Ellie"s reflexes short-circuited. She sat frozen for a few seconds before she startled into action. She needed to get the h.e.l.l out of that parking lot. She jerked the gearshift into drive and pulled out onto the road. Keeping an eye on her rearview mirror, she made several turns until she was sure no one had followed her. Twenty minutes later she pulled into her driveway. The grocery store would have to wait. She had to see Julia and Nan. Now.
She got out of the car and scanned her street. Widely s.p.a.ced streetlights gleamed on the snow. At least a dozen cars lined the curb on her block alone. How would she know if someone was sitting inside one of them, watching her? She squinted in each vehicle as she drove past, but black windshields gave nothing away. At the corner fifty yards away, Ellie could just make out the shape of someone walking two dogs. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The window of the house next door glowed, and Grant"s rental car was parked in the driveway of the Barretts" house. Could Grant help? In a way, they were in this together. If her extortion was tied to one of Lee"s cases, the murders could likely be linked as well. Grant would focus on finding the man who"d killed his family members. Ellie wanted to keep hers alive.
Did that make them allies or adversaries?
She resisted the pull. She couldn"t trust a man she barely knew. Guilt burrowed in her belly as she started up the walk. Hoodie Man must be Kate and Lee"s killer. Ellie shouldn"t help him conceal his crime, but her family"s safety had to come first. She would do anything to protect her grandmother and daughter.
Anything.
At the base of her porch steps, she paused, glancing over her shoulder. Wind gusted, sweeping snow from the roof and onto Ellie"s head. She shivered, her body shifting from nervous heat to cold as her adrenaline ebbed. Her gaze lingered on each car parked along the curb. Could someone be sitting in one of those vehicles?
I"m watching . . .
Chapter Eight.
Lindsay November I slam the car door. Mom waves and drives off. Standing on the concrete ap.r.o.n in front of the ice-skating arena, I stare at the front of the hulking building.
Why do they hate me?
I sc.r.a.pe the toe of my black Converse on the cement. I"m in no rush to go inside. Mom is headed to the grocery store. I could just slip around back and wait for the free skate hour to be over. Before we moved here, I couldn"t wait to get to the rink. Now I really don"t care. I"m tempted to quit the team. It"s not like I"m going to be an Olympic star or anything. I only skate because I love it.
The rink is the one place I"ve always been able to forget my problems, and now they"re trying to take it away from me. At school, the hallways are covered with cameras, and teachers lurk everywhere. It"s hard for the Shrew Crew to do real damage to anything but my pride. The skating arena is where my tormentors choose to get creative.
I play with my lip ring. My mom will come into the rink when she"s done shopping to ask Coach Victor about my practice. If I don"t skate, she"ll ask questions. She"ll poke and pick at me until I bleed. Then she"ll blame me for my complaints. She won"t let anything ruin her new life. She loves New York State. Me and Dad, not so much.
Our new home sits on almost an acre of land in a small development. Big and yellow and white, the house has four bedrooms, two stories, and a porch that spans the whole front of the building. Behind the house is a meadow and woods. After living in a furnished s...o...b..x in San Francisco for the last six years, my parents couldn"t wait to move to this country suburban bliss. A trail through the woods leads to my school, though I"m not allowed to walk. My parents don"t think it"s safe.
"Upstate New York will be green. We"re saving so much money, you can get a horse if you want. There"ll be snow in the winter." They say all this as if it"s supposed to make leaving my friends and the city I love sound attractive.
I still don"t buy it.
What would I do with a horse? We"ve never even had a cat. The apartment was tight for the three of us. There was no room for a hamster or fishbowl, but to me, it was home.
We"ve been here three weeks. So far, the only thing that has been OK is the weather. To remind myself of this one and only high point, I close my eyes and turn my face to the afternoon sun. Its rays warm my cheeks and turn the inside of my eyelids blood red. So far, early winter has been mild. Unlike my parents, I"m not looking forward to ice and snow. I have no idea why my parents think this is such a BFD. It"s not like I"ve never seen snow. In California, we drove up to Tahoe a couple of times to s...o...b..ard. It wasn"t my thing. I spent more time flat on my face than standing on the board. On the bright side, if the lake down the road freezes, I"ll be able to skate outside. No need to come to the rink.
I dig my phone out of my pocket. No messages from Jose back home. I miss California and my friends with an empty ache, something like hunger, but it can"t be alleviated with food. No worries, though. Jose, best friend not boyfriend, isn"t home from school yet. It"s only lunchtime in Cali. He"ll text me later, and then maybe I won"t feel so alone. If the wireless signal holds, we can even Skype tonight.
