Concealed

  “Then, Sydney is just a means to an end for her.”

  “Send me everything you have, including a picture.” He thrust the phone at Mrs. Watts and grabbed the other set of keys she offered, bumping into Luke on his way out the door.

  “Hey, something’s up with Sydney,” Luke said jogging to keep up with Wade as he stormed through the parking lot. “She left work early and said she felt like someone was watching her all day. Where the hell is your cruiser?”

  Wade stopped in his tracks with a curse. A thousand questions came to him, but in the end, they didn’t matter. “Sydney’s been kidnapped.”

  Luke was visibly shaken. “I-I just saw her at the diner.”

  Wade wrenched open the door of his truck, his fury barely contained. “Found her car, empty, over by the Conner’s place. I have to get there and see what else I can find.” Desperation made strange bedfellows. Wade swallowed his pride for Sydney’s sake. “I need a favor.”

  “Name it.” His instant agreement stopped Wade short. No smart ass comment, no arguing. Maybe they really were moving past their bullshit.

  “Go to Sydney’s house, see if anyone’s there. I have no idea where this person took her, but I think Faith is in danger too. If you see anything, call me. Do not try to intervene. The woman who has her is armed and dangerous.”

  Luke’s eyebrows arched in disbelief. “Woman? I thought she said it was a guy after her.”

  “I don’t have time to explain. Can you do that for me?” Unable to stand still another second, he climbed into the truck and slammed the door. He heard Luke’s voice loud and clear through the glass.

  “On my way.”

  Luke pulled out of the parking lot behind him. Wade watched him peel off in the opposite direction. As he sped toward the farm, his fingers tapped a furious rhythm on the wheel. He was relieved to have another person helping in the search, as long as Luke didn’t do something stupid like get himself shot.

  As he flew down the road, Wade punched numbers into his cell. “Come on, pick up the damn phone.” He knew exactly where Sydney’s car would be, the desolate stretch where there wasn’t a sign of life for miles.

  Damn Sydney and her backtracking.

  If she had just gone straight home, he thought as he slammed his hand against the wheel.

  “What do you want, Wade?” Agnes asked, unamused by the curse he let fly when she finally answered. “Sydney isn’t here, you know.”

  “She’s missing.”

  Her voice was cool as ice. “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. I’m on my way to where they found her car.” He paused, unsure how the rest of this conversation was going to play out. He only had one shot with Agnes.

  “Middlemist Red,” Wade said and held his breath not sure what her reaction would be. The silence that followed stopped his heart.

  “What did you say?” the strangled question came through the receiver so softly Wade almost didn’t recognize Agnes’ voice.

  “Middlemist Red. Your cheeks were the color of Middlemist Red the night you met George.”

  “H-He told you?” The quiver in her voice only made this more difficult.

  “He wanted me to watch over you when he was gone and he told me if there was danger and I ever needed you to listen and do what I said without hesitation, this was the way to ensure your cooperation. No matter the request.”

  There was an uncharacteristic sob quickly covered by the rough clearing of her throat. The tough-as-nails version of Agnes Whittman returned to the phone. No one messed with Agnes. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Take Faith to the safe room. Don’t bother denying it, George told me about that, too. The underground one with all the guns. And prepare for anything. Lock yourselves in there and be silent as mice. No matter what you hear, even if it’s Sydney. Do not come out until I get there.” He could hear her calm and shallow breathing on the other end of the line. “Can you do that, Agnes? Someone has Sydney right now and they want Faith. They will kill her to get to Faith. No matter what, don’t come out unless I’m the one with Sydney.”

  “Done.” He could hear her rustling around in the drawers of her kitchen, probably grabbing some last minute supplies.

  “You don’t have long. It might only be a matter of minutes before they get there.”

  “Then you better stop talking and let me do what I need to do,” she snapped, calling Faith’s name away from the phone. “And Wade,” she said, the tone of her voice one he knew never to doubt. “I’ll protect this girl with my life, but don’t you dare try and open that bunker door without first saying that phrase or I’ll blow your head off right through the door. Even if you are with Sydney.”

