Hideaway / Убежище (by Nora Roberts, 2020) - аудиокнига на английском

To family, of the blood and of the heart PART I INNOCENCE LOST Daughters are the thing. —J. M. BARRIE A little child loves ever’body, friends, and its nature is sweetness—until something happens. —FLANNERY O’CONNOR CHAPTER ONE Big Sur ? 2001 When Liam Sullivan died, at the age of ninety-two, in his sleep, in his own bed with his wife of sixty-five years beside him, the world mourned. An icon had passed. Born in a little cottage tucked in the green hills and fields near the village of Glendree in County Clare, he’d been the seventh and last child of Seamus and Ailish Sullivan. He’d known hunger in the lean times, had never forgotten the taste of his mother’s bread and butter pudding—or the whip-swat of her hand when he’d earned it. He’d lost an uncle and his oldest brother in the first Great War, had grieved for a sister who’d died before her eighteenth birthday delivering her second child. He’d known from an early age the backbreaking work of plowing a field behind a horse named Moon. He’d learned how to shear a sheep and slaughter a lamb, to milk a cow and build a rock wall. And he remembered, the whole of his long life, the nights his family sat around the fire—the smell of peat smoke, the angel-clear voice of his mother raised in song, his father smiling at her as he played the fiddle. And the dancing. As a boy he’d sometimes earn a few pennies singing in the pub while the locals drank their pints and talked of farming and politics. His soaring tenor could bring a tear to the eye, and his agile body and fast, clever feet lift the spirit when he danced. He dreamed of more than plowing the fields and milking the cow, much more than the pennies gathered at the little pub in Glendree. Shortly before his sixteenth birthday, he left home, a few precious punts in his pocket. He endured the Atlantic crossing with others looking for more in the cramped confines belowdecks. When the ship rolled and rocked in a storm, and the air stank of vomit and fear, he blessed his iron constitution. Dutifully, he wrote letters to home he dreamed of posting at the end of the voyage and kept spirits up by entertaining his fellow passengers with song and dance. He shared a flirtation and a few eager kisses with a flaxen-haired girl named Mary from Cork who traveled to Brooklyn and a position as a maid in some fine house. With Mary he stood in the cool, fresh air—fresh at last—and saw the great lady with her torch held high. And thought his life had truly begun. So much color and noise and movement, so many people squashed into one place. Not just an ocean away from the farm where he’d been born and reared, he thought. A world away. And his world now. He was bound to apprentice with his mother’s brother Michael Donahue as a butcher in the Meatpacking District. He was welcomed, embraced, given a bed in a room he shared with two of his cousins. While in only a matter of weeks he grew to hate the sounds, the smells of the work, he earned his keep. Still, he dreamed of more. He found the more the first time he turned over a bit of that hard-earned pay to sit in a movie theater with Mary of the flaxen hair. There he saw magic on the silver screen, worlds far beyond everything he knew, worlds holding everything a man could want. There the sounds of bone saws, the thwack of cleavers didn’t exist. Even pretty Mary faded away as he felt himself pulled into the screen and the world it offered. The beautiful women, the heroic men, the drama, the joy. When he surfaced, he saw all around him the enraptured faces of the audience, the tears, the laughter, the applause. This, he thought, was food for a hungry belly, a blanket in the cold, a light for the damaged soul. Less than a year after he saw New York from the deck of a ship, he left it to head west. He worked his way across the country, amazed at its size, at its changing sights and seasons. He slept in fields, in barns, in the backs of bars where he traded his voice for a cot. Once he spent the night in jail after a bit of a dustup in a place called Wichita. He learned to ride the rails, and evade the police—and as he would say in countless interviews over the course of his career—had the adventure of a lifetime. When, after nearly two years of travel, he saw the big white sign spelling out HOLLYWOODLAND, he vowed that here he would find his fame and fortune. He lived on his wits, his voice, his strong back. With the wit he talked his way into building sets on back lots, sang his way through the work. He acted out the scenes he watched, practiced the various accents he’d heard on the trip from east to west. Talkies changed everything, so now soundstages needed building. Actors he’d admired in their silence on-screen had voices that screeched or rumbled, so their stars burned out and fell. His break came when a director heard him singing while he worked—the very tune the once-silent star was supposed to romance his lady with in a musical scene. Liam knew the man couldn’t sing worth shite, and had his ear to the ground close enough to have heard there was talk about using another voice. It was, to his mind, simply being sure he was in the right place at the right time to be that voice. His face might not have appeared on the screen, but his voice held the audience. It opened the door. An extra, a walk-on, a bit part where he spoke his first line. Building blocks, stepping-stones, forming a foundation fueled by the work, the talent, and the Sullivan tireless energy. He, the farm boy from Clare, had an agent, a contract, and began in that Golden Age of Hollywood what would be a career that spanned decades and generations. He met his Rosemary when he and the pert and popular Rosemary Ryan starred in a musical—the first of five films they’d make together in their lifetimes. The studio fed the gossip columns stories of their romance, but none of the hype was necessary. They married less than a year after they clapped eyes on each other. They honeymooned in Ireland—visiting his family, as well as hers in Mayo. They built a grand glamour of a home in Beverly Hills, had a son, then a daughter. They bought the land in Big Sur because, as with their romance, it was love at first sight. The house they built facing the sea they named Sullivan’s Rest. It became their getaway, then as years passed more their home. Their son proved the Sullivan-Ryan talent spanned generations, as Hugh’s star rose from child actor to leading man. As their daughter, Maureen, chose New York and Broadway. Hugh would give them their first grandson before his wife, the love of his life, died in a plane crash returning from a location shoot in Montana. That son would, in time, place another Sullivan star on the screen. Liam and Rosemary’s grandson Aidan, believing, as with Sullivan tradition, he’d found the love of his life in the silky blond beauty of Charlotte Dupont, married in glittery style (exclusive photos in People magazine), bought a mansion in Holmby Hills for his bride. And gave Liam a great-granddaughter. They named the fourth-generation Sullivan Caitlyn. Caitlyn Ryan Sullivan became an instant Hollywood darling when she made her film debut at twenty-one months playing the mischievous, matchmaking toddler in Will Daddy Make Three? The fact that most reviews found little Cate upstaged both adult leads (which included her mother as the female love interest) caused some consternation in certain quarters. It might have been her last taste of preadolescent stardom, but her great-grandfather cast her, at age six, as the free-spirited Mary Kate in Donovan’s Dream. She spent six weeks on location in Ireland, and shared the screen with her father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-grandmother. She delivered her lines in a west county accent as if she’d been born there. The film, a critical and commercial success, would be Liam Sullivan’s last. In one of the rare interviews he gave toward the end of his life, sitting under a flowering plum tree with the Pacific rolling toward forever, he said, like Donovan, he’d seen his dream come true. He’d made a fine film with the woman he’d loved for six decades, with their boys Hugh and Aidan, and the bright light of his great-granddaughter, Cate. Movies, he said, had given him the grandest of adventures, so this, he felt, was a perfect cap for the genie bottle of his life. On a cool, bright February afternoon, three weeks after his death, his widow, his family, and many of the friends he’d made through the years gathered at his Big Sur estate to—as Rosemary insisted—celebrate a life well and fully lived. They’d held a formal funeral in L.A., with luminaries and eulogies, but this would be to remember the joy he’d given. There were speeches and anecdotes, there were tears. But there was music, laughter, children playing inside and out. There was food and whiskey and wine. Rosemary, her hair as white now as the snow that laced the tops of the Santa Lucias, embraced the day as she settled—a bit weary, truth be told—in front of the soaring stone fireplace in what they called the gathering room. There she could watch the children—their young bones laughing at winter’s bite—and the sea beyond. She took her son’s hand when Hugh sat beside her. “Will you think I’m a crazy old woman if I tell you I can still feel him, as if he’s right beside me?” As her husband’s had, her voice carried the lilt of her home. “How can I, when I feel it, too?” She turned to him, her white hair cut short for style and ease, her eyes vivid green and full of humor. “Your sister would say we’re both crazy. How did I ever produce such a practical-minded child as Maureen?” She took the tea he offered her, winged up an eyebrow. “Is there whiskey in it?” “I know my ma.” “That you do, my boy, but you don’t know all.” She sipped her tea, sighed. Then studied her son’s face. So like his father’s, she thought. The damnably handsome Irish. Her boy, her baby, had silver liberally streaked through his hair, and eyes that still beamed the bluest of blues. “I know how you grieved when you lost your Livvy. So sudden, so cruel. I see her in our Caitlyn, and in more than the looks. I see it in her light, the joy and fierceness of her. I’m sounding crazy again.” “No. I see the same. I hear her laugh, and hear Livvy laugh. She’s a treasure to me.” “I know it, and to me as she was to your da. I’m glad, Hugh, you found Lily and, after those long years alone, found happiness. A good mother to her own children, and a loving grandmother to our Cate these past four years.” “She is.” “Knowing that, knowing our Maureen’s happy, her children and theirs doing well, I’ve made a decision.” “About what?” “The rest of my time. I love this house,” she murmured. “The land here. I know it all in every light, in every season, in every mood. You know we didn’t sell the house in L.A. mostly for sentiment, and the convenience of having it if either of us worked there for any stretch of time.” “Do you want to sell it now?” “I think no. The memories there are dear as well. You know we have the place in New York and that I’m giving it to Maureen. I want to know if you’d want the house in L.A. or this one. I want to know because I’m going to Ireland.” “To visit?” “To live. Wait,” she said before he could speak. “I may have been reared in Boston from my tenth year, but I still have family there, and roots. And the family your father brought me is there as well.” He laid a hand over hers, lifted his chin to the big window, and the children, the family outside. “You have family here.” “I do. Here, New York, Boston, Clare, Mayo, and, bless us, London now as well. God, but we’re far-flung, aren’t we, my darling?” “It seems we are.” “I hope all of them come to visit me. But Ireland’s where I want to be now. In the quiet and the green.” She gave him a smile, with a twinkle in her eyes. “An old widow woman, baking brown bread and knitting shawls.” “You don’t know how to bake bread or knit anything.” “Hah.” Now she slapped his hand. “I can learn, can’t I now, even at my advanced age. I know you have your home with Lily, but it’s time for me to give back, we’ll say. God knows how Liam and I ever made so much money doing what we did for the love of it.” “Talent.” Then he tapped a finger gently to her head. “Smarts.” “Well, we had both. And now I want to shed some of what we reaped. I want that lovely cottage we bought in Mayo. So which is it for you, Hugh? Beverly Hills or Big Sur?” “Here. This.” When she smiled, he shook his head. “You knew before you asked.” “I know my boy even better than he knows his ma. That’s settled then. It’s yours. And I trust you to tend to it.” “You know I will, but—” “None of that. My mind’s made up. I damn well expect I’ll have a place to lay my head when I come visit. And I will come. We had good years here, me and your da. I want what came from us to have good years here as well.” She patted his hand. “Look out there, Hugh.” She laughed as she saw Cate do a handspring. “That’s the future out there, and I’m so grateful I had a part in making it.” While Cate did handsprings to entertain two of her younger cousins, her parents argued in their guest suite. Charlotte, her hair swept back in a chignon for the occasion, paced the hardwood, her Louboutins clicking like impatient fingersnaps. The raw energy pumping from her had once enthralled Aidan. Now it just made him tired. “I want to get out of here, Aidan, for God’s sake.” “And we will, tomorrow afternoon, as planned.” She whirled on him, lips sulky, eyes sheened with angry tears. The soft winter light spilled through the wide glass doors at her back and haloed around her. “I’ve had enough, can’t you understand? Can’t you see I’m on my last nerve? Why the hell do we have to have an idiotic family brunch tomorrow? We had the goddamn dinner last night, we had this whole endless deal today—not to mention the funeral. The endless funeral. How many more stories do I have to hear about the great Liam Sullivan?” Once he’d thought she understood his thick, braided family ties, then he’d hoped she’d come to understand them. Now they both understood she just tolerated them. Until she didn’t. Weary to the bone, Aidan sat, gave himself a minute to stretch out his long legs. He’d started to grow a beard for an upcoming role. It itched and annoyed him. He hated that, at the moment, he felt exactly the same about his wife. The rough spots in their marriage had smoothed out recently. Now it seemed they’d hit another bumpy patch. “It’s important to my grandmother, Charlotte, to my father, to me, to the family.” “Your family’s swallowing me whole, Aidan.” She did a heel turn, her hands flying out. So much drama, he thought, over a few more hours. “It’s just one more night, and there’ll only be a handful of us left by dinner. We’ll be home this time tomorrow. We still have guests, Charlotte. We should be downstairs right now.” “Then let your grandmother deal with them. Your father. You. Why can’t I take the plane and go home?” “Because it’s my father’s plane, and you, Caitlyn, and I will fly home with him and Lily tomorrow. For now, we’re a united front.” “If we had our own plane, I wouldn’t have to wait.” He could feel the headache growing behind his eyes. “Do we really need to go there? And now?” She shrugged. “Nobody would miss me.” He tried another tack, smiled. He knew, from experience, his wife reacted better to the sweet than the stern. “I would.” And on a sigh, she smiled back. She had a smile, he thought, that just stopped a man’s heart. “I’m being such a pain in the ass.” “Yeah, but you’re my pain in the ass.” On a quick laugh, she walked over, cuddled on his lap. “I’m sorry, baby. Almost sorry. Sort of sorry. You know I’ve never liked it up here. It feels so isolated it makes me claustrophobic. And I know that doesn’t make sense.” He knew better than to stroke that shining blond hair after she’d had it styled, so he lightly kissed her temple instead. “I get it, but we’ll be home tomorrow. I need you to stick just one more night, for my grandmother, my dad. For me.” After letting out a hiss, she poked his shoulder, then offered him her signature pout. Full coral lips, sulky and soft crystal-blue eyes dramatically lashed. “I better get points. Big points.” “How about a long weekend in Cabo points?” On a gasp, she grabbed his face with her hands. “You mean it?” “I’ve got a couple weeks before I start production.” So saying, he rubbed a hand over his scruff. “Let’s say we hit the beach for a few days. Cate’ll love it.” “She has school, Aidan.” “We’ll take her tutor.” “How about this?” Now she circled her arms around him, pressed her body, still in mourning black, against his. “Cate has a long weekend with Hugh and Lily, which she’d love. And you and I have a few days in Cabo.” She kissed him. “Just us. I’d love some just us, baby. Don’t you think we need some just us?” She was probably right—the smooth patches needed tending as much as the rough. While he hated leaving Cate, she was probably right. “I can make that work.” “Yes! I’m going to text Grant, see if he can do some extra sessions this week. I want a perfect bikini body.” “You already have one.” “That’s my sweet husband talking. We’ll see what my hard-assed personal trainer says. Oh!” She hopped up. “I need to shop.” “Right now we have to get back downstairs.” The flicker of annoyance marred her face before she smoothed it away. “Okay. You’re right, but give me a couple minutes to fix my face.” “Your face is gorgeous, as always.” “Sweet husband.” She pointed at him as she started toward her makeup counter. Then stopped. “Thanks, Aidan. These past few weeks, with all the tributes, the memorials, it’s been hard on all of us. A few days away, well, that’ll be good for us. I’ll be right down.” While her parents made up, Cate organized a game of hide-and-seek as the final outdoor game of the day. Always a favorite when the family gathered, the game had its rules, restrictions, and bonus points. In this case, the rules included outdoors only—as several of the adults had decreed no running inside. The It got a point for every hider found, with the first found designated as the next It. If that hider, now It, was five or under, he or she could choose a partner on the following hunt. If a hider went three rounds without being found, that meant ten bonus points. And since Cate had been planning this game all day, she knew how to win them. She darted off when Boyd, age eleven, started the countdown as the first It. Since Boyd lived in New York like his grandmother, he only visited Big Sur a couple times a year at most. He didn’t know the grounds like she did. Plus, she had a fresh hiding place already picked out. She rolled her eyes as she saw her five-year-old cousin Ava crawl under the white cloth of a food table. Boyd would find Ava in two minutes. She nearly backtracked to show Ava a better spot, but it was every kid for herself! Most of the guests had gone, and more were taking their leave. But a lot of adults still milled around the patios, the outdoor bars, or sat around one of the firepits. Remembering why, she felt a pang. She’d loved her great-grandda. He’d always had a story to tell, and lemon drops in his pocket. She’d cried and cried when her daddy told her Grandda had gone to heaven. He’d cried, too, even when he told her Grandda had had a long, happy life. How he’d meant so much to so many, and would never be forgotten. She thought of his line from the movie they’d made together, while he sat with her on a stone wall, looking over the land. “A life’s marked along the way, darlin’, by the deeds we do, for good or ill. Those we leave behind judge those marks, and remember.” She remembered lemon drops and hugs as she scurried to the garage, and around the side. She could still hear voices, from the patios and terraces, the walled garden. Her goal? The big tree. If she climbed to the third branch, she could hide behind the thick trunk, in the green leaves that smelled so good, ten feet up. Nobody would find her! Her hair—Celtic black—flew behind her as she ran. Her nanny, Nina, had tucked it back at the sides with butterfly pins to keep it out of her face. Her eyes, bold and blue, danced as she flew out of sight of the multitiered house, far beyond the guest cottage with its steps leading down to the little beach, and the pool that overlooked the sea. She’d had to wear a dress for the first part of the day, to be respectful, but Nina had laid out her play clothes for after. She still had to be careful of the sweater, but knew it was okay to get her jeans dirty. “I’m going to win,” she whispered as she reached up for the first branch of the California bay, put her purple (currently her favorite color) sneaker in the little knothole for purchase. She heard a sound behind her and, though she knew it couldn’t be Boyd, not yet, her heart jumped. She caught a glimpse of the man in a server’s uniform, with a blond beard and hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wore sunglasses that shot the light back at her. She grinned, put a finger to her lips. “Hide-and-seek,” she told him. He smiled back. “Want a boost?” He nodded, then moved forward as if to give her one. She felt the sharp needle stick on the side of her neck, started to swat at it as she might a bug. Then her eyes rolled back, and she felt nothing at all. He had the gag on, zip ties on her wrists and ankles in seconds. Just a precaution, as the dose should keep her out for a couple hours. She didn’t weigh much and, as a man in excellent shape, he could have carried her the few feet to the waiting cart had she been a full-grown woman. After shoving her into the cabinet of the service cart, he rolled it toward the caterer’s van—outfitted for just this purpose. He pushed it up the ramp, shut the cargo doors. In under two minutes, he drove down the long drive, wound to the edge of the private peninsula. At the security gates, he entered the code with a gloved finger. When the gates opened, he drove through, made his turn, then hit Highway 1. He resisted pulling off the wig, and the fake beard. Not yet, and he could handle the annoyance of them. He didn’t have far to go, and expected he’d have the ten-million-dollar brat locked inside the high-class cabin (owners currently in Maui) before anyone even thought to look for her. When he turned off the highway again, started up the steep drive to where some rich asshole decided to build a vacation paradise stuck in with a bunch of trees, rocks, chaparral, he was whistling a tune. Everything had gone smooth as silk. He caught sight of his partner pacing on the second-story deck of the cabin and rolled his eyes. Talk about an asshole. They had this knocked, for Christ’s sake. They’d keep the kid sedated, but wear masks just in case. In a couple of days—maybe less—they’d be rich, the kid could go back to the fucking Sullivans, and he, with a new name, new passport, would be on his way to Mozambique to soak up some sun in style. He pulled the van around the side of the cabin. You couldn’t see the cabin from the road, not really, so he knew no one would see the van blocked by trees around the side. By the time he hopped out, his partner had run down to meet him. “Have you got her?” “Shit yeah. Nothing to it.” “Are you sure nobody saw you? Are you sure—” “Jesus, Denby, chill.” “No names,” Denby hissed, pushing up his sunglasses as he looked around as if somebody waited in the woods to attack. “We can’t risk her hearing our names.” “She’s out. Let’s get her upstairs, locked in so I can get this crap off my face. I want a beer.” “Masks first. Look, you’re not a fucking doctor. We can’t be a hundred percent she’s still out.” “Fine, fine, go get yours. I’ll stick with this.” He patted the beard. As Denby went back inside, he opened the cargo doors, hopped in to open the cabinet doors. Out, he thought, as in o-u-t. He rolled her out onto the floor, dragged her back toward the door—not a peep from her—then hopped out again. He glanced back when Denby appeared in his Pennywise the Dancing Clown mask and wig, and he laughed like a loon. “If she wakes up before we get her inside, she’ll probably faint from fright.” “We want her scared, don’t we, so she’ll cooperate. The little spoiled rich bitch.” “That’d do the trick. You’re no Tim Curry, but that’d do the trick.” He slung Cate over his shoulder. “Everything ready up there?” “Yeah. The windows are locked down. Still got a hell of a view of the mountains,” Denby added as he followed his partner inside the rustic plush of the entryway, the open living area. “Not that she’ll enjoy that, since we’re keeping her out or the next thing to it.” Denby jumped as “The Mexican Hat Dance” played from the phone clipped to his partner’s belt. “Goddamn it, Grant!” Grant Sparks only laughed. “Used my name, nimrod.” He carted Cate up the stairs to the second floor, open to the first with its cathedral ceiling. “That’s a text from my sugar. You gotta chill, man.” He carried Cate into the bedroom they’d selected because it faced the back and had its own bathroom. He dumped her on the four-poster Denby had stripped down to sheets—cheap sheets they’d bought, and would take away with them. The en suite was to avoid dragging her out of the room, avoiding a potential mess neither of them wanted to clean up. If she made one, they’d wash the sheets. Once they’d finished they’d remake the bed, nice and tidy and with the original bedding, and remove the nails hammered into the window locks. He looked around, satisfied that Denby had taken out anything the kid could use as a weapon—as if—or bust out a window with. She’d be too drugged up for that, but why take chances? When they left, the house would be exactly as they’d found it. No one would know they’d ever been inside. “You took out all the lightbulbs?” “Every one.” “Good job. Keep her in the dark. Go ahead and clip those ties, take off the gag. If she wakes up, has to piss, I don’t want her doing it in the bed. She can beat on the door, scream her head off. Won’t make a diff.” “How long do you figure she’ll be under?” “A couple hours. We bring her some doctored soup when she does, and that’ll keep her out for the night.” “When are you going out to call?” “After dark. Hell, they’re not even looking for her yet. She was playing fucking hide-and-seek, as advertised, and headed straight for the grab spot.” He gave Denby a slap on the back. “Smooth as silk. Finish up, make damn sure you lock the door. I’m getting this crap off my face.” He pulled off the wig, the wig net under it, revealing a short, stylish mop of sun-streaked brown hair. “I’m going for a beer.” CHAPTER TWO As the guests dwindled down to family, Charlotte did her duty, sat with Rosemary, made conversation with Lily, with Hugh. She reminded herself the reward made the effort worthwhile. And it did take effort. Lily might see herself as a big-deal actress because she’d gotten a couple of Oscar nominations (didn’t win, did she!), but however nice she played it, Charlotte could feel her dislike. Hell, she could taste it whenever she got within five feet of the old hag with her stupid southern belle accent. But she could play nice, too, and did, forcing a smile when Lily let out that brassy laugh of hers. A laugh Charlotte figured was as fake as Lily Morrow’s trademark red hair. She sipped a cosmo Hugh had mixed her at the bar on the far side of the gathering room. At least the Sullivans knew how to make a decent drink. So she’d drink, smile, act like she gave a shit when someone told another Saint Liam story. And wait it out. As the sun dipped down toward the ocean, a ball of fire sinking toward the blue, the kids came inside. Dirty, noisy, and, of course, ravenous. There were hands and faces to be washed, and in some cases, clothes to change before the children had their dinner, had their baths. The older ones could vote on a movie to watch in the theater, while the adults had their meal and the younger children their bedtime. In the kitchen, nannies put approved meals together—taking into account this one’s peanut allergy, that one’s lactose intolerance, another being raised vegan. Nina, busy preparing fresh fruit, glanced around, counting heads. She smiled at Boyd as he grabbed some baked chips. “Isn’t Caitlyn hungry?” “I dunno.” He shrugged, tried some salsa. “She didn’t win. She can say she did, but she didn’t.” Because his nanny—like he needed one!