I miss going to the Bay City Ice Rink with him every day after school to practice. Jose is a male figure skater. He knows what it"s like to be bullied. I just want to go home and get away from this nightmare of suburbia. I miss walking down to the wharf and listening to the sea lions bark. I miss everything from the steep streets to the fresh seafood. The sushi here sucks and so do the kids.
And on that note, I"d better get inside. Someone is coming out. A member of the advanced team and her mom. Their practice must be over. Maybe Regan and Autumn, my nemeses, will already be gone.
Smiling, the mom holds the door open, a gaping mouth waiting to swallow my will to live. I"m being overly dramatic, but that"s how it feels, this sense of impending misery that crushes my chest.
I pa.s.s through the lobby and walk down the hallway to the rink. Free skate has started. A dozen skaters are warming up. Watching them, Coach Victor leans on the rink half wall. He nods to me as I pa.s.s by. I scan the ice. No sign of Regan or Autumn. Oh, wait. Their dads approach Victor. The coach is trying to watch his skaters. I"ve only been here a few weeks, but I know the score. It"s not that different than back home. Regan and Autumn are the stars of the team. Their dads pay the arena a lot of money each month. They"ve bought and paid for Victor"s full attention. He gives it to them now. I catch a s.n.a.t.c.h of their conversation, something about Victor needing to step it up. If they don"t make nationals next year, they"ll be looking for a new coach.
I feel sorry for Victor. He"s been nice to me, but let"s face it. He"s been with the club for seven years and not a single one of his skaters has won a major event yet. I know some of this is luck. He can"t control who joins the club, but the parents will look for any excuse when their precious little darlings lose. Plus, there"s a rumor going around about Victor and one of the married skating moms, and that this isn"t his first indiscretion. Seems like Victor is a dog. Ew. I can"t even think about a guy that old doing it. I don"t know if it"s true, but a scandal won"t help him keep his job. He"s already one losing season away from unemployment.
Another door leads to the locker room. Sweat gathers in my armpits as I traverse the narrow hall and push through the door marked Girls. If Regan and Autumn aren"t on the ice, then they must be in here. What can I do? Victor saw me. I have to get my b.u.t.t on the ice or he"ll tell Mom I"m wasting my practice time-and her money. He seems to have taken an interest in me.
Not that this is a biggie. He"s not the greatest coach in the world. But his praise feels good anyway.
Voices ricochet on cinder block walls and rows of metal lockers set up in four U-shaped sections. Six girls are changing in the first niche. No sign of Regan or Autumn yet, but I know they"re here. My pulse skips, and my stomach turns queasy. I walk past the second alcove, and there they are, dressed and packing their equipment into duffels. Five more minutes and I would have missed them.
With their pretty highlights and trendy mall clothes, they look more like California natives than me. Like every other day, the aggression and hatred in their eyes makes me shudder inside. The metallic din fades into the background. Their hostility becomes palpable, an invisible force that presses against my body and squeezes the air from my lungs.
They hated me from the very first time they saw me skate. Why? Is it my Goth clothes? Compared to my friends back home, I"m pretty tame. I don"t even have any tats. Black hair, combat boots, and a lip ring aren"t exactly unusual. Plenty of kids dress like me at school. But at the rink, pretty is as pretty does. I stand out like Frankenstein on the ice. I only made the novice skate team, so why do they want to get rid of me so badly?
I lift my chin and turn my eyes toward the third section, where three younger girls are closing their lockers and gathering equipment bags to leave. As I pa.s.s Regan and Autumn, my foot catches and I hurtle forward. My chin hits the concrete. My teeth snap together, sending an ear-ringing shaft of pain through my face and head. My duffel slides across the floor and hits the feet of one of the girls walking toward me.
"Hey, watch where you"re going, freak." She kicks it away.
I look down. The corner of Regan"s bag sticks out into the aisle. She approaches me. "Oh my G.o.d. Are you all right?" Her voice is sickly sweet, and the evil slant to her lips sends her true message.
"I"m fine," I mumble as I get to my feet. My chin burns where it sc.r.a.ped on the floor.
"Too bad you"re so clumsy." She returns to Autumn and whispers something in her ear. Autumn"s shoulders shake as she laughs.
I give her a glare, then roll my eyes at her, but my attempt at pretending she doesn"t bother me isn"t fooling anyone. Humiliation heats my skin and stirs the orange juice in my stomach into a nasty, acidic combination. My face is hot. My skin is pale, so I know my cheeks are flaming red by the time I get to the empty alcove and claim a locker. The commotion draws girls out from their locker nooks. Half the kids are smirking. The other half look away and pretend not to notice. No one else wants to be Regan and Autumn"s next target. I don"t blame them. It sucks. Why should they stick up for me? They don"t even know me.
