Читать книгу Hide and Seek - Lynette Eason - Страница 13

THREE

Max sat in his den staring at the file in front of him, wondering why he couldn’t get Erica James off his mind. Her story touched him. Her fragile beauty drew him to her. But her accusations made him angry. The fact that she thought Lydia was involved with Molly’s kidnapping made him more determined than ever to find his little sister and prove her innocent.

He ignored the little niggling of concern at the back of his mind that Erica might have a reason to be throwing her accusations out there.

Which was why he’d made a point of doing his homework on her.

Erica was twenty-eight years old, and had, by all appearances, been happily married until her daughter’s kidnapping three years ago. Her husband had left and moved overseas about a year later.

Erica had pulled herself together and started her own business working as a skip tracer, learning how to use specialized equipment and unique skills to locate missing people—or in Erica’s case, missing children. He remembered the sadness in her eyes, and what she’d said about being able to find other people’s children and yet not Molly.

Thanks to his contacts at the police station, acquiring Molly’s case notes hadn’t been a problem. He flipped to the evidence section.

A witness had reported seeing a woman with red curly hair, large sunglasses and a long coat at the zoo that day. Another witness claims he saw a man following the preschool group. Too many reported seeing nothing unusual.

Curly red hair. Erica had curly red hair. But she had an airtight alibi. She’d been working another missing persons case and had even had a police officer with her.

And then there was the matter of that pain in her eyes. No, she hadn’t had anything to do with her daughter’s disappearance.

It had been a chilly day in November when Molly had gone missing. This month would be a tough one for Erica.

And now she was looking for Lydia. Max felt anger surface again. Twenty-one years old, his sister could pass for thirteen or thirty, depending on how close one looked. He supposed the drugs and sporadic eating could do that to a person. His heart ached for her. If only...

An idea hit him, and Max hauled himself out of the recliner and made his way into the kitchen to get his phone. He grabbed it only to frown as he saw an unfamiliar number listed, indicating he’d missed a call.

He dialed the number and listened to it ring.

When the phone went to Erica’s voice mail, he hung up and felt the heat climbing into his face as he realized she’d called him earlier, when he’d given her his number. And here he was, calling her at nearly midnight. He shrugged. If she asked, he’d explain.

Then again, he couldn’t help but wonder why she hadn’t answered. Was she all right? Or had something happened?

He clenched his jaw.

He had no reason to think that anything had happened to her.

Just like he’d had no reason to think anything had happened to Tracy. His throat tightened at the thought of his fiancée, dead because he hadn’t worried enough.

He’d ignored his instincts and she’d died.

Max grabbed his keys.

* * *

Erica’s pulse pounded as she stood frozen, unsure what to do.

When the door had clicked, she’d raced into the bathroom and twisted the lock.

Leaving her cell phone on the end table in her bedroom.

She listened to it ring and put her hand on the knob. When it stopped, she bit her lip and looked around.

The only window in the bathroom was stained glass and didn’t open. That cold hard knot in the pit of her stomach turned to granite as she realized what she’d done.

She’d trapped herself.

Desperately, she tried to control her ragged breaths so she could listen.

She pressed her ear against the door and heard nothing.

Except her phone ringing again.

Should she stay and assume whoever had entered her house would get what he was looking for and then leave?

Or should she try to slip into the bedroom and grab the phone?

Indecision warred with her fear. By the time she decided to stay put, the phone had stopped again.

How had her intruder come in the front door—the one she remembered locking? Mentally, she ran through a list of people who had a key to her house. Her brother, Brandon; her best friend Denise Tanner, who’d moved to New Mexico; her parents, although they’d only used the key one time in the past three years; another friend, Ginny Leigh, and...

Footsteps sounded outside the bathroom door. She gasped and pulled back. He was in her bedroom. What would she do if he tried to get in the bathroom? Frantic, she cast her gaze around, looking for something she could use as a weapon.

A razor, a can of hair spray, the towel bar.

Then the steps receded. Faded. Stopped.

Was he gone?

Did she dare open the door? She waited. And listened.

Still nothing. Just the pounding of her heart.

The minutes ticked by.

Silence.

Her shaky fingers twisted the lock. She gripped the doorknob and turned it slowly, then pulled the door open a crack.

The door exploded inward and she cried out as the edge of it caught her on the chin. She fell to her knees as a tall figure reached down to grab her by the arm. “I knew you were in there.”

“Let me go!” She twisted, kicking out and catching a shin.

Her captor grunted.

“Hey! Let her go!”

She froze once again. “Peter?” Disbelief made her dizzy. “What are you doing?” she cried. Peter approached her, his hands replacing her captor’s on her arms.

Erica hit him in the chest to push him away from her, but he kept his grip on her upper arms. It didn’t hurt, but she didn’t like it.

