Dane had contacted Detective Sullivan as soon as he discovered Elizabeth was missing. Almost moments after leaving Marnie, he’d received a frantic call from a guilt-ridden Harper. She’d brought his daughter home for a book…a damn book…and now he was standing in the WE parking lot, dying a bit more every moment, wondering how his daughter was faring, the flash drive tucked in his pocket, its secrets still a mystery. There hadn’t been time.
He told Sullivan everything, including what they’d stolen, that he had the flash drive and would hand it over per Whitman’s demands. That was nonnegotiable. He cautioned Sullivan to handpick men he trusted, fearing Whitman stooges would try to game the process. Harper volunteered to wait in the van with the detective, on hand to help when they got Elizabeth back. They had to get her back safely.
Unless he could prove Elizabeth was inside, which he hadn’t been able to, nothing could happen until the warrant came through. Sullivan kept assuring Dane it would be signed. They’d storm the building and take his daughter back by force if need be. Yet Whitman was a powerful man in Manchester, and his friends were powerful, too. It was taking all of Sullivan’s connections to even get the case heard. No one could believe Whitman was the monster he clearly was. A horrible sense of déjà vu hit him. He’d lost his wife to this monster because no one would believe him. He couldn’t lose Elizabeth.
That meant bluffing Whitman. A risk Dane wasn’t comfortable with, but he refused to involve Marnie to buy time for the judge to come through with the warrant. She’d done enough. It would give Whitman an opportunity to kill her. Like Alice. If Dane had his way, she’d find out after the fact, when Elizabeth was safe. He had the promised flash drive, untouched as demanded. That would have to be enough.
Yet, it worried him that Marnie had called. They hadn’t left on the best of terms. He’d told her he loved her, and she’d told him she never wanted to think of him again. Then she’d called him an hour later, hanging up midconversation? He feared she’d been tipped off about Elizabeth. No, he feared she’d do something stupid.
Exposed, vulnerable, waiting, and wondering if he’d been smart to trust Sullivan to do what needed to be done, Dane spent his time worrying. He’d trusted the wrong people once and lost everything. Now he was forced to trust again. The stakes were just as high. But Sullivan wasn’t another Joe Folsom, he told himself. He prayed he wasn’t, because Dane needed him to be a good guy. Elizabeth needed it. Damn, he should have taken the time to look at the flash drive files, but he’d panicked, did as Whitman asked. Ran to where he’d thought Elizabeth was being held. Now he was just as much in the dark as he’d been before they stole them.
…
The neighborhood was new money, with large, ostentatious mansions lining the curved private road. Each home had the illusion of privacy and safety that came with an endless supply of money. It was pitch-black in the wee hours of the morning, and the obligatory porch lights were on, tastefully breaking the darkness with soft lighting. Even their security was designer.
Marnie pressed her window button and listened to it whir as her mom approached the van. Cool night air hit her with a stinging moist slap. “Thanks for this, Mom. I owe you.”
Whitman Enterprises had made Marnie financially stable and given her the connections she’d needed to track her mom down. Charlotte Pleasant had been nearly dead from drug use when Marnie found her three years ago and forced her into rehab to save her life. But Charlotte kept relapsing, so Marnie tried something new, hiring babysitters to prevent her from using. Her mom was two years sober now, but the damage was done. Charlotte only felt comfortable in that world and refused Marnie’s financial help to escape it. With her looks gone, she had to make her money in new ways. Scary ways. Charlotte had discovered a talent for fixing people’s problems, a job requiring zero empathy and a willingness to hurt. She had quite the clientele—and reputation. The irony was achingly sweet—Whitman had played an important role in creating this ultimate weapon Marnie would use to defeat him.
Charlotte Pleasant slipped the purloined iPhone to her daughter. “I’m good at this. Their security system is expensive, but I used your gadget and got in. Could have cleaned them out. Only the two of them in there, mother and daughter. They live well.” Marnie could see the money signs in her mother’s eyes and worried. “I turned on their computer and made sure the wifi was working, did what you asked me to do. And yeah. They have iTunes. Why do you need to know that?”
