Rodney walked toward the closed door. “Hannah.”
A pause. The silence vibrated in Kaycee’s ears.
“Yeah?”
Kaycee’s breath caught in her throat. The familiar voice sounded so small and frightened. She flung herself toward the room, palms flat on the barrier between her and the girl. “Hannah!”
“Kaycee?”
Uneven footsteps, a creak in the floor. A thump hit the other side of the wood. “Kaycee! I want to go home.” Hannah burst into tears.
Rodney grabbed Kaycee’s elbow and pulled her back. She swiveled around and launched a fist at his face. He caught her wrist and bent her arm downward. Pain shot through the joint.
“Aah!” Kaycee aimed a knee at his groin. He jerked to his right, slapped both hands on her shoulders and shoved her against the wall. Her head rebounded with a stunning thud. Both eyelids fluttered.
Rodney jumped back and whipped out his gun. The thing had the longest barrel she’d ever seen. A silencer?
“Hit me again, and I’ll shoot your arm.” His words spat venom. “I’ll still get what I want out of you, but you’ll wish you’d done it without the pain.”
Kaycee glared at him, chest heaving and teeth clenched. Hatred like she’d never known swirled acid through her veins. “There was blood in the road where she disappeared. Is it hers?”
Hannah’s sobs wheezed from the room. “Kayceeeee.”
The girl was so close, just a few inches of wood away. The thought snatched air from Kaycee’s lungs. She reached out a shaking hand and pressed it against the door. “I’ll get you . . . out of there, Hannah. Promise.”
Her head throbbed. Both knees jellied. Kaycee fought to keep upright.
Rodney grunted with disgust. “She fell and scraped her knee. I haven’t touched her. Only you can keep it that way.”
The jelly liquefied. Kaycee slid down the wall to the floor.
“Hannah!” Rodney smacked the door. The girl gulped mid-sob. “Tell her what I told you.”
Kaycee tilted her head up. Barely lit from the crack of light beneath the door, Rodney’s face looked like calcified wood, the lines in his forehead cut deep, bleak shadows for eyes. He held the gun ready, finger on the trigger and pointed at the door.
The hatred eddied and sizzled. What would be left of Hannah’s spirit after the horror this monster had put her through? As if she hadn’t already lost enough.
“Hannah!” Rodney kicked the door. Kaycee jumped.
“Give him what he wants!” Hannah screamed. “Give him what he wants, and he’ll let me go home!”
Hood-eyed, Rodney smirked at Kaycee. Rage injected her limbs with energy. “I will, Hannah. I will.” She pressed both hands against the floor and pushed to her feet.
Rodney’s lips coiled into a smile — and Kaycee knew his promises were lies. She stared straight into his heartless eyes — and from a lifetime ago Mark’s voice echoed in her head. “Most people don’t have the courage . . .”
A strange, sudden calm radiated through Kaycee. This man had stalked her because of her columns, her vulnerability. What did he fear?
Kaycee licked her lips, her gaze still locked with his. “Hannah, just relax now, okay? Everything’s gonna be fine.”
More lies. The truth? Rodney had already killed two policemen and maybe Mrs. Foley. He’d kidnapped two people. Now she’d seen his face. So had Hannah. They could identify him. Rodney had everything to lose and nothing to gain by letting them go.
Once he got whatever it was he wanted, he’d kill them both.
FORTY-EIGHT
Nico stared at the broken hasp in disbelief. He twisted around, his gaze cutting to the stuffed animal he’d seen lying on the concrete as he pulled up.
No. No!
He folded over and grabbed the storage-door handle. Yanked it up. The door rolled open with a skreek.
Nico peered into the dimness, seeing no shapes. Nothing.
He whipped a slim flashlight from his pocket and thrust it on. Shone the beam into the unit.
Empty.
Nico spat curses. His knees turned to water, and he sat down heavily. The flashlight smacked against the concrete.
Mind reeling, he stared at the four blank walls.
Had Bear done this? Had he sent Denny and his men here for the money? If so, this was a setup. Nico’s life would end tonight with a bullet to his head.
