CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 20

Somewhere in the distance Brooke heard a baby crying.

She ran to it, through the darkness, propelled by fear for the child—an infant, it seemed. City streets streaked by and rain peppered the ground as she ran, splashing through puddles, the water icy and cold, her legs leaden.

Where?

Where was the sound coming from?

She saw something, deep in the shadows of the park.

Who would leave a helpless child in the—

Scrape!

She heard the sound of footsteps hurrying past.

Creak!

Her eyes flew open.

She was in bed, in the dark, the digital display of the clock announcing it was 1:57. The dream faded and her heartbeat slowed, but she knew something had awakened her, a noise that didn't fit into the house and broke into her dreamscape.

Hardly daring to breathe, she strained to listen. Above the beating of her own racing heart and the soft, steady breathing of Neal lying beside her, she heard the quiet hiss of air moving through the ducts as the furnace clicked on. Outside it was quiet, just the occasional sound of a passing car's engine.

Was it her imagination or did she hear footsteps? Soft and muted but moving quickly?

Noiselessly, she slid from beneath the covers, snagged her bathrobe from a hook on the bathroom door. Pushing her arms into sleeves, she slipped into the hallway. Nothing seemed out of place amid the darkness. But still . . .

Cinching the robe's tie around her waist, she crept along the darkened hallway and stopped at the top of the stairs, her eyes straining. Yet she didn't switch on a light, didn't want to warn whoever might be lurking.

Slowly, she descended.

The first floor was as still as the second. Had she heard a nocturnal bird or a bat on the rooftop? Or maybe just the wind causing a loose shingle to clatter?

Or had it been nothing?

Just the vestiges of her disturbing dream?

In the kitchen she looked outside, but the garden far below, dark with the night, appeared undisturbed. Quiet. Shep barely lifted his head as she passed by his bed near the table, the spot he'd claimed for the night. His eyes did blink open for a second, and he gave two soft thumps of his tail before tucking his nose into his body again.

You're losing it, that nagging voice in her head chided as she eased through the living room just as she'd left it earlier. Go back to bed.

She crossed the foyer, but on her way to the stairs she paused at the door of Neal's office, then noiselessly opened it and stepped inside.

This small room, with its couch, his desk in the curve of the turret, and a chair squeezed between the bookshelf-lined walls, was her husband's private sanctuary. It was an unwritten rule that no one was allowed in without him because of the sensitivity of the files of cases on which he was working. Most of his work was digital, though she knew he had more than a few manila files locked in the fireproof cabinet in the corner. The safe where he kept the family's personal documents along with the small caliber pistol Neal had brought with him into the marriage. The gun had been left to him by his grandfather.

Again, something that was uniquely his.

Though she was the co-owner of the house, she considered this room Neal's domain, and she always felt as if she were trespassing when she stepped inside without his knowledge. It didn't happen often, just for her to drop mail onto his desk or dust or vacuum occasionally. Even then she felt as if she were an intruder. She didn't bother snapping on any light; her eyes adjusted to the dim illumination that sifted through the window from the streetlight outside. An old clock sat on a shelf and rhythmically ticked off the seconds. She spied his laptop and had the urge to open it and peek inside.

He was always quick to close it whenever anyone walked into the room.

Had he been lying about receiving footage from the tracker in her car?

Was there any chance that she would find a secretive email from Jennifer Adkins or some other woman? Someone she didn't know about? She told herself she was being paranoid. Yes, she'd doubted Neal in the past, half believing that Neal had cheated on her once or twice before, but she'd found no solid proof. Once when Marilee was two or three and she confronted him about his long hours, he'd claimed he'd been distracted by work and was determined to prove himself to the senior partners.

Then came Jennifer Adkins.

Oh, as if you have any reason to snoop or cast the first stone?

Her relationship with Neal was tenuous, hanging by the proverbial thread. He had moved out for nearly three months after the Jennifer Adkins debacle and now they were trying to piece back together what they once had held so securely. Only she hadn't stopped seeing Gideon before Neal had returned.

Big mistake.

And now . . . she quickly stepped around the desk and flipped the laptop open. The screen jumped to life and she bit her lip. He hadn't shut it down. She pressed a button and saw a menu appear. The top file was marked Leah. She clicked on the folder and it opened to a digital note.

No surprise there.

Except for the amount.

Not for twenty-five thousand dollars, as he'd said earlier.

Fifty thousand dollars. She thought she had read the amount incorrectly, but she hadn't.

Stunned, she let out her breath slowly and sat down in his desk chair.

Why would Neal lie?

Why would Leah?

What the hell was going on here?

She scrolled through the info in the file and found other "loans" that she hadn't known about. One for ten thousand dollars eleven years earlier, then another ten grand four years ago, and then five thousand just three months earlier this year. During their separation.

Brooke had known nothing about the loans—not these.

Leah had frequently borrowed a little money from her here and there over the years, never more than a few hundred bucks at a time, all of which she'd always promised to pay back and never had, and finally there was the five grand once before, but this?

