She Can Hide (She Can Series)

by Leigh, Melinda

  “Let’s get this distributed.” The chief handed the sketch back to the artist. “I want to find this guy.”

  Abby picked up her water bottle and stood. “I’m going to see how Derek is doing.”

  Ethan followed her. Theories rumbled through his head. Joe was a serial killer. Doubtful. The methods of attempted murder didn’t seem to fit a serial killer. He kept the possibility in the back of his head, but the attempts on Abby seemed too impersonal.

  They went into the conference room. Derek was stuffing the end of a foot-long meatball sub into his mouth.

  Abby sat next to him. “Are you all right?”

  The kid had been nervous when they’d first brought him to the station, but he’d relaxed during the long stint with the artist.

  “Do you know where your mom met Joe?” Abby set her water on the table and picked at the label.

  “The restaurant bar, I think.” Derek sucked on the straw of his Coke. “He came home with her from work.”

  But did Joe target Abby before or after he picked up Krista? Did he spot Abby and decide to kill her? Or did he pick up Krista because she lived next to Abby?

  The latter made the most sense. Krista was a means to get close to Abby. Living right next door, Joe was able to watch Abby without seeming suspicious. No doubt Krista knew things about Abby as well. They’d been neighbors for two years.

  Abby was awfully tight-lipped on Krista’s personal life. But Ethan had made a call to social services. A couple of years ago, Derek was taken away because Krista was an alcoholic. She’d gotten sober and done the AA thing and gotten him back.

  Had she stayed sober?

  Nancy, the chief’s secretary, popped her head through the doorway. “Ethan, the woman from social services is here.”

  Ethan looked past Nancy. A middle-aged woman in a cheap pant suit stood in the lobby by the desk. Guilt, undeserved but strong, slammed through Ethan’s gut.

  Derek dropped his Coke. His eyes widened in disbelief, then horror. He stared at Ethan, betrayal seeping from every pore.

  The blade between Ethan’s ribs twisted.

  A tear welled in Derek’s eye. “How could you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “What?” Abby leaped to her feet. She whirled to face Ethan.

  He couldn’t. He wouldn’t betray Derek like this.

  But he had. Guilt crawled across his face as he watched Derek’s reaction.

  “You have to trust me, Derek.” Ethan’s voice was tight, the words dry as dust as he spit them out. “It’s only temporary.”

  Abby couldn’t speak to him, not without losing it and upsetting Derek even more. She smoothed her features and sat back down next to Derek.

  “It’ll be OK.” She fished in her purse for her cell phone. In the bottom of her bag was the charger. She’d been carrying it around since she’d been staying with Ethan. She pressed both into Derek’s hands. “Quick. Put these in your pocket. I have another one. I’ll text you with the number.”

  He nodded. She could tell he couldn’t speak, and he was trying hard not to cry.

  “They’re going to find your mom really quick.” She tried to hug him, but he pulled away, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

  The rest happened too fast for Abby to process.

  An older woman came into the conference room. With a plain brown pant suit and square-heeled shoes, she could have been a schoolteacher. “I’m Martha Jenkins, Derek. I’m going to take you to a foster home now.”

  Abby got up and rounded the table to stand in front of the social worker. “Where are you taking him?”

  “And you are?” Martha gave her a tired smile.

  “Derek’s neighbor, Abby Foster.”

  “I can’t give you the address, Ms. Foster,” Martha said. “I’m sorry.”

  Then she took Derek away. He went without a single look back. His shoulders fell forward as if his entire body deflated.

  Abby sank into a chair, shock weakening her legs. Panic churned behind her breastbone.

  “I’m sorry.” Ethan came in and closed the door behind him. “I had no idea they’d be so fast. I was going to warn him.”

  “How could you?” Abby’s hands trembled. Emotions bubbled in her chest, the pressure building to pain.

  Hands on his hips, Ethan paced the small space with short, frustrated steps. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Not call social services.”