Marnie clutched the iPhone. “Did you take their pictures?”
“Yeah. They’re sleeping like babes. The phone takes a good picture, but you’ll need her passcode to get at them, Marnie. How’re you going to do that?” A cool breeze blew through, prompting Charlotte to pull her black jacket close about her, dislodging her hood. Her mom quickly pulled it into place, hiding her lanky graying hair.
“I’m going to hack into their computer using their wifi connection.” Marnie manipulated the iPhone, holding down the home button and the hold button simultaneously. She waited until the Apple logo appeared, then she released the hold button and kept the home button down. “I’ll use their iTunes to resync the phone and wipe the passcode. It will take a few minutes. You don’t have to wait with me.” She grabbed her laptop and, thanks to her mother’s computer savvy, completed the remote link she’d had her establish on the Whitmans’ personal computer. She plugged the phone into a port on her laptop. “I need to stay in range of their wifi for this to work.”
Her mom shrugged. “I got nowhere to go. Not until this job is done.” Charlotte peered at the screen, then at Marnie, looking away quickly when she was caught. “So. It’s nice seeing you. I almost had a heart attack when I saw your name on the caller ID. What’s it been? A year? I’m surprised you thought of me.”
Marnie looked beyond her mother’s face to the white mansion on the hill. Clarisse Whitman and her seven-year-old daughter, Skylar, were asleep, oblivious to the danger they were in. “A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of you, Mom. I always know where you are.” iTunes gave her the option of hitting the recovery button for the phone. Marnie clicked on it. Now it was a matter of waiting for the phone to resync. The passcode would soon be wiped and the phone’s content accessible to anyone.
“Better to avoid me?” her mom said.
Marnie didn’t have the stomach for this conversation. “Don’t make me sorry I called.”
Charlotte looked everywhere but at Marnie. “Whatever. Just saying.”
“Can you do this?” Marnie bit her lip, knowing it was too late to back out now. And anyway, her mother couldn’t have been more suited for the job. She refused to feel guilty about using her. Elizabeth was in danger, and her mother owed her. Big time.
“Hard part’s done. I’m in,” Charlotte said. “It’s twoish, so even if they’re early risers, that gives you four hours before decisions have to be made. A lifetime. Relax.”
Marnie felt the knot of anxiety in her belly loosen but not disappear. She still had hoops to jump through and survival was iffy at best, which was partly why she’d contacted her mom. Unfinished business. “I’m sorry I’ve been scarce.”
There, she’d said it. As miserable as her mother could be, as frustrating and unpredictable, she was under the grip of an addiction. Marnie needed to forgive her, to make peace now or lose the chance forever. If she died tonight, Charlotte’s babysitters wouldn’t get paid, and her mom would go back to the drugs. It would happen, and she didn’t want that, no matter what. “If today goes south—”
Charlotte shook her head, looking everywhere but at her daughter. “Don’t say it. These two aren’t going anywhere. They’re snug in their beds. If they try to leave before you call, I’ve got Gerry over there.” Charlotte didn’t look but cocked her head to the side to indicate in what direction Marnie should look.
“I remember Gerry.” And there he was, her mom’s right-hand man, sitting and waving to her from a Lexus, most likely boosted for this job; a cheaper car would be noticeable in
this neighborhood. As far as Marnie could deduce, the guy was a borderline halfwit, so the Lexus had to be her mother’s idea. She was right. She was good at this. More likely than not, however, Marnie would have to bail her mother out of trouble one day, maybe soon, but that was a problem for tomorrow. Today’s problem docket was full.
“We’ll try to be nice, but—” Charlotte wiped a tear off her cheek. Marnie assumed it was the breeze making her mom misty. “I won’t let you down.”
“Take care of yourself, Mom.” It was the closest she could come to saying good-bye, to offering a piece of herself without letting Charlotte into her heart.