So why had Leah come to her for money when it seemed she had an unending source with Neal, all behind Brooke's back?

Don't jump to conclusions. There could be a justifiable reason for this.

But why so much this time?

What kind of hold did Leah have over Neal? Was she blackmailing him? Or just preying on his guilt for dumping her years before? Why was Neal—a tough attorney who spent his days negotiating with litigants—such an easy mark for her? Why would he buckle, give her the money she asked for and not confide in Brooke, unless he had something to hide?

That part runs in the family.

"Oh shut up," she whispered just as she heard footsteps overhead.

Crap!

Someone was coming?

Neal?

She had to get out of here.

She was about to close the file when she caught sight of an addendum and hit the link that led to the legal description of property in Tillamook County, Oregon.

A lien on the cabin on Piper Island?

Nana's house?

From Leah to Neal?

What the hell?

Her mind spun. Why had Neal kept this a secret? Why would Leah give up her interest in the idyllic childhood spot where they'd vacationed? Why had neither of them confided in Brooke?

Brooke stared at the computer screen, dumbstruck.

More footsteps and a door opening.

She should get out now. How could she explain herself? But she couldn't tear her eyes away from the screen.

Why was he securing loans with equity in the beach house?

No wonder she had come to Neal.

No way would Brooke have made such a deal.

Their mother and Nana wanted them to have the property on the island together, and it was the one place where they had shared childhood memories. Where Brooke had learned to ride a bike and swim, where Leah had built sandcastles and chased seagulls.

The last, fleeting memories of their father were caught in the pine-paneled walls, exposed beams, and wide back porch overlooking the sea.

And Leah was ready to give it up.

Quietly, she closed the file but didn't get up, her eyes on the screen as she pushed off the memories of a childhood that was filled with innocence and promise.

She listened.

No more footsteps.

What else could she find in Neal's files?

Possibly information from the tracker on her car? She glanced up at the door, half open, feeling like a criminal, but she scrolled up and found a file marked Clayton Electronics. She opened the file, and there was information on the WCTracker Series 6.

She clicked on the file but was sent to a link that included the listing of a serial number that she thought probably matched the bug that had been placed in her car. The file had options, including one marked History. Probably a history of every damned place she'd been in her car for months.

Sweat collected between her shoulder blades and she heard muffled little yips coming from the kitchen: Shep having one of his doggy dreams.

She stared at the screen, her throat dry.

Neal knew.

He had to know.

Unless he'd never been to the site, never bothered to set up a password, never checked on the Explorer's whereabouts.

Yeah sure. What were the chances of that?

Slim and none and wishful thinking.

Maybe it was just time to come clean.

Her marriage would be over.

Marilee would have nothing to do with her.

Her life as she knew it would be destroyed and—

She stopped that runaway train of thought.

If he had been checking up on her, why had he never asked her about where she'd been? When her car was parked at the marina when she'd claimed to be at job interviews or running errands? Did he know? Did he not? Her stomach twisted. After several attempts to break into the log she gave up and was about to close down the computer to continue to check the house when she saw the file marked JA.

Jennifer Adkins.

Jesus.

She clicked on the file.

Sure enough, there were documents inside.

Biting her lip, her nerves strung so tight they ached, she opened the first.

A divorce decree.

For Jennifer and her husband, dated and signed three months earlier, during the time when Neal and she were separated.

She was about to open the next document when she heard the creak of a door opening and footsteps overhead again.

She froze for half a beat.

Then quickly closed the file.

The footsteps were heading for the stairs.

Damn!

She shut the computer and silently prayed that the screen was returning to its normal default.

A step groaned as someone headed downstairs.

Damn!

She slid back the desk chair, stepped to one side, and pushed it noiselessly into place.

"Brooke?" Neal called, and she slipped around the desk to the couch.

She could keep quiet and hope he went into the kitchen first. If so, she could move hurriedly from his office through the entryway to the living room.

"Honey?" he called at the base of the stairs. "Are you down here?"

Shep gave up a soft "Woof" from his spot in the kitchen.

"Hey, boy," Neal said as she heard him start for the back of the house. "Have you seen Mom?"

She didn't hesitate, just silently eased out of the room down the short hallway past the staircase and into the living area. As she reached the window, she said, "In here."

Neal appeared from the darkened dining area.

"What're you doing?"

"I heard something and came down to look around the house. Make sure I locked all the doors."

"What did you hear?" He was crossing the room, and even in the semidarkness she could see that his eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes dark.

"I don't know." She sounded breathless and cleared her throat. "That's what I was checking."

"Probably the dog," he said and placed an arm around her shoulders.

She thought of the sounds she'd heard. "Definitely not Shep."

He snapped on a light and she realized he was still dressed in the clothes he'd worn all day, the wrinkled shirt and pants, his beard shadow dark on his jaw, his hair askew. "Well, let's look around. Nothing in here."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not." As he walked across the foyer to his office, his frown deepened into a scowl. "I know I closed this," he said, touching the door to his office. "I remember doing it." He walked inside, then came out quickly, pulling on the knob and testing it. His eyes found hers. "Did you go inside?"