  “Where would he go?” Ethan scraped a frustrated hand through his hair. “You think any judge in his right mind would let you take him? Someone is trying to kill you. Derek would be in danger. Joe was probably in Derek’s house because of you. Did you think of that?”

  Realization sank in Abby’s belly, turning and churning like acid. This was her fault. Joe had sought Krista to get close to Abby. To watch her. To plan his attack. To kill her. Abby had put Derek in danger just by living next door and being friendly. Her entire selfish plan to have a normal life had ruined Derek’s future. Not only had her past followed her, the violence was contagious, spreading to the few people she’d befriended like a deadly virus.

  An exhausting sense of helplessness washed through her. What was she going to do? “I’ll go to the family services office tomorrow and fill out the paperwork. When Joe is caught, maybe they’ll let me take Derek.”

  “Maybe.” But Ethan’s tone wasn’t promising.

  “I have to do something.” Abby’s head fell forward into her hands. “This is his worst nightmare. I told you what happened to him last time he was in the system.”

  “I told Martha. She said she was placing him with good people.”

  Abby didn’t respond. Martha couldn’t know everything that went on in every foster home. She probably managed more kids than she could possibly handle.

  Ethan stopped pacing. He turned around and clasped his hands behind his back, taking the stance of a confident soldier. “Look, Abby, I didn’t have any choice. The rules are clear.”

  “It’s a broken system.”

  “It’s the only one we have, and it’s there as a safety net to protect kids. His mother has been aiding and abetting a criminal.” Ethan took two steps and dropped into a chair as if his legs had given out.

  “Krista has no idea what Joe is.” Abby sighed.

  Ethan leaned forward. “And why is that? Why would she pick up a strange man at a bar and bring him into her home when she has a child to protect?”

  Abby didn’t answer. There wasn’t anything to say. She knew Krista’s faults. Abby’s mom hadn’t brought strange men home. Instead she’d stayed in bed for days at a time. The symptoms were different, but the disease was the same.

  “She’s an alcoholic. Her AA sponsor hasn’t seen her in weeks.” Ethan had obviously done his homework. He knew about Krista’s alcoholism and the terms under which she’d retained custody of Derek.

  “She tries.” But Abby’s voice sounded as small and weak as her argument.

  “Sometimes trying isn’t enough.”

  No kidding.

  A knock sounded, and the door opened. The chief stood in the doorway. His eyes were sad and frustrated. “Ethan, can I see you in my office?”

  Ethan left the room.

  She had to do something. She couldn’t let this go on. Krista was with a killer, maybe willingly, maybe not. Either way her life was at stake. There was also the chance that Joe would go after his only other link to his crimes: Derek.

  What was he feeling right now? Memories of her own brush with foster care swamped Abby: the fear, the loneliness, the desolation, along with the knowledge that you were at the mercy of strangers. Derek’s experience had been far worse than hers. Was he all right?

  Abby knew what she had to do. There was one man who had the power to make this all go away, a man Abby had sworn she’d ne
ver contact again. That he’d use illegal means was a given, but Abby was done with following the rules. The legal system had done nothing but turn its back on her all her life.

  She wished she could tell Ethan where she was going, but he was too honest, too good of a cop to ignore the law, and she was too desperate to obey it. But sorrow for what could have been between them filled her heart as she reached for her purse.

  An arctic wind blew across the parking lot. The rented sedan sat in the last row of spots. She’d brought it from her house so it wouldn’t get blown up. She got in the car and started the engine. She had to stop Joe and learn why he was trying to kill her. To save Derek and his mother, Abby would sell her soul. It was a good thing she was acquainted with the devil.

  She turned onto Main Street and headed toward the highway. Fifteen miles away, she made a stop for a triple espresso and a huge chocolate bar. She paused to text Derek the number of her disposable cell. He didn’t respond. What was he doing right now? How was the foster home? Were the people nice? How many other children lived there?