Snatching up the flashlight, he dragged to his feet. He stumbled over to the stuffed animal lying on its face. Nico picked it up and turned it over. A teddy bear. His mouth tightened. Was this some sarcastic message from the underboss?
What else could it be?
Nico swiveled around, searching the lot for a dark figure. Who’d be the one to whack him? Denny? Dom?
No one was there.
Bear wouldn’t play games like this. If he wanted Nico whacked, the deed would be done by now. Denny or somebody would have been in that storage unit, waiting for him to roll up the door.
Nico gaped again at the bear in his hands. A sudden insane thought popped into his head. Slowly his eyes lifted to glare at Martin Giordano’s apartment.
But Giordano hadn’t known the money was here. He hadn’t known. So how could his wife?
Nico threw the bear down and strode across the concrete.
This was foolish. Desperate hope. Giordano’s wife wouldn’t be in that apartment. News reports said she was hiding somewhere tonight. The apartment wouldn’t even be cleaned up yet. And if she had taken the money, home was the last place she’d go. But pure vengeance drove Nico. He so wanted to catch her sleeping in bed, the kid too. He would strangle them both with his bare hands.
Nico passed unit eight, nine, ten, his heart picking up speed, anger drilling his spine. By unit eleven he was running.
He slid to a stop outside the apartment, rocked back on one foot, and kicked the door with all his might. Wood crunched. He kicked again. The door flew open.
Nico stormed inside.
Arms out, feeling his way in the dimness, he tore across the small living room, flashlight turned off. At the top of the hall his foot slipped. He righted himself and switched on the flashlight. Blood. Footprint.
Nico didn’t care. Rage blazed inside him, burning away all caution. He just wanted to find Martin’s wife. By some pretzel twist of fate she’d be here. She had to be.
He rounded the corner into the first bedroom and stabbed the bed with a beam of light. It was unmade and empty. He jumped across to the other side, checking the floor behind it. He looked in the closet. Nobody.
Cursing, he left the bedroom and ran to the second. He looked over every inch of it. Then the bathroom.
They were gone. With his money.
How could she have done this? How could some stupid woman outsmart him like this?
Nico drew a shaking hand across his forehead. His life was over. A bullet to the head would be merciful. Bear would wrench him limb from limb.
He stumbled from the apartment on weak legs.
Back on the pavement, he grasped his head in his hands, the flashlight hard against one temple. He couldn’t go to the warehouse empty-handed. Couldn’t go home.
Had she taken the money to the police?
That made no sense. She’d have told the police it was here. They’d inform the FBI. G-men would be swarming this place.
Nico dropped his arms to his sides and stared up the concrete at the stuffed animal.
How long ago had she been here? How much lead time did she have?
She’d have to be traveling in a large vehicle. A car could never hold all those boxes.
His blood boiled, fueled by panic. Nico closed his eyes, forcing himself to go over the names of his friends on the Atlantic City police force. Who was working nightshift? How long until he could get a license plate?
Spewing curses, Nico set off running toward the van.
FORTY-NINE
With one fluid motion Rodney slid his long-barreled gun back into his waistband.
He flipped a wall switch, and the bare bulb above their heads flushed on. Kaycee squinted in the sudden light. For a moment he surveyed her with relish, a lion considering its prey. He walked over to a dusty square table and pulled it beneath the bulb, its legs sputtering across the bare wood floor. “Get a chair.” He gestured with his chin as he pulled one up to the table for himself.
Robotlike, Kaycee obeyed. The old wooden chair was light. She slid a look toward the closed door. Hannah had quieted.
“Sit down.”
She lowered herself to the chair. Her ankles shook.
Rodney ran his tongue between his lips. He remained standing beside his chair, arms folded. “On the phone you talked to Tricia about dreaming of the dead man. You heard screams and footsteps. You saw a dark yellow floor.” His words were clipped, terse.
The sense of those eyes upon her — in her own home. Kaycee’s skin flushed. “How did you know?”
“I tapped your phone.”
“Why?”
His expression blackened. “Answer the question!”
“Wh – what question?”
“You heard screams and footsteps.”
