Exposure

by Kathy Reichs

  Fifty yards farther on was the barn, its wooden exterior cracked and weathered.

  My jaw clenched. I was on a goose chase.

  I spun to face him. “These structures aren’t even maintained.”

  He looked away. “They, uh, don’t look too . . . sturdy.”

  My eyes narrowed. Hi was in on it, too, eh?

  Shelton must’ve been acting reluctant, so I wouldn’t suspect their plan. I was being shielded from harm. Sent to investigate the unlikely spots. Kept away from the phosphate mine.

  Snap decision. “You check this path. There might be caves by the waterline.”

  Irritably, I gestured to the barn. “I’ll buzz that relic, then we head to the mining area.”

  “Search the river for prison caves. Got it.” Hi gave me a thumbs-up. “By the way, worst birthday ever.”

  I hustled forward, making little effort to conceal my movements. I’d been tricked—sent from the danger zone by my macho companions—but I refused to waste all day on this sideshow.

  The barn was surrounded by live oaks, its planks cut from the same wood. Drawing closer, I realized the building wasn’t the owl-invested wreck I’d suspected.

  An area before the entrance had been floored with wooden beams and bound by a low wall. Inside, a dozen sawhorse tables and benches were arranged in rows. Wood cuttings depicting wild animals had been nailed to nearby tree trunks. A large chalkboard hung beside the door into the structure itself.

  It clicked.

  An outdoor pavilion. The barn had been converted into a low-tech schoolhouse, perhaps for use by visiting school groups.

  The barn door was new-looking and properly seated. A single window to its left was draped from the inside, blocking view of the interior.

  I stood a dozen yards outside the pavilion, pondering whether I needed to approach.

  Maybe there’s a root cellar in there. Or a cold storage room.

  Eyeing the damp foundation, I didn’t think so. This close to the river was less than ideal for underground storage.

  Then I saw it. Just beyond the pavilion were moldy piles of stones.

  I hurried across and hefted the closest specimen.

  Phosphate rock. I was certain. The smell alone convinced me.

  Directly beside the pile was a stretch of muddy, beaten earth. Cutting through the slop were two lines of tire tracks.

  My mind flashed to last night’s rainstorm.

  Someone drove here recently. The tracks were made today.

  I rose, adrenaline pumping. My eyes flew to the barn window.

  The drape’s hem was flipped back in one corner, revealing a tiny patch of unobstructed glass. Enough to see inside?

  Dropping the nodule, I crept forward. With each passing step, it became more clear.

  A light was burning inside the barn.

  Then I heard something.

  Voices. Arguing?

  I stopped dead. Strained to listen.

  No good. The noise was too indistinct to make out.

  Dropping to a crouch, I crab-stepped forward, vaulting the pavilion’s low wall.

  A board creaked beneath my feet. I froze, heart banging wildly.

  The voices continued, undeterred.

  One male. One female. Most definitely arguing.

  Should I get Hiram? The others? What if the speakers moved?

  Ignoring the condition I’d forced Ben to accept, I scurried to the base of the windowsill.

  Oh so carefully, I rose on the balls of my feet.

  Peered inside.

  The pane was filthy with pollen and grime.

  Holding my breath, I stuck two fingers into my mouth, then gently rubbed a circle on the surface of the glass. Looked again. This time, I could see.

  Inside was a medium-sized classroom, with a dozen wooden desks and chairs pushed against the left wall. In the rear was a tiny kitchenette. Dishes and pans were stacked haphazardly around a dirty sink. Beside the ancient refrigerator was a square table and a trash can overflowing with balled-up wrappers, food cartons, and empty soda cans. In the back corner was a door displaying a unisex bathroom sign.

  My eyes were drawn to a blue-green assemblage in the room’s center.

  Is that a . . . tent?

  The portable shelter had been erected atop two gymnastics mats shoved side by side.

  I stared in consternation. What? Why?

