by T. R. Ragan
James laughed. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re one of the good ones, and don’t you forget it.”
Dani said goodbye and got off the phone. She wasn’t at all surprised to see Quinn outside, sitting on the bench next to Ethan. Knowing Quinn, she saw the boy as an underdog who needed her help. When Dani stepped outside, they both looked at her with identical blank stares.
“What did they say?” Quinn asked.
Ethan flicked the butt of his cigarette onto the strip of lawn next to the sidewalk. “They probably told her I was a liar and a thief and my mom drinks too much,” he said.
Dani crossed her arms. “That about sums it up.”
Ethan stood, his gaze locked on hers as he said, “If nobody wants to believe I saw what I saw, then fine. My mom would be pissed, anyway, if she knew I hadn’t let the whole thing go like I promised. But whatever happens to that girl now is on you and the police. I tried.”
Dani cocked her head. “Why would your mom be upset by you talking about what you saw?”
“Because she has enough problems. The last thing she needs or wants are newspeople with cameras coming around the trailer park and causing her grief.”
“Is she in trouble?”
“None of your business.” His blue eyes darkened. “This isn’t about my mom. I came here today because I can’t get what I saw out of my head. The terrified look on that girl’s face right before the man pushed her inside the back of the van makes me wish I’d cut school altogether that day.”
“Do you do that often?” Dani asked. “Cut school?”
Ethan shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets. “What’s it to you?”
Before Dani could answer, Quinn jumped to her feet and said, “I want to help him. I want to take on his case.”
Dani sighed. “It’s not a case, per se. Ethan isn’t here to hire us to find the girl.”
“Yeah, I am.”
Dani lifted an eyebrow. “Do you know Ali Cross personally?”
“No.”
“But you want to hire us to help find her?”
He nodded. “I’ve got a few hundred dollars saved up, hidden in a jar at home. I figured that would be a good start.”
“There are dozens of other investigators in the area,” Dani said matter-of-factly, not bothering to tell him that amount wouldn’t cover more than a day’s work. “Why me?”
“Because your daughter was taken and I thought maybe you might care more than most, but I guess I was wrong.”
Dani’s chest tightened.
“I know this girl ain’t my sister or cousin or even my friend,” Ethan went on. “But the look she gave me made me feel like she was pleading for help.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “In that moment, a split second in time, it was just me and her.” He looked to the ground, shrugged, then raised his head and caught Dani’s gaze again. “She only went missing a little over a week ago, and yet the newspeople aren’t even talking about her anymore. I’ve heard people saying they think she’s just another runaway, but I know that’s not true. I saw what happened with my own eyes, and I guess I’ve just been feeling like it was up to me to help her . . . like I might be all she’s got, you know?”
Chills crawled up Dani’s spine. She did know. A lot of what he’d just said summed up how she felt about Tinsley—that she was her only hope and if she ever stopped looking for her daughter, it would be over because nobody else would bother.
Ethan started walking toward the beat-up bike he’d left on its side on the grass.
“I think we should help him,” Quinn said as soon as he walked away. “Please.”
What if Ali Cross had been tossed into the van and taken, just as Ethan said? If what Whitton had said about Ali Cross was true and she was no longer a priority, then her chances of being found alive were growing slimmer every day. How could Dani live with herself if she didn’t at least try to help? She hadn’t liked the way Ethan Grant had made her feel—guilty, as if she didn’t care. She met Quinn’s gaze. “If I say yes, we work together. That means we keep each other informed before rummaging through trash cans or knocking on doors. No running off to see Detective Whitton to pick his brain without me by your side. In fact, don’t tell anyone what we’re working on. Not yet.”
Quinn smiled, then looked over her shoulder at Ethan, who had stopped at the street corner to light up another cigarette.
“And one last thing,” Dani said.
Quinn waited.
“I don’t want you to be upset if this goes nowhere. Investigators talked to Ethan Grant for hours, and from what Detective Whitton told me, they did their due diligence where Ethan is concerned, followed up accordingly, and came up empty.”
Quinn started walking away.
“Tell Ethan no more smoking around the agency. He’s underage and it’s not good for him.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. You have some filing to do. Tell him to come back Monday morning at eight. You can get started then.”
She took off before Dani finished her sentence, calling out to Ethan and stopping him before he reached the other side of the street.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ali Cross awoke when the door opened and flooded the space with light. A man stood there, unmoving. At first she thought she might be hallucinating, but then she realized it was him—her own personal monster.
Her legs wobbled as she pushed herself to her feet. She was famished and she wanted out of there. False bravado prompted her to raise her chin. But hunger and fear made her tremble.
His hair was damp, his jeans and T-shirt clean. “I made you some breakfast if you’re hungry.”
The sunlight pouring in revealed cracked gray walls that were covered with dust and mildew.
He pulled a collar and leash from his back pocket and held it in the air for her to see. “I’m going to have to put this on you, and you have to promise not to scream or bite.”
This couldn’t be happening. Locked away for days, starved, and now he wanted to put a dog collar on her. She wanted to run, fight, escape. And yet she was too weak to do any of those things. She had no choice but to do as he said. Her nightmare would not end in this room.
