LUCY: The Complete Lucy Kendall Series with Bonus Content (The Lucy Kendall Series Book 5)

by Stacy Green

  I rose from the couch and paced to the window near Kelly’s office area. It would do me no good in spotting her; it faced Rittenhouse Square. The trees, lush with summer foliage, bent in the rising wind. I could almost taste the scent of rain and storm, earth and heat in a disgusting cocktail. Kelly had recently talked about taking a cab. She wasn’t ready yet, but she thought the time was close. Maybe she’d done so today. Or maybe Justin had taken her. Or she’d walked, thinking she could beat the rain. At four blocks away, the trek to Whole Foods was a short walk.

  I’d wanted to surprise her with my early arrival, but now the plan seemed stupid. Kelly would panic at the sight of someone unexpected in her apartment–even if it turned out to be me. I should warn her. Better yet, tell her to wait at the store and I’d pick her up. She didn’t need to be walking in this.

  I saw the lightning streak by this time, jabbing straight down out of the sky and making contact somewhere in the park. The accompanying thunder came less than ten seconds later. Way too close.

  Kelly still didn’t answer her phone.

  Surely she was on her way home, probably rushing through the rain lugging her groceries.

  I logged back into the phone tracker account. The connection seemed slower than it had a few minutes ago, and long seconds ticked by as I waited for her location information to come up.

  Phone cannot be found.

  I tried again. The same result.

  Brittle panic rose in my mouth. Her phone must have died–no tracking application or GPS could work if the phone was off. She’d forgotten to charge her cell, and it had died.

  Rain pelted the window. Big, fat drops that hurt when they smacked my skin. Rolling my neck from side to side, trying to stretch the muscles that had once again tensed up, my gaze landed on her computer. Not the laptop she kept our secrets in, but the desktop provided by the Philadelphia Police Department, the one she did most of her consulting work from. Both monitors were dark, but the one directly in front of me had a post-it note with my name written on it. I hadn’t noticed it before because of Kelly’s habit of sticking post-its on everything within eyesight.

  I collapsed into her chair and shook the mouse until the screen flashed alive. The scream built in my throat and then stuck. Kelly’s terrified face, her eyes wide and teary, with a gag in her mouth, stretched across the 22” screen. The box asking for a username and password rested on top of her forehead.

  I don’t know her password!

  Panic sucked my throat dry; I rocked in the chair. Another flash of lightning, followed by thunder, both accompanied by the slashing rain.

  Her username was Kelly. I typed that in and then sat staring at the picture, into her frozen eyes as if they would tell me what to do next.

  The post-it.

  I typed my own name into the password box. After three shaky tries, I finally managed to hit the right keys. The box disappeared, and Kelly’s desktop appeared. Along the right were the usual files and programs from the PPD. The center video, obviously cued up for me, captured my attention.

  I dragged the mouse to the arrow and clicked.

  First, black video. And then Kelly, tied up, right in this chair. Duct tape on her mouth. The video had been taken on her computer’s web camera. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her eyes jerked from the camera’s focal point to just a few inches above it. Each time, fresh fear filled them.

  “Lucy Kendall.” A disembodied, electronic voice. Was he using her microphone? Kelly used one to dictate reports. I didn’t see it anywhere. Had he taken it to protect against fingerprints?

  “I heard you’d be visiting today,” the voice continued. “Things couldn’t have worked out better.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Poor Shannon Minor. No wonder you’ve come to visit Kelly. You’re drowning in guilt and fear.” Whatever the man used to disguise his voice made him sound like a heartless robot. He sighed into the microphone, the sound coming out like a horrific whoosh. “You ruined everything for me. So now I have to set things straight. You need to be punished. Kelly too.”

  Kelly stared directly at the camera, her eyes wide and desperate.

  I could practically hear her screaming at me to help her.

  Don’t let this happen to her again!

  Kelly suddenly tried to make a noise through the duct tape. I turned the volume all the way up and leaned forward, but I only heard her terror. The man laughed. Shivers ratcheted through me at the strange, robotic sound.

  “Here’s where the real fun starts,” he said. “Kelly’s only got forty-eight hours. Can you find us before she runs out of time? I have rules, of course. No cops. If you say anything, I’ll know. I’ve been digging into your life for years. I found Shannon. I found your pathetic sister too.”

  He started laughing. “I assume you got that message. That was truly fun, I admit. But I’ll know if you go to the police, and Kelly will die. That shouldn’t be a problem for you. After all, keeping the police out of your life is a special skill of yours. See you in forty-eight hours.” He paused, another soft laugh that made gooseflesh burst on my arms. “We left you a clue though, didn’t we, Kelly?”

  She nodded, staring into the camera again, words I couldn’t read in her eyes.

  “Say goodbye, Kelly.”

  Kelly tried to scream again, and the video ended.

  I sat there panting like a thirsty dog. Sweat dampened my armpits, and my fingernails had drawn blood on my legs.

  Her phone pinged at Whole Foods less than thirty minutes ago.

  7

  Four blocks.