  “Good,” Wade said breathing easier knowing Faith would be safe. It was the only thing he could do for Sydney right now. “If I try, I want you to shoot me and anyone else that’s around because if I don’t say it that means someone with me is coming for Faith, and I can’t stop them.”

  “Done.”

  WITH A FLICK OF her wrist, a noticeably calmer Marcy signaled Sydney to get out of the car. The gash in her side was seeping blood through her shirt by the time Sydney climbed out of the car. If she ran now, she wouldn’t get more than twenty feet before Marcy was on her. She had to be patient, calm, and do whatever Marcy asked. An opportunity would present itself and when it did, Sydney would fight for not only her life, but Faith’s as well.

  “Don’t make a sound,” Marcy hissed in her ear as she smiled. Hiding the gun in her waistband Marcy made it look, to anyone who might be peeking out their window, as if they were old friends on a stroll. She even managed to hide Sydney’s tied hands with a jacket she pulled from the backseat of the cruiser.

  It was cold, and Sydney could see each of her panting breaths fogging up in front of her face as they walked around the car. With the knife in her hand, Marcy led Sydney across the lightly frosted grass of her front yard and over to Mrs. Whittman’s door. Diablo barked wildly as they approached. The dog was giving a clear signal to alert her owner that there was a stranger on their property but Marcy didn’t hesitate. Sydney prayed Agnes would see the knife or the blood on the surveillance monitors inside and call the police.

  Marcy was calm as they made their way up Agnes’ driveway—eerily so. The barking dog had no effect on her, her facial expression placid as if she truly were out on an evening stroll, but the woman was on high alert, ready for anything. Her face may have looked relaxed, but her body was as taut as a bowstring.

  “Do that cute little knock to tell her it’s you.” It was terrifying to think how long Marcy might have been following them and how close she got to Faith.

  She could have killed me at any time. A shudder went down her spine at the thought. Marcy knew where they lived, when they came home, the routes she drove, where Faith was after school, and those were just the things Sydney was aware of. Any night she could have climbed in the window while Sydney was sleeping, slit her throat, and stolen Faith away, never to be found again. No one ever would have known. So why hadn’t she done that rather than risk a sloppy altercation with Sydney?

  Wade.

  He’d been at the house the last three nights, keeping watch over both of them. He was the reason she was still alive. All the while he was holding her, whispering sweet words in her ear, as he made love to her over and over again, he was protecting her, and neither of them had any idea that there was an unstable woman yards away, watching. What she wouldn’t do to feel Wade’s arms around her once more.

  How had Marcy gotten Wade’s car? A terrible question plagued Sydney. Was he still alive? Had Marcy killed him, finally clearing the way for her to come after Faith? If he was dead, Sydney would never recover.

  Marcy cut the tie that had been securing Sydney’s wrists so she could reach her bloodied hand to the door and tap out the cadence Agnes had taught her. The reddened smear she left on the door was a disgusting reminder of how much blood was flowing down the front of
her shirt, but she couldn’t look at it. She needed her wits about her, not hysterics. She pushed the pain away and waited for the chance to strike. On the third hit of her fist, the door slowly swung open. Sydney hid her surprise as best she could at the unsecure state of Agnes’ home. She never left a door or window unlocked.

  Never.

  Unless something had happened to her, too. Her trembling hand flew to cover her mouth at the possibility. What did Marcy do? Her worst fears raced through her head. She killed Agnes and Wade first, then came after me. That macabre thought turned into panic for Faith’s well-being.

  “Looks like the old bat was expecting us.” Marcy kicked in the door with her boot, mud flying off her sole and crumbling onto the pristine floor. Diablo, the hulking German Sheppard launched herself at Marcy and attacked. One quick slice across the dog’s throat ended its life. Blood poured out of its lifeless body and spread out across the floor, forming a horrible red stain. Sydney swallowed a sob while Marcy sneered at the dog. “Sit, Lassie.” She kicked the dog aside, slamming the door shut behind them. The super secure home that once was a comfort to Sydney now became her prison. A prison she was trapped inside of with a mad woman.