—was busy with his little sister, Boyd snuck a cookie even though they were off-limits before dinner. “She didn’t come in when we called the game, so that’s default.” “She didn’t come in with the rest of you?” A smart boy, he made short work of the cookie in case his own nanny looked his way. “Nobody found her, so she’ll say she won, but she defaulted. Maybe she snuck in the house before, and that’s cheating. Either way, she didn’t win.” “Caitlyn doesn’t cheat.” Wiping her hands, Nina set off to look for her girl. She checked Cate’s room, in case she’d come in to change or to use the bathroom. She glanced around the second floor, but many of the doors were closed, so she walked out on the wide, cantilevered terrace. She called out, more impatient than concerned, walked down the railed bridge that led to the pool side of the house, then back again before she took the steps down. Cate loved the walled garden, so she looked there, wandered through the little orchard beyond it, calling, calling. The sun dipped lower; the shadows lengthened. The air began to chill. And her heart began to thump. A city girl, born and raised in L.A., Nina Torez had what she considered a healthy distrust of the country. She began to imagine poisonous snakes, cougars, coyotes, even bears as her calls for Cate rose to desperate. Silly, she told herself, all that was just silly. Catey was fine, had just … fallen asleep somewhere in the big house. Or … She rushed to the guest cottage, burst inside, calling for her charge. The sea side of the guest cottage was a sheer wall of glass. Staring out at the sea, she thought of all the ways a little girl could be swallowed up. And thinking of Cate’s love for the little beach, she raced out, down the steps, called and called while the sea lions reclining on the rocks watched her with bored eyes. She raced up again to try the pool house, the garden shed. Sprinted inside to the lower level to search the theater, the family room, the rehearsal space, even the storage areas. She raced back out the other side to check the garage. “Caitlyn Ryan Sullivan! You come out right now! You’re scaring me.” And she found the butterfly barrette she’d tucked into Cate’s long, lovely hair that morning on the ground by the old tree. It meant nothing, she thought even as she clutched it in her hand. The girl had been doing handsprings, racing and running, doing pirouettes and jigs. It had just fallen out. She told herself that over and over as she ran back to the house. Tears blurred her eyes when she dragged open the huge front door, and all but ran into Hugh. “Nina, what in the world’s the matter?” “I can’t—I can’t—Mr. Hugh, I can’t find Caitlyn. I can’t find her anywhere. I found this.” She held out the barrette, burst into tears. “Here now, don’t you worry. She’s just tucked up somewhere. We’ll find her.” “She was playing hide-and-seek.” The trembling started as he led her into the main living room, where most of the family had gathered. “I—I came in to help Maria with little Circi and the baby. She was playing with the other children, and I came inside.” Charlotte, sitting with a second cosmo, looked over as Hugh led Nina in. “For God’s sake, Nina, what’s going on?” “I looked everywhere. I can’t find her. I can’t find Catey.” “She’s probably just upstairs in her room.” “No, ma’am, no. I looked. Everywhere. I called and called. She’s a good girl, she’d never hide away when I called for her, when she could hear I was worried.” Aidan got to his feet. “When did you last see her?” “They started, all the children, to play hide-and-seek. An hour—more now. She was with the other children, so I came to help with the babies and little ones. Mr. Aidan…” She held out the barrette. “I only found this, by the big tree near the garage. It was in her hair. I put it in her hair this morning.” “We’ll find her. Charlotte, check upstairs again. Both floors.” “I’ll help.” Lily rose, as did her daughter. “We’ll start checking this level.” Hugh’s sister patted Charlotte’s shoulder. “I’m sure she’s fine.” “You’re supposed to watch her!” Charlotte shoved to her feet. “Ms. Charlotte—” “Charlotte.” Aidan took his wife’s arm. “Nina wouldn’t have any reason to watch Cate every minute while she’s playing with all the kids.” “Then where is she?” Charlotte demanded, and ran from the room calling for her daughter. “Nina, come sit with me.” Rosemary held out a hand. “The men are going to look outside, every nook and cranny. The rest will look through the house.” Rosemary tried a comforting smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “And when we find her, I’m going to give her a good talking-to.” For more than an hour, they looked, covering every inch of the sprawling house, its outbuildings, the grounds. Lily gathered the children, asked when they’d last seen Cate. It came down to the game Cate herself had instigated. Lily, her flame-red hair disordered from the search, took Hugh’s hand. “I think we need to call the police.” “The police!” Charlotte shrieked it. “My baby! Something’s happened to my baby. She’s fired! That useless woman’s fired. Aidan, God, Aidan.” As she half swooned against him, the phone rang. On a deep breath, Hugh walked over, picked up the phone. “This is the Sullivan residence.” “If you want to see the girl again, it’ll take ten million, in unmarked, nonsequential bills. Pay, and she’ll be returned to you unharmed. If you contact the police, she dies. If you contact the FBI, she dies. If you contact anyone, she dies. Keep this line open. I’ll call with further instructions.” “Wait. Let me—” But the phone went dead in his hand. Lowering the phone, he looked at his son with horror. “Someone’s got Cate.” “Oh, thank God! Where is she?” Charlotte demanded. “Aidan, we need to go get her right now.” “That’s not what Dad meant.” His soul sank as he held Charlotte tight against him. “Is it, Dad?” “They want ten million.” “What are you talking about?” Charlotte tried to struggle out of Aidan’s arms. “Ten million for … You—she— My baby’s been kidnapped?” “We need to call the police,” Lily said again. “We do, but I need to tell you … He said, if we did, he’d hurt her.” “Hurt her? She’s just a little girl. She’s my little girl.” Weeping, Charlotte pressed her face to Aidan’s shoulder. “Oh God, God, how could this happen? Nina! That bitch is probably part of this. I could kill her.” She shoved away from Aidan, rounded on Lily. “Nobody’s calling the police. I won’t let them hurt my little girl. My child! We can get the money.” She grabbed a fistful of Aidan’s shirt. “The money is nothing. Aidan, our little girl. Tell them we’ll pay, pay anything. Just give us back our baby.” “Don’t worry, don’t worry. We’re going to get her back, get her back safe.” “It’s not the money, Charlotte.” Terrified, Hugh rubbed his hands over his face. “What if we pay, and they … they still hurt her? We need help.” “What if? What if?” When she turned back to face him, Charlotte’s carefully styled chignon tumbled, spilling hair around her shoulders. “Didn’t you just say if we didn’t pay, they’d hurt her, if we called the police, they’d hurt her? I won’t risk my daughter. I won’t.” “They might be able to trace the call,” Aidan began. “They might be able to find out how someone took her away.” “Might? Might?” Her voice pitched up, a shriek like nails on a blackboard. “Is that what she means to you?” “She means everything to me.” Aidan had to sit as his legs shook. “We have to think. We have to do what’s best for Catey.” “We pay whatever he wants, do whatever he says. Aidan, dear God, Aidan, we can get the money. It’s our baby.” “I’ll pay.” Hugh stared into Charlotte’s tear-ravaged face, into his son’s terrified one. “She was taken from my father’s house, a house my mother has given to me. I’ll pay.” On a fresh sob, Charlotte threw herself into his arms. “I’ll never forget … She’ll be all right. Why would he hurt her if we give him what he wants? I want my little girl. I just want my little girl.” Reading Hugh’s signal as Charlotte clutched at him, Lily moved in. “Here now, here now, let me take you upstairs. Miranda,” she said to her youngest daughter, “why don’t you help keep the children occupied, maybe take them down to the theater, put on a movie, and have someone bring Charlotte up some tea? Everything’s going to be fine,” she soothed as she pulled Charlotte away. “I want my baby.” “Of course you do.” “Put on some coffee,” Rosemary said. She sat, face pale, hands linked tight, but back straight. “We need our wits about us.” “I’ll make some calls, start arranging for the money. No,” Hugh said when Aidan started out. “Leave her to Lily for now. It’s best to leave her to Lily. There’s more to consider than getting the money, and how in God’s name they took Cate from under our noses. They’re amateurs, and that scares me to death.” “Why do you say that?” Aidan demanded. “Ten million, Aidan, in cash. I can find a way to get it, and I will, but the logistics after? How do they expect to transport such a large amount? The practicalities. It’s not smart, son, it’s not. Having the money wired, having a way, an account, that’s smart. This isn’t.” As everyone in the room started talking at once, voices raised in anger and anxiety, Rosemary got slowly to her feet. “Enough!” And with her power as the matriarch, the room fell into silence. “Have any of you ever seen ten million dollars, all in cash? Hugh’s right on this. Just as he’s right we should be calling the police. But—” She held up a finger before the din started up again. “It’s Aidan and Charlotte who have the say on that. We all love Caitlyn, but she’s their daughter. So we’ll get the money. Hugh and I. It’s for us,” she said to Hugh. “My house still, and soon to be yours. So we’ll go into your father’s office, and do what we need to do to get it, and quickly. “Get some tea up to her,” Rosemary continued. “And I’ve no doubt someone around here has a sleeping pill or two. Given her personality, and her state of mind, it might be best to convince her to take a pill and sleep for now.” “I’ll take the tea up,” Aidan told her. “And Charlotte has her own pills. I’ll see she takes one. Before I do, I’ll try again to convince her to call the police. Because I agree with you. Yet, if something happened…” “One step at a time.” She went to him, gripped his hands. “We’ll get the money, your dad and I. And we’ll do, all of us, whatever you and Charlotte decide.” “Nan.” He brought her hands up, pressed them to his cheeks. “My world. Cate’s the center of it.” “I know it. You’ll stay strong for her. Let’s get these bastards the money they want, Hugh.” Cate woke slowly. Because her head hurt she squeezed her eyes tight, hunched into herself as if to push off the pain. Her throat felt sore, and something inside her tummy rolled like it wanted her to puke it out. She didn’t want to throw up, didn’t want to. She wanted Nina, or her daddy, or her mom. Somebody to make it stop. She opened her eyes to the dark. Something was really wrong. She was really sick, but she didn’t remember getting really sick. The bed didn’t feel right—too hard, with scratchy sheets. She had a lot of beds in a lot of rooms. Her own at home, her bed at Grandpa and G-Lil’s, at Grandda and Nan’s, at— No, her grandda had died, she remembered now. And they’d had a celebration because of his life. Playing, playing with all the kids. Tag, and tricks, and hide-and-seek. And … The man, the man at her hiding place. Did she fall? She bolted up in bed, and the room spun. But she called out for Nina. Wherever she was, Nina was always close. As her eyes adjusted, as nothing looked right, she climbed out of bed. In the dim light from a scatter of stars, a slice of a moon, she made out a door and rushed to it. It wouldn’t open, so she banged on it, crying now as she called for Nina. “Nina! I can’t get out. I feel sick. Nina. Daddy, please. Mom, let me out, let me out.” Thinking it might come in handy later, they recorded her pleading cries. The door opened so fast it smacked against Cate, knocked her down. The light outside the door burned into the room, illuminated the face of a scary clown with sharp teeth. When she screamed, he laughed. “Nobody can hear you, stupid, so shut the hell up or I’ll break off your arm and eat it.” “Chill, Pennywise.” A werewolf came in. He carried a tray, walked right by her as she scrambled back on her heels and elbows. He set it on the bed. “You got soup, you got milk. You eat it, you drink it, otherwise my pal here will hold you down while I pour it down your throat.” “I want my daddy!” “Aww,” the one called Pennywise made a mean laugh. “She wants her daddy. Too bad because I already cut your daddy into pieces and fed him to the pigs.” “Knock it off,” the wolfman said. “Here’s the deal, brat. You eat what we give you when we give it to you. You use that bathroom over there. You don’t give us trouble, you don’t make a mess, and you’ll be back with your daddy in a couple days. Otherwise, we’re going to hurt you, real bad.” Fear and fury rose together. “You’re not a real werewolf because that’s made-up. That’s a mask.” “Think you’re smart?” “Yes!” “How about this?” Pennywise reached behind him, pulled a gun out of his waistband. “Does this look real, you little bitch? You want to test it?” Wolfman snarled at Pennywise. “Now you chill. And you—” He added a second snarl for Cate. “Little smart-ass. Eat that soup, all of it. Same with the milk. Or when I come back, I’ll start breaking your fingers. Do what you’re told, you go back to being a princess in a couple days.” Leaning down, Pennywise grabbed her hair with one hand, yanked her head back, and pressed the gun to her throat. “Back off, you fucking clown.” Wolfman grabbed his shoulder, but Pennywise shook it off. “She needs a lesson first. You want to find out what happens when little rich bitches back-talk? Say, ‘No, sir.’ Say it!” “No, sir.” “Eat your fucking dinner.” He stormed out as she sat on the floor, shaking, sobbing. “Just eat the soup, for Christ’s sake,” Wolfman muttered. “And be quiet.” He went out, locked the door. Because the floor was cold, she crawled back onto the bed. She didn’t have a blanket, and couldn’t stop shaking. Maybe she was a little hungry, but she didn’t want the soup. But she didn’t want the man in the clown mask to break her fingers or shoot her. She just wanted Nina to come and sing to her, or Daddy to tell her a story, or her mom to show her all the pretty clothes she bought that day. They were looking for her. Everybody. And when they found her, they’d put the men in the masks in jail forever. Comforted by that, she spooned up some soup. It didn’t smell good, and the little bit she swallowed tasted wrong. Just wrong. She couldn’t eat it. Why did they care if she ate it? Frowning, she sniffed at it again, sniffed at the glass of milk. Maybe they put poison in it. She trembled over that, rubbed her arms to warm them, to soothe herself. Poison didn’t make sense. But it didn’t taste right. She’d seen lots and lots of movies. Bad guys put stuff in food sometimes. Just because she was kidnapped, she wasn’t stupid. She knew that much. And they didn’t tie her up, just locked her in. She started to run to the window, then thought: Quiet, quiet. She eased out of bed, padded to the window. She could see trees and dark, the shadow of hills. No houses, no lights. Glancing behind her, heart thumping, she tried to open the window. She tried to unlock it, felt the nails. Panic wanted to come, but she closed her eyes, just breathed and breathed. Her mom liked to do yoga and sometimes let her do it, too. Breathe and breathe. They thought she was stupid. Just a stupid kid, but she wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to eat the soup or drink the milk that they’d put drugs in. Probably. Instead, she took the bowl and the glass, picked her way carefully toward the bathroom. She dumped it in the toilet first, then peed because she really had to. Then she flushed it all away. When they came back, she’d pretend to be asleep. Deep, deep asleep. She knew how. She was an actress, wasn’t she? And not stupid, so she slipped the spoon under the pillow. She didn’t know what time it was, or how long she’d slept before. Because he’d—one of them—had stuck her with a needle. But she’d wait, just wait, until they came to take the tray away. And she’d pray they wouldn’t notice the spoon wasn’t there. She tried not to cry anymore. It was hard, but she needed to think about what she had to do. Nobody could really think when they were crying, so she wouldn’t. It took forever, it took so long she nearly did fall asleep. Then she heard the locks click, and the door open. Breathe slow, steady. Don’t squeeze your eyes, don’t jump if he touches you. She’d pretended to sleep before—and even fooled Nina—when she wanted to sneak and stay up and read. Music played, and nearly made her jump. The man—the wolf because she knew his voice now and recognized it from when he helped boost her up the tree—said a bad word. But he answered in a different kind of way. He said: “Hi, lover. You’re calling from the idiot nanny’s phone, right? So if the cops ever check it, she’ll get blamed? Good, good. What’s the word? Yeah, yeah, she’s fine. I’m looking at her right now. Sleeping like a baby.” He gave Cate a sharp poke in the ribs as he listened, and she lay still. “That’s my girl. Keep it up. Don’t let me down. I’ll go make the next call in about thirty. You know I do, lover. Just a couple more days, and we’re home free. Counting the hours.” She heard something rustle, didn’t move, then heard him walking away. “Morons,” he muttered with a kind of laugh in his voice. “People are fucking morons. And women are the biggest morons of all.” The door shut, the locks clicked. She didn’t move. Just waited, waited, counting in her head to a hundred, then another hundred until she risked letting her eyes slit open. She didn’t see him or hear him, but kept breathing her sleeping breaths. Slowly, she sat up, took the spoon from under the pillow. As quietly as she could, she crept to the window. She and her grandpa had built a birdhouse once. She knew about nails, and how you could hammer them in. Or pry them out. She used the spoon, but her hands were slippery with sweat. She nearly dropped it, nearly started to cry again. She wiped her hands and the spoon on her jeans, tried again. At first it wouldn’t move, not even a little. Then she thought it did, and tried harder. She thought she had it, nearly had it, when she heard voices outside. Terrified, she dropped down to the floor, her breath coming out in pants she couldn’t stop. A car started. She heard wheels on gravel. Heard a door slam. The house door. One in the house, one going somewhere. She eased her head up, watched the taillights weave away. Maybe she should wait until they were both in the house again, but she was too afraid and, teeth gritted, went after the nail again. It popped out, flew up, then hit the floor with a click that sounded to her ears like an explosion. She jumped back on the bed, fought to lie still, to breathe deep, but she couldn’t stop shaking. No one came, and tears of relief spilled out. Her hands had gone sweaty again, but she set to work prying out the second nail. She put it in her pocket, wiped her sweaty, hurting fingers. She managed to turn the lock on the window. As she opened it a crack, it sounded so loud. But no one came, not even when she opened it more, opened it enough to stick her head out and feel the cool night air. Too high, too high to jump. She listened, listened, for sounds of the ocean, of cars, of people, but heard nothing but the breeze, the call of a coyote, the call of an owl. No trees close enough to reach, no ledge or trellis or anything to help her climb down. But she had to climb down, then run. She had to get away and get help. She started with the sheets. At first she tried to tear them, but they wouldn’t tear. So she tied them together as tight as she could, then added the pillowcases. The only thing to tie them to in the room was one of the bedposts. It would be like Rapunzel, she thought, except sheets instead of hair. She’d climb out of the tower. Nerves made her need to pee again, but she held it, set her jaw as she worked to tie the knot around the post. Then she heard the car coming back, felt the knots in her stomach pull tighter than any she could tie with sheets. If one of them checked on her now, they’d see. She should have waited. Trapped, she could do nothing but sit on the floor, imagining the door opening. The masks. The gun. Her fingers breaking. Rolling herself into a ball, she squeezed her eyes shut. She heard the voices again, carrying through the window. If they looked up, would they see she’d opened it? One said—the wolf voice: “Jesus, asshole, you think this is the time to get high?” The clown laughed. “Damn straight. They getting the money?” “Smooth as silk, especially once they heard the recording,” the wolf responded, and the voices trailed off. The door slammed. Too scared to worry about quiet, she dragged the makeshift rope to the window, tossed it out. Too short, she could see that right away, and thought of the towels in the bathroom. But they might come in, any minute, so she wiggled out the window, gripped the sheets. Her hands slid helplessly a few inches, and she had to bite back a scream. But she gripped hard, slowed the slide. She saw light—windows below her. If they looked out, saw the sheets, saw her, they’d catch her. Maybe just shoot her. She didn’t want to die. “Please, please, please.” Instinct had her wrapping her legs around the sheet, easing herself down until she reached the end. She could see right into the house, a big kitchen—stainless steel, counters like dark brown stone, green walls, not bright but light. She closed her eyes, let go, let herself fall. It hurt. She had to hold back another cry when she hit the ground. Her ankle turned, her elbow banged, but she didn’t stop. She ran toward the trees, believing with all her heart they wouldn’t find her if she got to the trees. When she did, she kept running. Aidan slipped into the bedroom he shared with Charlotte. Exhausted, sick down to his soul, he walked to the windows. His Catey was out there, somewhere. Frightened, alone. Dear God, don’t let them hurt her. “I’m not asleep,” Charlotte murmured, and shifted to sit up. “I only took half a pill, just to calm down. I’m so sorry, Aidan. Being hysterical didn’t help anyone. It doesn’t help our baby. But I’m so scared.” He walked to the bed, sat, took her hand. “He called again.” She sucked in a breath, gripped hard. “Caitlyn.” He wouldn’t tell her he’d demanded to speak to her daughter, to be certain she was all right. He wouldn’t tell her he’d heard his child scream and sob she wanted her daddy. “They have no reason to hurt her, every reason not to.” Ten million reasons, he thought. “What did they say? Are they going to let her go? Are we getting the money?” “He