  Willing her exhaustion away, she sipped her espresso and popped a large piece of chocolate into her mouth. She doubted the caffeine and sugar would be enough to fortify her for the next call she needed to make. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard.

  In less than three hours, she’d be in Atlantic City.

  Ethan perched on the edge of the credenza.

  The chief stared at him from over the top of his reading glasses. A file was open on his desk, and he’d scrawled a half page of notes on a yellow legal pad. “Ethan, there was nothing you could do to keep Derek out of the system.”

  “I know.” Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. “But I feel like a real shit.”

  “You could have saved the kid’s life. His mother’s boyfriend is bad news. Derek is lucky to be alive.”

  “They got a hit on the prints already?”

  The chief pulled a paper from under the legal pad. “Joe’s real name is Joseph Torres. He’s from Atlantic City. On top of a list of small-time charges, he’s been arrested twice for felony drug dealing and once for murder. Charges were dropped all three times. Twice witnesses recanted their statements. The murder witness conveniently disappeared. So did the evidence.”

  “Shit.” Ethan rubbed his forehead. “Atlantic City is awfully close to where Abby used to live. And where she was kidnapped.”

  “Agreed,” the chief said. “This isn’t a coincidence.”

  Ethan got up to pace the four-by-eight space in front of the chief’s credenza. “This must be tied to Abby’s original kidnapping case. But how?” Nothing made sense. “What if Faulkner’s kidnapping of Abby wasn’t random?”

  “You mean she was targeted for some other reason?”

  “Yes.”

  The chief pulled off his reading glasses. “Do you think there’s something she hasn’t told you?”

  Ethan considered. He put aside his heart and the pain a lie of that magnitude would cause it. Would she keep important information about her case from him? She wanted to find the truth as badly as he did. “She seemed as frustrated and confused as me about the case. I really don’t think she’s intentionally holding anything back. But it’s possible there’s something from her past she doesn’t realize is important to the case.”

  The chief circled a note on his legal pad. “Why would an Atlantic City drug dealer be interested in a schoolteacher?”

  Ethan had nothing. “And why did he take Derek’s mother with him?”

  The chief dropped his glasses on his paper-strewn desk. “She knows too much to let her go. This guy has a history of eliminating witnesses.”

  “He did a half-assed cleanup job. He had to know we’d find the residue in the basement. Why did he leave it there?”

  The chief pinched the bridge of his flattened nose. “Maybe he was going to come back to do the nitty-gritty cleaning, but things didn’t work out the way he planned. Or maybe he’s just a dumbass. He could have found much easier, cleaner ways to kill her.”

  Ethan’s stomach flip-flopped. “Or he’s so used to getting away with his crimes, he doesn’t bother to clean up.”

  “Either way, Derek’s mother is in deep trouble. He won’t let her go.”

  They’d put out an alert for a blue pickup with occupants that met Joe and Krista’s description. But the vehicle was generic, and Joe had a full day’s lead.

  Ethan pushed to his feet. “I’ll go break the news to Abby.” A fistful of dread lodged behind his sternum at the thought of facing her.

  “She’s upset, but she knows you didn’t have a choice,” the chief said. “She’ll come around.”

  But Ethan didn’t share the chief’s confidence. The look in Abby’s eyes had been pure horror, and he’d caused it. He braced himself before going back into the conference room. He opened the door. “Abby…”

  The conference room was empty.

  Maybe she’d gone to the restroom. But Ethan’s stomach was flipping out. It knew. He knocked on the door anyway. When no one answered, he went inside and checked both stalls.

  “Abby?” His voice echoed on the tile. Empty.

  Ethan did a quick run through the rest of the station, which took a minute.

  He rushed into the chief’s office. “She’s gone.”

  The chief closed his eyes, and a give me strength expression crossed his face. “Where do you think she went?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Would she try to find the foster home?” the chief asked.

  Ethan shook his head. “As much as she’d like to get Derek out of there, she wouldn’t put him in danger. As long as Joe is loose, there’s a risk he’s following Abby.”

