Don't Tell

by Karen Rose

  Tom. Max swallowed back his own terror as empathy for Caroline’s son filled him. God, what the boy had been through in the last hour. “How soon before we’re there?” They were racing for the precinct to meet with Lieutenant Spinnelli.

  “Twenty minutes. What exactly did the police say? This Spinnelli. What did he say?”

  Max rubbed his hands over his face. “He said they’d tracked Winters to Chicago. He’s been looking for Caroline for two weeks now. They’ve been working with the police in Asheville.”

  “North Carolina?”

  “Yeah. It’s where Caroline grew up. Lieutenant Spinnelli said they’d send someone to get Tom and bring him to the police station.”

  “What about the girl?”

  “Evie? The hospital said she was still in critical condition. They were trying to find Dana to tell her to call me.”

  David’s jaw tightened. “Coincidence?”

  “Spinnelli didn’t think so. He didn’t say why; just that he’d meet me at the police station.”

  As if on cue, his cell phone jingled. A moment of fear paralyzed him as he imagined the police calling him to give him bad news about Caroline. He made himself punch the talk button. “Hello?”

  “Max? It’s Dana. I’m sorry I didn’t call you before about Evie. I wasn’t thinking.”

  He cleared his throat. “How is she?”

  Dana sighed. “Still unconscious, but holding on. I can’t believe this, Max. I can’t believe someone broke into my apartment and did this to her.”

  “Dana, I need to tell you something.”

  There was a beat of silence. “What?”

  Max drew a breath. “Caroline’s missing. The police say her husband found out she was in Chicago somehow. He’s …” His voice broke. “He’s got her, Dana.”

  “Oh, God, no. Oh, God, Max.”

  Max pressed his knuckles to his lips as David squeezed his arm from across the car. “Tom found blood in their apartment.”

  “No.” Dana’s sobs came through the phone and twisted Max’s heart still more.

  “Dana, they … The police … They think Caroline’s husband may have hurt Evie, too.”

  “No, Max. No.”

  “Yes, Dana.”

  “But … Oh, God, Max.” Dana’s voice was becoming hysterical. “Whoever did this to Evie raped her.”

  Max’s stomach clenched. “Are they sure?”

  “She might die, Max,” Dana whispered. “She’s bleeding internally. He was … brutal.”

  They held the phone in silence for a few moments, linked by a shared terror. That monster had Caroline. He was capable of … anything. Max’s imagination whipped up pictures that made his stomach heave and his brow break out in a cold sweat. He pushed them aside, all the twisted, convoluted conjurings of his imagination. He didn’t have time to think about Caroline that way now. He needed his mind sharp and clear. To plan. To find a way to get her back. “Dana, can you talk to the police? They’re trying to get all the information they can on him.” The images intruded, crystal clear and gut ripping. “We—” He choked on the word. “We’ve got to find her.”

  “Tell them to come to the ICU waiting room,” Dana said hoarsely. “I’ll be there.”

  Chicago

  Sunday, March 18

  8:30 P.M.

  Max and David were escorted to a small conference room where a detective in a rumpled brown suit sat in the corner and Tom paced the perimeter. As they entered, Tom stopped pacing and looked up. Max’s throat constricted at the look of devastation in the boy’s eyes, the image of Caroline’s. He hesitated a moment then closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around the boy’s shoulders.

  Tom’s back stiffened, then it was as if the dam burst. Great wrenching sobs tore from his chest and his body shook as he tried to hold back the torrent. Max patted his back, unsure of what to say to soothe the boy’s fear. His own fear.

  “We’ll find her, Tom,” he whispered, desperately wanting to believe his own words.

  “This is all my fault.” The self-condemnation followed a series of shuddering breaths as Tom worked to regain his composure.

  “No, it’s not.” Max pulled at Tom’s shoulders until he could look down into his face. “This is not your fault.” Tom’s jaw set stubbornly and in that moment Max saw Caroline so vividly he didn’t know if he could stand it. “How is this your fault, Tom?”

  “I shouldn’t have left her alone. I shouldn’t have gone camping.”