“Hey, chill, sis. We just need some cash, okay?” His foul breath made her grimace.

“Let. Me. Go.” She kept her voice low and did her best to rein in her fury and fear. Peter—her younger brother, the black sheep, the ne’er-do-well. Whatever one wanted to call him, he had also once been a suspect in Molly’s disappearance but had been cleared when there’d been no evidence to support his involvement. He released her and she backed away from him until the back of her knees touched the bed. “Where did you get the key?”

“Let’s get the cash and get out of here.” Erica swiveled toward the man who’d grabbed her when she’d exited the bathroom. Menace dripped from his gaze.

Real fear clutched her. “Who’s he?” she asked Peter.

Peter advanced. He stopped in front of her, but he didn’t attempt to grab her again. His sullen, bloodshot eyes slid from hers, and she reached for the cell phone on the end table. “It’s late, Peter, and I’m tired,” she said, trying to sound normal. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

And she wouldn’t give it to him if she did.

He was twenty-four and in spite of the drugs he pushed into his body, still looked young and innocent. He shot his buddy a black look. “I told you to wait outside.”

“I got tired of waiting. You were looking in the wrong place.” Drug-addled green eyes lingered on her and he licked his lips.

Peter stepped between her and the other intruder. “Back off, Polo. That’s not what you’re here for.”

Polo leered. “Says you.”

Peter stood tall and straightened his shoulders. “Yeah. I do. Now get out of here.”

Erica blinked at Peter’s defense of her. All of a sudden, she had a glimpse of the man he could have been.

Polo shrugged and backed down. “I’ll be outside.” He gave Erica one last look and she shuddered with distaste when he finally turned his back.

“Peter, get rid of that loser, then give me back my key.” She paused for a moment, knowing she probably shouldn’t say what she was about to say. “You can stay in the guest room tonight.”

Peter lifted his hands and raked them through his hair. They trembled. He paced from one end of the room to the other, glancing at the door as though expecting Polo to return. “I need you to give me some cash. I’ll give it to him, and he’ll leave you alone.”

What was he coming down from? His drug of choice was usually cocaine or heroin.

He shook his head. “I’m so tired.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Look, Erica, I’m sorry about all this.”

She lifted a brow. “You’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I’m—” He waved a hand. “I wish...”

“Wish what, Peter?”

Erica took his arm and tried to lead him from the room but he jerked away from her. “What are you doing?”

“Police! Anyone here?”

Peter froze like a deer caught in the headlights. “You called the cops?” he snarled.

“No! I didn’t.” She turned and yelled, “We’re back here! Everything is fine.”

Had they seen Polo?

Footsteps sounded on her hardwood and for the second time that night she faced the officers Max seemed to know personally, with their weapons drawn. She held her hands where they could see them. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“Everything all right?” The officer in front stepped forward, his narrowed eyes taking in the scene before him.

Erica nodded. “Yes. Fine.”

The officers exchanged glances and the first one holstered his weapon. The second only lowered his.

“Who called you?” Erica asked.

“Your neighbor said she saw a suspicious man hanging around your front door. He was on his way over to see if you needed help when he heard you scream. Decided to call the cops instead.” He motioned to the bruise on her chin. “Want to explain that?”

Erica looked at her brother as she reached up to touch her chin. “He surprised me and I got banged with the door.”

Peter looked contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

Was he sorry? Or was he sorry he wasn’t going to get what he came here for? She honestly didn’t know what to think of him anymore. She just knew she wanted to help him, couldn’t give up on him.

He was her brother, plain and simple.

The cop nodded, suspicion still written on his face. “What’s he coming off?”

Pete glared at the officer and Erica sighed. “I have no idea, but I’ll take care of him.”

“You’re not helping him by covering for him.”

“I know.” Weariness invaded her as she looked at her little brother. How had he become this stranger she didn’t know anymore? Someone she didn’t trust and was afraid of some of the time, like when he came into her apartment with a creep and tried to shake her down for cash? “He had someone with him. A guy named Polo.”

Peter winced and the officer’s eyes shot wide. “Polo Moretti?”

She grimaced. “I didn’t get a last name.” She looked at her brother. “Peter?”

“I just met the guy,” Peter muttered. “I don’t know his last name.”

“Who is he?” Erica asked.

The two officers exchanged a glance. Then one said, “He’s involved in all kinds of nasty stuff. You don’t want to mess around with him.”

Erica drew in a quick breath. “Peter, what are you involved in?”

“Erica?”

She frowned—she knew that voice. She shot a look at Peter to let him know the conversation wasn’t over. “Max?”

Max stepped into the hall and greeted the officers by name. Then he looked at her. “What’s going on? I kept calling but you didn’t answer.”

“So you drove over here?” Erica felt a thrill in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t explain but didn’t want to think about.