  Rain beat at my skin as I sprinted around the few people brave enough to be outside in the deluge. My black T-shirt and denim shorts were soaked; the cheap flip flops I’d chosen for comfort on the drive oozed with water, my feet constantly slipping inside them. A single thought fueled me to ignore the cold rain and lightning streaking nearby: whoever took Kelly had her phone, and he might still be at Whole Foods.

  Water blurred my eyes as I jerked open the heavy, glass door and slid into the small grocery. I stopped, gasping for air. My hair felt like a wet blanket had been thrown over my head, my knees hurt from running. A cashier in a bright green apron gaped at me from her register.

  “Was there a strange man in here with a phone in the last hour?”

  The young cashier glanced around as if hoping someone else would talk to the crazy lady. “Um. Pretty much everybody who comes in has a phone.”

  “He wouldn’t have been using it.” Futility began to sink in. I had exactly nothing to go on. “Just sort of hanging around, killing time.”

  She must have told him about the application, hoping she could change his mind. How else would he have known?

  “I haven’t seen anyone.” The cashier started scanning items again, averting his eyes. “But my manager is stocking shelves. He might have noticed.”

  Retrieving my phone from the relative dryness of my pocket, I took off for the nearest aisle, my flip-flops squeaking louder than the pounding of my heart. I checked the “Find A Phone” app. Kelly’s phone remained dark.

  Aisle by aisle I stumbled, looking at the floor, checking beneath the shelves and searching for the manager.

  This is stupid. Waste of time. He’s long gone.

  “Can I help you?” Another man in a green apron stood in the middle of the essential oils and other smelly things aisle. He was much older than the cashier, his round belly straining against the green material.

  I still couldn’t catch my breath, could barely form a coherent thought. “I’m looking for a man with a cellphone. He would have just been loitering around. Killing time.”

  The portly manager set his box down. “Can you describe him?”

  No! I can’t do a damned thing!

  “No. But he might have seemed edgy. Like he was afraid someone would make him leave or question him. Looking over his shoulder.”

  “Honestly, I don’t remember anyone like that. If you had a description or a picture–”
<
br />   A picture! I did have that. I skimmed through the pictures on my phone until I got to the first one of Kelly. “Was she in here today?”

  Now the manager smiled. “Oh, I know her. Such a nice girl. Quiet though. Very routine–comes in at the same time every week.” His eyes narrowed as he caught on. “Except for today.”

  Now he examined me more closely, undoubtedly taking stock of my pale face and the shock in my eyes, the raw fear rolling off me. “Did something happen to her?”

  He’d call the police. And the kidnapper said no police.

  And he’s watching. He had to have been watching. That’s how he knew to turn the phone on.

  “She’s sick,” I said. “But she thinks her phone might have been stolen.”

  “Ah.” He nodded, seemingly pacified. “Well, it’s been very slow today. I didn’t notice anybody strange. But if I happen to see her phone, I’ll keep it in my office until she’s able to come in and pick it up.”

  “Thank you.” I left him staring and took one more trip through the aisle. No men in the store. No one who looked concerned about my dripping presence.

  So cold. The air conditioning made my wet shirt feel as if it had come from the freezer. Wiping my face with my still damp hands, I exited the store.

  More rain slamming into the top of my head, each droplet like a tiny nail being hammered into my skull. No more impulse decisions. Whatever new life I’d managed to create in Alexandria would go to waste. That Lucy didn’t have the right mindset to find the bastard who’d murdered Shannon and taken her best friend.

  My family.

  But the real Lucy did. She was capable of cruel, desperate things.

  And she would find Kelly before time ran out.

  But finding Kelly alive wouldn’t be enough.

  Mary Weston had been right after all.

  8

  Kelly’s apartment no longer seemed like a refuge. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fear she’d experienced, and in the place that had been her safe zone. I slammed the dead bolt into place and walked to her desk with lead feet.

  Her kidnapper said 48 hours, but how much time did I have now? My fast food breakfast threatened to come back up at the thought of watching the video again, but I had no choice. I needed to have a better idea of when the clock had started ticking.

  Now that I knew what to expect, I steeled myself against the fear and despair dripping from Kelly and focused on the small details. Her attacker was smart; he stayed behind the computer monitor the entire time. No chance of catching his reflection. He’d even made sure to move the fat, ceramic lamp that usually sat on the coffee table. I hadn’t even noticed it was out of place.

  I watched Kelly’s eyes as they flickered between the camera and the man. I caught the pattern on the second replay. A fast glance to the man standing behind her monitor and then a hard, pointed glance directed into the webcam.

  At me.

  I played it again. Kelly’s attempt at speaking still made no sense; I couldn’t tell if she said one word or two. But she leaned forward as she said it. For emphasis. And when the man laughed at her, she looked at him with a hatred unlike she’d anything she’d ever displayed.

  What is she trying to tell me?

  I still had no clue when Kelly had been taken, but she’d been safe last night when I called, so this had happened after midnight.

  Unless he’d already been here.

  No, Kelly would have found a way to give me some kind of warning.

  The computer’s desktop. The wallpaper had been a capture from the video. I searched the screen, hoping to find the time had been part of the capture, but found nothing. How the hell could I know how much time she had if I couldn’t figure out when she was taken?