  Max grasped Tom’s shoulders and shook him gently. “She wanted you to go on that trip. She told me so. I should have walked her to the door and checked every closet. If anyone is to blame for this, it’s me. I should have taken better care of her.”

  “I’d say it’s the fault of the miserable sonofabitch you have the misfortune to call your father,” David said blandly, leaning against the doorjamb, his arms linked loosely across his chest. He was the picture of calm outwardly, but Max could see the rage in his brother’s casual stance.

  “I’d say that’s the smartest thing I’ve heard all night,” the detective drawled.

  Max and Tom turned, each wearing a glare. Tom wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

  “He’s not my father,” Tom gritted. “The misfortune is that he donated the DNA. That’s all.”

  “I stand corrected.” David sat at the table and pulled out a chair. “Sit, Tom. You, too, Max. I suspect this is going to be a long night.”

  The detective stood and held out his hand. “I’m Murphy. Spinnelli’s my lieutenant. He’ll be here soon.” Max shook his hand and took the seat David offered. Tom continued to stand and Murphy shrugged before taking his own seat. “I need to get some information from you, son.” He flipped open a notepad. “When was the last time you saw your father?” He looked up and met Tom’s turbulent eyes. “I mean the man with the DNA.”

  Tom leaned against the wall and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Seven-thirty in the morning on May 30 the year I was seven.”

  “Why haven’t you seen him since then?”

  “We’ve been hiding. Why now? How did he know to look for us now, after all this time?” Tom demanded.

  “You’ll have to ask Lieutenant Spinnelli that question, son.”

  “When will he be here?” Tom asked, hands now on his hips.

  “He’s here.” A burly man with a salt-and-pepper mustache appeared in the doorway. “I’m Spinnelli. You must be Tom. And you’re Dr. Hunter?”

  Max half-rose from his chair to shake Spinnelli’s hand, his heart picking up speed as another wave of fear blasted him. “I am, and this is my brother, David Hunter. What information can you give us? Where is Caroline?”

  Spinnelli sighed. “We don’t know, Dr. Hunter, but we do believe she’s with Rob Winters. Tom, where is the car you drove away in seven years ago?”

  Tom stiffened. “Mom hid it. In a lake in Tennessee. Why?” His eyes widened as realization dawned. “You found the car. That’s what started him looking.”

  “I’m afraid so, son. Winters has been searching for your mom for about two weeks. So far he’s believed to have killed three people during the course of his search.”

  Tom pulled out a chair and sunk into it, his face ashen. “But …”

  Max covered Tom’s hand with his own, his heart racing and skipping. Three people. The bastard’s killed three people. And he has Caroline. Oh God. Please. “Evie Wilson? She’s …?”

  Spinnelli shook his head. “Still alive. But we do have a few clues. We found the rental car he’d been driving abandoned at a rest stop in northern Indiana a few hours ago.”

  “Are you sure?” Max asked, straightening in his chair.

  Spinnelli nodded. “Yeah.” He leaned forward, focusing his grave attention on Tom. “We found the body of an old man in the trunk, Tom. Caucasian, balding, beard, about seventy-five.”

  Tom’s chin quivered. “Mr. Adelman. He wasn’t on the step. I was going to check on him. I thought maybe he’d fallen and hur
t himself. I forgot to check when I found out Mom was gone.”

  Spinnelli nodded again. “He matches the description of the elderly man my men talked to yesterday morning. We found something else, something a little more encouraging. Your mom is resourceful, Tom. Apparently they stopped at a gas station outside of Lexington, Kentucky. Your mom left a message in the bathroom stall, rolled up in the toilet paper. Gave her name, that she had been kidnapped by Rob Winters and that whoever found it should contact me. Somebody did.”

  Tom’s swallow was audible. “He’s headed south. Back to North Carolina.”

  “That was my take, but we’re confused. We’ve been working with Special Agent Thatcher and Lieutenant Ross in Asheville. They’re convinced he’s after you, not your mom. That he’s obsessed with finding you. Do you know where he’d take her, Tom?”

  Tom’s head wagged wearily. “I don’t know. The house.”