  The coppery smell of the blood made Sydney nauseous, but Marcy was unaffected as she tracked bloody footprints all over the kitchen floor. Sydney leaned against the wall to keep from passing out. That wouldn’t help with anything. She needed to focus and be strong right now. Time was running out and Faith needed her.

  The house looked the same, no signs of trauma inside, just Agnes’ well-lit kitchen. No bodies, no one bound and gagged. Not a single sign of either Faith or Agnes. As Marcy dragged her through the growing puddle of blood, she couldn’t help but sigh with relief.

  Somehow Agnes had known to leave or hide.

  Focusing on the positive, Sydney knew Wade couldn’t be dead. If he sensed trouble, there was no doubt he would move heaven and Earth to help her. Sydney was willing to bet her life on it. But she would have to give him time to work. As calmly as possible she stalled and tried to get her mentally unhinged assailant talking.

  “M-Marcy, listen.” She made the mistake of reaching out and touching the woman’s arm. She grabbed Sydney’s wrist, twisted her arm, and tripped her to the ground, landing on top of her. Any air that had been in her lungs was driven out, and Sydney found herself wincing in pain as her cheek slammed into the wood floor, blood splashing into her face.

  A furious voice hissed in her ear. “Marcy isn’t in right now, blondie. You’re stuck with me, and I promise you, I’m not nearly as nice as that gal.” That deep, rough, voice was back making Marcy sound like a stranger again. Sydney closed her eyes as the woman kept talking in her new cadence. It was the same one she had used earlier in the car when she was angry. “Now you’re gonna sit in one of these chairs, nice and easy. Put your hands on the top of the table, then you’re gonna tell me where they are.”

  The more Marcy talked, the more Sydney thought she recognized the voice. It was the person who called during Faith’s party. The man she assumed was Ronald…or maybe it wasn’t. She mulled it all over in her head.

  Two ways of talking, two temperaments, two names, two…personalities. Sydney was no psychiatrist, but the woman before her was homicidal and acting like two completely different people. There was a much more masculine tone to her voice now. She’d watched enough TV, and had lived for years with a mentally ill mother, to get an idea of what was going on. Marcy had more than one personality. The question was, how many were there?

  On a hunch, she asked, “W-What’s your name?” Sydney gasped as the woman rolled off her back and yanked her up by her hair. Tears filled her eyes at the searing pain, but she quickly wiped them away, refusing to show weakness. She planned on fighting with everything she had when the time came. Tears wouldn’t help with that, but information would.

  “I’m Charles, and I’m not the nice one.” She retracted the blade on the knife then slipped it back into her pants pocket. It was amazing the way her whole body posture changed when she was Charles. Her legs were farther apart, her shoulders more rounded forward. She gave the collar of the shirt a tug and yanked the top two buttons open, offering a deep sigh of relief as she rolled up the sleeves and pulled out the gun from the holster on her belt.

  “Shut up,” Charles growled, grabbing her forehead and giving her head a shake as if trying to clear her thoughts. “I know what I’m doing.”

  While her captor was distracted by her inner demons, Sydney looked around the room for a sign of where Faith and Agnes might be hiding, but found nothing. No clue, no hint, no trail of breadcrumbs for her to follow. She tried to block out the incoherent mutterings and listen for any sort of sound in the house that might give their location away. Sydney wasn’t leaving until her daughter and Agnes were with her. However, if Faith was already safely away, then Sydney could run at her first opportunity. She needed something to go on.

  The problem was she had no idea what to do.

  “Can I have a dish towel?” Sydney asked timidly, hoping to stop some of the bleeding in her side and distract the woman by getting her talking. If she knew what Marcy—or Charles—had planned, she’d be able to better strategize her next move. There had to be something nearby she could use to defend herself if it came to that. She just had to find it.

  Charles grabbed a dishrag off the counter and threw it in her face. “Anything else, ma’am? I’m your humble fucking servant.”