“Use your words,” he said, holding up the collar. “Either this goes around your neck or I leave. You have until the count of three to make up your mind.”
“Okay,” she said, refusing to cry, unable to bear the thought of spending another day, let alone another minute, inside this place. “I want out of here.”
He smiled as he walked over to her.
The hand she’d bitten was wrapped in gauze. “If you ever do anything like this again,” he said, holding up his bandaged hand, “I’ll have to punish you.” He brought the thick leather collar to her throat and very slowly slid the strap around her neck, making her skin crawl. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry, hating herself for allowing him to put the collar on her without a fight. He took his time fastening the buckle, making it snug, but not so tight she couldn’t breathe. After clipping the leash to the metal ring, he gave it a tug to make sure it was secure.
He sniffed. “It sure smells bad in here.”
Never in her life had she felt so demeaned, demoralized. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know anything about him. She hated him. Wanted him dead.
He walked to the door, tugging the leash even though she was at his side, seeming to take pleasure in having her in his control as he pulled her outside behind him and into the blinding light.
She lifted her face to the sky and sucked in a breath of fresh air.
“If you’re good,” he said, glancing her way, “maybe I’ll bring you outside again sometime.”
Despite his hold on her, she wanted to kick him and run screaming. But she was weak and wobbly and wasn’t ready to risk being thrown back into that cold, dark room. She glanced over her shoulder, back at the place where she’d been cooped up for too long. It wasn’t a garage or a warehouse. It was a small shed
, detached from the house.
Chills crawled up her spine. No. She couldn’t risk it. She was hungry and weak. She needed to stay calm and think things through.
He tugged on the leash, forcing her to turn back his way. Saplings, giant oaks, and trees she couldn’t name surrounded the house they were walking toward. It was at least two stories and had what looked like an attic with dormer windows. On the first floor there was a wraparound porch. Under any other circumstances she might have thought the house was charming instead of frightening. The ground beneath her feet was covered in layers of fallen leaves, branches, and bark. The windows on the bottom floor, she noticed, were covered with iron bars. To her right, far off in the distance, she saw the tip of a rooftop peeking out above the trees. Another home? It gave her hope to think someone, anyone, might be close by.
He led her up two wooden stairs to a deck, opened the back door, and waited for her to step inside before he began securing more than one lock to make sure she didn’t escape. Out of the corner of her eye she watched to see which key he used before shoving a ring of keys into his pants pocket.
He led her to a rectangular table in the kitchen. There were four chairs; she sat in the one facing the kitchen. He tossed the leash over the back of her chair.
She could run. But what if this was a test to see if that’s exactly what she would do? Instead, she took in her surroundings. The smell of bacon made her stomach grumble and her mouth salivate. The kitchen was narrow and long with veiny stone countertops on both sides. Old wood cabinets contrasted with the shiny new appliances. The wood floors looked clean and dust-free. She could see him from where she was sitting. He opened a drawer, pulled out a flowery place mat, then walked over and set it in front of her, along with a small glass of orange juice. “Drink it slowly so you don’t get an upset stomach.”
She took a sip, swirling bits of pulp around her tongue. It tasted like heaven.
A minute later, he brought her a simple white plate with a tall stack of golden-brown pancakes, served with crisp bacon and a side of warm syrup.
By the time he sat down across from her, they both had a plate, along with a fork and a napkin. She poured on the syrup and took a bite, trying to hide her pleasure since pancakes were her favorite food of all time. She could eat them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
“I know how much you love pancakes. How do they taste?”
How did he know she loved pancakes?
He laughed. “I know everything about you, Ali Cross.”
The thought irked her. “What’s my favorite color?” she asked after she swallowed.
“Green.”
“What’s the name of my best friend?”
“Kristin Wright.”
She took another bite and another, refusing to look at him. Her orange juice was gone. She wanted to ask him for a glass of water but didn’t want to talk to him, let alone ask him for anything. He must be following her on social media. Her mother had warned her not to share too much, but she hadn’t listened.
As if he’d read her mind, he pushed back his chair and went and got them both a glass of water. She gulped hers down, her thirst finally quenched, then took another bite of pancakes, eating fast, afraid he might take her plate away.
“I like watching you eat.”
The notion made her want to spit out her mouthful of pancake, but she pretended not to hear him and simply chewed and swallowed and took another bite instead.
“Gracie is worried about you,” he said.
Ali’s head snapped up. She looked him directly in the eyes for the first time. Dark-blue eyes. Evil eyes. “You talked to my sister?”
“I did,” he said. “She’s angry with your mother because she thinks your mother is the reason why you haven’t come home.”
“You’re lying.”
He shook his head. “She told me you got into a pretty big fight with your mother before you left for school on the day I found you and brought you home. Now everyone thinks you ran away. Nobody’s looking for you, Ali.”
His eyes glimmered with mischief, as if he were excited to tell her the bad news. “I will admit to being surprised to see your mother on a local news channel, pleading for your return,” he went on. “I suppose it might have taken her a few days for the truth to settle in.”