wants the money by midnight tomorrow. He won’t say where yet. He’ll call again. Dad and Nan are arranging it. He says when he gets the money, he’ll tell us where we’ll find Cate.” “We’re getting her back, Aidan.” She wrapped around him, rocked. “And then we’re never letting her go again. When she’s safe, with us again, home again, we’re never coming back to this house.” “Charlotte—” “No! We’re never coming back to this house where this could happen. I want Nina fired. I want her gone.” She pulled back, eyes filled with tears and fury. “I’ve been lying here, sick, scared, picturing my daughter trapped somewhere, crying for me. Nina? At best she was negligent, but at worst? She could be part of this, Hugh.” “Oh, Charlotte, Nina loves Cate. Listen now, listen. We think it must be one of the catering or event staff, or someone who got through posing as one of them. They had to have a car or truck or van to get her away. They had to have it planned out.” Tears sheened over the arctic blue of Charlotte’s eyes, spilled down her pale cheeks. “It could’ve been someone in the family, a friend. She’d have gone with someone she knew.” “I can’t believe that.” “I don’t care about that.” Charlotte brushed it away. “I only want her back. I don’t care about anything else.” “It’s important we find out who and how. If we contacted the police—” “No. No. No! Is the money more important to you than Caitlyn, than our baby?” He’d forgive her for that, he told himself. She looked ravaged, looked ill, so he’d forgive her for that eventually. “You know better. I don’t give a damn how upset you are, don’t you say such a thing to me.” “Then stop talking to me about police when calling them could get her killed! I want my baby home, I want her safe. She’s not safe here. She’s not safe with Nina.” Heading toward hysterical again—he recognized the signs. He couldn’t find it in him to blame her. “All right, Charlotte, we’ll talk about all this later.” “You’re right. I know you’re right, but I’m terrified, Hugh. I’m letting myself get wound up again because I can’t stand thinking about our baby, alone and afraid. Oh God, Aidan.” She dropped her head on his shoulder. “Where is our baby?” CHAPTER THREE Running, until she couldn’t run any more, until she had to sit on the ground, shivering, shaking. She’d tripped a couple of times when the trees blocked out the moonlight and now her hands bled a little, and she’d torn her jeans. Her knee hurt, and her ankle, her elbow, but she couldn’t stop too long. She couldn’t see the lights anymore from wherever she’d been, and that was good. How could they find her when they couldn’t see her? The bad? She didn’t know where she was. It was so dark, and she was so cold. She heard coyotes off and on, and other things that rustled. She tried not to think about bears or wildcats. She didn’t think she was high enough in the hills for that—Grandpa told her they lived higher, and stayed away from people—but she didn’t know. She’d never been in the woods, alone in the dark before. All she knew, for certain, was that she had to keep going in the same direction. Away. But she wasn’t even sure of that because at first she’d been so scared she hadn’t paid attention. Instead of running, now she walked. She could hear better when her own breath wasn’t whistling in her ears. She could hear if someone—or something—came after her. Tired, so tired, she wanted to curl up and sleep. But something might eat her if she did. Or worse, she thought, worse, she might wake up back in that room. Where they’d break her fingers and shoot her. Her stomach hurt from hunger, and her throat clicked from thirst. When her teeth chattered, she didn’t know if it was from fear or cold. Maybe she could sleep, just for a little while. She could climb a tree, sleep in the branches. It was so hard to think when she was so tired, so cold. She stopped, leaned against a tree, laid her cheek on the bark. If she climbed a tree, slept, maybe when the sun came up, she could see where she was. She knew the sun came up in the east, knew the ocean was west. So if she saw the ocean, she’d know … What? She still wouldn’t know where she was because she didn’t know where she’d been. And they could find her when the sun came up. She trudged on, head drooping with fatigue, feet shuffling as she just couldn’t lift them anymore. Half dreaming, she walked. And smiled a little at a sound. Then shook herself awake, listened. Was that the ocean? She thought, maybe … And something else. She rubbed her tired eyes, stared ahead. A light. She saw a light. She kept her eyes on it, walked on. The ocean, she thought again, getting louder, closer. What if she missed a step and fell over a cliff? But the light, it was closer, too. The trees opened up. She saw a field in the moonlight. Wide and grassy. And … cows. The light, well beyond the edge of the woods, the edge of the field, came from a house. She nearly walked into the barbed wire that kept the cows inside. She cut herself a little getting through it, ripped her new sweater. She remembered from making the movie in Ireland that cows grew a lot bigger for real than they looked in books or from a distance. She stepped in cow poop, and said “Gak,” with a ten-year-old girl’s disgust. From there, after swiping her sneaker on the grass, she tried to watch her step. A house, she saw now, that faced the ocean, with decks up and down, with a light through the lower windows. Barns and stuff that meant ranch. She navigated the barbed wire again—more successfully. She saw a truck, a car, smelled manure and animals. After stumbling again, she started to run toward the house. Someone to help, someone who’d take her home. Then stopped herself. They could be bad people, too. How could she know? Maybe they were even friends with the people who locked her in the room. She needed to be careful. It had to be late, so they’d be asleep. She only had to get inside, find a phone, and call nine-one-one. Then she could hide until the police came. She crept toward the house, onto the wide porch in front. Though she expected to find it locked, she tried the front door, nearly dropped with relief when the knob turned. She eased inside. The lamp in the window burned low, but it burned. She could see a big room, furniture, a big fireplace, stairs leading up. She didn’t see a phone, so she walked back toward a kitchen with green things growing in red pots on a wide windowsill, a table with four chairs, and a bowl of fruit. She grabbed an apple, shining green, bit in. As it crunched between her teeth, as juice hit her tongue, her throat, she knew she’d never tasted anything so good. She saw the handset on the counter beside a toaster. Then she heard footsteps. Because the kitchen offered no place to hide, she rushed into the dining room open to it. Clutching the apple, more juice dribbling down her hand, she squeezed herself into a dark corner beside a bulky buffet. When the kitchen lights flashed on, she tried to make herself smaller. She caught a glimpse of him as he walked straight to the refrigerator. A boy, not a man, though he looked older than she, taller. He had a shaggy mop of dark blond hair, and wore only boxers. If she hadn’t been so terrified, the sight of a mostly naked boy who wasn’t a cousin would have mortified and fascinated her. He was pretty skinny, she noted, as he grabbed a drumstick out of the fridge, gnawed it while dragging out a jug—not like a store carton—of milk. He chugged milk right from the jug, set it on the counter. He sang to himself, or hummed, or made ba-da-ba-dum! noises while he pulled a cloth off what looked like some kind of pie. That’s when he turned, still ba-da-daing, pulled open a drawer. And saw her. “Whoa!” When shock had him jolting back, she had an instant to run. But before she gathered herself, he tipped his head to the side. “Hey. You lost or something?” He took a few steps toward her; she cringed back. In what would seem like a thousand years later, she would think back and remember exactly what he said, how he said it, how he looked. He smiled at her, spoke easily, like they’d met in some park or ice-cream shop. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Hey, are you hungry? My gram makes totally excellent fried chicken. We got leftovers.” He wagged the drumstick he still held to prove it. “I’m Dillon. Dillon Cooper. This is our ranch. Me and Gram and Mom.” He took another couple of steps as he spoke, then crouched down. When he did, his eyes changed. Green eyes, she could see now, but softer, quieter than Grandda’s. “You’re bleeding. How’d you get hurt?” She started to shake again, but she wasn’t afraid of him. Maybe she trembled because she wasn’t afraid of him. “I fell down, and then there were sharp things where the cows are.” “We can fix you up, okay? You should come sit down in the kitchen. We have stuff to fix you up. What’s your name? I’m Dillon, remember?” “Caitlyn. Cate—with a C.” “You should come sit in the kitchen, Cate, and we can fix you up. I need to get my mom. She’s cool,” he said quickly. “Seriously.” “I need to call nine-one-one. I need the phone to call nine-one-one, so I came inside. The door wasn’t locked.” “Okay, just let me get my mom first. Man, she’d freak if the cops came when she was asleep. It would scare her.” Her jaw wobbled. “Can I call my daddy, too?” “Sure, sure. How about you come sit down first? Maybe finish your apple, let me get Mom.” “There were bad guys,” she whispered, and his eyes widened. “No shit? Don’t tell Mom I said ‘shit.’” When he reached out a hand, she took it. “Where are they?” “I don’t know.” “Man, don’t cry. It’s going to be okay now. You just sit down, let me get Mom. Don’t run off, okay? Because we’ll help you. I promise.” Believing him, she lowered her head, nodded. Dillon wanted his mom more than anything and anyone, and ran for the back stairs. Finding a kid hiding in the house during a fridge raid was cool—or would’ve been if she hadn’t had cuts and bruises. And looked scared enough to pee her pants. Then it turned cool again because she wanted the cops, and the bad guys, more cool. Except she was just a kid, and somebody hurt her. He dashed into his mother’s room without knocking, shook her shoulder. “Mom, Mom, wake up.” “Oh God, Dillon, what?” She might’ve brushed him off, rolled over, but he shook her again. “You gotta get up. There’s a kid downstairs, a girl kid, and she’s hurt. She said she wants to call the cops because of bad guys.” Julia Cooper opened one bleary eye. “Dillon, you’re dreaming again.” “Nuh-uh. Swear to God. I have to get back down to the kitchen because she’s scared, and she’ll maybe run. You have to come. She’s bleeding a little.” Now fully awake, Julia shot up in bed, shoved her long blond hair back from her face. “Bleeding?” “Hurry, okay? Jeez, I have to get some pants.” He bolted into his room, grabbed the jeans and sweatshirt he’d tossed on the floor—even though he wasn’t supposed to. On the run, he stuck a leg inside of his jeans, hopped along, shot in the other. His bare feet slapped the wood stairs as he dragged on the shirt. She still sat at the table, which had him letting out a whoosh of relief. “Mom’s coming. I’m going to get the first-aid kit out of the pantry. Then she’ll know what to do. You can eat that drumstick if you want.” He gestured to the one he’d dropped on the table. “I only had one bite.” But she hunched her shoulders together as someone came down the stairs. “It’s just Mom.” “Dillon James Cooper, I swear if you…” She stopped when she saw the girl, and the sleepy irritation dropped away from her face. Like her son, Julia knew how to approach the hurt and frightened. “I’m Julia, honey, Dillon’s mom. I need to take a look at you. Dillon, get the first aid kit.” “I am already,” he muttered, and took it from a shelf in the big pantry. “Now a clean cloth and a bowl of warm water. And a blanket. Light the fire in the kitchen hearth.” He rolled his eyes behind her back, but obeyed. “What’s your name, sweetie?” “Caitlyn.” “Caitlyn, that’s pretty. I’m going to clean this cut on your arm first. I don’t think it needs stitches.” She smiled as she spoke. Her eyes had a lot of gold in them, but there was green, too, like the boy’s. Like Dillon’s, Cate remembered. “While I’m fixing you up, why don’t you tell me what happened. Dillon, pour Caitlyn a glass of that milk before you put it away.” “I don’t want milk. They tried to give me milk but it was wrong. I don’t want milk.” “All right. How about—” She broke off as Cate jolted. And Maggie Hudson came down the stairs. Maggie took one look at Cate, tipped her head. “I wondered what all this noise was. Looks like we’ve got company.” She had blond hair, too, but lighter than Dillon’s and his mom’s. Blue streaked through it on its way to her shoulders. She wore a T-shirt with a picture of a woman with lots and lots of curly hair that said JANIS under it and a pair of flowered pajama pants. “This is my mom,” Julia told her as she cleaned the slices on Cate’s arm. “Put the blanket over Caitlyn’s shoulders, Dillon. She’s cold.” “Let’s get a fire going in here, too.” “I’m working on it, Gram.” The aggrieved boy came through, but she only gave his hair a stroke as she stepped toward the table. “I’m Maggie Hudson, but you can call me Gram. You look like a girl in need of hot chocolate. I’ve got my own secret recipe.” She reached in a cupboard, took out a package of Swiss Miss, then sent Cate a wink. “This is Caitlyn, Mom. She was about to tell us what happened. Can you do that, Caitlyn?” “We were playing hide-and-seek after the life celebration for my great-grandda, and I went to the tree beside the garage to climb it and hide, and there was a man and he stuck me with something and I woke up somewhere else.” The words tumbled out as Maggie put a big mug in the microwave, as Julia dabbed ointment on the cuts, as Dillon, crouched down to light the kitchen fire, goggled. “They had masks like a mean clown and a werewolf, and said they’d break my fingers if I didn’t do what they said. And the clown one had a gun, and he said he’d shoot me. But I didn’t eat the soup or drink the milk because it tasted funny. They put drugs to make you sleep in things, bad guys do that, so I poured it down the toilet and pretended to sleep.” “Holy crap!” Julia merely shot Dillon a look to shut him up. “That was smart. Honey, did they hurt you?” “They knocked me down when they opened the door hard, and the bad clown pulled my hair really, really hard. But then they thought I was asleep, and one of them—it was the wolfman—came in and talked on the phone. I kept pretending and fooled him. I kept the spoon from the soup, and I used it to get the nails out of the window lock. One of them drove away. I could hear them talking outside, and he drove away, and that’s when I got the window open enough to get out, but it was too high to jump.” The microwave went off, but Caitlyn kept looking right into Julia’s eyes. It seemed safe there in the gold and the green. In the kindness. “I tied the sheets together. I couldn’t tear them, but I tied them, and then the one came back, and I was scared because if he came in, he’d see and he’d break my fingers.” “No one’s going to hurt you now, baby girl.” Maggie set the hot chocolate on the table. “I had to climb down, and my hands kept slipping, and there were lights on downstairs, and the sheets weren’t long enough so I had to jump. I hurt my ankle a little, but I ran. There were trees, a lot of trees, so I ran there and ran, and fell and hurt my knee, but I ran. I didn’t know where I was.” Tears rolled now, tears Julia gently wiped away. “Then I heard the ocean, a little, then more. And I saw the light. You had the light on, and I followed the light, and saw the cows, and the house, and the light. But I was afraid you were bad guys, too, so I snuck in. I wanted to call nine-one-one. I stole an apple because I was hungry, and Dillon came downstairs and found me.” “That’s one hell of a story.” Maggie put an arm around Dillon. “You’re the bravest girl I’ve ever met.” “If the bad guys find me here, they’ll shoot me, and everybody.” “They’re not going to come here.” Julia brushed Cate’s hair back from her face. “Do you know the house where you played hide-and-seek?” “My great-grandda’s house. He named it Sullivan’s Rest.” “Sweet girl.” Maggie sat down. “Are you Liam Sullivan’s great-granddaughter?” “Yes, ma’am. He died, and we had a celebration of his life. Did you know him?” “I didn’t, but I admired him, his work, and his life.” “You drink your hot chocolate, Caitlyn.” Smiling, Julia brushed back Cate’s disordered hair. “I’m going to call nine-one-one for you.” “Can you call my daddy, too? Can you tell him how to find me?” “Absolutely. Do you know the number? If not, I can—” “I know it.” Cate rattled it off. “Good girl. Mom, I bet Caitlyn could use a snack.” “I bet she could. Dil, you sit down with Caitlyn, keep her company while I scramble up some eggs. Nothing like scrambled eggs in the middle of the night.” He did. He would have just because she was a guest, and that’s what you did. But he did it more because he found her seriously awesome. “You made a sheet rope and climbed out of a window.” “I had to.” “Not everybody could. That is awesome. I mean, you were like kidnapped, and you outsmarted them.” “They thought I was stupid. I could tell.” Since she didn’t seem to want it, Dillon picked up the drumstick, took another bite. “You’re really not. Was it like a house?” “I think. I was in the back, I think, and all I could really see were trees and the hills. They kept the room dark. I saw the kitchen when I climbed down. It wasn’t as nice as this one, but it was nice. It’s just … I couldn’t tell where I was, and I got all turned around in the trees, so I don’t know. And I don’t know how long I slept from what he had in the needle.” She sounded scared still, but more tired. To give her a boost, he wagged the drumstick. “I bet the cops’ll find the house and the bad guys. We’re friends with the sheriff, and he’s pretty smart. Maybe the bad guys don’t even know you escaped.” “Maybe. He said, on the phone to somebody…” She frowned, tried to remember. Then Julia came over with the phone. “Caitlyn, somebody wants to talk to you.” “Is it Daddy?” Cate grabbed the phone. “Daddy!” The tears came again, spilling down her cheeks as Julia stroked her hair. “I’m all right. I got away. I ran and I’m with Julia and Gram and Dillon. Will you come? Do you know where to find me?” Julia leaned down, kissed the top of Cate’s head. “I’m going to tell him exactly.” “Gram’s making scrambled eggs. I’m so hungry. I love you, too, Daddy.” She handed the phone back to Julia, swiped at her tears. “He cried. I never heard him cry before.” “Joyful tears.” Gram put a plate with eggs and toast in front of Cate. “Because his little girl’s safe.” The little girl plowed into the eggs while Gram plated up the rest. She ate all the eggs, the toast, and had just started on the pie Julia put in front of her when someone knocked on the door. “The bad guys—” “Wouldn’t knock,” Julia assured her. “Don’t you worry.” Still Cate’s chest hurt as if someone pressed on it when Julia walked to the front door. When Dillon took her hand, she squeezed it hard. And held her breath even though it made her chest hurt more when Julia opened the door. Then everything fell away, everything, when she heard her father’s voice. “Daddy!” She leaped out of the chair, ran out of the kitchen, ran to him as she’d run toward the trees. He caught her, swung her up, held her tight, tight, tight. She felt him shaking, felt his scratchy whiskers on her face. Felt his tears blur with her own. Other arms went around her, folded her in—warm and safe. Grandpa. “Cate. Catey. Oh, my baby.” Aidan drew her back, and his eyes filled with more tears as he looked at her face. “He hurt you.” “I fell, because it was dark. I ran away.” “You’re safe now. You’re safe.” As Aidan stood, swaying with her, Hugh turned to Julia, gripped her hands. “There aren’t words to thank you.” He looked beyond her to where Maggie and Dillon stood watching. “All of you.” “You don’t need them. You have a smart, brave girl here.” “Dillon found me, and his mom fixed my cuts, and Gram made me eggs.” “Ms. Cooper.” Aidan tried to speak, simply couldn’t get words out. “Julia. I put on coffee. The sheriff’s on his way. I felt it best to call him, though I realize you probably want to take Caitlyn home and deal with that there.” “I’d love some coffee. I just want to call my wife, let her and the others know we have our girl.” Hugh stroked a hand down Cate’s hair. “If it’s not imposing, I think talking to the sheriff here and now would be best.” “There’s a phone in the kitchen.” Maggie stepped forward. “We don’t get decent cell service here. Maggie Hudson,” she added and offered a hand. Ignoring the hand, Hugh embraced her. “Well, this has been a day, and the sun’s not up. We meet the bravest girl in California, and I get a hug from Hugh Sullivan. Come on back, Hugh.” “Cate’s mother finally took a sleeping pill not long before you called,” Aidan explained. “She’s going to be so happy, Cate, when she wakes up and sees you. We were so scared, so worried.” He lifted her bandaged arm, kissed it. “Why don’t you and Cate sit down, catch your breath. I’ll go help with the coffee. How about some more hot chocolate, Cate?” Still cuddled close to her father, she nodded. “Yes, please.” But even as she said it, headlights swept across the front windows. “That should be the sheriff. He’s a nice man,” she told Cate. “Will he go after the bad men?” “I bet he will.” Julia walked to the door, opened it, stepped out on the porch. “Sheriff.” “Julia.” Red Buckman looked more like a surfer than a cop. He may have cruised past forty to inch his way toward fifty, but when time allowed, he still grabbed his board and hit the waves. His hair, a short, sun-bleached braid, fell just over the collar of his jacket. His face, tanned and lined from his hours on the beach, on the water, often held a deceptive “whatever” expression. Julia knew him to be smart, sharp, and dedicated. Just as she knew he and her mother had an easygoing friends-with-benefits relationship. “I don’t think you’ve met Deputy Wilson. Michaela, this is Julia Cooper.” “Ma’am.” Beside Red, the dark-skinned beauty with the honey-glazed eyes looked all spit and polish in her khaki uniform. Barely old enough to drink, Julia thought, and standing like a soldier in her high-shine shoes. “Caitlyn’s in the living room with her father. Her grandfather’s here, too.” “Let me ask you first. Are you sure the kid didn’t just run off from home?” “There’s no question of that, Red. You’ll see for yourself when you talk to her. She’s settled down, but that child was terrified, and she’d damn well been terrorized. She wanted to call nine-one-one and her father.” “Okay then. Let’s get to it.” He went inside, his deputy a half step behind him. From Aidan’s lap, Cate gave him an unblinking once-over. “Are you really the sheriff?” “That’s right.” He pulled a badge out of his pocket, showed her. “It says so right here. Red Buckman,” he said to Aidan. “You’re Caitlyn’s dad?” “Yes, Aidan Sullivan.” “And you’re okay with us talking to her?” “Yes. You’re okay to talk to Sheriff Buckman, aren’t you, Cate?” “I was going to call nine-one-one, but Dillon found me before I could. So Julia did.” “That was the right thing. Take a seat, Mic,” he told the deputy—who shot him a look at the “Mic” but complied. Red sat on the coffee table so he’d be face-to-face with Cate. “How about you tell me what happened, right from the start?” “We had lots of people at Sullivan’s Rest because my great-grandda died.” “I heard that. I’m sorry about your great-grandda. Did you know the people who were there?” “Mostly. After people got up to talk about him, to tell stories and everything, I got to change into play clothes, and play outside with my cousins and the kids. And after a while, we were going to play hide-and-seek. Boyd was It, and I had my hiding place picked out.” She frowned at that, just an instant, then told her story. Red didn’t interrupt, only stood a moment when Maggie came in with Hugh Sullivan. He took his coffee, nodded at Cate. “You keep going, honey.” He saw Aidan’s stricken face when she spoke of the threats—broken fingers, the gun—watched the father of the child battle tears. In her chair, Michaela took meticulous notes, and watched everyone. “Then I saw the light. I heard the ocean first,” she corrected, then told the rest. “You must’ve been really scared.” “Everything kept shaking, even inside. I had to make it stop when I pretended to sleep or he’d know.” “How’d you think to use the sheets to make a rope?” “I saw it in a movie. I thought it would be easier, but I couldn’t tear them, so they were big and thick to tie.” “You never saw their faces.” “I saw the one by the tree for a second. He had a beard and he had blond hair.” “Would you know if you saw him again?” “I don’t know.” She cringed back against her father. “Do I have to?” “We won’t worry about that. How about names? Did they ever say a name?” “I don’t think so. Wait— On the phone, when I pretended to be asleep, he called the person he talked to ‘lover.’ That’s not really a name, I guess.” “Do you know about how long it took for you to get here from when you climbed out of the window?” She shook her head. “It seemed like forever. It was dark, and it was cold, and everything hurt. I was afraid they’d find me, or maybe a bear would come and eat me.” She laid her head back against Aidan. “I just wanted to go home.” “I bet you did. How about if I talk to your dad and grandpa for a bit. Maybe Dil can show you his room.” “I want to hear. It happened to me. I want to hear.” “She’s right.” When she crawled from Aidan’s lap to his, Hugh stroked her. “It happened to her.” “All right then. We’re going to need a list of everyone at the house. Guests, staff, outside vendors.” “You’ll have it.” “When we’ve got that, we’re going to go over when people left, how they left. For right this minute, tell me when you first noticed Cate was missing.” “It was Nina, her nanny.” “Full name?” “Nina Torez. She’s been with us for six years—nearly seven,” he corrected. “When Catey didn’t come in with the other kids, Nina went to look for her. When she couldn’t find her, she came to us. Everyone looked. I think it was after six, maybe close to seven, I think, when Nina came in, worried.” “Just before seven,” Hugh put in. “We spread out in groups, to look through the house, the outbuildings, outside. Nina had found Cate’s hair clip over by the garage.” “I lost my barrettes.” “We’ll get you new ones,” Hugh promised. “We were about to call the police,” Aidan continued, “when the phone rang.” “Which phone?” “The house phone.” “What time?” “About eight. Yes, close to eight. It was a man’s voice. He said he had Cate, and if we called the police, the FBI, if we told anyone, he’d … hurt her. He said it would cost ten million, cash, to get her back, unharmed, and he’d call with further instructions.” “Some of us still wanted to call the police.” Hugh continued to stroke, then turned Cate’s face to his. “We were so afraid for you. But my daughter-in-law was near hysterics by then, and she was adamantly against it. We decided to wait—the hardest thing I’ve ever done. To arrange for the money, and wait.” He kissed the top of Cate’s head. “And pray.” “The second call came in about ten-thirty. He said we had until midnight tomorrow—that would be tonight now. He’d contact us again to say where to bring the money, then he’d tell us where to find Cate.” “Aidan and I talked, and we agreed to demand we speak to Cate, to be sure…” “She screamed. She called for me.” Aidan dropped his head in his hands. “Cate, you said one of the men drove away for a little while?” “He did. They went outside. I heard them through the window. I saw the taillights.” “Do you know how long he was gone?” “I don’t know, but when he left I got the nails out of the window and started to make the sheets. And he came back before I could get out.” “But you got out right after.” “I was afraid they’d come back to the room and see I had the window open, and the sheets. So I climbed out.” “You’re a smart kid. Hey, Dillon, what time did you come down and find Cate?” “I don’t know exactly. I just woke up hungry, and thought about the fried chicken.” “I can tell you Dillon woke me up right before one.” “All right then.” He had the timeline in his head, got to his feet. “I’m going to let you take this girl home. We’re going to need to talk to the nanny, and the others still at the house. I’d like to do that this morning.” “Whenever you want.” “Let’s say around eight? Give you all time to settle in, get a little sleep.” He looked back at Cate. He had brown eyes, and put a smile in them for her. “I might need to talk to you again sometime, Cate. That okay with you?” “Yes. Will you catch them?” “That’s the plan. Meanwhile, you do some thinking, and if you think of anything—any little thing—you let me know.” He pulled a card out of his pocket. “That’s me, and the number at my office, and the number at home. Got my email, too. You keep that.” After giving her leg a pat, Red got up, eased around the table. “We’ll be there around eight. We’re going to need to look around the place, especially where Cate saw the man who took her. And we’ll need to talk to everyone in the household. Get that list of guests and staff and so on.” “We’ll have it ready.” Hugh passed Cate back to her father, got to his feet to shake Red’s hand. Then he walked to Dillon, did the same. “Thank you for doing everything right.” “Oh, that’s okay.” “It’s more than okay. Thank you all. I’d like to come back again in a day or two.” “Anytime,” Julia told him. “We’re just going to give you a police escort home.” Red winked at Cate. “No sirens, but how about we run the lights?” She grinned at that. “Okay.” Outside, Red got behind the wheel, waited for Michaela to get in beside him. Hit the lights. He headed down the ranch road behind the fancy sedan. “We’ve got us an inside job, Mic.” “Michaela,” she muttered, then blew out a breath. “Yes, sir, we sure do.” CHAPTER FOUR Snuggled in her father’s arms, Cate fell asleep before they reached the end of the ranch road. “She’s exhausted,” Aidan murmured. “I want to have a doctor look her over, but…” “She can sleep first. I can get Ben to come to the house. He’d do it for us.” “I was afraid … I know she’s only ten, but I was afraid he—they—might—” Reaching over, Hugh squeezed his arm. “So was I. But that didn’t happen, they didn’t touch her that way. She’s safe now.” “She was close all the time. Just a few miles away. God, Dad, she was so brave, so damn clever and brave. She saved herself, that’s what she did. My fearless little girl saved herself. And now I’m afraid to let her out of my sight.” Hugh slowed when they approached the gates securing the peninsula, waited until they opened for him. “They had to have a way in and out. They couldn’t have done it without the security code, or clearance. All the people coming and going today of all days.” Lights bloomed along the road winding up, winding away from the sea toward the multileveled house on the rise. A house, Hugh thought, his parents had built as a sanctuary for themselves, their family. Today, on the day they’d honored his father, someone had invaded that sanctuary, despoiled it, and stolen his grandchild. The sanctuary would be his now, and he would do whatever he could do to make certain no one ever marred it again. “Let me get your door,” Hugh began as he pulled up, but family already streamed out of the house. While his wife, his sister, his brother-in-law rushed to the car, Hugh walked to where his mother stood, at the entrance portico. She looked so frail, so tired. He caught her face in his hands, used his thumbs to brush away tears. “She’s safe, Ma. She’s sleeping.” “Where—” “I’ll tell you inside. Let’s go inside, and let Aidan get her upstairs to bed. Our girl’s had a hell of a time, but she’s safe, Ma, and she’s not hurt. Some scrapes and bruises, nothing more.” “My legs are shaking. It’s always after my legs start shaking. Give me a hand.” He helped her inside, into her favorite winter chair by the fire, with the view of the sea beyond the wide window. When Aidan carried her in, Cate’s head on his shoulder, her body loose in that rag-doll way of a sleeping child, Rosemary pressed a hand to her lips. “I want to put her to bed,” Aidan said quietly. “I need to stay with her in case she wakes up. I don’t want her to be alone when she wakes up.” “I’ll bring up some tea, some food,” Maureen told him. “I’ll look in on Charlotte to make sure she’s still asleep. If she’s awake, I’ll bring her right in.” “Let me help you get her settled, Aidan. I’ll turn the bed down—and I’ll check on Charlotte, Mo, while you see Aidan gets some food.” Lily hurried to the stairs and up ahead of Aidan. “We’ll wait until Lily and Maureen are back,” Rosemary decreed. “Then I think we need to hear the story from Hugh before we try to get some sleep.” “It’s a hell of a story. I just want to let everyone know the police are on it—and they’ll be here to talk to us in a few hours. So yeah, we’ll need to try to get some sleep.” While Aidan slipped off Cate’s sneakers, Red and Michaela drove up another steep road on the hillside. “You have to figure, if she hit the field, the fence, the cows coming out of the trees, she was likely coming from south of the Cooper place.” “Or she got turned around, circled around, even ran down from higher up.” “All possible,” he agreed. “But up this road? There’s a high-class, two-story cabin. Not much else for another mile south, and the Cooper place about three miles north. It’s worth swinging by.” “You know the owners, who lives there?” “When you work this area, it pays to know who’s who. Just like I know the people who live there are in Hawaii right now.” Michaela shifted in her seat, looked up the snaking road. “So it’s unoccupied. That would be damn handy.” “That’s my thought on it. I don’t see any outside lights on, and right there’s a little buzz. They’d have left the security light on.” He slowed, silhouetting the cabin in the headlights. “Looks like a light on in the back. There’s a truck under that carport on the north side. Theirs?” “One of them. They’ve got an SUV. Probably drove that to the airport. Keep your weapon handy, Mic.” She unsnapped the safety on her holster as they got out of either side of the car. “Let’s do a little circle around first. The kid said they had her in a room in the back, facing the hills.” “And she could see taillights when he left. The way the cabin’s situated, the switchback down to Highway 1? Yeah, she could’ve seen taillights.” “If this is the place, they’re likely long gone, but…” Red paused, looked up at the white cloth rope hanging out of the window above. “Looks like this is the place. Christ on a crutch, Mic, look at what that kid pulled off.” Shaking his head, he approached the back door. “Unlocked. Let’s clear it.” Weapons drawn now, they went in the door, one heading right, the other left. She noted an open bag of Doritos—Cool Ranch—a cardboard box holding some empty beer bottles. She smelled weed in the air as she cleared a laundry room, a powder room, a kind of hobby room before she crossed with Red again in the living area. They went upstairs, cleared the front-facing master suite with its big walk-in closet, its really big en suite. A guest room—with its own bath. A second guest room, then the last. “Smallest of them,” Red observed, “facing the back. They aren’t completely stupid.” “And long gone.” Michaela checked the windows. “They took off as soon as they realized she got out. One window here’s still nailed shut.” She pointed to the floor. “And there’s the one she pried out, with the spoon. Spoon’s bent and scratched. She worked at it.” Red holstered his weapon, looked out the window at the drop. “If that kid was of legal age, I’d buy her a beer. Hell, I’d buy her a goddamn keg. That’s guts right there, Mic. Let’s do her proud and catch these fuckers.” “I’m on board with that.” While Aidan dozed in the chair beside the bed, the sun crept through the window. And Cate tossed in her sleep, began to whimper. He woke with a jolt, struggled through the layers of fatigue that weighed down on his mind, his body. He rose quickly, sat on the side of the bed to take Cate’s hand, to stroke her hair. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay now. Daddy’s right here.” Her eyes flew open, wide and blind for a moment. On a little sob she lunged into his arms. “I had a bad dream. I had a scary bad dream.” “I’m right here.” She curled into him, sniffling, snuggling. Then went stiff as she remembered. “It wasn’t a bad dream. The bad men—” “You’re safe now. Right here with me.” “I got away.” On a long, long breath, her body relaxed again. “You and Grandpa came to bring me home.” “That’s right.” He tipped her head back, kissed her nose. It broke him a little more to see the bruise on her face, the shadows under her eyes. “I’ll always come for my best girl.” After pressing her cheek to his shoulder, she frowned. “I tore my sweater. And it’s dirty, too.” “It doesn’t matter.” To soothe both of them he ran his hand up and down her back. “I didn’t want to wake you up, but since you’re awake now, why don’t I help you get a bath, get some clean clothes?” “Daddy!” Genuinely horrified, she pushed back from him. “You can’t help me take a bath! I’m a girl, and you’re not. And I like showers now.” So normal, he thought, and found his throat clogged with tears. So completely normal. “How could I have forgotten? Tell you what, I’ll go check if your mom’s awake. She was so scared and worried, I finally made her take a pill to sleep. She’s going to be so happy to see you.” “Look at this!” Lily, a cashmere robe over tailored pajamas, beamed from the doorway before she went in to gather Cate in a hug. “Wide awake, are you, sweets?” “And too big for baths and my help.” Lily arched those bold red eyebrows. “I would say so. I was just coming in to spell you for a bit, Aidan. Let me and our girl deal with our girl things.” “I ruined my sweater, G-Lil.” Since Cate still wore it, Lily trailed a finger down the tear. “I call that a badge of honor. Come on, sweets, let’s get you cleaned up.” Again, she arched her eyebrows at Aidan, put a little exaggeration on southern lady. “You will excuse us, sir.” “I’ve been dismissed.” He gave Cate a big grin that fell away once he left the room. Would his little girl wake with nightmares now, and cling to him shaking from them? How much of her childhood innocence had those bastards cost his baby? And how much deeper than the cuts and bruises did the wounds go? He stepped into his own bedroom, found Charlotte still sleeping. He’d pulled the curtains over the windows himself so the rise of the sun wouldn’t wake her, and found himself relieved she’d taken the pill, still slept. When she woke, Cate would be showered, dressed. Here. They could celebrate that, hold that, before they talked about what to do next. A private detective if the police didn’t find the kidnappers quickly? A therapist for Cate—for all of them, he corrected as he walked quietly into the bath for his own shower. A reevaluation on security at their home, at Cate’s school, whenever they traveled. He felt sick and sorry they’d have to let Nina go. He didn’t believe, not for an instant, she’d been careless, deserved blame. But Charlotte wouldn’t rest easy until she was let go. As he showered, as he let the pulse of hot water pummel the worst of his fatigue away, he considered the new project he’d signed onto. The location shoot in Louisiana, in just two weeks. Should he back out of the film? Should he pull Cate out of school, take her and the tutor with him? Should he simply clean his plate, stay home, until he could feel certain Cate was safe, stable? When in uncharted territory, he thought, take one careful step at a time. He dressed in jeans and a sweater before he slipped back into the bedroom. No romantic long weekend in Cabo, he thought. Not now. No quick getaway without their daughter right there with them. Charlotte would say exactly the same. He left her sleeping, quietly closed the door behind him. It lifted his heart to hear a quick giggle behind Cate’s bedroom door, and the quick rumble of an answering laugh from his stepmother. Thank God for Lily, he thought, as he went downstairs. Thank God for family. Even thinking it, it surprised him to see his father out on the back terrace, drinking coffee, studying the hills. Aidan poured a cup for himself, went out. The breeze, whipping through the chaparral, the redwoods and pines, brought the scent of both hills and sea. Snow iced the tops of the mountains, and morning fog crept along the ground below. “A little cold out here yet, Dad.” “I needed the air. I sometimes forget to appreciate the mountain view. Cate?” “Lily’s with her. She woke up scared, but … resilience.” “Did you get any sleep?” “Some. You?” “Some.” “Dad, I want to thank you for what you were prepared to do. It’s not just the money, but—” “You should know better than to thank me.” “That it’ll irritate you. Yeah.” The smile didn’t come so hard this time. “But I have to anyway. Just like I have to say I love you, Dad.” “That doesn’t irritate me.” Hugh clamped a hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for family. You’re the same.” “I’m trying to figure out now what the best thing to do for family is. I’m supposed to leave for New Orleans in two weeks to start on Quiet Death. Even if I brought Cate and Charlotte with me—or Charlotte for part of it, as she’s got Sizzle shooting in L.A. next month—the long hours … I’m thinking of backing out.” “Ah, Aidan, I hate to see you give up that role. It’s a gem. I know why you’re considering it, I just hate it. All of this. You know Lily and I would keep Catey with us while you’re on location.” “I don’t think I can go without her, not now.” No, he thought, he knew he couldn’t go without her. As much for himself as for his daughter. “Charlotte worked so hard to land Sizzle,” he continued. “I can’t ask her to give it up and base in New Orleans while I shoot.” Hugh stared up at the peaks, at the way the clouds hovered over them as if they’d drop and smother them. “You’re right. I’d do the same in your place.” “I’m thinking of taking six months off, maybe a year. I could take Cate to Ireland, help Nan settle in. They’d both love that.” Though it hurt his heart, Hugh nodded. His mother, his son, his precious granddaughter, an ocean away. “That might be best.” “I want to hire a private detective if the police don’t find these bastards, find them quick. I could offer a reward.” Hugh turned to his son. He hadn’t shaved, and more gray than black grizzled his chin and cheeks. “There our thoughts align.” “Good. Then I’m on the right track. And I want a good family therapist. Resilient or not, I think Cate needs to talk to someone. All three of us do.” Aidan looked at his watch. “The police will be here soon, and that’s the next step. I need to wake Charlotte.” When he turned, he saw Cate at the breakfast counter, her ankles hooked together as she watched Nina sift flour into a bowl. “Take a look,” he told his father. “Squeezes my heart,” Hugh murmured. “In the best way.” Hugh walked to the door, opened it, walked in with Aidan. “Here’s my girl.” He stepped over to kiss the top of her head, sent a grateful look at Lily, who leaned against the big fridge with her own cup of coffee. She’d pulled Cate’s now shiny fall of hair into a high, bouncing ponytail, helped her pick out jeans with flowers on the pockets, and a bright blue sweater. She would have looked like any pretty ten-year-old girl, except for the bruise on her temple, the dark circles under her eyes. “Nina’s making pancakes.” “Is that so?” “Caitlyn asked for them, so…” Nina sent a pleading glance toward Aidan, one out of shadowed and tear-swollen eyes. “I’m all about the pancake.” So he’d wait just a bit longer to get Charlotte. He caught a signal from Lily before she stepped out of the kitchen. He followed her out, and into what had been his grandfather’s study. Liam Sullivan’s Oscars and awards gleamed; framed stills from his movies, candid shots with actors, directors, Hollywood luminaries graced the walls. The wide glass doors led out to the garden he’d loved. “Aidan, you know I love Cate more than I love red velvet cake.” He had to smile. “Yes. And I know how much you love red velvet cake.” “Nina,” she began, in her blunt way. “She’d moved to the room off the kitchen because she knew Charlotte didn’t want to see her. But she heard us when we came down. She just wanted to see Cate, to have a moment. I’m going to say Cate was so happy to see her, and before you know it asked for pancakes. Aidan, that girl wasn’t careless, she wasn’t irresponsible, she—” “I know it.” At the interruption, Lily drew in a breath. Topaz eyes against her milk-pale skin managed to transmit both relief and disappointment. “But you’re still going to let her go.” “I’ll try talking to Charlotte again, but I don’t see her changing her mind. And the fact is, Lily, I don’t think Nina’s ever going to be comfortable working for us again.” “For Charlotte again.” The southern drawl only added to the bite of the words. He adored his stepmother. And knew he couldn’t claim Lily and Charlotte shared that same level of affection. “Okay, yeah. I’m going to do what I can to help her get another position, and give her a good severance.” “I’ll throw my weight into getting her another job. People listen to me.” “Because you don’t give them a choice.” She poked her finger in his chest. “Why would I?” Then she kissed his cheek. “Cate’s going to be all right. Some time, some love, she’s going to be just fine.” “I’m counting on it. Want some pancakes?” “Honey, at my age in this profession, I shouldn’t be in the same room as a pancake.” She tapped her own ass. “But this morning I’m making an exception.” Aidan kept an eye on the time as she ate in the kitchen, noted Nina quietly sliding away. “I’m going to go wake up your mom, baby. It’s going to be like Christmas morning for her, and you’re the best gift under the tree.” Cate smiled a little, pushed at the pancakes still on her plate. “Is Nan still sleeping, too?” “Probably, but I’ll check. Aunt Maureen and Uncle Harry are still here. And Miranda and Jack, some of the kids, too.” “Are we going home today?” “We’re going to see. You remember Sheriff Buckman from last night? He needs to come talk to everybody.” Putting down the fork, Cate gripped her hands together under the counter, stared at her plate. “Did he catch them?” “I don’t know, Catey, but you’re safe.” “Are you coming right back? After you go upstairs, are you coming right back?” “Right back. And G-Lil and Grandpa will stay right here with you.” “And Nina?” “Nina’s a little busy right now,” Lily said easily. “Why don’t we get out one of those jigsaw puzzles you like so much that make me say all those bad words.” That brought a smile. “Can we do one in the living room so we can see the water, and have a fire?” “Great idea.” Hugh stood. “But I pick the puzzle.” “Not an easy one!” Cate scooted off the stool to scramble after him. Then stopped, her eyes imploring her father. “You’ll come right back.” “Right back,” Aidan promised. “Time and love, Aidan,” Lily reminded him as he looked after his daughter. He nodded, and walked back to the stairs, went up. In the bedroom, he opened the curtains, let the light wash through the room. He moved to the bed, sat where Charlotte lay, her hair like a luxurious tangle of that sunlight. Gently, he brushed it back from her face, kissed her. She didn’t stir—even without a pill she tended to sleep deep—so he took her hand, kissed her fingers. Said her name. “Charlotte. You need to wake up.” She stirred then, and would have rolled over if he hadn’t stopped her. “Charlotte, wake up now.” “Just let me sleep for another…” Her eyes popped open, instantly filled with tears. “Caitlyn!” Already weeping, she flung herself into Aidan’s arms. “God, God, how could I have slept when my baby’s gone? How could I have—” “Charlotte. Stop. Stop. Catey’s here. She’s safe. She’s right downstairs.” “Oh, why do you lie to me? Why do you torture me?” “Stop!” He had to pull her back, give her a little shake to cut off the rise of hysteria. “She’s downstairs, Charlotte. She got away. She’s safe, and downstairs right now.” Her eyes went blank. “What are you talking about?” “Our girl, Charlotte?” Tears clogged his throat again. “Our brave little girl climbed out a window. She got away, she got help. Dad and I brought her home last night after talking to the police. She was asleep by the time we got home, and you were under, so—” “She—she climbed out a window? Oh my God! Did they— The police, you called the police?” “The family who helped her did. Sheriff Buckman and his deputy will be here in about ten minutes to—” “They’re coming here? Did they catch them? Did they catch the men who had Caitlyn?” “I don’t know. They wore masks. Cate didn’t know where she was. It was a gift from God she found this house, this family who helped her, took care of her until we got there. Charlotte, she’s downstairs. You need to get up.” “Oh God, oh God, I—I’m so groggy from the pill. I’m not thinking straight.” She tossed the covers aside, leaped out of bed. Since she wore only a silk nightshirt, Aidan stopped her before she could run from the room. “Sweetheart, you need a robe at least. The police are coming.” “What do I care about—” He took the one laid over the foot of the bed, helped her put it on. “I’m shaking, I’m shaking. This is all like some terrible dream. Caitlyn.” Weeping again, she ran from the room, rushed down the stairs. She let out a wail when she saw Cate sitting on the floor working on a puzzle. She leaped again, fell to her knees and pulled Cate close and tight against her. “Caitlyn, Cate. My Catey. My baby! I can’t believe you’re—” She cut herself off, showering kisses over Cate’s face. “Oh, let me look at you, let me look. Oh, my darling, did they hurt you?” “They locked me in a room, but I got away.” “Oh, how could this happen?” She dragged Cate to her again. “When I think what might— That Nina! I want her arrested!” “Charlotte.” Even as Hugh tried to speak, Cate wiggled free, pushed away. “Nina didn’t do anything! You can’t be mean to Nina!” “She was supposed to watch you, take care of you. I trusted her. Oh, I’ll never forgive her. For all we know she was part of this. My sweet baby girl!” “It’s not Nina’s fault.” Again, Cate pushed away from Charlotte’s reaching arms. “You told me where to hide. You told me to play hide-and-seek and hide up in the tree where nobody would find me and I’d win!” “Don’t be silly.” Before Aidan could speak, Hugh held up a hand, got slowly to his feet. “When did your mother tell you where to hide, Catey?” “Stop badgering her! Hasn’t she been through enough? Aidan, it’s time we took our daughter out of this house. Time we took her home.” “When, Caitlyn?” Hugh repeated. “In the morning before the celebration.” While her voice shook a little, Cate kept her gaze steady on Charlotte’s face. She didn’t look at her mother as if studying a stranger, but as if finding something she’d always known. “She said let’s go for a walk, even before Nina got up. Early. And she said she had the best hiding place, and when she showed me, she said not to tell anybody. It was our secret, and to make hide-and-seek the last outside game.” “This is ridiculous. She’s confused. You come with me right now, Caitlyn. We’re going upstairs to pack.” “‘Them.’” Pale as death, Aidan moved forward, stood between his wife and daughter. “When I told you Cate was here, was safe, first … It was shock, not relief. I see that now. And you said ‘them.’ Did the police catch them, the men who took her.” “For Christ’s sake, Aidan, what difference does that make? And I was coming off a sleeping pill. And—” Her father’s voice, so cold when he spoke, had Cate shivering. Lily drew her back. “Because when you took the pill, we only knew of one. One man. But it was two. It was two. How did you know that, Charlotte?” “I didn’t!” Her robe swirled around her as she turned, as she pressed a hand to her heart. “How could I! It’s just a figure of speech, and I was groggy and upset. Stop it. I want to go home.” Something in Cate’s belly shook, but she stepped closer again. “I couldn’t remember when I talked to the police, but now I do.” Lily took Cate’s hand. “What do you remember?” “He said, when I pretended to be asleep, when he talked to somebody on the phone. He asked are you using the nanny’s phone? And how if they ever checked, she’d get blamed.” “Caitlyn’s confused and God knows what they did to her when they—” “No, I’m not.” Tears spilled down her cheeks, but the eyes that shed them stayed hot. “I remember. You told me where to hide. You said make it the last game. And he asked if you were using the nanny’s phone. Because it was you. I knew it. I knew it inside, G-Lil, so I didn’t want to see Mom this morning. I only wanted Daddy.” “You stop this nonsense right now.” As Charlotte made a grab for Cate, Lily blocked her. “Don’t you dare touch this child.” “You get out of my way, you washed-up bitch.” Charlotte’s angry shove didn’t move Lily an inch. “You get your fat ass out of my way or—” Eyes glittering, Lily pushed her face into Charlotte’s. “Or what? You want to take a shot at me, you soulless excuse for a mother? You couldn’t act your way out of a room with one door if the door stood open, and you’re not acting your way out of this, you low-rent never-will-be. You go right on and take a poke at me, and you’ll be waking up on the floor with that nose Aidan paid for spouting blood.” “Stop!” Throwing up his hands, Aidan pushed between them while Hugh drew Cate away. “Stop this. Charlotte, Lily, I need you both to sit down.” With a toss of her hair, Charlotte jabbed a finger toward Lily. “I’m not staying in the same house with her. I’m going up to get dressed. Aidan, we’re leaving.” He gripped her arm before she stormed out. “I said sit down.” “Don’t speak to me that way. What’s wrong with you?” Sobbing, she fell against him. “I can’t stay here! Aidan, oh, Aidan, that woman hates me. She always has. Did you hear? Did you hear what she said to me? How can you let her insult me that way?” “I’ve got plenty of other ways to insult you,” Lily tossed out. “I’ve been saving ’em up for years.” Aidan sent Lily a silent plea that had her holding up a hand, gesturing peace. “Sit down, Charlotte,” Aidan repeated. “I will not sit in the same house, much less the same room with that woman.” “This isn’t about Lily. This is about Caitlyn. It’s about you being a part of what happened to her.” “You can’t believe any of that. I’m Caitlyn’s mother! Our baby’s upset, confused.” “No, I’m not.” Charlotte whipped her head around, struggled for a moment as Cate stared at her with those hot, streaming eyes. “We’re going to get you the help you need, Catey. You had a terrible ordeal.” “You told me where to hide. You said, ‘Let’s go for a walk before anybody gets up, and I’ll show you a secret hiding place.’” “I did not! You’re mixed up. You must’ve gone for a walk with Nina, and—” “She went with you.” Rosemary, trembling a bit, stood in the wide entranceway. “I saw you. Yesterday morning, I saw you and our Cate outside when I stepped out to smell the sea.” “You’re dreaming. You’re all conspiring against me! You—” “Be quiet. Be quiet and sit the hell down.” Sick, sick to his bones, Aidan pulled Charlotte to a chair, pushed her into it. “Nan. What did you see?” “I saw them walking together, and I thought, how sweet, the two of them walking together so early, when the sun’s still rising over the hills, when it’s starting to glitter on the water. I almost called out, but I didn’t because I wanted the two of you to have that moment to yourselves.” “What have you done?” “I haven’t done anything! It’s just like you,” she spat at Aidan. “Just like you to take everyone’s side against me.” “No,” he murmured. “In fact, it’s not.” He glanced toward the window as the gate signaled. “That should be the sheriff.” “I’ll open the gate.” Lily walked out to the controls. “If you try to get out of that chair,” Aidan warned as Charlotte started to push herself up, “I’ll just put you back in it.” “If you put a hand on me—” She broke off, cringed back when he took a step toward her. “You’ve lost your mind.” Covering her face with her hands, she fell back on her usual defense. Tears. CHAPTER FIVE “Sit here, Catey girl. Ma, come sit with Cate.” “You believe me, don’t you, Grandpa?” “I do.” He gave her a hard hug before giving her butt a light pat to send her toward a sofa. “I’m sorry to say, I do.” He went to his mother, put an arm around her as he walked her to Cate. “Lily,” he said when she came back, “would you go ask Nina to come in, bring her phone?” “Don’t you dare bring that liar in here.” “Shut up. Spill all the fake tears you want, but shut up. I’ll get the door,” he told Aidan. As he started for it, his sister rushed down the steps. “What’s going on? We heard the shouting.” “It appears Charlotte had a part in Cate’s kidnapping.” “You— What?” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Do me a favor, see if you can get someone to put coffee together. The police may want some. Then you should get Harry, come down and listen. Ask, for now, Miranda and Jack to make sure the kids stay upstairs, or go down to the theater. It’s going to be a hell of a show here, and one they shouldn’t see.” “Hugh, why would you think she’d— All right,” she said when he just shook his head. “I’ll take care of it.” When Hugh opened the door, Red and Michaela were just getting out of the car. “Good morning, Mr. Sullivan. How’s Caitlyn?” “Hugh,” he said. “Please, both of you, make it Hugh. We’ve had some … developments this morning. Cate’s remembered something. She remembered more details.” “That’s helpful.” But Red studied Hugh’s face, saw the terrible strain, the terrible anger. “Did they do more harm to her than we knew of?” “No, no, nothing like that. It’s…” He had to uncurl the hands he’d balled into fists at his sides. “You’d better hear for yourself. Please come in.” Under the soaring ceilings, in front of the panoramic view of sky and sea, Red studied the fascinating tableau. The little girl with the tear-streaked face and angry eyes sitting under the protective arm of her great-grandmother. The curvy redhead he recognized from the movies perched on the arm of the sofa to flank the girl. Like a guard on protective duty. The stunning blonde in the white silk robe weeping while her husband—because he recognized the blonde, too—stood behind her chair. Not in comfort, but another guard. “My mother, Rosemary,” Hugh began, “my wife, Lily. And, ah, my sister, Maureen.” “Coffee’s coming. Harry’s getting dressed.” One glance at Hugh had her going to the sofa, to sit at her mother’s other side. United front, Red thought. With the blonde most definitely cut out. “This is Sheriff Buckman and Deputy Wilson. And here’s Nina, Caitlyn’s nanny.” “Get that woman out of my sight!” At Charlotte’s explosion, Nina took a stumbling step back. “Miss Lily said I needed to come in, and bring my phone.” “You’re fired! Do you understand the word?” A small woman, barely twenty-five, she’d always acquiesced to Charlotte. Had always been intimidated by her. But now Nina squared her shoulders. “Then I don’t have to listen to you or do what you say.” Charlotte—and Red thought it fascinating how quickly tears turned to temper—started to spring up. Aidan gripped her shoulder, shoved her down again. “Don’t you touch me. Sheriff, you have to help me.” And, Red noted, how quick tears came back. “Please, please, they’re abusing me. Physically, verbally, emotionally. Please.” That beautiful face with its brimming eyes turned up to Red. The hands lifted in a plea. “We’re here to help,” he said easily. “How about everybody takes a seat?” Another woman rolled in a trolley. He could smell the coffee. “Thanks, Susan.” Maureen popped up. “I’ve got it from here. Susan helps my mother take care of things around here. Susan, you can go on back. Here’s my husband. Harry, this is Sheriff Buckman and Deputy Wilson. You should sit down,” she murmured to him. Before he did, he walked over to Cate, bent from his height of six-five to give her an exaggerated kiss. “You were a sleepyhead when I saw you last night.” He took a chair, stretched out his long legs. Since there was plenty of seating, Red took a chair that gave him the best angle on the blonde and the child. Mother and daughter. Because something very wrong simmered between them. “How are you doing today, Cate?” “I’m not scared anymore. And I remembered she told me where to hide.” She lifted her hand, pointed that accusatory finger at her mother. “She’s confused. Those monsters must have given her something that’s warped her memory. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” “I know.” Cate stared straight into her mother’s eyes. Charlotte looked away first. “She woke me up early yesterday for a surprise, she said. She doesn’t get up early unless she has a call, but she was already dressed, and she had my jacket, and my shoes.” “I did not!” “You did, too.” “Charlotte,” Rosemary said with a sigh. “I saw you. I saw them walking, out front, about a half hour after sunrise.” Red held a hand up before Charlotte could interrupt again. “I’d like to hear what Cate has to say.” “I won’t have you interrogating my child.” “I don’t believe that’s what I’m doing.” Red barely flicked Charlotte a glance before giving Cate his full attention. “What I’m doing is listening. Tell me what you remember, Cate.” “She said we’re going for a walk, and we did. And I was excited because it was a secret, she said.” Though her voice sounded fierce, she knuckled tears from her eyes. “She said she had the best hiding place, and I should play hide-and-seek as the last outside game, and use that place—the tree by the garage—and no one would find me. So I’d win.” “Yoga,” Aidan murmured. “God, how could I be so stupid, so blind? I woke, and you were just coming into the bedroom. You had on yoga pants, a tank, and said you’d taken your mat out by the pool to do some yoga.” “Which is exactly what I did, or is that a crime now?” “Black yoga pants,” Rosemary said, shutting her eyes, bringing it back. “A black-and-white flowered tank.” “Yes.” Aidan nodded. “Obviously, Rosemary saw me coming back from the pool, and she’s confused.” “Seems to be a lot of ‘confused,’” Red said easily. “Cate seems pretty clear on it.” “She’s still in shock, may still be under the influence of whatever those monsters gave her.” “That would be the monsters who took her to the Wenfield cabin, about three miles from here as the crow flies.” He kept his eyes on Charlotte’s as he spoke. “Maybe you figure they’re confused, too.” He watched her pale, watched her fingers dig into the arms of the chair. Smelled the lie before she spoke it. “They’re criminals, liars. They’re working with that heartless bitch.” She flung a hand out at Nina. “Turning my own flesh and blood against me, and for money.” “I’d cut off my hand before I’d hurt or let anyone hurt my Caitlyn. I’ll take a lie detector test,” Nina said to Red. “I’ll do anything you want.” “She talked to him on the phone—not Nina,” Cate insisted. “He asked if she’d used the nanny’s phone, and said good. He called her ‘lover.’ And his phone, when it rang, it was ‘The Mexican Hat Dance.’ I know because we learned it in dance class.” Nina’s hand flew to her mouth, but didn’t quite smother the gasp. “See, she’s guilty.” “I did nothing.” Nina took out her phone as she rose, put in the code, handed it to Red. And leaning down, whispered, “I have something to say, but I don’t want to say it in front of Caitlyn.” He nodded, shifted to smile at Lily. “Ma’am—and I want to say I’ve sure enjoyed your movies over the years—I wonder, since we all have this fine coffee, if you’d take Cate back, maybe get her a drink.” “You want to say something you don’t want me to hear. It happened to me. I should hear.” She had a stubborn line between her eyebrows when they came together. He had to respect that. “That may be so, honey, but I need you to give me just a couple minutes first. I’d really appreciate it.” “Come on, sweets. Let’s get us a Coke.” “I don’t allow my child to drink carbonated sugar!” “Well, bless your heart.” With that eyebrow arch for Charlotte, Lily took Cate’s hand. “Guess who’s not in charge today?” Red waited a minute, then nodded to Nina. “What do you want to say?” “I don’t want to say it. I wish I didn’t have to, and I’m so sorry, Mr. Aidan. I’m so sorry, but Ms. Dupont…” Embarrassed color flooded Nina’s cheeks. “She’s been having sex with Mr. Sparks.” “Liar!” Surging up, a flurry of white silk, Charlotte slapped at Aidan when he tried to stop her. She leaped at Nina. She managed to get a swipe of nails down Nina’s cheek before Michaela restrained her. Even then, she struggled, kicked back. “You’re going to end up in cuffs,” Red warned her in the same tone he might’ve used to comment it looked like rain. “Assault, and assaulting an officer. You better sit back down before you end up cooling your temper in jail.” “My lawyers will sue you both out of your jobs. And bury you,” she told Nina. Slow, calm, Red got to his feet. “Sit down. Or I’ll charge you here and now, have you taken in, booked. Nina, do you want medical attention?” “It’s all right. I’m not lying.” “Why don’t you tell me why you think Ms. Dupont’s having an affair with this Mr. Sparks?” “I don’t think, I know, because I walked in on them. I’m so sorry, Mr. Aidan. She said she’d fire me and see I’d never get another job if I said anything.” “Aidan, you can’t believe that.” Now Charlotte reached for his hand, her face filled with love and sorrow. “You can’t possibly believe I’d be unfaithful.” He pulled his hand free. “Do you honestly think I’d give a goddamn at this point about you having sex with your personal trainer? Do you think I give any kind of damn about you now?” “Oh, oh, Aidan!” “You can turn off the fucking tears, Charlotte. That scene’s played out.” “Nina, why would it matter right now about Ms. Dupont and Mr. Sparks?” “His ringtone. I’ve heard the ringtone on his phone. It’s that one Cate said. The hat dance one.” “As if Grant’s the only one in the world who—” “Shut up,” Aidan snapped. “He called her ‘lover,’” Nina added. “He called her that right in front of me. Cate and I were visiting her grandparents, and she really wanted this story she’d written for school, to show them. They don’t live far, so I said I’d run back and get it. She was so proud of it. I thought they—Ms. Dupont and Mr. Sparks—were in the gym, downstairs. I never thought about it, but just ran right upstairs. The bedroom doors—the master’s—were wide open. I heard them first. I heard them, then I saw. They were in bed together.” She let out a breath. “I guess I made some sound—I was so shocked. When she heard me, she got up, and came right out. Naked. She told me if I said anything, I was done, and she’d tell the police I tried to steal her jewelry. I didn’t want to lose my job, I didn’t want to leave Caitlyn. I didn’t want to go to jail. I didn’t say anything.” “Not a word,” Aidan said quietly when Charlotte started to deny. “Not a single word. Is there more, Nina?” “I’m sorry, Mr. Aidan. I’m sorry. After that she didn’t bother to hide it so much, not from me. And he called her ‘lover.’ Like, ‘Lover, she’ll keep her mouth shut. Come on back to bed.’ Or when she had me bring a bottle of wine down to the gym, he called her that. He always called her that.” “Let me ask you, Nina, do you always keep your phone with you?” Clasping her hands together, Nina nodded at Red. “Yes, sir. Almost always. Except when I need to charge it, but I try to do that at night.” “And yesterday, after you realized Caitlyn was missing?” “I had it with me when I looked for her. Later, after Ms. Dupont blamed me for it, Miss Lily and Miss Rosemary said I should move downstairs for the night, to the room off the kitchen so Ms. Dupont didn’t get more upset. I did, and I left my phone in there, on the charger when we were all waiting for the kidnapper to call back.” “Ms. Dupont waited with everyone, too?” “No, sir, she was upstairs. Lying down. I think she took a sleeping pill, and was sleeping when he called back.” “Okay, Nina. Ma’am,” he said to Rosemary, “is there any way to get to that bedroom, the one down here, from upstairs without going by where you all were waiting?” “Several ways.” “What we’re going to do is take your phone in, Nina. With your permission, since it’s a cell phone, we can use the computer to bring up the actual calls.” He saw the slightest flicker in Michaela’s eyes at the bluff, but Red always figured when you bluffed—or lied outright—you should do it with casual confidence. “First thing is, if the call Cate’s told us about came in when you were in the room with witnesses, we’d know right off it wasn’t you who made it. Next, even if they didn’t use names, we’d run the voices on the phone through voice recognition. Since this is a kidnapping, we’d get the FBI to help with that. Their equipment’s amazing.” Playing along, playing well, Michaela nodded. “It’ll be a simple matter to match the voices, since we have the two men already.” “Yep. Mic, why don’t you go upstairs with Ms. Dupont so she can get dressed.” “You’re not taking me to jail. I’m a victim. I’m a victim. You have no idea what I’ve been through.” “I think I get the gist, but if you want to make a statement, that’s just fine. I’m going to record that. But I’m going to read you your rights first.” He took a recorder out of his pocket, turned it on, set it on the table. “That’s how we do it.” Calculation, that’s what Red saw as he recited the Miranda. “You understand all that, Ms. Dupont?” “Yes, of course I do. I’m appealing to you for help. I made a terrible mistake, but I was being blackmailed.” “Is that so?” “I did have a fling with Grant. Another terrible mistake. I was weak, Aidan, I was lonely and foolish. Please forgive me.” His face, his eyes, his voice held no emotion. Not even disgust. “I don’t care.” “Are you claiming Grant Sparks blackmailed you over the affair?” “It was a paparazzo. He got pictures of us. It was awful, just…” Lowering her head, she covered her mouth with her hand. “He demanded millions, or he’d publish them. I wanted to protect my marriage, my family, my little girl. All of us. I didn’t know how to get the money.” “Staging a kidnapping was the solution?” Red demanded. “Grant had the idea. If we faked a kidnapping … I lost my mind. I wasn’t thinking straight. The stress. I knew Grant would never hurt her. We’d pay, and she’d be back home quickly. It was insane, I see that now. I was insane. I was desperate.” Aidan walked away from her now. Had to walk away. “What was the blackmailer’s name?” “He said his name was Denby. Frank Denby. After the first time, Grant met with him. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t bear it. Please believe me, after Caitlyn … I was terrified. I started thinking of everything that could go wrong, and—” “Did you know where they’d taken her?” “Of course! She’s my daughter. I knew where she was, but—” “And being afraid, worried something would go wrong, you didn’t call it off?” “I couldn’t!” Imploring, she clutched a hand under her throat, reached out toward Red with the other. “I didn’t know what to do! I made that call because I needed to be sure Caitlyn was all right.” “They drugged her.” Charlotte looked over at Aidan. “It was just a little sedative, just so she wouldn’t be afraid. She’d just sleep through it until—” “They terrified her, put bruises on her face, threatened her with a gun.” “They weren’t supposed to—” “You did this for money, for sex. She climbed out a second-story window, wandered lost in the dark, in the cold, for God knows how long. You used your own child, risked your own child over a goddamn affair.” “She was supposed to sleep! It’s her own fault she didn’t drink the milk!” “How did you know the drug was in the milk?” Michaela asked, still taking meticulous notes. “Did you tell them to use milk?” “I—I don’t know! You’re confusing me. She wasn’t hurt. She was supposed to sleep. When we had the money, they’d have me drop it off.” “That was part of it? You make the drop?” “Yes, and then they’d take Caitlyn to the turn onto the peninsula, leave her right there.” “And you, you could play the shattered, loving mother through it all.” Hugh got to his feet. “You’ll never see that child again if I have any say. You’ll never see a penny of Sullivan money. You’ll never step foot in this house again.” “You don’t have any say!” Charlotte hurled at him. “You can’t keep me from my own daughter.” “That’ll be up to the courts. Charlotte Dupont, you’re under arrest for child endangerment, accessory to kidnapping a minor, accessory to child abuse, accessory to extortion.” “Did you hear me? I was victimized, blackmailed.” “Well, I’ve got some doubts about that. But we’ll talk more. Right now, Deputy Wilson’s going to escort you upstairs, unless you want us to take you in like you are.” “I want my lawyer.” “That would be my lawyer,” Aidan corrected. “You’ll have to find your own.” “Oh, I will.” Now the loathing poured free. “And I’m not the only one who knows how to talk to the press. I’m going to ruin every one of you.” “What you’re going to do right now is come with me.” She jerked away when Michaela walked over, took her arm. “Don’t you touch me.” “Do that again, we’ll be adding resisting arrest. It’s already a long list.” Charlotte rose, tossed back her hair. “Fuck every one of you fucking Sullivans.” Rosemary closed her eyes when Michaela escorted Charlotte upstairs. “A pathetic exit line for a pathetic human being. Aidan, I’m so very sorry.” “No, I’m sorry. I loved her. I looked the other way so many times because I loved her. Because she gave me Cate. Her own child, she did this to her own child. I need some air. I just want to step outside, is that all right?” Red gave him a nod. “Sure.” “What happens now?” Hugh asked as Aidan went out the front door. “Now we find Grant Sparks and Frank Denby.” “You said you had them…” With a shake of his head, Hugh let out a short laugh. “You lied. Well done.” “It’s going to take some time to sort all this out. I’ll probably need to talk to all of you again, and to Cate. What I’ll say, right now, is it’s not all that likely Ms. Dupont’s going to make bail anytime soon. What I expect, after she settles some, and if she hires a decent lawyer, is her to work for a deal. That she’ll probably get.” “I should’ve told Mr. Hugh about Mr. Sparks.” “Don’t you blame yourself for that, for any of it.” Maureen got up, walked over to hug Nina. “Come on with me. I’m going to get those scratches cleaned and treated. Rabid cat scratches are nasty.” “Will they let me stay with Catey?” Nina asked as Maureen led her out. “I know my nephew. You’ve got a job for life.” It didn’t take long for Michaela to bring a stone-faced Charlotte back down. “We want to add attempted bribery of a police officer, Sheriff. She offered me ten thousand to let her go.” “That’s a lie!” “Figured it was coming. I had my phone on record. She’s cuffed as she didn’t like hearing no.” “Let’s load her up. I’ll be in touch,” he told the others. “If any of you have any questions, you know how to reach me.” When the door closed behind them, Hugh brushed his mother’s shoulder. “I’m going to go back so Lily knows to bring Cate in.” “Yes, do that. Aidan’s going to need Cate, Cate’s going to need Aidan. And they’re both going to need all of us.” He bent down to kiss the top of her head. “Sullivans stick together. That includes you, Harry.” “She was never one of us.” A quiet man with quiet ways, he unfolded himself from the chair to go sit by his mother-in-law. She patted his hand. “You never liked her much, did you, Harry?” “I never liked her at all, but Aidan loved her. You can’t choose family, Rosemary my own. I just got lucky with the bulk of mine. There now.” He put an arm around her when Rosemary turned her face to his shoulder and finally wept. Aidan walked off the sick, walked off at least the top notes of his rage. For Cate’s sake, he reminded himself as he kept walking, kept breathing in the cool, salty air, for her sake he had to find his calm, find his steady. But beneath it, that rage lived, a feral animal that craved blood. He feared it would live and crave forever. And under that, even under the snarling and pacing of that beast, lay the shattered pieces of his heart. He’d loved Charlotte with all of that heart. How could he have not seen? How could he have not known the grasping, selfish, immoral woman beneath the facade? Even, he had to admit, when that facade had thinned and he’d gotten glimpses, he’d dismissed them. He’d loved her, trusted her. He’d made a child with her, and she’d