  “No, thank you,” she said softly as she pressed it to her side, wincing. At this point, the less she said, the better. Marcy’s personality, Charles, was looking for a reason to hit her, and she’d be damned if she’d give it to her.

  “Poor baby got a boo-boo?” With a disgusted snarl, she ripped open her shirt and bared her horribly scarred torso. “You wanna see some messed up shit? Look at this train wreck. This is what livin’ with Ronald for years does to you.” The scars crisscrossed her abdomen before disappearing around her side. She’d obviously had no medical attention for the wounds, the jagged scars thick and raised, even all these years later. “And that’s just the stuff you can see on the outside.” She tapped her temple. “You don’t want to know the nuthouse rolling around in here. Right, guys?”

  The words, “I’m sorry,” fell from Sydney’s mouth before she could stop herself. And she truly was. No one should have to live that way, but she wanted out of this house and away from this woman. Sydney tried to get a look at the clock but Charles stepped in front of it blocking her view. She pleaded in her head, Wade, where are you?

  There was a wild look in Charles’ eyes that nearly stopped her heart. “I don’t want your pity, you whore. I want Amanda’s daughter back!” The gun slammed down onto the table beside her and she held her breath, certain the thing was going to misfire and kill her at any second. “Where are they?”

  The name Amanda echoed in her head and chilled her to the bone. The haze of her concussion finally started to lift. Amanda was the woman who had married Ronald months after that night in the cornfield. But what if she had been there when Marcy gave her the baby, buried beneath her other personalities. A baby that came from her body, but maybe not…her mind.

  All the puzzle pieces began to fall into place and the image they created was more horrific than she could have imagined.

  Marcy, Charles…and Amanda Washington were the same person. Three distinct personalities trapped in one body. So many things suddenly made sense. The realization hit her, and she wanted to vomit. For all these years she had kidnapped another woman’s baby. A woman she knew existed. One she could have returned Faith to at any time. If she had, would Amanda have been this disturbed, or would she have been able to pull herself together for the sake of her child?

  “I asked you a question. Where are they?”

  Sydney buried her guilt. Right now, she needed to stay alive. “I have no idea.”

  “Liar!” Charles grabbed Sydney’s elbow and bent her arm at an awkward angle, sen
ding an intense pain shooting through her shoulder. If she applied any more pressure Sydney was certain her shoulder would dislocate. She gasped for breath and swallowed her pain.

  “You’ve been watching Agnes,” Sydney gasped, the darkness threatening to close in on her. If she fainted, she was dead. She had no doubt Charles would see her as useless and kill her in a heartbeat. She fought to find her voice, sweat beading on her forehead from the intense pain. “This place is a vault, you have to know that. She has even more hidey holes in this house than you can imagine and she isn’t big on sharing that information.”

  “You’d never leave Amanda’s daughter and not know where she was.”

  “When I left her here, I knew she was safe. That’s all I ever wanted for her. To be safe. From Ronald.” Sydney took a big chance bringing him up, the mere mention of the name potentially enraging Charles, but it was the one bit of common ground they had. Their fear of Ronald brought them together and Sydney was frantic to make a connection with her. One that would allow her to see Sydney as a mother, not a monster. The death grip Charles had on her elbow loosened and Sydney took the opportunity to pull her arm away.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” The woman shook her head from side to side, not wanting to hear Sydney’s words.

  “He was awful, evil. That night on the road, you asked me to take her. You begged me to save her for you and keep her away from him.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, desperate to get through to the unstable woman. “I thought he killed you. All these years…” She made eye contact with the woman, hoping some of what she was saying was resonating with her and that, even with her thin grasp of reality, she would remember what happened that night with some clarity.

  “I-I tried to take you with me, remember? I wanted to take you and Faith to the hospital.”

  Marcy’s body shook and she stumbled, bumping into the chair and clutching her head. Sydney thought about running, but then Marcy’s eyes popped open. Eyes that were wide and frightened as they took in the kitchen in wonder. “Jenny. Her name is Jenny.” A new, calm and docile voice came out of Marcy’s mouth. One that gave Sydney a little hope.