“Yes.”
“Just in the dream? Or also while you were awake?”
“I — both.”
His mouth flattened in a cold smile. “And you ‘saw’ a dark yellow floor under the dead man. Before you saw it in the picture on your monitor.”
Kaycee’s fingers curled around the front of her seat. “How’d you get that picture on my computer?”
Rodney shot her a withering look. “Do you think I am incapable? I’ve studied technology for years. I’ve planned this. It’s nothing for me to get in and out of your house with a motion-sensored camera. I only added a few seconds’ delay to it. As for hacking into a computer, that’s rudimentary. The TV was harder, but far from impossible. I have special toys that can interrupt a signal. And yes, I can develop a photo so it fades in sunlight.” He slapped both palms on the table and leaned toward her. “I’m your ‘they,’ remember? Your worst fear come true. I live in your walls. I see what you do and hear what you say. You’ve sensed me since you were a child. Known me practically all your life. So why now do my abilities surprise you?”
Kaycee’s neck arched back until it started to cramp. “I . . . you’ve been watching me, for real, since I was a child?”
He shook his head, as if disgusted with her slowness. “Only in the last year since I found you.”
“You’ve lived in this cabin for a year?”
“Do you think I’m that tasteless? No, no, I’ve saved this lovely abode just for you.”
A year he’d been watching her. The knowledge jarred her bones. A year ago Mandy had died, and Kaycee’s own downward spiral began . . .
Understanding glimmered. “Those times I went to the police in Wilmore. When I thought I saw somebody . . .”
He gave her an evil smile. “Part of my plan to make you look crazy. They don’t believe you, you know.”
Maybe not before. They did now.
But now was too late.
Slowly Rodney straightened, leaving two smeared handprints in the dust. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to proceed.” He swiped his palms together to clean them. “I want to hear about everything you’ve been sensing.”
So he could make sure all those fears came true?
Kaycee’s mouth dried out. She needed water.
Rodney yanked up his T-shirt and reached for his gun. “Tell me if you want Hannah to live!”
She jerked. “Yes, I saw the dark yellow floor. I felt a dark, closed space where I could barely breathe. I heard screams and footsteps and saw bright light. And I smelled blood.”
Kaycee’s words cut off. She eyed Rodney’s hand on the gun.
He drew it away. “Anything else?”
She shook her head.
He swung toward the kitchen, reached in a tilted cabinet, and withdrew a large manila envelope. His movements thrummed with dark, excited glee. At the table he pulled out the envelope’s contents and slapped them down.
Eight-by-ten color photos. The top one was the first one she’d seen of the dead man. The close-up. Kaycee recoiled.
Rodney thumped a forefinger on the dead man’s face. “Who is he?”
Kaycee looked away, sick. “The policeman in the barn. You killed him.”
Rodney made an impatient sound in his throat and flicked the picture off the stack. The next photo showed the man on the blood-smeared dark yellow floor. Rodney jabbed at it. “That look like a barn floor to you?”
Kaycee’s shoulders drew up. “I don’t know.”
He flicked away the picture to reveal a third. The same man, looking into the camera very much alive. “Who is this?”
“I told you. Why do you keep asking me, what do you want me to say?”
“You want to help your little friend in there?”
“Yes!”
“Then think!” He picked up the top photo and smacked it down to the side. With both hands he spread all the remaining pictures except one, which he left hidden. “Look at them.”
Kaycee’s vision blurred. She knew what the final hidden photo would show. Mark, dead.
“Look!”
“I am!” Kaycee hitched a breath and wiped her eyes.
“Here.” He smacked his fingers on the close-up face of a young woman. Blue eyes, long strawberry blonde hair.
Kaycee stared at it, her mind on the unseen photo. “Who is she?”
“You don’t know?”
“I’ve never seen her before.”
“Look again.”
“I don’t know her!”
“Give him what he wants, and he’ll let me go home.” She couldn’t help Hannah. They were trapped. Kaycee felt sweat pop out on her forehead. Why was he doing this?
Rodney hit the second photo. “This one.” The same man and woman, standing side by side, smiling.