  I’d have to assume she’d been taken just after midnight. It was 11:00 a.m. now. Kelly had likely lost at least twelve hours, if not more. I had 36 at the most.

  More questions railed at me. How had the man gotten into the building? Had she let him up, or had he charmed someone into believing he’d forgotten his key or code?

  She wouldn’t have buzzed him into the building unless she knew him. And the only men who might have come by were Todd and Justin.

  What about the police? Or someone posing as a cop? Shannon’s killer knew enough about my life to know about Todd Beckett. Which meant he’d known that I would have asked for extra protection for Kelly. He could have pretended to be a police officer with urgent information.

  Would she have bought it?

  I needed to see the building security cameras. I went to the address book on her computer and found the super’s number. Somehow I managed to feign calm when his tired voice came over the line.

  “Yeah?”

  “This is Kelly Swan in apartment 3C. Is there any way I could see the security cameras from last night?”

  “Why? Someone try to get inside your apartment?”

  My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn’t want to say anything that would make him call the police. “No. Someone knocked on my door really late, and I just wondered how he got into the building. Could I see them?”

  He’d have to email them to me, I realized. Or I could try to convince him I was too emotionally distraught and would have a friend come down to the office.

  “I can’t just show you the video for privacy reasons,” he said. “But I know everyone in the building. I can tell you if anyone different came inside or if anyone brought a friend. That would at least give you a starting point.”

  It was the best I could do. “Well, I’m not sure what time it was. I know I went to bed around ten p.m., and I was dead asleep when I heard the knock.”

  “Did you look at the clock?”

  “I don’t have one,” I lied. “I use my phone, and I’d left it in the other room. Too lazy to get up.” Did my laugh sound even remotely genuine?

  “Okay, well I can look between 10 last night and what time this morning?”

  “4:00 a.m.” If I’d taken Kelly, that would be the absolute latest I’d try to get into the building. People were moving around by five, early rush hour geared up. The guy was too smart to be seen.

  “Give me twenty minutes, and I’ll call you back.”

  I gave him my cell number. At the silence signaling the end of the call, panic threatened to steamroll me. Saliva pooled in my mouth, my nerves felt like they’d been lit on fire.

  I clutched at the back of my neck, hoping the pain would clear my head.

  This had to do with revenge. Jake Meyer’s pedophile ring was still the best option. This had to be someone associated with it, but how could I get that information without help from the police? And in time to find Kelly before he killed her?

  Her kidnapper said he’d left me a clue. No, that they had left me a clue. Everything else revolved around the computer, so why wouldn’t this?

  I clicked on the portal from the Philadelphia Police and was immediately asked for a username and password. The combination of Kelly and Lucy didn’t work this time, and I didn’t dare keep trying. If the account locked up, the system might notify the administrator. Someone would call Kelly to check, and then she wouldn’t answer. Would the police be concerned enough to send someone? Kelly had access to sensitive data, so it was possible.

  Her other files were reports that made no sense, analyzing information given to her for various cases. None of them looked to be associated with the Jake Meyer case. But there were so many players involved, how would I recognize the name? Still, nothing looked like anything worth using.

  There was only one place left to check.

  My legs ached as if I’d been sitting for much longer than an hour. I dragged myself to my feet and then to Kelly’s bedroom. I’d never been inside, and I felt like I’d completely betrayed her trust by crossing the threshold. But I needed the laptop.

  Every old building has a good hiding place, and this one was no exception. I shimmied partially underneath the bed and started knocking on the floorboards until the holl
ow one made itself known. My nails caught on the jagged seam as I struggled to remove the board. Finally, it came loose and banged against the bedspring. The eleven-inch laptop, safely in its protective sleeve, was tucked inside. I slipped it out and squirmed out from beneath the bed. My head pounded from the change in position as I sat up. Or maybe it was the stress taking its toll. Either way, I closed my eyes against the pain, my face pinched until the wave subsided.

  With the laptop open, I typed in the username and password combination. This one Kelly had given me because the laptop contained our secrets–just in case.

  Another desktop popped up, this one with different browsers and files. I knew she was also allowed to access the dark web from her work computer, but she rarely did so in case she found information we could use. Instead she hooked the laptop to the extra monitor so we could actually see what we were looking at.

  I squinted at the small screen and started skimming files. It didn’t take long to find what I was looking for. She’d labeled it clearly. Perhaps too clearly? I had no idea if she’d done this with the aid of her attacker, but it was the best I had to go on.

  Meyer Trafficking Case-Suspect Tesla.

  Thunder continued to roll outside, the room even darker as the center of the storm enveloped me. In Kelly’s usual style, the file was done in a series of entries, with double spacing between them.

  Robert Tesla (no relation to the physicist, bummer).

  Penn State grad student who knew and communicated with scumbag Jake Meyer.

  One of suspects tracked down by task force. No clear evidence but plenty of innuendo in messages.

  Daddy is chair of fundraising at Penn State.

  ADA wants to prosecute.

  Why did the cops back down?

  Tesla’s reputation damaged from investigation.

  Prior hidden sex assault accusation brought up.

  Grad program dropped him.

  Police still claiming not enough concrete evidence. Task force detective and FBI