Wilmore. You know how fast news travels.”
Yes, she did. Every person called would phone ten more.
“But they don’t know Hannah like I do.”
“I understand.” The chief’s tone remained gentle. “You are special to Hannah. That’s why we think she may try to contact you. At least for the next couple hours, the best thing you can do is stay there. If she calls, you need to persuade her to tell you where she is.”
Kaycee’s chin dropped. “Okay.” But it wasn’t. Hanging around her house didn’t feel productive at all.
“Thanks, Kaycee. I — yes?” The last word muffled, as if Chief Davis had turned from his receiver. “Be right there.” His voice cleared. “Kaycee, let me know the minute you hear or think of anything. And we’ll keep in touch with you.”
“Okay, Chief — thanks for telling me about the note.”
“No problem.”
The line clicked in her ear.
Mind whirling, Kaycee set the phone on the counter and picked up the ice bag from the sink, pressing it to her mouth and chin. She stumbled to the kitchen table, sank into a chair. Hannah, where are you? Kaycee stared at the center of the table — and her thoughts flipped to the camera sitting there the previous night. She hadn’t imagined it. Unless she now wanted to believe she’d imagined the picture on her desktop too.
The horrific realization sank into her being.
But how did they know about the yellow floor in her dream? How were they doing this?
No. This couldn’t be. Maybe that desktop photo was all in her mind. With the dream still echoing in her head, she’d subconsciously conjured the picture with details to match.
But deep in her heart she knew she hadn’t. She’d seen that picture on her computer. It was real.
Exposure. We see you.
The skin on Kaycee’s back crawled. She twisted to look behind her.
Nothing. Just a silent house. It roared in her ears.
But someone had been here last night. They’d put that camera on this very table. And they’d hacked into her computer to flash a second picture on her desktop. They were watching.
Her worst fear come true.
Panic burst in Kaycee’s chest. She had to tell Chief Davis!
Kaycee threw down the ice bag and shoved back her chair. She jumped to her feet and made for the phone —
Wait.
She jerked to a stop, hands hanging in the air. She couldn’t do this, not now. Call the chief and pull some officer from looking for Hannah so he could come here and look around? And what would he find anyway? The camera was gone. The photo on her computer had vanished into cyberspace. Mark had checked the whole house last night and found nothing.
No way could she take police attention away from Hannah for another dead-end search. Besides, they’d just think she was seeing things again.
A tremble started in Kaycee’s gut. She stumbled to the table and sat again, thinking of her mother. What would Monica Raye have done in a situation like this?
Gone stark raving mad, that’s what.
“God.” Kaycee tipped her face toward the heavens. “Please help me. And bring Hannah home safe. Now. ” The minute Hannah was found, Kaycee would call Chief Davis about all this. He’d get to the bottom of it. Somehow. He’d make it stop. Maybe he’d call in a tech, and they’d take apart her computer, find out who’d hacked into it . . .
If he believed her at all.
For now Kaycee had to fight her fear alone. Just for a little while. Hannah was more important. Surely she’d turn up soon.
Minutes ticked by. Kaycee couldn’t get up. She could only continue begging God to protect Hannah and herself, careening from one nightmare to the other.
Kaycee’s bleary focus happened to graze the microwave clock. Eight-thirty.
My column.
Imminent responsibility rushed in. Kaycee lowered her head in her hands. She had three and a half hours to finish her work. This was the newspaper business. Her deadline could not be missed.
A deadline that could only be met by sitting at her computer. What if the dead man’s picture jumped onto the screen again?
A new thought spun into her mind. Kaycee’s breath hitched. What if the camera and photos were the work of some sick readers of her column? People preying on her worst fear. She’d never said where she lived in any of her columns. But with the Internet, plus the fact that she’d initially started writing for the Jessamine Journal in nearby Nicholasville, anyone who really wanted to find her could do it.
The idea