to gray. Her cell phone lay in his left hand. His right thumb slid back and forth against his fingers as though itching for evil. One side of his mouth lifted in a satisfied smirk.
“Heard you on the telephone to your girlfriend this afternoon. I consider it a compliment you call me ‘they.’ As if I’ve managed the work of multiple men.”
Kaycee’s mind crumbled.
He raised his eyebrows, mimicking concern. “I understand you’ve been having some strange experiences.” His speech sounded refined, almost stilted. He glared at her with a mixture of victory and contempt.
No words would form. No breath.
The man smiled. Kaycee’s soul curled inward. “You hearing things? Seeing a dead man wherever you go?”
Her vision blurred. This was a nightmare. Not real.
“For a columnist who spills her guts, you don’t talk much.” He stepped toward her.
She shrank against the couch. “Wh – what do you want?”
“Ah. She speaks.”
Suddenly aware of her vulnerable position, Kaycee sat up. Her brain shouted fight-or-flight responses — scream, run, hit him. She couldn’t move.
“Get up.” His tone could cut steel.
She shook her head.
His expression flattened. “That cop in the barn won’t help you. I shot him twice. In the jaw and in the head.” A wicked smile spread his lips, a knowing look at her horror glinting in his eyes. “That’s right. Just like in the picture.”
Kaycee stared at him, her thoughts a million broken pieces. The blood she’d smelled had come true — on her own fingers. Now the dead man — the state policeman?
The floor of the barn — was it old bare wood, now dark-yellowed with age?
She whimpered. “How? Why?”
His gaze rose. He focused on the wall behind her as if seeing a movie unfold. “Your columns led me here, you know. For this past year I’ve been studying the fascinating depths of the mind.” His eyes blinked back to her, gleaming with vindication. “Apparently my education has proved effective.”
The words barely registered. Kaycee could only think one word: Mark. If this man knew about the state policeman, he knew about Mark. Her mouth sagged open. She dug her fingers into the front of the couch, a vision of Mark shot dead blazing in her mind.
The man surveyed her smugly, as though reading the horrible question she dared not ask.
“So you see how it is. Everyone who was supposed to protect you is gone.” He set her cell phone on the side table and lifted the bottom of his T-shirt. The top of a gun stuck out of his pants’ waistband. “Now you will come with me.”
“Why?” Kaycee’s voice held no life. “You’re going to kill me anyway. Might as well do it here.”
“I could have killed you a hundred times if that’s what I wanted.”
“What do you want?”
“You haven’t asked my name.”
She gaped at him.
“It’s Rodney. As for what I want, my exercise in the mind is not yet over. I still need something from you.”
“Take it, it’s yours.”
“Unfortunately it’s not that simple.”
Kaycee stared dully at the floor. Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The constant fear of her life now stood in the flesh. In her living room. He’d killed two men because of her, one of them Mark. He’d probably killed Mrs. Foley too. Mark. Kaycee couldn’t think of that, couldn’t bear it.
If she survived this night, what would be left of her?
“You have no choice but to come with me, Kaycee. Without sound, with no resistance.”
Mark. Dead. Because of her. Tears clawed her eyes.
“Why should I?”
“Because Hannah is waiting for you.”
FORTY-FOUR
The flashlight beam shone on hundred dollar bills. Stacks of them.
The box flaps slipped from Lorraine’s hand and closed. She rocked back on her knees, heart thudding.
For a long second her brain blanked to whiteness.
Lorraine set the flashlight on its end and reached for the flaps again, spreading them apart. She snatched up a tightly bound stack of bills and feathered the ends with her gloved thumb. Then explored the lower layers in the box with the flashlight. More hundred dollar stacks.
Separated by denomination, Martin had told her. They’d repacked the bills into these boxes in the same way.
Reality screamed down on her head. They. The Mafia. And all this money. This was real. She had to get out of here.
Lorraine leapt to her feet and grabbed up the open box. She lumbered to the van with weighted steps and heaved it inside. With both hands she pushed it back as far as she could. Sweeping aside the bolt cutter, she climbed into the van and shoved the box