  “We’ve got surveillance there. He’ll know that. Can you think of any other place?”

  Tom shook his head, his expression one of helpless frustration.

  Max looked at his watch. “How far is Asheville?”

  “Max,” David started, then moved his shoulders in acceptance. “Let’s go.”

  Spinnelli frowned. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to tell you you’d be more use to us here? I didn’t think so.” He reached for Murphy’s notepad and scrawled a name and number. “Call Special Agent Steven Thatcher. He’s the primary on this case in Asheville.”

  “There’s a case?” Tom asked. “What kind of case?”

  Spinnelli’s mustache bent down. “Two weeks ago, the case was reopened as a homicide. Yours, young man. Don’t make it come true. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  Tom took the piece of paper and folded it into precise thirds. “Let’s go, Max.”

  Max shook his head forcefully. “No way. There is no way I’ll allow you to leave Chicago. Your mother will have my head if I put you in any danger.”

  Tom stood, his face still alarmingly pale, but with a poise and resolute dignity that belied his years. “Every minute we argue is time we could have been on the road.” He held out his hand to Spinnelli. “Thank you for your help, sir. Is there any way you can hold Mr. Adelman’s body until me and my mom come back? He was like family. He didn’t have anybody else.”

  Spinnelli shook Tom’s offered hand, a look of respect on his face. “I’ll do my best, Tom. Drive safely and give my regards to Thatcher and Ross.”

  Asheville

  Monday, March 19

  7 A.M.

  The morning was quiet, dark in the hours just before dawn. The only sounds Winters could hear were the drumming of his own fingers on the steering wheel and the low murmur of his police scanner as he watched the street for any sign of Sue Ann. That she’d come was not even a question in his mind. That she’d come alone remained to be seen.

  He needed some cash. His credit cards had all been denied. All of them, even the ones in his alias names. His lips firmed as his anger simmered. They knew. They knew his aliases. They’d been in his house, disturbed his things. Thatcher was behind this, of that he was certain. Thatcher would pay. As would Ross.

  He reached to turn up the volume on the police scanner just as Sue Ann’s battered Chevy pulled into view. Winters slouched down in the seat of the dirty white panel van he’d picked up at the West Virginia–North Carolina border. He’d changed cars twice along the way. It had added a bit of time to the trip, but was a worthwhile diversion. Sue Ann’s Chevy turned into the convenience store parking lot where he’d told her to wait.

  He took a quick look to the back of the van, meeting Mary Grace’s unwavering stare and felt his anger rise from a simmer to a boil. She’d surprised him, staring him down and refusing to comply. She’d changed and he’d overestimated the ease with which he’d be able to bend her to his will. No problem. She thought she was strong. Mary Grace actually thought she was a match for him. He smiled coldly, gratified to see her throat work beneath the duct tape that half-covered her face as she swallowed hard.

  He’d get what he wanted from her.

  He had ways. He smiled, thinking of all those ways.

  Winters returned his attention to the parking lot where Sue Ann got out of her car and walked into the store, just as he’d instructed. A few minutes later she came out with a cup of coffee, just as he’d instructed. He tuned his ear to the police scanner.

  Through the static he heard his suspicions confirmed. They reported the subject of the surveillance had arrived at the rendezvous point. They’d known Sue Ann would be coming. Either Sue Ann had betrayed him or they’d tapped his home phone. Sue Ann would never dare open her trap. Of this he was certain. On top of being too stupid to live, the woman was spineless, properly set in her place.

  No, the betrayal had come from within the police. His former brothers, men he’d stood with for years. Men he’d supported in countless calls against crime throughout the city.

  They were waiting for him, ready to take him away as if he were some common crackhead on the street. Ross was behind this. He was sure of it. But his brothers had followed. They were his brothers no longer. In disgust Winters put the van in reverse and pulled away from his watching place, a half-block from the convenience store where Sue Ann would wait until she was taken in for questioning.

  He drove until he reached an abandoned house far away from the convenience store and his own home, pulled into the driveway, rolled down the van window and reached into the mailbox. And smiled. He drew out an envelope, thick with the cash Sue Ann had found in his home strongbox and paid her squinty-eyed nephew to drop in this out-of-sight mailbox. Good girl, he thought, counting the cash. It would have to be enough for now.

