by Jana DeLeon
“But you love your job,” Shaye said.
“Yes, but with everything that’s happened, I won’t be able to do it the way I used to. The people I dealt with before didn’t make the connection between Corrine the social worker and Corrine the wealthy socialite. They just thought I was one more government employee trying to tell them how to live. But now? Everything will be a hassle. The reporters, the accusations…I don’t want to cause social services problems they don’t need. They already have their hands full.”
Shaye understood what Corrine was saying, but she didn’t necessarily agree. If she agreed with her mother, that meant admitting that her own choice of profession wouldn’t work well, either. And maybe it wouldn’t. Right now, she needed to be out on the streets hunting down information, but if the news was streaming her every move, then the killer could chart her progress. It would give him a definite edge.
“Besides,” Corrine said, “I’m no longer safe doing the job. I mean, I wasn’t completely safe before, but back when people thought I was a public servant, there was no reason…” She sighed.
Shaye knew exactly what Corrine wasn’t saying. When people didn’t know she was a multimillionaire, there was no reason to kidnap her and demand a ransom. The people Corrine dealt with weren’t usually the type to read the social magazines, so they wouldn’t have recognized her. But Shaye would probably be hard-pressed to find someone in New Orleans who wouldn’t recognize her mother now. She was already experiencing that herself.
Still, even though Corrine had good reasons, Shaye couldn’t fathom her mother leaving the work she loved. Corrine had already declared her plans to sell off all of Pierce’s business interests and real estate. Her mother wanted nothing to do with the empire Pierce had built, and boardroom meetings had never been her calling.
“What will you do?” Shaye asked. “You and I both know you can’t stay locked up in this house and bake. Our waistlines can’t afford it. And the last thing you’d ever do is become a full-time socialite. You hate that crap.”
And then a thought occurred to Shaye. One that hadn’t crossed her mind before.
“You’re not thinking of moving, are you?” Shaye asked.
“If only it were that easy,” Corrine said. “I doubt I could go anywhere in the States that wouldn’t result in a media frenzy. Perhaps not as bad as in New Orleans, but I’m not going to pretend this wasn’t national news. The story is too big and too juicy. Friends in Europe have been emailing me that it’s even on the major news channels there.”
Shaye frowned. “You haven’t told me that.”
“I didn’t want you to feel trapped while we were overseas the same way you’ll feel trapped here. We weren’t exactly running out shopping, so I figured no one would find us. I wanted you to have some peace and quiet to sort things out.”
“So what then? You have to do something.”
“I’ve got something I’m thinking on. It’s too loosely formed for me to talk about it, but I promise I won’t become the crazy lady who calls her daughter twenty times a day because she can’t be bothered to get her own life.”
“And I appreciate that. When you get it figured out, let me know what I can do to help.”
“Since you’re volunteering—”
Shaye held up her hand. “Unless it involves giving up my work. I already have enough problems with that as it is. I don’t need more.”
Corrine frowned. “As much as I’d like to see you doing something safer, I’m sorry that this happened. I know you want to find that boy and I can’t imagine that’s going to happen with a media storm tagging along.”
“I need to find a way to lose them.”
“How? Now that they know we’re here, they’re not going to give up. Eleonore went by your apartment and there’s a line of vans up and down your street. I’ve already heard from my coworkers at social services and the president of Archer Manufacturing. Both offices are covered up. We can’t pull out of the driveway without a procession behind us. And even if we lost them in traffic, they have crews scattered every place we might show up.”
Shaye glanced at the backyard and the tall stone fence and remembered the last time Corrine thought someone was safe inside her home. The street teen, Hustle, had gone right over the wall and off to confront a killer. Shaye and Jackson had gotten to him in time to save his life and Jackson had killed the perpetrator. Now Hustle was in an entirely different living situation and he and Shaye had become friends.
The longer she thought about the wall and Hustle, the more an idea began to take shape.
She pulled out her cell phone and called Jackson, who was happy to help but couldn’t manage a break for an hour or two. Shaye thanked him and pulled out her laptop. In the meantime, she’d do some more research on George Moss and Brett Frazier. Maybe she could locate a former teacher or two of Brett’s who was willing to talk. If she could run down the victims of George Moss’s temper, she might find someone else who felt chatty.
She looked up from her laptop and saw Corrine shaking her head.
“Go ahead and say it,” Shaye said, knowing that her mother was unhappy with the plans she’d just made.
“There’s no use. You’re as hardheaded as I am. I sometimes forget we don’t share DNA.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Somehow, I knew you would.”
Tara stared at her laptop without really seeing the show playing on the screen. Hours on end of streaming television and movies had her on the verge of death from boredom. If she’d simply been sick, she would have gladly crawled in bed and watched movies until she slept, thankful for the break. But this was different.
She wasn’t resting in her room because she was ill. She was trapped in her room because she was being stalked and the longer she sat there, the more jittery she became. The same as any caged animal. In addition to the huge restriction of freedom, she also had her hands tied as far as finding Ethan went. Logically, she knew she didn’t have the talent or experience to contribute anything to an investigation, but she still had the overwhelming feeling that she should be doing something. She just didn’t have any idea what.