risked that child, used that child, betrayed that child. He would never forgive her for it. He’d never forgive himself. But when he went back inside, he’d coated on layers of that calm and steady. Coated them thick so they couldn’t crack—not even when he went in through the back and saw Cate burrowed against his father. His eyes met Hugh’s over Cate’s head. “I think Cate and I need to talk.” “Sure you do.” Hugh drew Cate back, smiled at her. “Everything’s going to be all right. All right can take a little time, but we’ll get there.” He gave her a last squeeze, then left them alone. “How about we sit and talk in the library? Just you and me?” When he held out a hand, she took it with such unquestioning trust, his heart broke just a little more. Because he wanted privacy for both of them, he took her the long way around, through the formal dining room, past the conservatory, around what they called the music room, and into the library. Its windows faced the hills, the gardens, gave glimpses of a little orchard. They, with the pale winter sun drifting in, offered a quieter view than the roll of sea. Under a coffered ceiling of mocha and cream, shelves of books, of bound scripts, lined the walls. The chestnut floor gleamed under an Aubusson carpet of elegantly faded greens and roses. He knew his grandmother sometimes sat at the antique library table shipped from Dublin to write actual letters and notes. He pulled the double pocket doors shut, guided Cate to the big leather sofa. Before he sat, he lit the fire. Then he sat beside her, took her face in his hands. “I’m sorry.” “Daddy—” “I have to say this, then I’ll listen to whatever you need to say. I’m so sorry, Catey, my Cate. I didn’t keep you safe, I didn’t protect you. You’re everything to me, and I promise you I won’t ever fail you again.” “You didn’t. She—” “But I did. Never again. Nothing and no one is as important to me as you. Nothing and no one ever will be.” He kissed her forehead, and found saying the words to her helped settle him. “I knew it was her when I was in that room. She told me where to hide. She took me there and showed me, so I knew. But only inside because…” “She’s your mother.” “Why doesn’t she love me?” “I don’t know. But I do, Cate.” “Does … does she have to live with us?” “No, and she won’t. Ever.” It carved at him again, the shaky breath of relief his little girl let out. “Do we have to live where we did? I don’t want to go back there anymore, and live where she did. I don’t—” “Then we won’t. I think, for now, we could live with Grandpa and G-Lil. Until we find a place for just you and me.” Hope, sweet and bright, lit her face. “Really?” He made himself smile. “Sullivans stick together, right?” She didn’t smile back, and her voice trembled. “Do I have to see her? Do I have to talk to her? Do I—” “No.” He prayed he could make that the truth. Her eyes, so blue, and now so robbed of innocence, looked into his. “She let them scare me, and hurt me. And I know what ‘lover’ means. She scared you, too, she hurt you, too. She doesn’t love us, and I don’t ever want to see her again. She’s not really my mother, because mothers don’t do that.” “You don’t have to worry about that.” “I don’t feel sad about it,” she claimed, even as tears started to roll. “I don’t care. I don’t love her either, so I don’t care.” He said nothing; he understood completely. He felt exactly the same. Torn to bits, desperate not to care. So he just gathered her close, let her cry it out, cry herself to sleep. And while she slept, he sat alone with her, watching the fire. CHAPTER SIX Deputy Michaela Wilson had pursued and accepted the job in Big Sur because she wanted a change, because she wanted community. And, though she wouldn’t admit it, because the man she’d lived with for two years, the man she thought she’d live with for the rest of her life, decided that being with a cop equaled too many complications. She, a woman who believed to the marrow in law, order, rules, procedure, in justice, could admit she’d put the job ahead of their relationship more than once. But to Michaela, that was the job. She’d been an urbanite all her life, so the change of locations, of culture, of pace equaled an enormous personal challenge. She’d wanted just that. She wouldn’t deny that her first few weeks had tested her. She wouldn’t deny she thought of Red Buckman as Sheriff Dude. The man had a bikini-clad (well-endowed) woman riding a wave tattooed on his biceps. He often wore an earring. Not to mention the hair. All that added into the too laid back, in her opinion, too unbuttoned, and—she’d thought—too damn slow. It wasn’t an easy matter for Michaela Lee Wilson to admit a mistake, especially one of judgment. But in the past eighteen hours or so, she’d had to admit this one. He might look like a middle-aged surfer, but he was all cop. She got another good dose of that cop when they sat in interview with Charlotte Dupont and her high-priced lawyer. She didn’t know much about Charles Anthony Scarpetti, but she knew he’d flown up from L.A. in his private jet, wearing his sharp suit and Gucci shoes. And she knew—because Red had warned her—Scarpetti was the type who’d play to the media and pop up on Larry King. Red sat placidly while Scarpetti pontificated in his slick lawyer way about motions for dismissal, about harassment, intimidation, filing for full custody of the minor child, spousal abuse. Apparently he had a lot of rabbits in his lawyer hat. Red just let them hop around awhile. Even twenty-four hours before, that placidity would have had Michaela metaphorically pulling her hair out. Now she saw it as carefully crafted strategy. “I’ve got to say, Mr. Scarpetti, that’s a lot, and some really fine, shiny words in there, too. If you’re finished for now, I’ll tell you why you and your client are going to be disappointed.” “Sheriff, I intend to have my client back in her home in Los Angeles, with her daughter, by this evening.” “I know it. I get that clear impression. It’s not going to happen, and that’s a disappointment for both of you.” He leaned forward, but in a friendly way. “I have a really strong suspicion your client hasn’t been honest and forthright with you, Mr. Scarpetti. I could be wrong—lawyers gotta do what they gotta—but having some little experience with your client’s ways and means, I have to figure she served you up a whole platter of bullshit.” “Charles!” Charlotte turned to him, managed to look beautifully indignant in her orange jumpsuit. He just patted her hand. “My client is distraught—” “Your client is an accessory to her own daughter’s kidnapping—by her own admission.” “She was distraught,” Scarpetti repeated. “Confused, groggy from the sleeping pill her husband forced on her. Her child, also distraught, told you what her father had coached her to say.” “Is that so?” Red shook his head as he studied Charlotte. “Man, you are some number. Deputy, why don’t you play back the recording on your phone, from when you took Ms. Dupont upstairs to dress.” Michaela set her phone on the table, cued it up. Charlotte’s voice, a little breathless, but very smooth, flowed out. “Police don’t make much, especially women police, I imagine.” In contrast, Michaela’s voice hit clipped and dispassionate. “You’re going to want shoes, ma’am.” “I’ve got money. I can make your life easier. All you have to do is let me go. Tell them I ran out, give me ten minutes’ head start. Ten thousand for a ten-minute head start.” “You’re offering to pay me ten thousand dollars to let you escape from custody? How are you going to get me the money?” “I’m good for it. You know who I am! Look, you can take this watch. It’s Bulgari, for Christ’s sake. It’s worth more than you pull in in ten years.” “You’re going to want to put on shoes, ma’am, or go out barefoot.” “Take the watch, you idiot! Ten minutes. I’ll get you cash, too. Take your hands off me! Don’t you dare put those things on me.” “You attempted to bribe a police officer, and have shown yourself to be a flight risk. Sit down. Since you’re now cuffed, I’ll get you some shoes.” Michaela cut off the recording during the stream of curses. “I bet she didn’t tell you about that one.” Red scratched the side of his neck. “Now, before you start saying that was just a desperate plea from a desperate woman, let me save you the breath. It’s bribing a police officer, period. I also have your client’s confession on tape—including the Miranda warning before she gave it. We have BOLOs out now for her two partners, and we will apprehend them.” “You said you already—” Red just smiled when the lawyer cut Charlotte off. “Had them?” Red finished. “You might’ve gotten that impression. We will have them. You know, they were both mostly careful about wiping things down, but it’s hard to get everything. Especially when you’re moving fast because, hey, the kid got loose, and the cops might be coming. We got prints.” “We’re not disputing the child was abducted,” Scarpetti replied. “Ms. Dupont had no part in this terrible crime.” “I guess she didn’t know where they took the kid, where they held her. She would never have been there.” “How could I know! I don’t even know what I said on that recording of yours. I was so loopy from the pills Aidan made me take. It’s not the first time he’s forced me to … do things.” She turned her head away an instant after she let a single tear slide down her cheek. “I guess you didn’t know the Wenfields. The people who own the cabin.” “I don’t know them. I don’t know where the damn cabin is. I only go to Big Sur when Aidan makes me. Charles!” “Charlotte, you need to be quiet. Let me handle this.” “Doesn’t know the Wenfields, has never been to the cabin. So saying that,” Red considered, “you wouldn’t have any idea they’d be out of town, that the house would be empty.” “Exactly! Oh, thank God.” “Now I’m confused. How about you, Mic? Are you confused?” She kept her stony face on, but smiled a little inside. “Not really.” “Just me then. I’m confused how it is, when you don’t know the Wenfields, don’t know where their cabin is, how your fingerprint—right index finger—ended up on the light switch of the downstairs powder room.” “That’s a lie.” “I guess you got a little careless. How I see it, you checked the place out with your partners, needed to use the facilities. And just didn’t think about tapping that switch.” “They planted it. Charles—” “Quiet now.” Michaela saw the change in his eyes. Whether or not he cared if his client was guilty or not, he cared when the evidence piled up. “Your story’s so full of lies and holes and shifts, it’s hard to keep up. But I’m damn good at riding the wave. The blackmail? It’s bullshit. Extortion’s one thing, and getting caught at it’s going to mean some time. But drugging and abducting a minor? Use of a deadly weapon? That’s a whole different level. A man’s after a pile of money. I don’t see him risking that different level by helping grab Caitlyn. That’s not his job, not his play.” “He had pictures!” “Charlotte, stop talking. Don’t say another word.” “She’s not loopy from a sleeping pill now, and she’s back to blackmail. Another shift back from her daughter being coached to accuse her. They stuck a needle in her.” Laid back vanished as Red slammed a fist on the table. “You picked the spot where they could grab her, and they stuck a needle in your ten-year-old daughter.” “For money,” Michaela added. “For more Bulgari watches.” “For love!” This time, Scarpetti reached over, gripped Charlotte’s arm. “Not another word. I need to consult with my client.” “Surprise, surprise.” Red got to his feet, stopped the recording. “He’s going to tell you the one who rolls first gets the best deal. He’s not wrong. You want a Coke, Mic? I could use a Coke.” When they walked out, he signaled another deputy to take the door, then gestured to Michaela to follow him through the interview area, the bullpen area, and into his office, where he kept a cooler stocked with Cokes. He got out two, passed her one before sitting down and putting his high-top Chucks on his desk. “Okay, so let’s tell the state’s attorney it’s about that time. Fancy lawyer’s going to look for a fancy deal.” “How much time is she going to get? Whatever it is, it’s not enough, but how much do you think?” “Well.” He scratched the side of his neck again. “You got kidnapping a minor, for ransom. You got the use of drugs on the kid, the gun. Thing is she can carry on about how she didn’t know about the gun, so we’ll let that slide. And her being a parent, she can use that. But the ransom, that’s going to sting even when she rolls.” “And she will. There’s no loyalty in her.” “Not a bit. Five to ten, I figure. Her lover and the other? Twenty to twenty-five, easy. Depending on how stupid they are, they could get a full life sentence. But I figure the three of them are going to throw enough shit at each other, plead it down, get the twenty to twenty-five. If we can prove who waved the gun around? That one’s twenty-five to life.” He took a long, long gulp of Coke. “But that’s the lawyers and court. Us? We gotta catch them. She’s going over, and if Sullivan has a brain—and I think he does—he’s already filing for full custody, for divorce, and getting himself a restraining order in the possible circumstances she makes bail.” He took another swing. “You did good, Mic.” “I didn’t do that much.” “You did the job, and you did it good. You go on, let the state’s attorney know we’re going to play Let’s Make a Deal.” Michaela nodded, turned toward the door. “That little girl? The media’s going to swarm like flies, Sheriff.” “Yeah, they are. Nothing we can do there but give a statement when it comes to that, then go into no-comment mode, and stay there. She doesn’t deserve what’s coming next.” No, Michaela thought as she went out. None of them did. Five minutes after Charlotte began to spin shaded truths, outright lies, and self-serving excuses, Scarpetti cut her off. He told her with stone-cold clarity he needed the truth, all of it, or he’d walk away. Because she believed him, Charlotte spilled her guts. While she spilled, Frank Denby lounged on the bed of his motel room just south of Santa Maria, watching porn while he iced down his black eye and swollen jaw. His ribs ached like a mother, so he’d driven as far as he could before calling it. Now after a pop of Percocet, some weed, some ice, he figured he’d head out again in a couple hours. Sparks had kicked the shit out of him when they’d discovered the brat had gotten out. Like it was his fault. Not that he hadn’t gotten a couple of shots in. Yeah, he’d landed a couple. But he understood Sparks might have killed him if Sparks hadn’t known he shared the blame. So the job had gone to shit—all that money blown—and now he, down to a few hundred cash, one stolen credit card he wasn’t ready to use, what remained of the nickel bag in his duffle, had to lie low. Not that the kid could ID him, but when a job went south, so did he. Mexico felt right. Cruise on down south of the border. A little grifting, a lot of beach time. Hit the tourist spots, make a few bills. Sparks might have a sweet gig going with his personal training game and banging a movie star mark, but for himself, Denby preferred short, simple cons. He crunched into a handful of barbecue chips, sulked a little because the guy on the crappy motel TV was getting a blow job and he wasn’t. He should never have let Sparks talk him into the game, but it had seemed so damn easy. And his share of the two million those rich assholes would pay? Jesus, he’d live like a king in Mexico with a million bucks. And all he’d had to do for it was help set up the cabin and watch the kid for a couple days. Who’d’ve figured the brat would climb out the damn window and go poof? But the brat hadn’t seen his face, or seen Sparks without a disguise, and the movie star couldn’t blab unless she wanted to trade in her Armani for prison blues. Besides, the bitch was hot for Sparks. Good old Sparks knew how to string the rich ones along. He took another toke on the joint, held that sweet, sweet smoke in his lungs, then expelled it, watched it drift away and take most of his worries with it. Sun, sand, and se?oritas, he thought. Things could be worse. Then the cops broke down the door, and they were. Grant Sparks was neither as sanguine nor as stupid as his sometime partner. He’d worked on the blackmail/kidnapping game for nearly a year. Getting Denby on board had been as simple as dangling a million-dollar payoff. Denby thought small, was small, so he’d swallowed that they’d split two mil without a doubt or question. Which would’ve—damn well should have—left the brains of the game with nine million. Then he’d take his payoff, spend a couple of years in Mozambique—no extradition—living off the fat. He knew Charlotte wasn’t quite as stupid as Denby—and was a better liar. He knew how to read women, how to play them. He made his living at it. Obviously, and it pissed him off, he hadn’t read the damn kid. Maybe a part of him admired how she’d conned him—she had to have flushed the fucking milk. Damn smart kid. And that meant she’d been awake when he’d been in her room, when Charlotte had called. He’d gone over the conversation—his side of it—a dozen times while he packed up. Nothing there, nothing to lead back to him, or to Denby, or to Charlotte. Except … he’d asked about the nanny’s phone. If the kid remembered that, repeated that, it might be trouble. Still, for all he knew, the kid wandered around in the dark, fell off a damn cliff. Maybe he hadn’t intended to hurt her—more than necessary—but he wouldn’t be sorry if she’d ended up dead on the rocks. But dead or alive, he couldn’t take chances. Because women, those he could read, and he knew Charlotte would screw this up. If anything went wrong, she’d flip to save her own ass. He’d have done the same. Better, he thought as he packed the TAG Heuer Charlotte had given him, to play it safe. Take a little trip, get out of L.A. before they found the kid—or the body—and she fumbled it all. He had money. The personal-trainer-to-the-stars gig paid well enough. And the tips paid even better. He had a Rolex as well as the TAG, Tiffany cuff links and more gifted to him over his eighteen months running this con. Charlotte had stood out, so he’d focused on her. She didn’t give a crap about the kid, so the kidnapping idea had blossomed. She despised the Sullivans, had a shitpile of envy going for their status—and their money. Soaking them for millions—she’d loved the idea. Thinking back, he probably hadn’t needed Denby and the blackmail scheme to get her on board. It should’ve worked. He packed up his laptop, tablet, prepaid phones, took a last look around the apartment he’d lived in for nearly three years. A long stretch for him, he thought, but the pickings had been good. Time to head out, head east, he decided, swing through the Midwest. Had to be plenty of rich, bored housewives, sex-starved widows, divorc?es to pluck from. He shouldered the strap of his computer case, rolled the first of his two suitcases to the door. He’d come back for the other. When he opened the door, he recognized cop in the eyes of the men, one of them with a fist raised to knock. And he thought: That fucking kid. Throughout the day, Red sent deputies out on calls, answered a couple himself. He tackled paperwork, had a burrito for lunch at his desk. Until the lawyers finished hammering out what they hammered, he didn’t want to stray far. He answered his phone, listened to a colleague with the state police. Nodding, he made notes. Then hung up and called Michaela into his office. “Staties just picked up Frank Denby at a motel outside Santa Maria. He was watching porn, getting high. Just another genius.” “Do we get him?” “I have to admire your straight-down-the-channel focus, Mic. Happened in our jurisdiction. It’s going to be federal, so we’ll pass him on, but the state boys will transport him up here so we can have our swing.” “Good.” She wanted the swing. “That’s fast work.” “Well, genius. He had a nine-mil SandW on him. What?” Red reared back, blinked. “Wait, hold on! I believe that’s a smile I see. I believe I see the beginnings of a smile.” “I can smile. I do smile.” Amused, she immediately sobered her face to rag on him. “See?” “You’re a smiling fool, Mic. As we learned after Dupont started naming names, our friend Denby has another few months of parole on his previous conviction as a half-assed shakedown artist. I use ‘artist’ liberally in his case. The firearm’s a parole violation, which just adds some cream to the coffee.” He held up a finger when his phone rang. “Hold on. Sheriff Buckman. Yes, sir, Detective.” A fresh grin spread over his face. “Well, isn’t that sweet news? We sure are grateful to you for your quick work on this. Is that so? Uh-huh. Well, hard to blame him. I’ll be here. And I’ll inform the family. This is going to be a big load off their minds. That’s good work.” “They got Sparks.” “Wrapped right up,” he agreed. “Just before he carted his belongings out of his apartment in L.A. He didn’t skedaddle fast enough.” “They didn’t know we had Dupont, didn’t know we had the BOLOs.” “The one good thing here, Mic, about the Sullivans not calling in law enforcement? No leaks. No media. You add the Coopers to that. They’re too decent to run out and call up reporters to brag out their story.” He swung his Chucks off the desk, got up. “Do you want to take a ride with me out to the Sullivan enclave?” “I absolutely do. First, I want to say it’s been an education watching how you pushed this through, every step of it.” “It’s the job, Mic. Just a few things in this life I take seriously, that I figure you have to focus in and do right. Sex, surfing, and the job. Let’s go give the Sullivans the good news.” The sun painted sky and sea with a symphony of color as it slid toward the horizon. Gulls wheeled and cried as the tide rolled out from the quiet strip of beach on the Sullivan peninsula, leaving bits of glittering sea glass, hunks of shells strewn on the verge of sand and foam. On the rocks, sea lions lolled. Under Lily’s watchful eye, Cate collected what interested her, plunking little treasures in a pink plastic bucket. They studied the small universes in tide pools between the rocks, left footprints in damp sand, watched sandpipers scurry. All around them the land sprang abruptly, dramatically from the sea, creating the breathtaking cliffs. Waves rushed and slapped the rocky coastline, carved out whirling pools, small, stony arches, and made this small slice of beach a private haven. The kick of wind had Lily taking the scarf she’d tossed on and wrapping it around her neck for more warmth. She couldn’t claim a love of chilly beaches on a February evening, but anything that distracted the girl helped. For that matter, she wanted distraction herself. God knew sunset over the Pacific provided a spectacular distraction, but with the brisk air whipping, she’d have preferred it from a seat by the fire with a cold, dry martini in her hand. But her girl needed the air, the movement. Regardless, now that the sun dipped closer to the sea, the light changing with the journey, they needed to start back. As she started to call it, Cate looked up at her. Such big blue eyes, Lily thought. “Do you miss Miranda and Keenan and all of them when they go home?” “Sure I do. Especially now that Miranda’s home is all the way in New York. But … I’m happy they’ve made their own lives. It means I did a good job, I guess.” She took Cate’s gritty-with-sand hand, began to cross the beach toward the rise of stone steps carved into the bluff. “And I’m going to have you and your dad around.” “We’re going to live in your guesthouse for a while.” “That’s going to be fun. We can work on meeting our goal of finishing a million jigsaw puzzles.” “Daddy said I could write down the things I want from the other house, and I don’t have to keep everything. When we get a new house, we can get new things. So it’s just ours.” “What’s first on the list?” “My stuffed animals. I can’t leave them. He said I can pick some of them to go to Ireland, too, because we’re going to go and help Nan be settled.” “You’re going to be a big help to her.” Lily saw the lights starting to glimmer, inside, along the paths, around the terraces. And tried not to think of the panic, the outright fear she’d felt at the same time the day before. She gave the hand in hers a quick squeeze, just to feel it. Then that hand tightened in hers. “Somebody’s coming. A car’s coming.” Maybe she felt a flutter of fresh panic, too, but Lily only smiled. “Girl, you’ve got ears like a bat. There’s a gate,” she said in that same easy tone. “Your grandpa won’t let anybody in unless he knows them.” Tugging her hand free, Cate ran up the stones until she could see. “It’s the sheriff’s car! It’s okay, G-Lil, it’s the sheriff.” Was it okay? Lily wondered as she followed Cate up. Would it ever be okay again? CHAPTER SEVEN By the time Lily caught up with Cate—the kid could move!