“I will.” She nodded, did her best to hide her emotions, though Marnie could see they were all over the place. It worried her, but Mom was just being Mom. She might be the scariest person she’d ever met, the monster under the bed, the thing that chased you in your dreams, but she was the right tool for this grift. If all went well, there would be no use for Marnie’s plan B, her mom. Or rather, Charlotte and Gerry. They’d remain leashed, and Clarisse and Skylar Whitman would wake in the morning none the wiser, oblivious that they’d dodged a bullet. That was best-case scenario, but it was hard to predict the strike of an adder. It could go either way. If things went south, no one would survive unscathed, because Ian Whitman had done horrible things to people, and shit rolled downhill. He might do what it took to keep his family safe, or not. He’d carry the blame for harm done tonight, not Charlotte, not Marnie.
She noticed her mother’s clothes weren’t hanging on her anymore and thought that was a good sign. She was trying to eat, be healthy again. That’s all Marnie could ask. She forced herself to say the words, to be the kind of person who would say the words, though they felt like shards of glass as they passed her lips. “I love you, Mom.”
Charlotte went still, held her daughter’s gaze for a moment, and then she nodded once. “Don’t die.” Marnie’s mother turned away, disappearing into the night.
She didn’t take offense that her mom didn’t return the sentiment. She understood. Charlotte Pleasant didn’t feel worthy of love, so she didn’t trust it when it was offered. Much like her daughter. Images of Dane flashed in Marnie’s head, of him telling her he loved her, of her rejecting it as impossible despite returning his feelings.
The laptop pinged her. Ian Whitman’s wife’s phone was synced, the passcode wiped, allowing her to pull up the photos of Clarisse and Skylar that her mom took. Marnie’s mouth went dry, and she had to take a cleansing breath to get her nerve back. In the picture, mother and daughter looked so innocent, so peaceful. It felt wrong to involve them…but Marnie would. This was who she had to be to save the people she loved. The monster under the bed. She searched the street for any trace of her mother, but feared all she needed to do was look in the mirror.
Chapter Twenty
“MacLain, I don’t want you to freak out—” Detective Sullivan’s voice traveled through the comm unit in Dane’s ear, a tiny earwig smaller than an earplug, as background noises transmitted sounds of the detective’s support team doing their fair share of freaking out. Dane glanced toward the wood line, where the MPD’s van was hidden in the dark, beyond the circle of the security lighting. “We have an approaching van to add to the equation here. Trying to get an ID as we speak.”
A van. That’s all Sullivan was giving him. It wasn’t as if Dane could ask for more details. Talking to himself in the middle of the parking lot wouldn’t go unnoticed. It would be interpreted correctly—that he was wired. That the cops were indeed involved.
All eyes were on Dane: the security guards, most likely Whitman himself from a window in the building. The deal was Dane couldn’t tell anyone—the cops, FBI, no one—of the exchange, the files and Marnie for Elizabeth. If Dane was anyone else, he’d have been a fool not to comply. Whitman had promised an even exchange, but Dane knew Whitman’s one move was to kill everyone who knew anything about those files. Whitman was tying up loose ends. Complying would be suicide.
Dane scanned the building, wondering where Whitman had put Elizabeth. She had to be frightened, reliving the last time she’d been taken. It was hard to stand there, composed, knowing his daughter was scared. He saw the black van Sullivan had mentioned pull into the parking lot. “Shit.” It was worse than he’d thought. It was the black minivan he and Marnie used to break in to steal the files. Marnie was here.
“—we’re receiving the information on the van’s tags now, and they appear to have been stolen. They’re registered to a red Toyota Sienna. I’m sending my guys out to get closer to you. Don’t worry, they’ll stay out of sight. But if anything happens, you’ll have backup. MacLain, we’re in this together. If you’re okay with that. Nod once.”
Dane nodded once. Somehow Marnie had found out, and now Dane had two people to worry about. His cell didn’t ring. Why would it? Whitman was getting exactly what he wanted—Marnie on a platter. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“It will be okay,” Sullivan said. “Our people are in place now. Sharpshooters at every exit. SWAT is ready to rush the building as soon as we get the heads-up about the warrant. I’m being told there are two people in the van. A woman and a man. No ID on them yet, but we have pictures we can run through the system. Don’t do anything until I give you the sign.” Sullivan’s team was shouting in the background. “Get me an ID on these people!” Sullivan’s impatience was evident, and loud. Not for the first time, Dane stopped himself from tearing the earwig out of his ear.