“Yeah. It’s not that far.” Pain flashed in Max’s gaze for a brief moment—long enough for her to wonder about it— until his gaze shifted to her brother, a question on his face.

Peter’s eyelids drooped. He didn’t seem so dangerous now. In fact he reminded her of the sleepy little brother she used to put to bed. Erica said, “Look, let me get Peter settled and we’ll talk in the den.”

Max and the other two officers left the room. “Go on in the bedroom. I’ll take care of this,” she said to Peter.

For once, he didn’t argue with her, just shuffled his way down the hall with one last look toward the front door, probably wondering where his friend went.

If Peter stayed here, would that Polo guy come back looking for him?

She felt sick at the thought.

The guest room door shut with a decisive click. Erica stood staring at the door for a brief moment then shut her eyes as she fought the weariness that threatened to make her keel over. Oh, Peter. What was she going to do with him?

Voices from the den grabbed her attention. She’d worry about Peter later.

Erica made her way back into the den where she found Max sitting on her couch and the other officers standing in front of her fireplace looking at Molly’s picture.

Max said, “This is Chris and Steve. You remember them from earlier tonight?”

Erica nodded, shook their hands and said, “Sorry for all the trouble. Peter’s going through a rough patch and...” Her voice trailed off. What could she say? Peter’s actions, the company he was keeping and his appearance spoke for themselves. She refused to make excuses for him anymore.

Chris nodded and said, “Just give us a holler if you need any more help with him.” He paused. “But I’ll caution you. Don’t trust him.”

She sighed. “I know.”

After Chris and Steve asked her a few more questions and finally left, Max rose. “Guess I’d better be going, too.” He glanced down the hall. “I’d feel better if he wasn’t here.”

So would she, but Erica wasn’t going to tell him that. “Peter will sleep awhile and so will I. I’ll talk to him in the morning, see if he’s open to a plan—or rehab. Again.”

Max nodded. “Okay.” He rubbed his chin. “I talked to the detectives who handled Molly’s case.”

She lifted a brow. “Lee and Randall.”

“Yes. Good detectives.”

“Not good enough.” The words left her lips before she could stop them.

He stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I can see why you would think that. But I work with them on a regular basis. And I’ll tell you, not a week goes by that Katie—Detective Randall—doesn’t review Molly’s case. She keeps it fresh in her mind and is always ready for something to break. She’s the one who recognized Molly’s dress at the crime scene.”

“Really? She didn’t tell me that.” Erica reached up to rub the rocklike muscles at the base of her neck. “Well, it’s good to know they really do care,” she said softly. She truly was touched to know that Katie reviewed Molly’s case on a regular basis. Katie had become a friend during the nightmarish days and then months following Molly’s disappearance. Erica had checked in with Katie regularly, but the woman had had nothing more to tell her.

Until the raid had unearthed Molly’s dress and bow.

Erica watched Max walk over to her mantel and pick up the picture of Molly. “She looks like you.”

Tears threatened, but Erica held them back. “Yes. She does.”

He placed the picture back and looked at the others. “Your parents?”

“They live across town.” Erica snagged the family portrait that had been taken at Christmas almost four years ago. “This is the brother you met tonight at the crack house—Brandon. He has a town house on East Main near our office. And this is Peter during one of his better times.” She sighed. “He lives in our grandparents’ old home on the west side of town. He doesn’t have to pay rent so at least he has a place to sleep at night when he runs out of money.” She reached out to trace a finger over Molly’s image. “This is the last picture we had taken with all of us.”

“And this one?” He pointed to the small silver and blue frame in the line.

Erica gave a sad smile. “That’s Denise Tanner, my best friend. She and I were inseparable from third grade to graduation. We were even roommates before I got married. She lives in New Mexico now but we talk at least once a week.”

Max placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve moved on. You haven’t forgotten Molly or given up hope, but it hasn’t broken you.”

She could feel the warmth of Max’s hand through her heavy sweater, and the sudden desire to lean into him and let him take a share of her burden nearly overwhelmed her. She resisted, but barely. “I didn’t exactly have a choice and it hasn’t been easy. But that’s a story for another time.” She really needed him to go or she was going to be a blubbering mess.

He gave the family photo another look. “You seem like a close family.”

A snort slipped out before she could stop it. At his surprised look she shook her head. “Looks can be deceiving. We’re not close. It’s been months since I’ve seen or talked to my parents. Things changed after Molly was taken.”

He lifted a brow. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It is what it is. Maybe one day things will be different.” Only if you make an effort to change them, said that little voice that was always right about such things. She cocked her head. “And maybe one day I’ll tell you about it.”

Max nodded and made his way to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep lightly and be careful,” he said before he left.

She knew what he meant. He was worried about Peter.

Erica got that—she was worried, too.

I’ll sleep with one eye open.

Not to mention with my bedroom door locked and my gun close by.