—Cate stood at the top sweep of the drive, waiting for the car. She put an arm around Cate’s shoulders, felt the trembling. “Let’s go inside, sweets.” “I want to know.” Trembling or not, the words came fierce. “I don’t want to get sent away again. I want to know.” She pulled away, marched right up to the car as it parked, blurted out the question as Red got out. “Did you catch them?” He gave her steady look for steady look. “They’re in police custody. We’ll talk about it.” The sound escaping Lily’s iron will was half sob, half gasp. When Cate turned to her, eyes wide and worried, she could only shake her head. “It’s all right. I’m all right. I’m just relieved. Just relieved. Let’s all go inside. It’s turning cold.” She called out when Aidan opened the front door. “Have somebody put some coffee on, will you? And for God’s sake, somebody mix me a martini. A big one.” “Are they in jail? Are they going to get out? Are they—” “Slow down, tiger. I wouldn’t say no to coffee,” Red said to Lily. “I’d appreciate if we could talk to everybody at once, as we need to get back.” “Of course. I’ll round them up. Most of us had to get back home, so it’s just my husband and me, Aidan and Cate, Rosemary, Nina. You’ve had a long day, both of you,” she added as she escorted them in. “I’d say everyone has.” “Why don’t you sit down. The fire’s nice on a brisk evening. I think Rosemary’s upstairs, and— Oh, Nina, would you go up and tell Miss Rosemary the sheriff and deputy are here?” “Right away. Oh, Caitlyn, you need to wash the sand off your hands.” Hastily Cate wiped them on her jeans. “They’re fine. Please.” Before she could insist, Lily tapped her own hand in the air behind Cate’s back. “I’ll go tell Miss Rosemary, and get the coffee. Should I stay then?” “I’d appreciate it if you would,” Red told her, and nodded as Aidan came in. “Sorry to intrude again.” “Not at all. My father will be right in.” He searched Red’s face. “You have some news for us?” “I do, and I hope it’ll give you some peace of mind.” “They’re in custody. He said they were, but didn’t say how. I want to know—” “Caitlyn Ryan.” The quiet warning from her father had her straining, but silent. “Can I take your coats?” “We’re fine. We’re not going to take up too much of your time.” To get things rolling, Red sat, smiled at Cate. “Been down to the beach, have you?” “I wanted to go outside. I like the beach.” “It happens to be my favorite place in the world. You surf?” “No.” Now she angled her head. “Do you?” “Every chance I get. If it’s cranking tomorrow, I may put on my steamer, grab my stick, and go on dawn patrol.” He winked at her. “Surfer talk.” Intrigued, she sat on the floor, crossed her legs. “Did you ever see a shark?” “See one? I punched one right in the face once.” “No, you—really?” “Hand to God.” He swiped one over his heart then pointed his finger up. “It wasn’t a very big one, but I like to make him bigger every time I tell the story.” “Do you surf, too?” she asked Michaela. “No.” “I’m going to teach her.” Michaela made a sound between a laugh and a snort. “No, you’re not.” “You just wait.” Hugh came in with a martini glass in one hand, a glass of whiskey in the other. “My hero,” Lily murmured, took the glass and the first long, slow sip. Hugh sat. “Nina’s finishing up the coffee. I hope you’ll come back, both of you, when you’re not on duty so I can mix or pour you your drink of choice.” “I’ll see we do.” Red got to his feet as Rosemary came down the stairs. “I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am.” “Not in the least.” Rosemary took the whiskey glass from her son. “Aidan, be a dear and get Hugh another glass of Jameson’s. I’m taking his.” “The sheriff said he punched a shark in the face.” Rosemary nodded, sat. “I’m not surprised to hear that. You’re an avid surfer, aren’t you?” “Avid as they come.” Small talk, he thought, kept things smooth until. Until Nina came with the coffee. “Okay then. We wanted to come by, tell you that Grant Sparks and Frank Denby, suspected of kidnapping our girl here, are both in custody. The state police apprehended Denby in a motel room south of here.” “How did they know he was there?” Red looked down at Cate. “Well, I’ll tell you he wasn’t too smart. We did our job, and got his name—” “How?” “Cate, it’s rude to interrupt.” She glanced back at her father. “How will I know if I don’t ask?” “There’s a point to that,” Red agreed. But when he hesitated, Michaela made a decision. The girl deserved to know. “Ms. Dupont gave us the name when we talked to her. When we knew who we were looking for, we got some information. Like where he lived, and what kind of car he drives, and the license plate. We put out an alert to other police. And the state police spotted his car, the license plate, in the motel lot.” “Then he wasn’t very smart.” “No,” Michaela agreed, “he wasn’t. But he wasn’t very smart to leave you that spoon, was he? And you were the smart one.” “That’s a stone fact,” Red put in. “As for Sparks, he was packed up to take off. Didn’t move fast enough, and the police in L.A. arrested him. Both of them are being transported here, and we’ll lock them up, we’ll talk to them.” “How long will you lock them up?” “Well, that depends on the lawyers and the courts. Mic and me? We don’t get to decide. But I can tell you with the evidence and statement and the case we’ve made? It’s going to be a real long time.” “Like a year?” “No, honey, a lot longer. Maybe twenty years.” “My mother, too?” More cautious here, Red looked at Aidan. “We’ve talked about it. Cate needs to know, we all do.” “Then I’ll tell you. Because your mother gave us information on the two men and information on what they all did, planned to do, the state’s attorney—that’s the person in charge of trying cases like this—made an agreement with your mother’s attorney. It’s called a plea bargain. So they made this bargain, and for the information, they eased back on some of the charges, providing she says she did the things she did. She has to go to jail, too, for ten years. She can get out in seven if she meets the requirements, and the people in charge of that say she can. But she has to go to jail for seven years for certain.” “She won’t like it there,” Cate said, mostly to herself. “She can’t go shopping or to parties or auditions. I don’t have to see her.” She looked back at her father. “Even when she can come out.” “No.” “And we’re divorcing her.” “Yes, baby, we’re divorcing her.” “She doesn’t love us. Nina’s not in trouble.” “Not a bit,” Red assured her. “We need to keep your phone in evidence for a while longer, Ms. Torez.” “I don’t want it back, thank you. I really don’t want it back. Caitlyn, now that you’ve talked to the sheriff, we should go up, get you cleaned up for dinner.” Not altogether satisfied, but calculating she’d gotten all she could—for now—she stood up. “Will you tell the people who helped me? Dillon and Julia and Gram?” “It tells me about your character you’d ask that. It tells me good things. Yeah, we’re going by there when we leave here.” “Will you tell them thank you again?” “That’s a promise.” “We’re going to live in Grandpa’s guesthouse for a while, and we’re going to Ireland with Nan to stay there for a while, too. But will you tell me if you’re right, and they have to go to jail for twenty years?” “I can do that.” “Thank you.” “You bet.” “Thank you, Deputy Wilson.” “You’re welcome.” As she went out with Nina, Red heard her say, “Will you stay with me while I clean up and change? Will you stay in my room?” “She’s afraid to be alone,” Aidan said quietly. “She’s always been so independent, ready to explore, or settle down on her own with a book or a project. And now she’s afraid to be alone.” “I don’t want to overstep, Mr. Sullivan, but it might be helpful if your daughter had some counseling.” “Yes.” He nodded at Michaela. “I’ve already made some calls and contacts. She doesn’t want to go back to our house in L.A., so as she said, we’ll move into my father’s guesthouse. And we’ll spend some time in Ireland—get her away from any publicity for as long as possible. I know you both have work, and you’ve had a very long day. I don’t want to keep you, but I need to ask. Will there be trials? Will Cate have to testify?” “Ms. Dupont pled guilty, so no trial. I can’t tell you about Sparks and Denby. I will say, while they’re not all that smart, I think they may be smart enough to take a plea. We’ve got enough, if they don’t, to push for life without parole. Twenty years is a hell of a lot better than life.” Red got to his feet. “We’ll keep you updated. Are you heading back to L.A. soon?” “I think yes, I think as soon as possible.” “I’ve got your cell. I’ll reach out.” Red checked his watch on the way to the car. “I think we can mooch a meal at Maggie’s when we fill them in. Let me tell you, Mic, both those women can cook.” Michaela considered it. “I could eat. Are we going to hit Denby and Sparks tonight?” “Might as well strike while the iron’s hot enough to burn their asses. You up for it?” Michaela settled in the passenger’s seat, looked back at the house, thought of the girl. “I’m up for this one.” Both men said: Lawyer. Unsurprised, Red started the ball rolling for a public defender for Denby—who claimed he couldn’t afford to hire one—and gave Sparks his call so he could contact his own. With Maggie’s exceptional chicken and dumplings—and a slice of Julia’s spice cake—happily filling his belly, he huddled with Michaela. Both agreed, of the two, Denby racked up more stupid points. They’d take him first. Together they walked into the interview room. And though he restarted the recorder, Red held up a hand. “It’s going to take awhile for the court to appoint your lawyer, and awhile for him to get here. You don’t have to say a word, that’s your right. We’re just here to let you know it might take till morning, and to give you a little information.” “I got nothing to say.” “Nobody’s asking you to, just making you aware that Charlotte Dupont’s exchanged considerable information in exchange for a deal. First come, first served—you know how it works, Frank. With what we got from her, and from other sources, the state intends to go for life, no parole.” “That’s bullshit.” But he’d gone sickly gray. “I didn’t do anything.” “Not asking you what you did or didn’t. Are we, Mic?” “No, sir, the suspect has engaged his right to an attorney. Until that attorney—well, whoever the courts can scrounge up—gets here, we’re not asking a single thing. Simply informing.” “I bet it’s Bilbo.” Red let go a snickering laugh. “With this guy’s luck I bet it’s Bilbo. Anyway, from what we already know, this was your operation, so you’re likely to go down the hardest.” “Mine? That’s a crock of—” “Now, Frank.” Red held up his hand again. “You don’t want to say anything until you talk to your”—he rolled his eyes at Michaela—“lawyer when he gets here. Mic and I put in a long one today, but figure before we lock you up, get on home, we should let you know how things stand. The blonde? She rolled hard on you, Frank. And you were the one who had a gun in his possession. Then you got the blackmail.” “There wasn’t any blackmail! That was bogus.” “Frank, if you keep saying stuff, we’re going to have to put you back in your cell without giving you the information to help you decide how to handle things when your lawyer gets here tomorrow.” “Screw a lawyer. There wasn’t any damn blackmail. I’m not going down for fucking blackmail.” “Look, if you’ve got something you want to say, something you want to tell us, you need to waive your right to an attorney. Otherwise—” “Didn’t I say ‘screw a lawyer’?” His eyes darted back and forth between them, shooting out genuine fear. “I waive that shit then. Blackmail, my ass.” “Okay, the record shows you’re waiving your right to an attorney and want to talk. You showed Ms. Dupont and Mr. Sparks photographs you’d taken of them in some very compromising positions.” “That’s right, that’s right. With Sparks’s camera, for Christ’s sake. Do you think I could afford one of those long lenses? Do you think I could’ve gotten inside the walls of that big-ass estate without him setting it up?” Michaela didn’t miss a beat, just cast her eyes to the ceiling. “Jesus, he expects us to believe Sparks set all this up? We’re wasting our time on this one, Sheriff.” “He did! It’s what he does, it’s his game. He hits up rich women. He hits them up for loans, big-ticket gifts, cash, whatever. He’ll honeypot them for more if he figures he can squeeze them.” “And you know this how?” Red asked. “Maybe we ran a few together. It’s not the first time he’s tapped me for a game.” “Now they’ve worked together.” Michaela kicked back, yawned. “Sparks makes good money as a PT for wealthy clients. Why would he risk that to hook up with a second-rate grifter like you?” “Look, bitch—” “Now, now,” Red said mildly. “Language.” “He’s got the style, okay? That’s his gig. Sex, style, finding women who want some of both. Sometimes he wants somebody to hit the mark with photos. That’s me. You squeeze a few thousand, and you move on.” “A few thousand? You were hitting for ten million.” “Ten—” Everything about Denby went dark, went ugly. “That son of a bitch. He said two. We’d split two. Biggest take ever. He had the woman wrapped. He saw how it was. The kid wasn’t a big deal to her—but the kid was a really big deal with the father. And the father, he had the money. A hell of a lot of money. The fucking Hollywood Sullivans, right?” He patted his chest. “Can I get a smoke?” “No.” Red just smiled. “Keep going.” “He says we’ll go for the big one, the kind you retire on. I’m not kidnapping some kid, that’s what I say. I mean whoa. But he’s, like, he can get the blonde to set it up. If she balks, we walk. But if she bites, we’re in. “She bit.” He leaned forward. “It’s, like, I hit Sparks first, and he has to go to her, tell her. We meet up—she wears a wig, for Christ’s sake, big sunglasses. Like anybody gives a rat’s ass. I show the shots, she gets hysterical—‘What’ll it take? You can’t sell these. My career, the press!’ So I get how Sparks had it right. It’s all about her, and that makes it easy. I say, like me and Sparks set up, how I’ll let her know what it’ll take, and it won’t come cheap.” “You didn’t directly demand the ten million?” “No. Man, he said it was for two, so I say how I want two. They played me,” he muttered, bitter. “Played me for a mark, went for ten. I figured she could get two, sell some shit or whatever, but he comes to me, says she can’t get it, and how he talked her into using the kid. How she jumped on it.” He squirmed in his chair. “Look, if I can’t get a smoke, can I get a Mountain Dew or some shit?” “Finish it out, and we’ll fix you up.” “Jesus, don’t you see? He set me up. They fucking set me up. I’m not going down for all this. They worked out how to get the kid. He said she had the perfect time and place because they were having the party deal for the old man—the dead one—up in Big Sur. It’ll be easy and slick. She knew about the house where we could keep her, that it was going to be empty. She knew it would be because they’d be out of town and wouldn’t be coming to the party deal, got it?” “Yeah.” Enjoying himself, Red put his feet up on the table. “We’re following you.” “I didn’t snatch the kid. Sparks did. The blonde set up where, and he dosed the kid, loaded her up into one of those serving cart deals—with the storage? Into a van—we fixed it up like one of the catering deals—and just freaking drove away with her inside the damn van.” “How did the blonde set up where?” Michaela asked him. “How the hell do I know? The two of them huddled about the details, right? I’m just supposed to get the room ready, get it, you know, secure, load in some supplies. I’m just babysitting, get it?” “Did those supplies include masks?” He squirmed again. “We don’t want her to see our faces, right? Better all around. And I bought those damn masks out of my own pocket. Same with the food and stuff. I’m supposed to get paid back for it out of the take.” “Looks like a bad investment for you,” Red commented. “Then again, you did a lousy job at babysitting.” “Who’s gonna expect the kid to climb out the window? Makes a rope out of frigging sheets. Uses a damn spoon like a crowbar to pull the nails out of the window lock. Who expects that? Sparks beat the shit out of me like it’s my fault.” He leaned forward. “What I’m saying is Sparks came up with the whole game, he’s the one who brought the blonde in, and got plenty of sex out of it. The two of them worked out the details—and were goddamn cheating me all along. All I did was watch the kid.” “You were practically an innocent bystander.” Denby pointed at Michaela as sarcasm sailed over his head like a kite in a summer breeze. “Damn right.” “Okay, Frank.” Red shoved a notebook and pen across the table. “Write it out, and don’t spare the details. We’ll see about that Mountain Dew.” By the time they’d finished with Denby—because he didn’t spare the details—Red wanted a beer and a bed, in that order. But he calculated the timing, and the fact Scarpetti loved playing the media like a fiddle. He didn’t know Mark Rozwell, the lawyer Sparks pulled in—and who was even now consulting with him. But he had to figure more media playing. The more they nailed down before the morning news, the better. Once again he dug into his supply of Cokes when he called Michaela into his office. “You’re racking up the OT, Mic, and I’m going to ask if you’re up for more.” “I can handle it.” “I believe you can.” He tossed her the Coke. “We have to figure Scarpetti’s going to call a press conference in the morning, do what he can to put Dupont in the light of a victim. The only reason I give two shits about that is it’ll release the fucking kraken on the Sullivans, that little girl.” “So we get all we can get from Sparks, like we did from Denby, so he can’t play into that before we do.” “That’s the way.” “Do you think Dupont was in on the whole thing?” “I’m fifty-fifty there. I’ll weigh that again once we talk to Sparks. Right now, I’m going to do a run on his lawyer to give us a sense of what we’ve got here.” “I already did.” He sat, tipped back in his chair. “You’re an eager, enterprising soul, Mic.” “Just a cop. I Googled him, too, just to fill it out. California native, forty-six, married, one kid and one on the way. Did his law thing at Berkeley. He’s worked at Kohash and Milford for ten years, and made full partner three years ago. He’s a high-priced trial lawyer with a solid rep.” She took a long swallow of Coke. “He’s a good-looking guy, and the camera loves him. He’s not afraid of talking to the press. He’s also written a couple of legal thrillers, but it doesn’t look like John Grisham has to look over his shoulder. “And Sparks is his personal trainer.” “There it is.” “There it is,” she agreed. “No criminal on the run. Has a house in Holmby Hills, a beach house in Oceanside. He drives a Lexus, as does his wife—she’s a freelance script doctor.” Red waited a beat. “That’s it? You didn’t get his shoe size, his political affiliation?” “Registered Independent. I’d have to dig a little more for the shoe size.” He laughed. “Okay, I see we play this cards on the table. The man’s got a rep, doesn’t sound like an idiot, and has a law firm’s rep to uphold. The guy’s his trainer, not his brother, not his best pal. We’ve got him cold.” “You want to lay groundwork for a plea deal.” “I want that son of a bitch to live the rest of his life in San fucking Quentin, Mic. That’s my personal want. And I have to hope I don’t get it, because the idea of putting that kid—and the family, but that kid—through a trial just makes me sick.” Because her thoughts, her wants, ran the same, Michaela nodded. “I hate thinking he’ll walk out one day, that all three of them will. But I feel the same as you do on this. Even so, it’s not up to us.” “State’s attorney will take twenty to twenty-five. We’ll see if they do. Our job is to lay it out, make sure the lawyer understands the preponderance of evidence, and Sparks knows in his guts he’ll face life, no parole.” “Got it. I’ll ask the lawyer if they’re ready to talk to us.” It took another twenty minutes, but Rozwell agreed to the interview. Since it wasn’t Red’s first day at the beach, he figured Rozwell assumed they’d all do a first pass, gauge the opposition, and restart in the morning. Michaela had it right about Rozwell—a good-looking guy with a five-hundred-dollar haircut that allowed just a hint of silver at the temples, just a few strands of it through his dark brown hair. Dark brown eyes, smart, savvy. Clean-cut and handsome with a trim body. But he paled against Sparks and his movie star gloss. Even a few hours in a cell, even the orange jumpsuit didn’t dull it. Gilded sun-streaked hair with just a hint of curl fell thick around a golden tanned face with carved features—the cheekbones, the heavy-lidded brown eyes, the full mouth. And all that on top of a sleek, muscular build. He played it—because in Red’s estimation of Sparks and his type, everything was a role to play—nervous, anxious, with no anger and just a hint of remorse and sorrow. Red sat, turned on the recorder, read the necessaries in. “Sheriff, Deputy, first, I appreciate you meeting with us tonight. I understand you’ve put in a very long day.” Rozwell’s face stayed sober, his voice smooth. “At this time I’d like to inform you that I intend to file a motion for dismissal in the morning on a number of the charges made against my client. While my client is appalled at the part he inadvertently played in these events, any minor participation came at the behest and request of the minor child’s mother, and with the belief said minor child was being abused by her father. As he was unaware of Ms. Dupont’s scheme to extort from the Sullivan family—” “Sorry, can I just stop you there?” He kept all the affable, just a county sheriff in his voice. “No point in wasting your time. Long day for you, too. So let me put some of that to rest. We have Charlotte Dupont’s written statement, Frank Denby’s written statement.” He smiled at Sparks as he said it. Red had been very careful to keep those arrests, interviews, deals under his hat. “There’s direct corroboration in those statements, and evidence in hand supports that. As does the statement of the minor child.” “It’s Mr. Sparks’s contention that Ms. Dupont and Mr. Denby worked together on this scheme, duping him.” “Did they dupe you into sticking a needle full of propofol into that little girl’s throat?” “I didn’t—” “Cut it. You wore a wig—which we recovered—and sunglasses, but Caitlyn has eyes. Good ones. And ears. You spoke to her before you jabbed her, and you spoke to her behind the wolfman mask—also recovered—you used to scare a ten-year-old girl. You jabbed her, stuffed her into a serving trolley, then drove away from a good man’s memorial, from an already grieving family.” “Sheriff, a child under such duress would hardly be able to, without a reasonable doubt, identify voices in this way.” Michaela let out a laugh. “You haven’t met this child. Put her under oath, in a courtroom, I can promise you a jury will hang on her every word. The word of a child whose own mother plotted with her lover to use her, to drug her, to terrify her. For money. Your voice is on the phone, too, Sparks, demanding ten million dollars in exchange. They didn’t call the police, but they recorded the calls.” “Your partners rolled and rolled hard. Denby’s pretty steamed you made the deal with him for two million—fifty-fifty—when you asked the Sullivans for ten. That opened him up like a steamed clam. And if you actually think a woman who’d bang her personal trainer in the same bed she shares with her husband, a woman who’d trade her own daughter’s sense of safety, allow that child to be drugged and terrorized, has any sense of loyalty, you’re an idiot.” He shifted to Rozwell. “I’m laying this out for you because I’m tired, I’m disgusted, and I’ve used up my tolerance for bullshit today. Both Dupont and Denby have taken a deal. Your client’s last in line, and I figure everybody in this room knows the last in line gets shit. Maybe this fuck gave you a sob story, played the horrified dupe, and how sorry he is about the poor kid caught in the middle, but we have evidence that blows all of that aside. “To sum it up, your dickbag of a client spotted Dupont for a mark, the last in a long line of wealthy women he bled for money. We have names, and will get statements to corroborate that. With Dupont, he saw a big-ass payday, enough to retire in style, starting with Mozambique.” Layering it on, Red sent Sparks a pitying look. “You had a bunch of searches on Mozambique—no extradition treaty—on your laptop, asshole. He hooked up with his sometime partner, Frank Denby, to run the con. Blackmail—pictures taken with his camera, also now in evidence—of his mark and himself in—what’s that phrase?