“The policeman and his wife?”
An angry vein throbbed in the side of Rodney’s neck. “This one.”
Some dingy-looking apartment living room. An old couch, cheap curtains. “I don’t know this place.” Kaycee’s voice flattened. “Please. I don’t know it.”
“I have one more to show you.” Rodney raised his eyebrows, his face a mask of contempt. Kaycee dug her heels into the floor. “Close your eyes.”
Her lids slipped shut. Kaycee’s chin lowered, silent sobs battering her chest for release. She heard the soft whisk of one slick paper against another.
“You will know who this is.”
Oh, dear God. Kaycee pressed the back of a hand against her mouth.
“Now look.”
Muscles like steel, Kaycee opened her eyes.
Her heart wrenched. Not Mark’s dead face.
It was a little girl with long unruly red curls. She’d never seen herself so young. “That’s me,” she whispered.
Something foreboding and deathly clanked in Kaycee’s head, as if the ancient cover of a deep well shook loose its rusty chains.
“What do you know, she gets one right.” Rodney lifted a leg around his chair and sat. He listed over the table with expectation, pushing the picture toward her. “Looky here, it’s little you, just turned four. It’s time you two met. Time you learned your real name. Kaycee Raye? No.” He tapped the photo one, two, three times.
“Tammy Giordano.”
FIFTY
Tammy. Tammy.
The name glistened like water drops at the bottom of that dark, dried well.
Tammy Giordano.
Kaycee’s startled gaze rose to Rodney’s face. He turned his head, considering her askance. “You remember, don’t you.”
She swallowed, her eyes dropping to the picture of the woman. In her brain a pale light flashed. She leaned closer to the photo, examining the eyes, the lips. “That’s my mother.”
“Yes.”
“But my mother had dark hair.”
“Only as fa
r back as you remember. She dyed it to hide her identity.”
Kaycee stared at him, uncomprehending.
“Think, Tammy. Did you ever see pictures of your mom before you were in elementary school? Pictures of her childhood, your parents’ wedding? Even one photo of your father?”
The well opened up before her. Black, deeper than ever imagined. How had she not known it was there? Kaycee’s eyes widened. She shook her head.
The picture of the couple pulled at her gaze. Her mother — and the man.
“M – my father?”
“Yes.”
Kaycee drank in the handsome face, the dark hair. Sudden longing swept through her. The father she had never known —
But he was the dead man.
Kaycee gasped. No. None of this was right. “My father died when I was a baby. He was in a car accident.”
Rodney separated his lips with a small popping sound. He picked up the manila envelope and stuck his hand inside. “I have one more picture.” He looked pleased with himself. Out came an eight-by-ten of her father and her — at the same age she was in the other picture. Kaycee shook her head. “No — ”
“Your father died when you were four.”
“No. When I was a baby. My mom told me. And he wasn’t shot!”
“Your mother told you lots of things.”
“But I don’t even remember him!”
“You did then.” He pointed to Kaycee’s picture. “Until your mother — Lorraine Giordano — changed your life and your name and your memories. Until she filled your head with lies.”
“Why? Why would she do that?”
Rodney’s fingers scrabbled through the stacked photos. He yanked out the close-up of the dead man. “See this? I did it. I shot him when you were four.”
Kaycee jumped up, knocking into the table. She stumbled sideways. “You’re lying.”
Rodney leapt to his feet and ran around the table. He caught her by the neck and shoved his face in hers. “I. Shot. Him. You were there, you and your lying mother. She hid you in a closet. Remember that? Remember, Tammy? The darkness. The heat.” With one hand he snatched up the picture of the dead man and the blood-smeared floor. Shook it before Kaycee’s eyes. She tried to jerk away, but he held her neck with a rocklike grip. “You saw this with your own eyes, Tammy — when your mother let you out of the closet. You saw your daddy dead on the floor. You threw yourself at him, got his blood on your hands, your clothes. I saw it all in the police report. That pig’s blood I smeared on the picture in your car is nothing. In your head it’s your father’s blood you’re smelling!’
Exposure Page 19