  Who was now alone and vulnerable. Ethan paced, panic outpacing his strides in the confined space. He had to find her before Joe. But how?

  “Put out a BOLO on her rental car.”

  But law enforcement was spread thinly over the rural region. State, county, and local police hadn’t spotted Joe, and Ethan was certain the killer hadn’t left the area.

  An image of Abby sitting in the conference room and surfing the Internet on Ethan’s electronic tablet popped into his head.

  “Wait.” He dug his smartphone out of his pocket. “My tablet is in her purse. It has a GPS chip. If she still has it and the battery hasn’t died, I can locate her though the find-my-device app.”

  Please, let it still be in her purse.

  Ethan opened the app on his phone and tapped through the menu. His heart thudded as the program searched. A live road map appeared on the screen. His tablet was a small green dot on the highway. “I’ve got her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Headed south on the Northeast Extension.” Toward Atlantic City. Ethan’s confidence in Abby’s honesty took a nosedive. After all that had passed between them, how could she lie?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “I’m sorry. Would you please repeat that, Kenneth?” Ryland went to the sideboard and poured scotch into a tumbler. His doctor wanted him to give up alcohol. What was the point of living longer if a man couldn’t enjoy anything?

  “Homemade explosive devices, Mr. Valentine,” Kenneth repeated.

  “Messy way to kill a person.” Ryland sipped his scotch. The aged amber liquid slid down his throat with a smooth, smoky burn. “Unreliable too.”

  “Obviously.” Kenneth’s tone dripped with disgust. He detested shoddy work.

  Ryland despised unanswered questions. “Do we know who or why?”

  “No, sir. But I will shortly,” Kenneth said. “The only witness is a child. He’s been taken into custody.”

  As much violence as Ryland had seen and perpetrated in his scratch-and-claw fight to the top of life’s dog pile, harm to children left a bad aftertaste. But a witness could be a problem.

 
; “Do you know where he is?” Ryland settled at the desk in his study. He eased his conscience with a deep swallow of scotch.

  “Yes.” Kenneth’s voice turned grave, and Ryland wondered if Kenneth had ever drawn a line. Or had the atrocities he’d witnessed at a tender age left him completely numb to humanity, devoid of compassion? “I’m sitting outside the house now.”

  Ryland ended the call. He turned to face the bank of windows that encompassed the wall of his study. His home was on the Point. On one side, a deck and pool area led onto a private beach. On the other, patio seating and a hot tub overlooked the harbor. The windows in his office had a stunning view of Little Egg Harbor Inlet. Tonight the water was busy. Whitecaps churned and black water undulated. Small green buoy lights bobbed and blinked in the darkness. With each pulse of dancing light, the ocean warned him.

  A storm was gathering force.

  Ryland clicked on the flat-screen that hung on his wall and tuned to the weather channel. Needing quiet, he muted the volume. A wall of green marched up the coast. The forecast hadn’t changed. No coastal advisory had been issued. The weather would be nasty, but it wasn’t time to board up the windows. Ryland shut off the TV and turned back to his scotch.

  “Ryland!” Marlene’s voice interrupted his musing. His wife must have returned from her girls’ night out.

  Pocketing his phone, he left his office. In the center of a two-story glass atrium, the stairway curved to the lower floor. Marlene was in the living room. Still dressed from her dinner and show, she looked every bit the elegant wife of a successful businessman. Pride warmed him. He’d done the right thing by preserving his marriage. Once, he’d been tempted to throw it all away for a pretty blonde. Thank goodness he’d come to his senses. His sons, his reputation, all would have suffered if he’d succumbed to his affair. He’d have become a walking cliché, one more man who thought buying a younger wife would somehow stop the passage of time.

  He had plenty of associates who left their children’s mothers and accumulated trophy wives. The same men got manicures and facial treatments. Botox and plastic surgery left them ridiculous caricatures of themselves.