—in flagrante delicto. Said mark, being the worst shit of a mother in the history of mothers, agreed to the kidnapping for ransom—Sparks and Dupont boosted the price to screw Denby. She set up the kid, told her where to go for a goddamn game of hide-and-seek, where Sparks was waiting with the needle, the trolley, the van.” As if revolted—not a stretch—Red rose, turned away. “Pick it up, Deputy. I need a minute to settle my stomach.” She did, and seamlessly, snapping out the rest, or at least the high points. Rozwell’s face showed little. Red figured he’d handle a poker game as well as he did a courtroom. But everybody had a tell. He had to look for Rozwell’s, but he caught it. Just the slightest tightening at the corner of the mouth, a muscle twitch that brought out a tiny dimple. When Michaela finished, Red sat again. “There isn’t a judge in the world who’s going to dismiss a single one of the charges. There isn’t a jury in the world that’s going to look at that sweet little girl and not convict. And your client gets life without parole.” He glanced at Sparks. “Keep playing the game, and that’s your grand fucking prize.” “I did it for love!” Sparks filled his outburst with grief. “Jesus,” Red muttered. “Same coin, same mold.” “Charlotte swore she—” “Be quiet, Grant.” “Mark, you have to believe me. You know me. I would never—” “I said be quiet.” This time Red heard more than a hint of weariness. “I’ll need a few moments with my client.” “Take it. I need some air anyway.” When he went out, Red realized he actually did. “I’m going to step outside and breathe a minute, Mic.” “Do you think he’s going to bail? The lawyer?” “I’d say he’s considering it. Give me a holler when they’re ready.” Outside, he looked up at the sky, found himself grateful the night was filled with stars. He might wish he still had the energy left to sneak into Maggie’s bed for a late-night booty call, but since he didn’t have the stores left, a star-strewn night sky would have to do. It calmed him, reminded him life offered a whole bounty of good things from the simple to the amazing. You just had to take a few minutes now and then to find them. He heard the door open behind him. “Be right there, Mic.” “Sheriff, your deputy’s taking Mr. Sparks back to his cell for the night.” Red nodded at Rozwell. “All right then.” “I’ll need another few minutes with him in the morning, and would like to meet with the prosecutor.” “I can arrange that. Let’s say nine o’clock.” “That’s fine. I’ll be here. I wonder if you could recommend a hotel, motel, just a decent place to spend the night. I didn’t have time to make arrangements.” “Sure can. Come back to my office. I’ll give you a couple close by—if you’re looking for close.” “Close would be great.” “You can call from here, make sure they’ve got a room for you.” In his office, he scribbled names on a pad. “The top one? Good beds, good service, and twenty-four-hour room service if you need it. They charge for Wi-Fi though, which burns my ass.” “Thanks.” “Go ahead, use the room.” Red walked out, waited for Michaela, and considered he probably had the energy for that cold beer before bed. And a hot shower. Christ, he wanted the shower more than the beer. Rozwell walked out. “All set?” “Yeah, thanks. I’ll be here at nine. I left my cell phone number on your pad if you need to reach me.” He started for the door, turned, looked Red in the eye. “I have a daughter. She’s only four. I have a little girl of my own.” And when he walked out, Red knew they’d deal. Michaela walked back—still spit and polish, he thought. And had to admire it. “You settle him in?” “He tried tears on me. Slow, soulful ones. He’s good.” “We’re better. Rozwell wants to meet with the prosecutor in the morning. I’m going to contact him on my way home. You can take tomorrow off.” “I’d like to see it through.” “Be here by nine then. I’ll walk you out.” “We’ll walk each other out.” “Works for me.” CHAPTER EIGHT Dillon liked mucking out the stalls. He loved the romantic smell of horses—even mixed with horse-shit bedding. Every clear memory of his life involved the ranch, and his favorite ones included horses. His favorite of favorites was the night he, his mom, and Gram watched Diva deliver her first foal. Some of it had been kind of yuck, but mostly just cool. They’d even let him name the foal, a pretty bay with four white socks and a crooked white blaze. He’d called her Comet, because the blaze looked like a comet trail. Sort of. And even though he’d only been six, they’d let him groom her and work with her on the lead line when she got old enough. He’d been the first to stretch his body over her back to get her used to weight. The first to ease a saddle on her, the first to ride her. He’d helped train others since—and thought he was pretty good at it. But Comet was his. And he’d been by her side when she’d had her first foal the previous spring. He just liked being a rancher—an agricultural rancher, because they planted and grew and harvested and sold vegetables, had an orchard of fruit trees, even Gram’s vineyard, though she mostly made wine for herself and friends. He didn’t mind all the chores (in fact, he liked chores a lot better than school). The planting and hoeing, feeding and watering stock, even making hay when the sun beat down, or helping run their stall at the farmer’s market. He liked living up high on the cliff, seeing the ocean every day, or walking the fields—even better, riding over the fields, into the woods. Winter Saturdays meant a lot of chores he handled by himself, or with his mom giving him a hand where she could. Inside the house, Gram and his mom would be baking—bread and pies and cakes for the cooperative. From Friday morning into Saturday the house smelled really, really good. Sometimes Gram made candles, too, from soy and put smelly stuff in them. She was teaching him how, just like they were teaching him how to bake bread and all that. He’d rather feed the pigs and chickens, watch them scramble around, haul the feed to the troughs for the beef cattle, milk the nanny goats. And muck out stalls. He’d finished most of the morning routine before eleven—real ranchers, Dillon knew, started early—and hauled the last wheelbarrow from the stalls to the dung pile. He heard the car coming up the ranch road, looked up at the sky to gauge the time. His good pals Leo and Dave were coming over to hang, but not until the afternoon. So too early for them. He rolled the empty wheelbarrow back to the barn, stowed it, and, slapping his work gloves on his pants to clean them, wandered over to see who was coming. In the way of boys, he recognized the shining silver vehicle as a BMW—a fanCEE SUV. He just didn’t know anybody who drove one. Seeing as he was the man of the house, he waited—legs spread, thumbs hooked in his front pockets. And when he saw Hugh Sullivan get out, he walked the rest of the way over to say hello. “Hi, Mr. Sullivan.” “Dillon.” In a way that made Dillon feel very much man of the house, Hugh offered his hand to shake before he just looked around. “I didn’t really take all this in when we were here. So much worry, and it was dark. You have a very beautiful place.” “Thanks.” Hugh gestured at the work gloves now flopping in Dillon’s back pocket. “And I can see you work hard to tend it. I realize you must have a great deal more work to do, but I wonder if I could take a few minutes of your time, speak to you, your mother, your grandmother.” “Sure. I’m mostly finished with the morning chores. Mom and Gram are inside baking. They bake most of Friday for the co-op, but there’s a special thing tomorrow, so they’re baking more today.” Maybe he thought it was too bad Cate hadn’t come, but he didn’t say anything. “Ah, the sheriff came over the other day to tell us they caught the guys who kidnapped Cate. That they were in prison and everything already. I’m glad,” he said as he walked Hugh to the door. “The man who killed my dad’s in prison.” Hugh pulled up short, looked back down at the boy. “I’m so sorry about your dad, Dillon. I didn’t know.” “I was really little, so I don’t remember him. But he was a hero.” After swiping his boots hard on the mat, Dillon opened the door. He remembered his manners. “I can hang up your coat.” “I’d appreciate it.” As Dillon took it, Hugh drew in a deep breath. “It smells like heaven should.” Dillon grinned. “It gets even better in the kitchen. Since you’re here, they’re going to ask if you want some pie or cookies or something. If you don’t say no, I get some, too.” Charmed, Hugh put a hand on Dillon’s shoulder. “I won’t say no.” He led him back, through the scents of fresh bread, rising dough, baked fruit, and sugar to where the women, in their big aprons, worked a kind of production line. Pies, loaves of bread, four unfrosted cakes, cookies spread out on cooling racks on a long counter. He saw a number of white bakery boxes with the Horizon Ranch label hiding their treasures on the dining room table. A big stand mixer whirled some sort of batter while Julia—her hair bundled up in a small cook’s cap—pulled another tray of cookies from the oven. At the island, Maggie cranked some sort of device to peel and core apples for the pie crusts already waiting. Music pumped out of a boom box, shaking the redolent air with rock and roll. Hugh thought the women were as graceful as ballerinas, as strong as lumberjacks, as focused as scientists. “Mom! Mr. Sullivan’s here.” “What? Have you finished with— Oh.” Spotting Hugh, Julia set down the tray, dusted her hands on her apron. After tapping her mother’s shoulder, she switched off the music. “Sorry,” she began, “for the chaos.” “It’s not. It’s amazing. I apologize for interrupting.” “I could use a quick break.” Maggie rolled her shoulders. “Dillon, why don’t you take Hugh into the living room?” “I wonder if I could just sit in here?” Hugh closed his eyes, drew an exaggerated breath. “And get drunk on the scents.” “Sit right down wherever you like.” Julia switched off the mixer. “Dillon, don’t touch a thing. Go wash your hands.” “I know the rules.” He rolled his eyes, walked out, because one of the rules meant he couldn’t wash hands after chores in the kitchen on a baking day. “I’m going to speak my mind,” Maggie decided, “and tell you you look worn out, tired out. I’m not going to offer you coffee because sometimes what a body needs is a good herbal tea. I have just the thing.” Grateful, he sat at the table crowded with their baking tools while Maggie put on a kettle. And smiled when Julia put an assortment of cookies on a plate. “Thanks can’t possibly cover it.” “Yes, they can,” Julia told him. “We’re all so relieved the people responsible are in prison. How’s Caitlyn?” “She…” He’d planned to say she was doing well, but the worry, the stress simply spilled out. “She has nightmares, and she’s afraid to be alone. Aidan, my son, he’s going to take her to a therapist, a specialist, someone she can talk to.” He paused when Dillon rushed back in. “He said he wanted to talk to all of us.” “And I do. Maybe you can sit here with me, help me with these cookies.” “Go ahead, Dillon.” As she spoke, Julia got a jug out of the fridge, poured a glass of goat’s milk for her son. “My wife—Lily—she wanted me to add her thanks. She would have come with me, but she went with Aidan and Cate back to L.A. They’re going to stay in our guesthouse for now. Cate didn’t want to go back to their house.” “Because her mother lived there.” “Dillon,” Julia murmured. “No, he’s right. That’s exactly right. My mother left for Ireland this morning. The house here … it feels too big for her without my father. Too full of memories of him that, right now, make her sad. Aidan’s going to take our Catey there, away from all this. We all think it’ll be good for her, and she wants to go.” “You’ll miss them.” “Yes. My mother’s turned the house here over to me. I hope Lily and I can spend more time here, but we have caretakers, the couple who’ve worked for my parents for many years, who’ll look after the place while we’re in L.A. or working.” Maggie set a cup in front of him. “See that you drink that.” “I will. I wanted to ask if when we are here, if you’d come, have dinner with us.” “Of course. You’re alone here tonight?” Julia asked him. “I have some things to deal with before I leave. Tomorrow afternoon.” “Then you’ll have dinner with us tonight. Red’s already coming, so we’re putting a pot roast on as soon as the baking’s done.” “I would … Thank you. I’d love to come to dinner.” To compose himself, he lifted the tea, sipped. “This is good, and interesting. What is it?” “Basil and honey,” Maggie told him. “Holy basil it’s called, with honey from our own bees. It helps with stress and fatigue.” “I want to say you’re both amazing women who are, clearly, raising an amazing young man. I speak for my entire family—and we are many—when I say we are forever in your debt.” “There’s no debt,” Julia began, but Hugh grabbed her hand and stopped her. “She is the world to me. I adore the children Lily brought into my life, and love them like my own. But Caitlyn is the only child of my only child. My first wife died,” he said to Dillon. “I’m sorry.” “Her middle name was Caitlyn, and I see her in Catey’s eyes, in the way she moves. She is the world to me. I want you to allow me to give you more than gratitude. I know there’s no price for what you, all of you, did for Cate, but I’m asking you to allow me to give you some tangible repayment for what can never be repaid.” “Your heart’s in the right place.” Maggie took a bowl, poured the mix in it over the apples. “We couldn’t take money for doing what was right for a frightened child.” “The world to me,” Hugh repeated. Reading the emotion, the need, the pain, Julia made a decision. “Dillon, did you finish your chores?” He stuffed the second half of a cookie in his mouth before it was too late. “Almost.” “Since you’ve bolted your share of those cookies, finish the almost.” “But—” He caught the look in his mother’s eyes, the one that said: Argue with me, pay the price. He dragged himself to his feet. “I guess I’ll see you for dinner, Mr. Sullivan.” “Hugh, and, yes, you will.” He waited until the boy went out the back. “You thought of something you’ll accept.” “That depends. We had a dog. Dillon loved Daisy so much. She went everywhere he went—except school, and if they could’ve figured out how to manage it, she’d have been under his desk. We, my husband and I, got her before he was born, so he had her all his life. She died two months ago.” Her voice broke. “I’m not over it. But grieving time has to end, and I’ve seen when Dillon has computer time, he’s been looking at dogs. He’s ready.” Maggie lifted her apron, used the hem to wipe at her eyes. “I loved that damn dog.” “I’ll get him any kind of dog he wants.” “There’s a woman I know who helps with rescues and fostering. I’ve been thinking of this for a couple of weeks, but couldn’t make myself pull the trigger.” “Because this is the trigger,” Maggie put in, and rubbed a hand on Julia’s back. “It feels that way. She’s just this side of Monterey, so not far. I can call her if you want to take Dillon and go see.” “Yes. If this is what you’ll accept, this is what I’ll do.” “One favor. Don’t tell him where you’re going. I think the surprise is part of the gift. It’s a gift, not payment.” “A gift.” Rising, he took Julia’s hand, kissed it. “Thank you.” The next thing Dillon knew, his mom made him wash up—again—so he could help Hugh with an errand. “Um, Leo and Dave are coming over in a couple hours.” “You’ll be back by then, and if not, we’ll keep them entertained.” She made him put on his school jacket instead of his work jacket—like anybody cared. Still, he didn’t think he’d mind a ride in the fancy car. “I appreciate this, Dillon.” “It’s okay.” After hooking his seat belt, Dillon brushed his fingertips over the leather seat. Smoo—ooth. “This is a really nice car.” “I like it. Here, you can navigate.” He handed Dillon the directions Julia had written out. “That’s Mom’s writing.” “Yes, she’s helping me, too. So tell me, Dillon,” he continued before the boy could ask with what, “what do you want to do, to be, when you’re grown-up?” “A rancher, just like now. It’s the best. You get to work with animals, especially the horses. And you plant things.” “It must be a lot of work.” “Yeah, but it’s still awesome. We get some help in the spring and summer when we need it, but mostly it’s just me and Mom and Gram. You’re going to turn left at the end of our road, head toward Monterey.” “Got it. You said especially the horses. Do you ride?” “Sure. That’s the best. But I know how to train them. I saw that movie you were in where you were a rancher, but you used to be a gunfighter.” “Ah. Into Redemption.” “Yeah, that’s it. You need to turn left again on that road coming up. You really rode good. Mom let me rent the DVD of this movie you made with Cate and your son, and I guess your dad. We watched it last night because it’s not a school night. You all used accents, even she did. It was weird.” Hugh laughed, made the turn. “I meant it was weird for me, I guess, because after a while I kind of forgot who she was, and you and her dad, because it seemed like you were the people in the movie. It’s the next left.” Slowing, Hugh gave Dillon a long look. “You’ve just given me and my son, my granddaughter, my own father the highest of compliments.” It felt good to know he had, even if he didn’t quite understand how. “Is it fun, being a movie star?” “Not always, but it’s awesome being an actor.” Dillon wasn’t sure what the difference was, but it seemed rude to ask. His mom hated rude. “Mom says it’s the blue house on the left with the big garage.” “Looks like we’re here then.” Hugh pulled into the drive behind a van, a truck. “I appreciate you coming with me.” “It’s okay. Mom or Gram would have remembered to make me clean my room otherwise.” “Clever boy,” Hugh murmured as they got out. Outside the blue ranch house on the short front lawn sat a Big Wheel. A birdhouse hung from the corner eave, and in the front window sat an enormous tabby cat who looked bored at the idea of company. When Hugh knocked, a din of barking erupted from inside. In the window, the cat yawned. The door opened almost immediately. Dillon saw a woman older than his mother, younger than his grandmother, with short brown hair and really red lips and really pink cheeks. She pressed a hand to her heart over a shirt with lots of color that looked too fancy for Saturday morning to him. She said—pretty much squeaked—“Oh, Hugh Sullivan! I just can’t believe—I’m so … Come in, come in. I’m Lori Greenspan. I’m just honored.” Hugh said polite stuff, taking her hand, but Dillon didn’t pay any real attention. Because he got the movie star thing now. People, or some people anyway, got crazy eyes for movie stars. He guessed acting was just a really cool job. “And you’re Julia’s boy.” “Yes, ma’am.” “You come right on in. I hope you’ll excuse the mess,” she said, giving Hugh the crazy eyes again. “I was just doing my Saturday cleaning when you called.” Not in that shirt, Dillon thought. “Your home’s just charming, and we appreciate you letting us drop in on your busy day.” Her already pink cheeks pinked up more at Hugh’s compliment. “I’m never too busy for—” She seemed to catch herself, gave Dillon a quick look. “For good company. Please have a seat. I’ll just be a moment.” When she scurried out, Dillon looked up at Hugh. “Do lots of people do that when they meet you?” “Do what?” Dillon did his best imitation of crazy eyes, adding rapid head shakes for impact. With a rolling laugh, Hugh gave Dillon a friendly punch on the shoulder. “It happens.” “Do you ever—” He broke off when a couple of puppies, yipping deliriously, raced into the room. Hugh watched the boy’s face light up as he dropped into a crouch. The pups licked everywhere, paws scrambling as they tried to climb on the boy. Just as delighted, the boy stroked and petted everywhere at once. Love at first sight, Hugh thought, personified. “Aren’t they sweet?” “Yes, ma’am.” Dillon’s laugh wound in, around, through the words as the pups leaped, licked, tumbled. “What’re their names?” “They don’t have any yet. I’ve been calling them Girl and Boy so I don’t get too attached. You see, we foster animals—mostly dogs and cats, but you never know. Sometimes they’re abandoned or mistreated, and we help take care of them until they find their forever home. These two were part of a litter of six. The poor mama was trying to take care of them as best she could. They were all living in a drainage ditch, poor things.” “You do kind and caring work, Lori.” “I just can’t stand to see animals mistreated. Anyone mistreated, of course, but we’re supposed to be stewards, caretakers for puppies like these, and their mama.” “Is she okay?” Dillon asked. “Their mother?” The look Lori gave Dillon showed her heart, and made him forgive the crazy eyes. “She is. My husband took her to the vet today to have her neutered. We needed to wean her puppies first, and give her time to get good and healthy again. We’ve decided to call her Angel, because she has such loving eyes. We’re going to be her forever home.” “But you can’t keep the puppies?” Lori smiled down at Dillon. “If I had my way, and had the room, the wherewithal, I’d keep every single rescue. But I think it’s a good thing to share them. We already placed her other puppies with good homes.” She glanced at Hugh, got the nod. “These sweethearts have a whole lot of energy. As best we can tell, Angel’s got some border collie, some beagle in her. So taking after her, they’re good with people, love herding and running and playing. They need somebody who can keep up with them, so I was hoping you’d take one of these home with you, be one of those good homes.” “Oh!” Dillon’s face lit again, then he lowered his head, nuzzled puppies. “My mom—” “Said yes,” Hugh finished. His head popped back up, with all that light shining on his face. “Really? Really? Holy cow! I can have one? I can just … but how do I pick?” Hugh crouched down, got his share of puppy love. “They’re both great-looking puppies.” “They both have a lot of border collie in the look,” Lori commented. “Girl has more brown on her face, but they both have pretty markings, that mix of black and brown and white. And the fluffy tails, floppy ears. And they both, I swear, have their mama’s eyes. Maybe you’re leaning more to a boy dog, or a girl dog.” Dillon only shook his head. “But they’re family, and friends, too. You can see how they play together and, you know, kiss each other and stuff. If I pick one, the other gets left behind. It doesn’t seem right to, you know, separate a brother and sister. It doesn’t seem fair.” Dillon shot Hugh a look, a quick one before he buried his face in puppies again. But in that instant it filled with one heartfelt plea. Blowing out a breath, Hugh stood. “I need to make a call. If you’d excuse me for just a minute.” “You go right ahead.” Lori sat on the edge of a chair as Hugh stepped out. “I can see whichever one you take home, you’re going to take good care, be a real friend. That means a lot to me.” “It’s hard to give them to other people?” “Well, not so much when you know it’s the right person. Then it makes you feel good inside. That’s how I feel now, knowing one of these sweeties is going to have a boy who loves and tends and takes real responsibility.” “Won’t the other one feel sad?” “I’m going to do everything to keep the one who stays with me happy and healthy until we find just the right person, just the right forever home.” Torn between his desperate wish for a puppy and the genuine guilt at leaving one behind, Dillon could only stroke soft fur. Hugh stepped back in. “You’re a fortunate boy, Dillon, to have such a wise and loving mother. With your approval, Lori, Dillon has permission to adopt both.” “Both? I can have both?” Face shining, Dillon did his best to hug both puppies. “They can both come home with me?” “If Ms. Greenspan agrees.” “Please?” Arms full, heart in his eyes, Dillon turned his face up to Lori’s. “I’ll take good care of them. We have lots of land for them to run on. When I’m in school, Mom and Gram will look after them, but before and after, they can come with me while I do my chores. I’ll feed them and make sure they have fresh water. I know how.” “I think the two of them already picked you. You know these are smart dogs, about as smart as they come. You’re going to be able to teach them lots of tricks.” “It’s okay? I can have them?” Forgetting her careful makeup, Lori dabbed at her eyes. “You already do. I have a list of things you have to promise to do. They’re up on their shots, but when they need more, you have to see to that. You’ve got a good vet—your mom told me who you use. I use the same, so I know she’s a good vet. When they’re old enough, you have to promise to take them to the vet and get them spayed and neutered. That’s really important. And I’m going to warn you, while they’re just about housebroken, taking them to a new home usually sets that back. You’ll have to do some work there.” “I will. I promise.” “All right then, I’m going to get that list, and you can sign it. And I have a brochure to help you with tips on care and feeding and training. I always give my adopted humans a little care package—of treats and toys. And I’m sorry to say I’m going to need fifty dollars. That’s to cover some of the expense from foster care.” “I don’t have any money with me, but I’ve got allowance saved up. I can bring it to you as soon—” “Dillon, this is my gift. My thank-you gift to you.” Torn all over again, Dillon had to shake his head. “Mom said—” “That this gift was acceptable,” Hugh finished. “It would mean a great deal to me if you said you accept it, too.” Hugh held out a hand to seal the deal, smiled when Dillon shook. “Thank you. This is the best gift anyone’s ever given me.” “You gave me the same. Lori, Julia said the rescue organization you’re affiliated with is called Loving Hearts Animal Rescue. In addition to the adoption fee, I’d like to make a donation to your group.” “That’s generous of you, and much appreciated I can promise you. We can take care of the paperwork right back here. Dillon, why don’t you take your puppies out that side door? There’s a little fenced yard. I’d say you’d be smart to take them out, let them do their business before you put them in the car.” It took nearly half an hour before Hugh helped Dillon load the puppies—in a borrowed crate—into the back of his SUV. Along with what Lori called a congratulations basket of dog food samples, treats, chew toys. Since the puppies seemed happy—for the moment—to share a big blue bone-shaped toy, Hugh got behind the wheel. “I guess the next step is for you to name them. Any ideas?” “He’s Gambit, she’s Jubilee. They’re X-Men, and pretty awesome.” “Gambit and Jubilee.” Hugh glanced back at the dogs as he eased out of the drive. “Good choices. I think we have one more thing to do before taking them home. We should go buy some collars, leashes, beds, what have you. Part of the gift,” Hugh said before Dillon could comment. Dillon looked back, then at Hugh. “I’m never going to forget it.” Hugh turned, started the drive, and said simply, “Neither will I.”