My eyes burn, but I will not cry.
Instead, I try to shrink, to blend into the gray metal lockers around me as I change into the black tights I wear for practice.
Regan and Autumn leave, heads bent together. They are talking about me, maybe laughing, maybe planning something awful for my future. I can tell. I can feel their animosity wafting through the air even after they"ve left the locker room. The other kids won"t even look at me. A girl walks by, listening to her iPod. The tinny sound of music leaks from her earbuds. I sit on the bench to lace my skates. Once I get out to the rink, I"ll be fine. The locker room is their main torture chamber. On the ice, Coach Victor is strict.
I don"t even want to skate anymore. I know that"s their ultimate goal, so I guess they"ve already won. With a deep breath I launch to my feet and walk out to the rink. Regan and Autumn are standing with their dads and Victor. They watch me with way too much interest as I leave my skate guards on the wall and start to warm up. My muscles loosen. A sense of freedom flows through me, as it does every time I lace up my skates.
"Get warmed up. I want to see you working on that double axel," Victor shouts as I skate by.
I see Regan lean over and say something to Autumn. They laugh.
"If you want to make nationals next year, you don"t have time to worry about anyone else. Focus on your own routine." Victor"s admonishment echoes across the ice.
I appreciate his support, but the reprimand will give them one more reason to hate me.
Chapter Nine.
The sunlight gleamed on a fresh layer of snow. Ellie turned into the narrow alley that ran alongside the firm. Her tires grated on the inch of snow the plow left on top of the gravel. She emerged in the rear parking lot. Fresh powder clung to the budding branches of the mature oak at the rear of the plowed square. From a brilliant blue sky, sunlight glittered blindingly bright on whatever it touched.
If she hadn"t been worried about her family"s safety, the scene would have been lovely.
Ellie parked in the rear of the lot. Her heart drummed as she unlocked her doors and got out of the vehicle. She crossed the lot. On the rear stoop, she knocked snow from her boots and gave her surroundings a final scan before inserting her key into the door. She disengaged the alarm. With hesitant steps, she glanced into the break room-kitchen combo. Empty. Her ears strained for sound but she heard nothing except the rumble of the furnace and whoosh of hot air from the radiators.
All seemed normal, except that last night a man had threatened to kill her daughter.
Ellis changed her shoes and got to work, starting in Frank"s office.
With shaky fingers, Ellie slid the USB drive into the slot on his computer. The office was silent around her. At seven a.m., no one else had arrived yet. Roger would come in around eight, the rest of the employees shortly after. This might be her only chance to get a look at Frank"s computer files. Many of the attorneys worked late, but early hours were less common. But if anyone did come in early, she would say she was doing software updates. Without an in-house IT specialist, Roger preferred Ellie take care of the simple, routine tasks rather than pay for a computer tech. She was already on the payroll. Employees were accustomed to seeing her on their computers. Hopefully, Roger would support her, since he asked her to snoop. Not that she cared much about fraud at the moment.
Frank was the only person at the firm she could imagine had any reason to snag the Hamilton file. He was also the newest hire and had been in compet.i.tion with Lee for partnership. Frank directly benefitted from Lee"s death. So she"d search his desk first.
On a tight timetable, she copied the hard drive of Frank"s desktop to the memory stick. The orange light blinked as the machine worked. She spun the chair to open the drawer in the credenza behind the desk and skim through the files. The crunch of tires on gravel outside startled her. Someone was here. She glanced at the clock. It was barely seven twenty. No one else ever came in the office this early. The flash drive"s blinking orange light taunted her.
Come on.
She closed the credenza. The orange light went dark. She shut down the computer and bolted for the kitchen. With shaking hands, she measured coffee into a filter. The noise outside must have been someone next door. It didn"t matter. She"d accomplished what she"d come in early to do. All she could do now was pray Frank"s computer skills weren"t adequate for him to know she"d copied his doc.u.ments. She should have Roger"s support, but Frank would complain to the senior Peyton. In confrontations with his father, Roger got wishy-washy.
Was it possible that Frank had taken the file home? He"d moved into that office before she"d finished sorting Lee"s files. She could be searching the law offices in vain because Frank was holding the very file she needed. The file that would keep her family alive. Even worse, the file could be in Lee"s BMW. There"d been no report of the car turning up, but the thought that the information her extortionist wanted could be impossible to locate sent nausea roiling through her stomach.
What would she do if Hoodie Man came back and she didn"t have the file? And who was he?
