by T. R. Ragan
“Of course you’ll have children—we will have children.”
Her stomach roiled as she let her body lean farther back into the pillows. “I’m not feeling well. I think I ate too fast. I need to rest.”
“You must have a million more questions about what I told Mother, though.”
The only thing she wanted to know was if there was anything, anything at all, she could say or do to convince him to let her go. She raised her eyes to his, saw the little-boy look in his eyes, the sulky pout, and the moody silence. He loved playing these games, asking her questions, knowing she had no choice but to play along. If she didn’t, he might break her other foot . . . or worse. “How did we meet?” she asked, finally relenting, not the least bit curious.
“I told Mother the truth—that you were walking home from school and I gave you a ride home.”
“But that’s not the truth. This isn’t my home. My home is with my mom and sister.”
“That’s your second home,” he said in an expressive voice that a teacher might use on a struggling student. “This is your home, Ali.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“I told you before. Fate brought us together. The first time I saw you, I knew you were the one. And now you’re my girlfriend.”
“But I’m not. I don’t even know your name.”
His head fell to the side. He held it there for what seemed like forever, then grinned and jumped to his feet, startling her. “I never told you my name?”
She shook her head.
He stepped closer to the bed. Too close. “My name is Carlin. Carlin Reed.” He put out his hand, palm held up, for her to take hold of. When she placed her hand on his, he tightened his grip and said, “Nice to meet you, Ali Cross.”
Carlin Reed. The name meant nothing to her. She didn’t know anyone with that surname, which was disappointing since there would be no way for her mom and sister to connect her to him. “I’ll be going to college soon, living in a dorm with two other girls,” she said, unable to hide the panic she felt. “Maybe we could arrange to meet and I could give you a tour of the campus.”
The deep furrow in his brow told her he wasn’t happy about her talk of college, but he managed a tight smile regardless. “Your college plans will have to be delayed. Maybe down the road you could sign up for some online courses. I’ll have to give you a new name, but it might work. We have plenty of time to think about that.”
Her fingers curled into fists. “Most boys try to get to know a girl before they even think about living with her,” she said. “They ask the girl to meet them for coffee or maybe take the girl to dinner.” She frowned. “They don’t drug the girl and then shove her into the back of their van.”
She noticed his jaw clench. Shit. The words had just flown from her mouth without much thought. She’d pissed him off. Again.
The vein in his forehead was engorged, pulsing with fury. “You don’t think I ever tried to get a girlfriend the so-called ‘normal’ way? I’m not stupid.”
“I know you’re not. I’m sorry.” Judging by the way his eyes darkened and the crease in his brow deepened, he was working himself into a rage.
“I did everything right,” he said, stabbing a finger into her arm, making her wince. “Gifts and endless compliments,” he went on, his voice high-pitched and filled with resentment. “All those expensive meals, all my time spent asking about their lives, their families, their hobbies and interests. When my efforts failed, I did my homework and decided to work on myself—my appearance and confidence. I started exercising and learning new things to make myself more interesting.”
Spittle collected at the corners of his mouth. “It got me nowhere,” he said. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be rejected over and over? Women are cruel.”
“Maybe you just haven’t found the right woman,” she stupidly tried again.
His face reddened. “You are the right woman!” His hands fisted at his sides. “I think you’ve had enough to eat.” He took the tray from her lap and placed it back on the bench, then returned to the bed, grabbed a fistful of her covers, and whipped them from the bed, leaving her scrambling to pull down her nightshirt, wincing from the pain the sudden movement caused.
“Don’t be a prude. I’ve seen it all before. Many times.”
The pain, together with the thought of him looking at her, touching her while he washed her body, made her sick. She held back the urge to cry. Why did I have to go and get him angry? If she ever hoped to get out of here, she needed to earn his trust, which started with trying harder to be friendly. Maybe then he would take her outside to get some sun. Until that time she needed to find the strength and courage to figure a way out of this nightmare.
Carlin walked across the room to a tall dresser, where he used one of his many keys on the metal ring he kept in his pocket to unlock the top drawer. He returned to her side with scissors and neatly folded strips of cloth.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to change the bandages.” He sounded calmer, but his movements as he cut the bandages from her leg were rough and jerky. “You don’t want to get an infection, do you?”
“No,” she said, gritting her teeth. Her ankle and foot throbbed as he hastily unwrapped layers of cloth and gauze. The moment her wounds were exposed, bile crept up her throat. Bruised and swollen, she could hardly tell where her ankle ended and her foot began.
She laid her head back on the pillows and sucked in a breath. How would she ever get away if she couldn’t even walk?
As he lightly massaged gobs of greasy ointment over her ankle and foot, she hardly took a breath until he began the process of wrapping her foot with clean bandages. She looked around the room for the first time since he’d brought her the tray of food, and realized she was in a room she hadn’t seen before. Sunlight poured in through a window—one of the dormer windows she’d seen from outside the shed when he first led her to the house.
Her shoulders sagged.
She was in the attic.
