when he heard Barbara’s voice, rushed and panicked. “Kent, I just got a call from Emily. She escaped from Dr. Leigh, but he’s after her. She was calling from the Cabaret Dress Shop at the Boutique Square in Dalton. I’m heading there now.”

  His heart skipped a beat, and he grabbed a pad and took down the shop name, then hung up and ripped off the page. “Okay,” he said to Lance. “I have to leave. You’re going to stay here until your mother gets back.”

  “I heard her voicemail,” Lance said. “She’s going to get Emily. You can’t leave me here. I won’t stay.”

  “Lance, this is police business. I’m not going to argue with you.”

  “But I saw the shop you wrote down. I’ll go there myself.”

  He pointed at him. “Don’t threaten me. You’re staying here. That’s final.”

  Lance’s cheeks were flaming. “If you don’t take me, I’ll get a cab.”

  “You don’t have money, Lance. How are you going to do that?”

  “The driver won’t know I don’t have money until I get there. My mom can pay him.”

  Kent had no doubt the kid would do it. He was that determined. What were his options? Kent could lock him in a holding cell, but putting a minor in an adult jail without a proper reason would cause too much trouble. He couldn’t just leave him here unguarded; the kid would follow. He grabbed his jacket, shrugged it on.

  Surely there was someone around who could watch Lance until Kent came back. Someone who could put the fear of God into him if he tried to leave. But the kid was resourceful.

  Kent had no choice. “All right, Lance. You can ride with me to Dalton. Andy’s already up there, briefing the Dalton police. When we get there, I’ll drop you at the police department where you’ll stay until your mother can come and get you. Have you got that?”

  The kid’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes. Why is Detective Joiner there? Does he know Emily called?”

  “No. He’s gone to make an arrest.”

  “Did you find that doctor guy?”

  “Stop asking questions, Lance.” Kent grabbed an umbrella from a stand near the door, and pushed the door open. Lance followed quietly as they hurried out to the car.

  fifty

  Barbara tried calling Kent again, but there was no signal. Maybe as she got closer to Dalton, it would pick up again. She drove eighty miles an hour in silence, broken only by her prayers and the sound of the pelting rain.

  Finally, she reached Dalton and zoomed out on her GPS, so she could see how far she was from Boutique Square. The electronic voice spoke. “At the next intersection, turn left.”

  She followed the voice’s directions to the shopping center. The parking lot was lit up, and the stores were still open. Her heart raced as she drove past each shop, looking for Cabaret Dress Shop, where Emily’s call had originated. It was the store at the very end. She scanned the parking lot, searching for her daughter. She could be here now, ready to run into her arms. She stopped at the curb and hurried in.

  A bell chimed as she crossed the threshold. The store clerk spoke to her across the room. “Hi, can I help you?”

  “Yes.” She went to the counter as her words tumbled out. “I got a call from here an hour and a half ago. My daughter was frantic. Do you know where she is?”

  The woman’s smile collapsed. “A girl with blonde hair?”

  “Yes, that’s her.”

  The clerk grunted. “She ran away and took my phone, stole it right out of the store. Went out the back way and never brought it back. A man comes in all bloody, says she mugged him. I called the police on her but they didn’t catch her.”

  Bloody? The thought of Emily fighting herself out of captivity made Barbara’s chest hurt. She touched it, trying to breathe. “The man. Did he talk to police?”

  “No. He lit out looking for her. He needed an ambulance if you ask me. Face was all cut … ”

  Barbara hoped Emily had disabled him. But what if he’d found her?

  She steadied herself on the counter. “The police … Did they know who she was?”

  “What do you mean, who she was?”

  “She’s Emily Covington! The girl who’s been missing.”

  The clerk looked confused now. “The one who killed that woman at the Atlanta airport?”

  “She didn’t kill anyone!” Barbara gritted out. “What did the police say?”

  “Just that they were going to keep looking. I saw their cars again a minute ago.” She looked out the front window. “I don’t see them anymore.”

  “Look, I need to use your phone. My cell phone can’t get a signal, and I really need to call the police in Atlanta, the ones working on her case.”

  “I told you, I don’t have a phone. Your daughter took it.”

  Giving up on the hostile clerk, she pushed through the glass door and went to the next shop. Two women were decorating a display window. They greeted her as she went in. “Excuse me, do you have a phone I can use? I need to call the police.”