She could rule out two people immediately. There was no way Grant would fit behind the seat of her van. She also eliminated Roger. He"d been in his office last night while Hoodie Man waited in Ellie"s vehicle. Hmm. On second thought, was it possible that her boss had gone out the front door and circled around to the parking lot? But why would her boss threaten her to get the file? He"d already asked her to find it for him.
Her head ached with too many unanswered questions. She filled the coffee pot and pressed On.
She glanced at the clock. She still had time to search the rest of the desks. Leaving the dripping coffee machine, she settled at one of the paralegals" desks. While the computer copied files onto her flash drive, she silently opened and searched desks. A half hour later, Ellie had found nothing even remotely related to the Hamilton file.
"Ellie?" Roger"s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
She snagged her memory stick and stuffed it into her jacket pocket. Smoothing her skirt, she emerged from the paralegal"s cubicle. Roger stood in front of her desk.
Smiling, she walked toward her boss. "Good morning."
"You"re in early. What were you doing?"
"Software updates."
"This early?" He raised a conspiratorial eyebrow. "Did you encounter anything interesting?"
"No, sorry."
"Well, s.h.i.t." Frowning, he glanced at his watch. "I have a nine o"clock appointment. Have you made coffee?"
"Yes, I"ll fill a carafe." Ellie hurried back to the kitchen and poured coffee into a thermal pot.
"Liar." Frank startled her.
She dropped the coffee pot. Hot liquid splashed up her legs.
Frank jumped backward. The sloshing coffee barely missed his pants. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." Miraculously, the pot hadn"t broken when it hit the vinyl floor, but coffee splattered her pantyhose and shoes. Burning patches on her shins jolted her into action. She stepped away, wet a paper towel with cold water, and pressed it against her shin. She cleaned off her shoes then tossed paper towels on the floor.
"Let me help you." Frank squatted next to her and tossed napkins on the mess.
"It"s all right. I"ve got it." Ellie dumped the soggy mess into the trash and started a fresh pot.
Frank sauntered out, glancing back to toss a caught-you grin over his shoulder. "I saw you searching Sue"s desk. But don"t worry. I won"t tell. Your secret is safe with me."
Ugh. Frank was not the guy she"d choose to entrust with secrets. Watching the coffee drip, Ellie put a hand on her aching temple. She didn"t have the energy to worry about Frank. His little games couldn"t compete with extortion-unless he was Hoodie Man.
The dream made no sense. Grant hadn"t witnessed his brother"s murder, so why did he keep seeing it in his mind?
His eyelids were lined with sandpaper, or at least that"s what it felt like when he opened his eyes. His view was dry and blurry. He was oddly weighed down, and a steady tapping noise sounded like a bomb ticking. He blinked. His vision cleared, and a tousled blond head came into focus.
Carson sprawled across his body. Grant"s shoulders hung off the edge of the family room sofa. Next to them, the baby swing clicked each time it pa.s.sed the center line of its arc.
Ah, yes. The Night From h.e.l.l replayed in his mind. He"d tucked Carson into bed and walked the baby up and down the halls until two a.m., when a nightmare brought the little boy back, tearful and hiccupping. The dog had picked bedlam hour for a barking fit, too. The swing had become his savior. The instructions stated that babies weren"t supposed to sleep in the d.a.m.ned things, but these were desperate times.
Grant closed his eyes. Another hour of sleep might dull the ache in his head.
"Uncle Grant." A tiny finger pried open his eyelid. "Are you awake?"
Grant opened his other eye. "I am."
Carson dropped Grant"s eyelid and propped his chin on his hands, bony elbows in the center of Grant"s chest. His blue eyes were a scant three inches from Grant"s face. Hearing the boy"s voice, AnnaBelle jumped up from her bed in the corner, trotted to the sofa, and stuck her wet nose between their faces.
"She has to go outside." Carson squirmed off Grant"s body.
A knee squashed his groin. "Oof."
Removing his nephew"s knee from his crushed privates, Grant eased upright. Carson ran to the back door and opened it. AnnaBelle bolted out into the yard.
"She"s OK out there by herself?" Grant squinted out the window. Last night"s clouds were gone. In a brilliant, crystal-blue sky, sunshine slanted across four inches of fresh snow.
"She"ll be right back." Carson went to the refrigerator and took out a juice box. He brought it back to Grant. "Can you open this?"
"Sure." Grant shoved the straw through the hole and offered it to his nephew.
"You hafta put the flaps up or else it"ll squirt all over."
"Gotcha. Flaps up." Grant handed it back.
Carson took a long pull from the skinny straw. "Am I going to school today?"
Grant considered the exhausted eyes looking up at him. On his list of many phone calls was Carson"s elementary school. "Do you want to go to school today?"