With her foot shattered to bits, how would she ever escape Carlin Reed? His mother might be her only hope. Until then, she had to find a way to convince him she cared about him. Pretend he’s your friend, she thought. As distasteful as the idea was, she had no choice.
“There,” he said when he finished wrapping her foot. “You’ll be as good as new in no time.”
“Thank you,” she said.
He looked at her, his expression a mixture of suspicion and surprise. He then gently replaced the covers, told her he would be up to check on her later. She didn’t take another breath until he left the room, locking the door behind him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Quinn Sullivan swatted away a fly and then sighed when it landed on her ankle, making her skin tingle. For the third day in a row, she and Ethan sat on a cracked and crumbling sidewalk beneath the partial shade of a maple tree, the exact spot where Ethan swore he saw Ali Cross disappear. Ethan wasn’t happy about her insisting they come to the same place, but it had worked yesterday when he remembered almost being hit by a car after doing a wheelie off the curb and onto the street, so it was worth another shot. She’d read once that a witness to a crime was capable of seeing things more clearly hours or even days after observing a traumatic event. In any case, they had nothing to lose.
Across the street, Quinn took in the now familiar stucco walls, some covered with colorful graffiti, some newly painted. The stucco walls were actually the back side of a strip mall, which included a sandwich shop, a florist, and a hair salon. There were other stores too, but Quinn was only interested in the shops she could see from where they sat. Unfortunately, there weren’t any security cameras. Just a couple of dumpsters secured with padlocks to keep animals and people out.
To the far right she saw a quarter acre of land, consisting of dry dirt and a few determined weeds, surrounded by chain-link fence. To the left—the direction in which Ethan said Ali Cross had been walking
the day she was abducted—was a sidewalk that went on for a while before disappearing around a bend. On the first day they’d both walked that way, following the path Ali would have gone to get home. The journey had taken them past a row of older homes running parallel with the freeway.
“What was the weather like that day?” Quinn asked now.
Ethan expelled a breath. “I already told you. The sun was bright and it was hot.”
“What was Ali wearing?”
“Blue jeans. That’s all I know.”
“What were you wearing?”
“Seriously?”
“Yes,” Quinn said. “I need to know how much you can remember about that day.”
“I was wearing these pants,” he said, pinching a bit of worn denim between his fingers. “And . . .” He paused and thought for a minute before shaking his head. “I have no idea what shirt, though. I have a bunch of T-shirts, and I never pay attention to what I wear.”
“Seriously?” Quinn asked in the same tone he’d used a few seconds ago.
“Yeah.” He let his gaze roam over her gray T-shirt and jeans. “I don’t think you’re one to judge, do you?”
She let it go because they had work to do. This case was her chance to prove to Dani that she had what it took to become an investigator. “We need to stay focused,” she said. “Tell me what you saw.”
He groaned.
“Close your eyes,” she told him. “Let your mind run free.” She nudged him with her elbow to get him going.
He closed his eyes.
After a few minutes passed, she asked, “What do you see?”
“I was riding my bike on the sidewalk, moving toward someone. Up close, I saw that it was a girl. I thought she was cute and wondered if I’d seen her before—you know, maybe at school or the ice cream store. I jumped off the sidewalk and did a wheelie. Like I told you yesterday, I nearly got hit by a car, but I made it safely across the street to this spot. I was on my bike, one leg on solid ground, when I looked back the way I had just come, hoping she might be watching me. That’s when I saw the driver of the white-paneled cargo van.
“I can see him now,” Ethan said excitedly, his eyes still clamped shut. “He was wearing one of those jumper things with the zipper down the front. A uniform, like a mechanic wears. His sleeves were rolled up just like I said before. His van was white with two doors at the back that opened away from each other. I can see a logo on one of the open doors. It’s small. Mostly squiggly lines. Maybe an initial or two, twisted together.”
Quinn’s heart raced. She forced herself to contain her excitement, not wanting to throw him off, and pulled a paper and pen from her pocket and handed it to him. “Could you draw the squiggly lines you saw?”
He sighed as he took his time drawing what looked like a blur of fanciful lettering that overlapped:
STL
He handed her the paper and she stared at it. “Any idea what letters these might be?”
He shook his head.
“Did you look at the license plate?”
“I tried, but the sun’s rays were bouncing off whatever was inside the van, blinding me.”
Quinn grabbed hold of his arm and squeezed.
Ethan’s eyes widened. “What?”
“This is the first time you’ve mentioned seeing something inside the van.”
“But I didn’t see anything because of the sun’s reflection.”
“But that means whatever the sun was reflecting off had to be metallic, right?”
Ethan shrugged. “Sure. I guess.”
“What could it be?” Quinn asked. “Bicycles, tire rims, portable heaters—”
“Pots and pans,” Ethan added without enthusiasm.
“Medical equipment.”
“Forks, spoons, knives.” Ethan sighed. “Appliances, pipes, pretty much anything.”
Quinn scratched the side of her head. “True. Never mind. Stupid idea. Let’s go back to the coveralls the driver was wearing. Do you remember what color they were?”
“Uh, dark blue, I think.”