“But that’s not the truth. I would never run away.”
“But you ran away before.” He wagged a finger at her and said, “Never lie to me.”
She wanted to take her fork and stab his eyes out. She gritted her teeth. “I love my family.”
“Even your dad?”
“What do you know about my dad?”
“Everything. You could even say I know too much!” He laughed. “I never met my dad, but if he was anything like yours, I guess I should consider myself lucky. Have you met your dad’s new girlfriend?”
“No.” She hadn’t meant to lie, but it still angered her to think of her dad and his secretary making a new life together. It was one of the reasons she and her mom fought so much. She blamed her mom because she was there at home and Dad wasn’t.
“That’s two lies. Man, oh, man. One more and you’re going to be so sorry.”
He was a certified sicko. Her stomach churned. How did he know so much about her? The truth was she had run away before, and it made sense the police might stop looking for her. Her inability to do anything about her situation filled her with despair.
“Look at me and tell me you understand.”
Her pulse elevated. “I understand.” She might be quick to anger when it came to her mom, but she’d never been a violent person. And yet, if she had a gun, she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him squarely between the eyes.
“Let me ask again. Have you met your dad’s new girlfriend?”
Ali nodded.
“Tell me about her.”
Ali hated this game he was playing. She didn’t want to tell him anything. “Are you ever going to let me go?”
“Tell me about your dad’s mistress.”
Ali imagined she wasn’t looking at him but through him. She envisioned his brain morphing from a hard, rubbery substance into runny goo as she talked. “She used to come to Sunday barbecues at the house. She also spent a few days with us during our vacation in Lake Tahoe. I hardly talked to her.”
“She vacationed with you. Wow. That must have been a tough pill to swallow. Do you think your dad and his secretary were making love in the pontoon when they took it to the middle of the lake?”
Ali swallowed. He had seen the picture of her dad and his girlfriend on social media. She knew this because she’d seen it too. She wanted to tell him to fuck off. “I don’t know what they did or didn’t do.”
“Someday the two of us will take a leisurely ride on a boat across the lake. Would you like that?”
He was a psycho. How could he not be, after what he’d done? But his sickening fantasy of the two of them taking a boat ride was too much. “You kidnapped me. I didn’t ask to be brought to your house and locked in your shed. So what do you think my answer to that question might be?”
His eyes hardened. In one swift motion, he reached for the leash and yanked hard. She gagged and coughed. He didn’t care. He just kept pulling on the leash until she was bent so far over the table he was able to lean forward until they were nose to nose. “Talk to me,” he said, blue eyes twinkling. “Tell me something I might not know.”
“Okay,” she said. He let go of the leash, and she fell back into her seat and slipped the fork into her waistband. “Did you know that your mom was very popular and everyone knew her as the Whore of Midtown?”
His eyes blazed.
“The men liked her because she was big-chested and easy—”
He bolted upward. His hand shot out, and he slapped her hard against the cheek.
The shock of it took her breath away. The left side of her face stung, but she refused to cry. Her mom always told Ali she was stubborn and too easily provoked. She was right, and Ali had
regretted the words the moment she opened her mouth.
“Say you’re sorry, or else.”
Heat spread through her body as she sucked in air until she was able to calm herself. “I’m sorry. I’ve never met your mom. I’m sure she’s as lovely as you.”
“That’s better.”
He was either too dumb to realize it wasn’t a compliment or he didn’t care. He collected their plates and took them to the kitchen sink. When he returned, he looked around and said in a parental tone, “I’m going to count to three. If your fork isn’t on the table by the time I’m done counting, it’s back to the shed. One.” Long pause. “Two.”
She reached under her shirt and pulled the fork out from the top of her jeans. Her hand hidden beneath the table, she held the utensil in a tight grip. It was a good solid piece of metal, not the kind of fork that could be easily bent.
She was about to place it on the table when something stopped her.
“Three,” he said.
This could be her last chance to escape. Maybe her only chance.
Jumping to her feet, she lunged, jabbing the fork prongs into his face, hitting her mark and stabbing one of his big blue eyes.
His scream sounded like the high-pitched wail of a siren.
Her adrenaline spiked and she took off running, through the living room to the front door. She plucked off the chain at the top, then slid another bolt open before turning the knob and tugging at the door. It wouldn’t open. Her hands were shaking. She looked everywhere until finally she noticed a third latch near the floor. She bent down and pushed the metal piece to the side before springing to her feet and opening the door just before it was slammed shut from behind her.
She pivoted around, brought her knee up fast and hard, connecting with his groin and giving herself enough space to take off down the hallway. She could hear the latches being pushed back into place. The first room down the hallway was locked. The room to the left was small and jam-packed with boxes and sheet-covered furniture. The next room to the left was a bathroom, but the window was barred so she kept going. At the end of the hallway was a large bedroom with a queen-size bed, two side tables, and a tall dresser. Like the rest of the house, everything was neat and tidy. She knew the windows facing the backyard had iron bars, so she rushed over to the window facing the front and pulled the curtain to the side. No bars. She unlocked the latch, then pulled on the wood frame, but the window had been painted shut.