She’d looked at the code in the text message for an hour or so earlier, trying to make sense of the stretch of numbers, but no revelations had been forthcoming. Not that she’d expected to have an epiphany. After all, Ethan hadn’t figured it out and he was a numbers genius. If it didn’t make sense to him, then what chance did she have? For that matter, what chance did anyone have? Which was probably exactly what the killer counted on.
Her watch vibrated and she looked down to see a message telling her it was time to get up and move. Whatever. Her knee was looking better as far as potential infection went, but it was still swollen and walking wasn’t all that comfortable. She blew out a breath, wondering if she should go check the rec room again. No one had been around earlier. Probably everyone was in class, studying, working, or having fun somewhere in the French Quarter.
She’d never realized how quiet the dorm was during the day. Occasionally, she heard footsteps in the hall and doors open and close, but the high-pitched chatter that filled the halls at night wasn’t present now. She glanced out the window and saw the sun starting to set. In no time, it would be dark. That meant people would be around and she could come out of hiding, at least for a couple hours.
She eased her legs off the bed, giving her injured knee a lift with her hands, then slowly rose, giving her knee plenty of time to adjust as she straightened. She took a couple of slow steps toward the minifridge to loosen things up and grabbed a soda. As she turned toward the door, her cell phone signaled an incoming text. She pulled it out of her pocket and gasped when she saw the display. The text was from Ethan.
I’m in trouble and need your help.
Bring all the cash you have and car keys to my dorm room.
What in the world? Tara stared at the phone, as surprised by the message as she would have been if aliens had dropped through
the ceiling and into the room. Had that asshole cop been right? Had Ethan been hiding out all this time? She texted back.
Are you all right?
Where have you been?
She sent the text and waited. A couple seconds later, a response came back.
Not over phone.
Don’t tell anyone. Dangerous.
She frowned. The first thing she’d planned on doing was calling Shaye. Surely she wasn’t included in the “anyone.” Besides, how would Ethan even know if she told Shaye?
Then she thought about the first sentence. Not over phone. Did Ethan think someone was somehow reading their texts or could listen in on phone conversations? She knew it was possible but not nearly as easy as they made it seem in movies, and someone had to have the equipment and knowledge to do it.
Please hurry. I don’t have much time.
Park at the end of the lot.
She looked at the incoming texts and her heart clenched. The thought of Ethan, scared in his dorm room, waiting on her to help him, made her want to cry. It was still daylight, sort of, and she did borrow his car without asking. Ethan probably needed the car to get away and she’d delayed that already by having the keys. She only had twenty dollars on her but if Ethan told her where he was going, she could send more.
I’m on my way.
She sent the text, shoved the phone in her pocket, and grabbed the car keys from her desk. Students were returning for the night, so people were milling about the hallways and the lobby downstairs. Tara hurried to the car as quickly as she could, ignoring the angry protests from her knee. She had all night to rest, but Ethan might not have another ten minutes.
It was a short drive to Ethan’s dorm. The parking lot was already filling up so finding a space close to the entry wouldn’t have been possible anyway. She guided the car to the end of the lot and parked in a corner spot where the parking lot met the courtyard. Maybe Ethan planned on sneaking out the back of the dorm and coming around the side, hoping no one would see him get in the car.
She glanced around before reaching for the door handle, then hurried out as a big group of students entered the parking lot on the other side. She half walked, half limped for the dorm and followed the other students inside. Enough students milled around the hallway that Tara felt safe. Surely no one would attempt something at this time of day and with so many people around. If she screamed, she’d easily be heard.
She knocked on Ethan’s dorm room and leaned close to the door, listening for any sound inside.
“Ethan,” she said, her voice low. “It’s Tara.”
She waited a couple seconds, then knocked again, starting to worry. Had something happened? Had something forced Ethan to flee before she got there?
She reached for the doorknob and was surprised to find it unlocked. Surely if Ethan were in danger, he would have locked the door. Suddenly, a thought struck her and she sucked in a breath.
What if the killer had gotten to him? What if she opened the door and found Ethan dead?
A cold sweat formed on her forehead as she built up the courage to open the door. Finally, she said a prayer and pushed it open.
The room was empty.
She scanned the small space, taking in Brett’s messy side and Ethan’s neat side, but there was no sign of Ethan in the room and no indication that he’d been there. She looked up and down the hall, making sure there were people around in case things got bad, then stepped inside, leaving the door wide open. A quick review of the closets and under the beds revealed nothing. She checked Ethan’s bed and desk, opening all the drawers to make sure he hadn’t left a note for her somewhere.
When she was convinced there was no one and nothing to find, she blew out a breath. Something must have scared Ethan away.
She pulled out her cell and sent a text.
I’m at your room. Where are you?
She sent the text and was relieved when her phone indicated it had been read. A couple seconds later, Ethan texted her back.
Had to leave fast. Will call later.
She clenched the phone for several seconds, then sent another message.
I have the car. Let me come get you.