  “We’re heading out, Mary Grace,” he called to the back of the van. “I think we’ll head west. It’s been a long time since you’ve been to the cabin.”

  Caroline let her eyes slide closed for just a moment as some of the hope drained from her heart. The cabin. It was remote, isolated. And Rob’s secret getaway. It had belonged to Rob’s father, a vicious, uncaring man. When his father died, he’d left it to Rob. It was a place Rob had taken her only a few times, usually preferring to go by himself.

  No one would know where she was. No one would know where to rescue her. She’d have to find a way to escape on her own.

  No, not on her own. Not anymore. Now there was someone else to consider, to protect.

  Caroline opened her eyes and stared into the murky gray in the back of the van only to see a wide-eyed little face staring back. A thin strip of freckles could be seen above the silver duct tape half-covering his little face. Mussed red hair stood on end. He still wore his Spiderman pajamas. The boy had been taken from his bed, mouth taped, hands and feet bound. She had no idea who the child was nor why Rob was so energized by the child’s capture.

  She turned her body so that her own bound foot could rub against his small leg. Desperately he moved his leg to bump closer to her before blinking, sending a stream of tears down his little face.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Asheville

  Monday, March 19

  9 A.M.

  “What the hell is all of this?” David exploded when he found yet another downtown Asheville street blocked by a chanting crowd. It was pandemonium, just shy of a full-fledged riot. David edged Max’s Mercedes along the road, congested with people. Some held signs decrying police brutality. Almost all the faces were black. Every face was hard and angry.

  Max pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in the number he’d used to talk with Special Agent Steven Thatcher every other hour during the night. “We’re two blocks from the police station, Thatcher, but we can’t get any closer. You’ve got a damn riot on the street.”

  “I know,” Thatcher replied shortly. “I’ll send a cruiser to meet you and escort you the rest of the way. Have you eaten?”

  “No.” Max looked behind him to the backseat. “Are you hungry,
Tom?”

  Tom’s eyes remained locked on the crowd outside his window. “No.”

  “You need to eat, son,” David said mildly.

  “I’d throw it up,” Tom responded woodenly, still focused on the scene outside.

  “No thanks,” Max said into his phone and told Thatcher where they currently were parked.

  Five minutes later a cruiser appeared and cut a path through the chanting crowd, and lights flashing, led David, Max and Tom to the police station parking lot. Max got out of the front passenger seat holding back his groan. His hip ached, his head throbbed and sharp pains arced up his spine. They’d chosen to drive as the earliest flight out of Chicago arrived in Asheville after ten-thirty. Getting here an hour and a half earlier was worth every minute of the discomfort he’d endured during the twelve-hour drive. Tom got out behind him and wordlessly handed him his cane.

  He’d shared precious few words with the boy during the drive. He now clasped Tom’s shoulder and the two of them walked up the stairs together, Tom slowing his stride to account for Max’s difficulty. David was first up the stairs and held the door open for the other two.

  “Where can we find Special Agent Thatcher?” Max asked the uniformed officer at the front desk. It was surreal somehow. Just knowing that twenty-four hours before his life had been on the verge of perfect. He’d held Caroline in his arms, his marriage proposal still a beautiful dream. And now … He shook his head, refusing the horrific images entry into his mind. Caroline needed him sharp. Tom needed him strong.

  He’d let himself fall apart when she was safely back in his arms. When. When.

  “Upstairs,” the officer answered, eyeing them all, but especially Tom with obvious interest. His eyes noted Max’s cane. “Elevator’s off to the right.”

  A low roar met his ears as the elevator opened, immediately quieting when they stepped into the detectives’ bullpen. Max noticed the curious stares following Tom as they walked across the room and realized many of these policemen had searched for him seven years before, believing him kidnapped or dead.

  Three people emerged from the office at the end of the open room, two tall, broad shouldered men, one with red hair, the other with blond. A woman stood between them and met his eyes with sympathy.