  Beside the tent were two folding beach chairs and a rolling AV cart, which supported a beat-up tube TV and what looked like a VCR. An extension cord ran from the back of the cart to an outlet ten feet away.

  “What the hell?” I whispered to myself.

  Was someone squatting in this barn? Homeless people? Hermits? Al Qaeda?

  And what happened to the voices?

  As I gaped, baffled by the peculiar scene, I heard the squeal of a zipper.

  A dark line split the wall of the tent.

  Someone was inside. And coming out.

  A toilet flushed. I looked up to see a person exit the bathroom.

  My jaw nearly hit the floor.

  Shutting the door with a bang was Lucy Gable.

  I almost collapsed in shock. The feeling doubled as Peter Gable crawled from the tent.

  They’re here! We found them!

  Peter looked miserable—face pale and drawn, dark crescents beneath his eyes, blond hair matted to his scalp. Lucy was no better off. She wore a crumpled Bolton Prep sweatshirt that needed a heavy-soil cycle. Her yellow locks were yanked back into a greasy ponytail.

  I dropped back below the windowsill. Frazzled. Uncertain what to do.

  Then I spun a panicked 360, scanning for anyone else. I was lurking by the door, in the full view of anyone approaching the barn.

  Should I gather the Virals? What if the kidnapper comes back while I’m gone?

  Where’s Ella?

  The last question drove me back to my peep hole. Inside, Lucy sat heavily on one of the beach chairs. Her head fell to her hands. Peter had taken the other seat. Looking over at his sister, he seemed about to speak, but chose not to. He stared blankly at the ceiling instead.

  I searched for any sign of a third person in the room. Was Ella inside that tent?

  Impossible to tell. But my instincts told me she wasn’t.

  The only way to know is to get inside.

  I dropped back to a crouch, eyeing the door. It was solid oak, with a sturdy new padlock affixed to its face.

  I wasn’t going through it. Not without a rhinoceros.

  Swiveling, I checked the area where I’d spotted the tire track. Scanned the forest.

  Nothing. No one around.

  Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling I was missing something.

  But I couldn’t wait. This might be the only chance to free the twins.

  Ben would be furious, of course, but sometimes circumstances dictate. I had to seize this opportunity.

  Maybe the twins know where Ella is being held. Maybe she’s inside that tent after all.

  But how to free them?

  The answer came in a flash.

  The window.

  While the door might be impenetrable, the glass would shatter easily.

  Why hadn’t the twins done so already?

  Decided on a plan, I raced across the pavilion and grabbed a bench. Then, using all my strength, began dragging it toward the window. The wooden seat moved grudgingly, kicking up a terrible racket along the way. After several frantic moments, I had it in position.

  I stepped onto the bench, then nearly toppled off in shock.

  Lucy and Peter were a foot away, staring wide-eyed through the glass.

  “The door’s padlocked!” I shouted. “I’m going to break the window and get you out!”

  The twins glanced at ea
ch other in utter astonishment.

  “Back up!”

  I stripped off my windbreaker and wrapped it around my forearm. Then, without pausing to think, I punched the closest pane. I felt a terrific stab of pain—and a touch of embarrassment—when the glass held. I reared back a second time, ignoring the twins’ frantic waves.

  This time, I led with my elbow. The window exploded into shards.

  My eyes reopened.

  The twins were cowering inside, hands raised defensively to deflect the rain of broken glass. Ella didn’t appear. I resigned myself to the fact she wasn’t there.

  “Tory Brennan?” Peter Gable looked like he was seeing a ghost. Or an alien.

  “Come on, come on, come on!” I waved frantically. “There’s no one out here but me. We can slip away if we hurry!”

  The twins exchanged an unreadable look.

  “How’d you get here?” Lucy asked in a shaky voice.

  “I drove!” Were these two in shock? “We can escape. Have you seen Ella?”

  Peter squinted in total confusion. “Ella? Ella Francis?”