Two people. Odds were Smith was in the van with her. For some reason, that made him angrier. Smith should have kept her away from here. Dane’s cell finally rang. It was Whitman.
“You and the woman. Come into the building with the files.” The line disconnected, and Dane saw the building’s door swing open, the same door he and Marnie had gone through six hours ago.
“Don’t you dare move, MacLain,” Sullivan said. “Trust the plan. He already has one hostage. I can’t give him another. I have an open line with the judge’s office. I’ve been promised the warrant is close to being signed. We’ll get your girl. Stick with the plan.”
“You have your plan. I have mine.” Dane turned his back on the building, hoping to hide that he was talking to himself. The black van sat idling fifty feet from him. Any moment Marnie would exit and join him. He had to move first. “He has Elizabeth. I’m going in. Marnie Somerville is in that van. Stop her from entering the building.” He took a step toward the building but stopped when he heard someone in his ear shout, “We’re in.”
“Good news,” Sullivan said. “We’ve broken through their security feed. Our team is looking inside now. We should be able to pinpoint where they’re holding her, if they have her at all—Reynolds, do we have the warrant? We’re moments from having visual confirmation Whitman has the girl. Wait, what?” Dane’s stomach clenched. Sullivan’s confusion was making Dane lose confidence in his team. “Dane, my guys are telling me…no, what?”
“Sullivan?” Dane was having a hard time keeping his temper.
“Someone hacked into our server and connected us into the security system of the building.”
His cybergeek was full of surprises. He feared more. Yet, Elizabeth had been with Whitman for too long, alone—he had to go inside and trust Sullivan would keep Marnie out of this. He started walking again. He heard the van’s door open. “Dammit.” He glanced over his shoulder and saw Marnie had stepped out of the van, still in the clothes he left her in, the Walmart cat burglar special. Her expression gave no indication she knew of the police presence in the woods. “Sullivan. Stop her.” He kept walking.
“That’s a negative, MacLain. We need the warrant, and until we have a visual on Elizabeth, we need Whitman to think you’re complying with his demands. And MacLain…there’s no sign of her on any of the video feeds.” Dane didn’t believe it. She was in there. She had to be. “I’m sorry. We have to consider she might not be in there. But we still have the warrant for the servers coming, and that will get us
in to make sure one way or the other.”
Dane turned away from the building, looking toward where Sullivan’s van would be. “Elizabeth is in there.”
“So stall. But don’t enter that building, and stop Somerville from entering.”
Marnie stopped in front of him, and opened her mouth to speak. He refused to betray her confidence, so he touched his ear and gave her nonverbal signals to be quiet. She didn’t look surprised. He smelled vodka. “You’ve been drinking?”
“It’s a night for partying, and I heard I was on your guest list.” Smith had to be in the van with her. Who else but Smith? And they’d been partying. “I should have kept a copy of the files,” she said. “I should have downloaded it to the internet and made all this go away.”
“He’ll kill Elizabeth,” Dane said. “He’ll kill you. I won’t let you go in there. This isn’t your fight.” Whitman would expect Marnie to come inside now. Without her, Dane risked being denied entrance. He risked everything.
“You don’t get to choose my fights,” she said.
The door remained open, but Dane didn’t know for how long. It gaped at him, a pit of evil inviting him to his destruction. “How am I supposed to protect you in there?”
“You’re not.” She indicated the door. “Let’s get Elizabeth.”
He reaching for her, having some vague idea of throwing her over his shoulder and giving her back to Smith, confident the man couldn’t be on board with her latest suicidal plan. Marnie sidestepped him and headed for the door. Interference on the earwig had him wincing as he followed her.
“Neither of you are going in there!” Sullivan was shouting again. “I’m on the phone with the DA’s office now. They found a different judge willing to sign off on breaching the building if we get visual confirmation Elizabeth is on-site. Or if you hand over the files. Let’s do this, MacLain. Just give me the files.”
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