“Okay. What about the car that nearly hit you? Any idea what kind of car it was?”
He looked at her, his brows slanted. “Why would that matter?”
Quinn’s shoulders sank. “Every single thing you saw that day matters, Ethan. It’s all in the details. Maybe someone in the car saw you or recognized the van or the driver. You never know. That’s why it’s important we turn over every stone.”
He shut his eyes again. Seconds later he opened them and said, “I have no idea what kind of car it was.”
“You’re not even trying.”
“Are you kidding me?” He sprang to his feet. “This is dumb. I never would have come to see Dani Callahan if I knew she was going to stick me with some lame wannabe investigator who has no idea what she’s doing.” He plodded toward his bike propped against the tree, hopped onto the cracked seat, and pedaled away.
Stupid little boy, Quinn thought as she pushed herself to her feet. She might not have a lot of hands-on experience, but she knew what she was doing. The only reason she’d brought Ethan to the same spot each day was because every time she did, he remembered something new. The driver wore blue coveralls and drove a cargo van filled with something made of metal. Maybe the man had a bike in the back of his van and it had nothing to do with his occupation. But she couldn’t think like that. Every clue meant something until it was ruled out. There might be a lot of trades that had to do with metal, but how many of those carried their wares around with them? It was just a matter of elimination.
She put her face to the sun, soaking in its warmth before walking to the car she shared with her grandmother and climbing in behind the wheel.
She thought of her mom, something she’d been doing less often. After Mom had left her and Dad, their world had fallen apart. No more mom-and-daughter lunches or Sundays spent at the mall. Quinn had quit dance too. What was the point? Dad was working hard and didn’t have time to take her to lessons. Even if he had, it wouldn’t have been the same without Mom watching her.
Her mom was the reason she was here now, which was sort of weird, considering her mom was one of many missing persons who did not want to be found. Moms aren’t supposed to leave their kids. It’s sort of an unspoken societal rule. But that’s exactly what she’d done. Up and left her and Dad and never looked back.
And yet something had niggled from the beginning. How could Dad or Grandma be so sure she left them? What if something bad had happened to Mom? An accident, or maybe a bad guy held her at gunpoint and took her.
That’s when Dad would explain that her car hadn’t been found.
But wouldn’t Mom have left a note, telling them she was leaving? Quinn had asked him for the hundredth time.
Dad had been hurting as much as Quinn at the time, but he’d stuck to his guns, telling Quinn her mom had simply married too young. Mom, he’d told her, ached for something more, the freedom to choose a different path. He’d also assured Quinn he would never leave her. Never. Two years later, he was diagnosed with cancer. After he passed away, the first thing Quinn would do when she awoke each morning was check to make sure Grandma was alive, sure she would leave her too, sooner rather than later. But her grandma was still going strong. She was tough and was fond of telling Quinn she didn’t have time to be sad or dwell on the past.
After starting the engine, Quinn sat quietly for a moment longer, both hands clamped around the top of the steering wheel, and stared at the spot where Ethan had said the van had been parked that day.
Had the driver been following Ali Cross before pulling to the side of the road, or was he already parked there, perhaps delivering product to one of the stores when Ali happened by?
With those questions in mind, she merged onto the road, a back one with hardly any traffic. Only a handful of cars had driven past since she’d been there. Quinn took a right into the mall parking lot and kept driving until she was in front of Subway.
She park
ed and got out. She needed to critically assess the information in front of her. Ali Cross had been taken on a Wednesday. Was it possible the driver of the van was a delivery man? If so, Quinn needed to know whether or not any of the shops got weekly shipments of product or any type of service. The only way to find out was to talk to some people.
A couple of hours later, she returned to her car with a lot of information but nothing helpful, per se. The well-known franchises like Subway did receive weekly shipments, but not on Wednesday. The florist only scheduled deliveries on weekends, and the hair salon received packages on random days, usually delivered by UPS or FedEx.
Quinn left the shopping area, feeling slightly discouraged. For three days she’d been hanging out with Ethan and now this. She felt as if she was getting nowhere fast.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dani had just returned to the office after doing surveillance work for Cameron Bennington, the woman who was sure someone was entering her house and messing with her things. At this point, Dani couldn’t help but wonder if the woman was rearranging furniture in her sleep. Stress could lead people to sleepwalk and do things they might not remember in the morning. Until the problem was resolved, it was decided Dani would continue with her surveillance.
No sooner had she taken a seat at her desk than Quinn walked in, looking sullen. She let out a mumbled hello, dumped her bag onto the floor next to her desk, and plopped ungracefully into her chair.
“Where’s Ethan?” Dani asked.
“I have no idea,” she said. “He ran off right when things were getting interesting.”
“Why would he leave? Was he upset?”
“He simply has no patience.”
Dani frowned. “Did something happen to set him off?”
“I told him he wasn’t trying hard enough, which he wasn’t.” Quinn blew out some hot air. “I guess that wasn’t fair of me to say, considering he remembered there being some sort of company logo on the vehicle and that he was blinded by the sun’s rays reflecting off something inside the back of the van.”