  Answer enough.

  “Forget it. Let’s go!” I reached inside to help them climb through the window. “The coast is clear, but it might not stay that way!”

  I snuck a glance over my shoulder.

  Felt someone take my hands.

  Suddenly I was yanked forward, arms scraping across the window frame. I went airborne, tumbling through the window and landing inside the barn.

  My head hit the floorboards.

  Everything went dark.

  “What the hell?!”

  I tried to rise, but my head was foggy. Peter Gable shoved me back to the ground.

  “Cover the window!” he yelled at his sister.

  “You were the last one over here!” But Lucy straightened the shade until it fully blocked the opening.

  My thoughts swam. I noticed little things about the room around me. The scratchy wooden floorboards. A pair of rafter beams running the length of the barn. A giant American flag, on a pole by the door, capped with a bald-eagle headpiece.

  Lucy spun, glaring at me like I’d kissed her boyfriend. “What are we gonna do with her?”

  The truth hit me like a slap in the face.

  A fake. The whole damn thing.

  My eyes darted from twin to twin. “You weren’t kidnapped at all, were you?”

  Ignoring my question, Peter hauled me up and marched me to one of the ratty chairs.

  “What now, Peter?” Lucy hadn’t moved an inch. “What’s next in your master plan?”

  “Just let me think!” He ran a hand through his hair.

  A clip played in my head—Peter’s eyes, tracking the camera as it filmed his captivity.

  The recognition I’d thought I’d seen. Peter had known his captor.

  Because they’d orchestrated the whole thing.

  “You faked your own kidnapping?” I couldn’t fathom it. “Why would you do that?”

  Lucy’s hands rose to her mouth. They trembled badly.

  Peter began pacing, his lips moving soundless. I could tell he was thinking furiously.

  My surprise at the twins’ duplicity was so complete—the shock so overwhelming—that for a few moments I’d forgotten about Ella.

  But Ella had been taken. I knew my friend well—she’d never have staged such a thing.

  Which means the twins are involved in Ella’s disappearance.

  The realization was like a bucket of freezing water.

  I sat very still. Organized my thoughts.

  Be careful. These two might be dangerous.

  “Lucy?” At that moment, she seemed the less threatening of the two.

  Her eyes met mine. Malice filled them, unlike anything I’d seen from Lucy before. The distant friendliness she’d exhibited at school was nowhere to be seen.

  “Shut up!” As she worried her ponytail. “You stupid little busybody! What are you doing here? How did you find this place? You’ve ruined everything!”

  Peter glanced at his sister, then me. Resumed pacing with a shake of his head.

  “Obviously, I thought you were in danger.” I wanted to keep Lucy talking, learn anything I could about Ella. “Then I noticed something in the ransom video that led me here.”

  I didn’t mention the boys. Didn’t reveal I had friends on the grounds.

  That was my ace. I was counting on the Virals finding me.

  One way or another.

  “We weren’t in any trouble!” Tears leaked from Lucy’s eyes. “Everything was according to plan until now. Peter, what are we going to do?”

  Her brother halted. Rotated to face her.

  I tried to catch his eye, but he avoided looking at me.

  That made me very, very nervous.

  “I’ll call him,” Peter told his sister.

  “We’re not supposed to!” Lucy shot back.

  Peter’s arms flew up. “You have a better idea? We’ve been stuck in here a week! I have no idea what’s going on!”

  Peter pointed at me without looking. “This . . . changes things. We have to . . . I have to . . . think. Make the right decision.”

  I didn’t like how that sounded. Who did Peter have to call?

  Steeling my nerve, I took a shot. “You’re calling your stepfather. Rex Gable.”

  Peter finally looked at me, unable to conceal his disgust. “You’re an idiot.”

  Storming to the back of the room, he opened a door I hadn’t seen and disappeared.

  I whirled back to Lucy. She was staring into space.

  My muscles tensed.