  “Is it about that girl who mugged that guy?”

  “She didn’t mug him. He’s a kidnapper!” She tried to calm her voice. “Have you seen her?”

  “No, but I heard about it. Marianne, next door, was pretty upset. She said the girl cut his face.”

  “She was fighting for her life! The guy is a killer, not a victim!” She went to their counter, grabbed their phone. Just let them try and stop her.

  She dialed Kent’s cell phone number. Finally, it rang through. “Kent Harlan.”

  She almost burst into tears. “Kent, I can’t believe I finally got you!”

  “Barbara, where are you?”

  She told him where she was, and what they’d said about Emily.

  “Now she’s gone. I can’t find her anywhere. She fled for her life, and that man is still out there. God help her, he may have found her already.”

  “Barbara, we’re on our way — about half an hour away. But I need to tell you something. I’ve got Lance with me.”

  “What?”

  “He got off the plane. He went to the hotel, but you had checked out.”

  She shook her head. “Is he okay?”

  “Yes.”

  Barbara’s head was beginning to split. “Put him on the phone!”

  She heard the transfer of the phone, and Lance’s sheepish voice.

  “Mom?”

  “Why can’t I have just one child who obeys me?” she screamed into the phone.

  The store clerks stared.

  “What got into you, not going on that plane?”

  “Mom, I just felt like you needed my help.”

  “I do need your help. I need you to help me by going back to Jefferson City and going to school and being safe. That was the help I needed!”

  “But I didn’t do that, okay?” he yelled back. “There was something wrong with the plane and they were moving us to a different one, so I left.”

  She ground her teeth and shot a look at her captive audience. Turning away from them, she said, “I don’t even know what to say. This is a nightmare! Put Kent back on the phone.”

  Kent took the phone back. “Barbara, I need you to sit and wait until we get there.”

  “No, I can’t! Emily’s here somewhere, waiting for me to come. I have to find her.”

  “Barbara, we’ll be there soon. I asked the Dalton PD to send some cars to the shopping center. Do you see them?”

  She looked out the window. “No. The clerk said they came and went. Kent, I’m going to look for her. I have to go. My cell signal is really weak, but I’ll find a way to call you when I find Emily.” She hung up, put the phone back on the counter.

  “Is there anything we can do?”
one of the girls asked.

  “Just … when the police get here, tell them everything you just heard, and tell them about the man who came looking for her.” She rubbed her temple and went back to the door. “Thank you for the phone.”

  fifty-one

  From the back of the parking lot at the Boutique Square — lost among the employees’ cars — Greg saw Barbara Covington arrive. He recognized her from the news.

  He watched as she went into the dress store, saw her come out and go into the one next door. He waited, looking in the rearview mirror to see just how freakish he looked with this diagonal gash down his face. Whatever the girl had used as a weapon had slashed one eyelid, part of his nose, his lips, and the opposite side of his chin. He hadn’t wanted to go to the hospital. It would call too much attention to him. So he’d used the things in his own medical bag to clean and dress the wound. Twenty Steri-Strips held the gash together. At least the edges were clean, but the cut in some places was half an inch deep. It was beginning to swell and bruise. His eye was swollen shut, and if he didn’t get the right kind of stitches soon, he’d wind up with a permanent scar. He’d have Emily to thank for that.

  He’d driven around, searching for her on all the roads behind the shopping center, going up alleys and searching in doorways and dumpsters. She could have gone into any of the buildings she saw, but he couldn’t keep showing his bloody face to people without talking to police.

  As he’d searched, he tried to anticipate what Emily would do. She had stolen the phone from that dress shop. She’d probably called her mother and the police. Already, the police had been to the shopping center twice, but their stay had been brief. Were they looking for her … or him?

  After they left, he’d pulled into the back lot and parked. If he couldn’t find Emily, he would wait for her mother. Unless Emily had given her another meeting place — and he doubted that since she didn’t know where she was — her only marker would be this shopping center. The phone belonged to Cabaret Dress Shop.

  And now his logical thinking had paid off. That was exactly what had happened.

  He turned his car on and flicked on the windshield wipers, so that he could see clearly when Barbara came out of the store. The lights in the parking lot were on, but the rain made it difficult to see. If he pulled closer, he could see better, but he couldn’t take the chance of being seen. So he sat, waiting for Barbara to come back out so she could lead him to Emily.