She watched the display as the message changed to delivered status, waiting for the status to change to read. But as the seconds ticked by, the status remained the same. To hell with this, she thought, and dialed Ethan’s number. The phone went directly to voice mail.
“Call me as soon as you get this,” she said, then shoved the phone into her pocket.
Why had Ethan turned his phone off? Or had he run out of battery?
She walked out of the room and headed back down the hall. There was nothing else she could do here. Hell, there was nothing she could do anywhere if Ethan wouldn’t tell her where he was. The business cards for the detectives were in her dorm room. As soon she got back there, she’d call them. They should be able to trace the cell tower the text had originated from, maybe even trace the phone if Ethan turned it back on.
The sun was just sinking over the buildings as she exited the building and hurried across the parking lot. She jumped into the car and pulled out her phone to call Shaye and let her know what had happened. As she brought up her address book, someone grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth with his hand.
Her hands flew up to grab his arm but before she could even get a good grip on him, she felt the needle puncture her neck. She jerked her head as hard as she could away from the needle and dropped her left hand to the horn and laid on it over and over again. He tightened his grip on her neck, and the courtyard began to blur. She dropped her left hand to the door handle and with every ounce of her strength, she shoved the door open and ripped herself away from her attacker.
She fell out of the car, her injured knee connecting hard with the concrete. She tried to stand but everything was swimming and her strength was evaporating. So she started screaming and crawling toward the dorm. Praying that someone would hear her.
The last thing she saw before she blacked out was a pair of blue tennis shoes. She didn’t even have the strength to look up to see if it was a rescuer or the end. Then she slid into darkness.
17
Shaye kissed her mother on the cheek, then grabbed her backpack. Given her unorthodox method of leaving the house, she couldn’t carry much, but her laptop and a change of clothes were necessary. Corrine had been switching back and forth between disapproval and worry, and now her expression was a combination of both.
“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” Corrine said.
“There’s no other way,” Shaye said. “I can’t hide out when that boy’s life is at stake.”
“But the police are handling it.”
“The police aren’t working for Tara. I am, and I’m going to keep my promise even if it’s a little inconvenient.”
“A little?”
“It’s not a big deal. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Be careful.” Corrine teared up. “I can’t handle losing anyone else.”
“You’re not going to lose me. Even if I wanted to do something foolish, I can’t. I have to keep the police informed or I could get my license yanked and Jackson into trouble. We’re all treading lightly. I promise.”
Corrine nodded but still didn’t look happy. Shaye stepped outside into the backyard and pulled one of the outdoor dining chairs up against the wall Corrine’s property shared with Mrs. Hester, an elderly widow who had lived in the house behind Corrine’s her entire life. Shaye secured the backpack around her arms, stepped onto the chair, then pulled herself onto the wall. As she jumped, she kicked the chair over and the metal legs clanged onto the stone deck.
Crap. She rolled over the wall and dropped into Mrs. Hester’s hedges.
And that’s when the dog—that Mrs. Hester never had before—started barking.
“Come out of those bushes or I’ll shoot you right where you stand.” The old lady’s voice sounded in front of Shaye, but the thick bush blocked her from seein
g exactly who stood on the other side of the foliage. And if they were really holding a gun.
“Mrs. Hester?” Shaye called out.
After a couple of excruciating seconds of completely silence, the voice called back. “Is that you, Shaye?”
“Yes. It’s Shaye Archer.”
“Well for goodness’ sake. I didn’t even realize you were back in town. Get out of my bushes before the bugs get on you.”
Shaye pushed the branches aside and stepped out. Mrs. Hester stood on her back patio holding a Chihuahua in her left arm and a .45 in her right. It was both odd and incredibly frightening. Her right arm shook from the weight of the gun and as she squinted at Shaye, she slowly lowered it. Shaye let out the breath she’d been holding.
What were the odds? Shaye’s entire life Mrs. Hester had grilled fish on her back patio at 4:00 p.m. and gone straight to bed. You could have set your watch by the smell of fish that permeated the backyard. Apparently things had changed while Shaye and Corrine were away. Shaye looked at the gun that was almost as big as the dog and cringed. Maybe not for the better.
“I’m so sorry I startled you,” Shaye said. “Mom and I just got back a couple days ago and now there’s a bunch of reporters in front of the house. I was trying to get away without them seeing me.”
Mrs. Hester scowled. “Vultures. The whole lot of them. Trying to get famous over the suffering of others.”
Shaye nodded. “I’m not ready to talk to them, but I have something I’ve got to do, and I need to do it without a television crew around.”
Mrs. Hester nodded knowingly. “You’ve got a man to see.”
“Uh, well, sort of.” She was about to see him. Just not in the way Mrs. Hester had in mind.
“That’s wonderful. Every young woman should have a man worth climbing over walls for. My Frank has been gone eighteen years now, and I still miss him every day.”
Shaye smiled. “I hope one day I have a marriage as happy as yours was.”
“Oh, I have no doubt you will. You’re a sharp one and you’ve already experienced so much at such a young age. You’ll make a good choice and you’ll be happy with it.”