  I can take her. I’ll pummel this bitch and escape while Peter is out of the room.

  But what about Ella?

  This might be my only chance to learn where my friend was being held.

  “Help me understand.” I spoke quietly, not wanting to upset the jittery girl before me. “Why did you pretend to be kidnapped, Lucy?”

  She palmed the tears from her eyes. “Just shut up.”

  “Did Rex Gable make you do this?”

  Lucy laughed bitterly. “Peter’s right—you’re a moron. Sticking it to our stepfather is the whole point.”

  My mind struggled to process this information.

  “The ransom,” I guessed. “You want his money.”

  “Our money!” Lucy practically shouted. “It’s bad enough he married into my mother’s fortune. That fat pig isn’t getting mine!”

  “I don’t understand.” I didn’t understand.

  “Why would you?” Peter walked briskly past me and whispered into his sister’s ear.

  She nodded, seemed to calm slightly.

  Keep them talking.

  “Rex Gable was stealing from you?” Trying to make sense of things.

  “Might as well have been.” Peter dropped into the other chair. His whole demeanor had changed—Peter was relaxed and composed, but it didn’t put me at ease.

  Who had he spoken to? What had they decided?

  Where the hell are the boys?

  I’d sent Hi to check the riverfront. Shelton and Ben would be down by the cemetery.

  How long before they came looking for me?

  Ella. Get information. Help your friend.

  Choosing my words carefully, I tried again. “Rex Gable has money that belongs to you?”

  “The bastard controls our trust fund.” Peter stretched his legs with a grunt. “As trustee—what a joke—he decided that some of our funds are needed for general household expenses.”

  “Because the stupid sonuvabitch already pissed away his own money!” Lucy stamped her foot like an irate toddler. “Our mother’s entire nest egg—gone. All to pay his ridiculous gambling debts. It’s not right! And now he’s after ou
r inheritance, as if we wouldn’t notice.”

  “Every cent in that trust belongs to Lucy and me.” Peter spoke with total conviction. “Our real father left it for us, held in trust so our ditzy mother couldn’t squander it. But somehow that weaselly buffoon got himself appointed the trustee.”

  “It’s bad enough we have to live in his house like hostages.” Peter’s fingers clenched into fists. “I won’t let that con artist waste my inheritance on his own problems, all while pretending it’s for our benefit.”

  “So you faked your own kidnapping.” Things were starting to make sense. “Rex Gable would have to pay the five million in ransom from your trust.”

  “That’s the idea,” Peter said dryly.

  “And yet,” Lucy spat, “here we are.”

  It made a sick kind of sense. I even felt a little sorry for them.

  Until I thought of Ella. Now I understood why there was never a second ransom demand. She wasn’t part of the scam.

  Where was Ella? She’d been missing for almost two days.

  Had she figured out what was happening? Learned of the twins’ scheme?

  A scary possibility occurred to me.

  Had Ella been silenced for what she discovered?

  “How long have you been in this barn?” I ventured carefully.

  “Forever.” Lucy ran a hand across her face. “It’s a nightmare.” Then she chuckled without humor. “I mean, it’s been seven days, and we have a freaking VCR for entertainment. Wanna watch Dirty Dancing? I’ve seen it thirty times since Monday.”

  My mind raced. Should I ask about Ella directly?

  I had a second jarring thought.

  The dark form that watched us through the Gables’ basement window. My midnight attacker on Morris Island. I knew in my bones that neither had been Peter.

  The twins were working with someone. Who?

  I tried to be casual. “Who shot the video?” Hoping they might reveal their accomplice.

  “You’ll meet him soon enough,” Peter checked his watch. “He’s on his way here. Now.”

  He. The man from the beach? The bastard who snatched Ella?

  I had to find out who it was.

  “That stupid video!” Lucy spat. “So unnecessary.”

  “Let it go,” Peter groaned. “It doesn’t matter.”