"No! Well, yeah," she equivocated from the living room, her heart knocking. Dear God, was she really afraid of her own husband, of his reaction? Is that what they'd come to? "It was closed. I opened it, poked my head in to make sure no one was inside, then came in here."

She should tell him the truth. Ask him about the loans to Leah. The file marked JA.

Neal rubbed a weary hand over his face, scraping at his beard stubble. "If it makes you feel better, I'll test all the doors again." He started toward the kitchen, then held up a hand behind him, as if expecting her to call after him with more directions. "And the windows." He yawned. "I'll test them too." He walked in stocking feet to the staircase leading to the garage and laundry room.

"I'll take the upstairs, double-check the windows." She was up the steps in an instant, wondering if she was going crazy, afraid that her paranoia and guilt were distorting her reality. Slowly, she cracked the door to the guest room, where she found Leah curled in the fetal position in the bed. The old quilt Nana had pieced together half a century earlier partially covered her body. Her roller bag lay open near the small closet, clothes spilling out.

The next room she verified was Marilee's. Quietly, she pushed the door open, and in the half-light from the windows saw the bed, covers mussed, sheets falling to the floor, but empty and cold to the touch. "Mari?" she said softly, her eyes scanning the room where the computer screen was constantly changing with underwater scenes. "Marilee?"

Brooke's heart began to thud with a new, terrifying dread.

She snapped on the light and quickly turned around, certain she'd missed her daughter, but the room was empty.

Half running, she went into the hall and then the guest bath, littered with Marilee's toiletries, Leah's floral Dopp kit hanging from a hook on the back of the door. "Marilee!" she yelled louder as she threw back the shower curtain on the old claw-foot tub, the hangers scraping noisily over the rod.

Nothing.

Oh. God.

Two girls had gone missing. Both around Marilee's age. One just recently.

"Neal!" she yelled and ran into her own bedroom, hoping against hope that her daughter would be there.

She wasn't.

Nor was she in the bathroom.

"Marilee!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

The only response was the sound of footsteps clamoring up the stairs and the dog barking. She ran into the hallway again as the door to Leah's room flew open.

Brooke's sister, bleary-eyed, fingers clutching her robe together, glared at her. "What in God's name is going on? It's the middle of the frickin' night!"

Neal rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, Shep on his heels.

"Marilee. I can't find her! She's not in her room!" Brooke said, panicked.

"What?" In three long strides Neal was at the open door to their daughter's bedroom, as if he could find her.

"She's not here!" Brooke cried.

Leah shook her head. "Maybe she's downstairs."

"Neal was just downstairs."

"Marilee!" Neal yelled, his voice booming through the house as he followed Brooke's earlier path inspecting the upstairs rooms, including the closets. Nothing. Next he made a thorough search of the main level as Brooke and Leah went into the kitchen.

Neal hurried down to the laundry room and then the garage. Brooke heard him calling for their daughter and the garage door roll up. She went onto the deck and yelled her daughter's name, then hurried inside, located her purse, pulled out her phone, and noticed it was about out of juice.

No text from Marilee.

Brooke dialed her daughter's number.

The call went straight to voicemail.

"Hey—you missed me. Leave me a message or text," in Marilee's voice.

"It's Mom. Call me!"

Then she texted a similar message:

Where are you? Call me ASAP!

"You think she snuck out?" Leah asked. "Or—?" Her face paled as she finally caught onto Brooke's fear.

"I don't know what she did!" Brooke snapped just as she heard Neal coming up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She looked up expectantly as he rounded the corner, but he shook his head. "Nothing. Except that . . ." Worry cut deep grooves into his forehead.

"What?"

"The gate was open."

"The gate," she whispered.

"To the alley."

Her heart sank. Tears formed in her eyes.

"That doesn't mean anything," he reminded her. "I searched the backyard and there's nothing! Shep was with me. I think he would've run to her if she were out there. But I've texted her and called and left a message. She'll get back to me."

"I did too." She was shivering inside. "Maybe we should call her friends? Zuri or Tammi?"

He glanced at his watch. "It's three twenty in the morning. Let's give it a little time."

"We don't have any," she argued.

Neal nodded, his brows drawing together. "Maybe she's just out."

"With Nick," Leah said. "That's my bet."

Brooke was dying inside. "I hope you're right," she said, though she wouldn't have thought she'd ever hope that Marilee, in an act of rebellion, had left the house behind her parents' backs to be with a boy. "But we can't take a chance." She turned horrified eyes to Neal. "Not when Allison and Penny have gone missing."

"Don't even go there," he warned.

"Have you checked the fire escape?" she asked suddenly.

"The what?" Leah, the lapels of her robe still clamped in her fingers, looked confused. "Fire escape?"

"The back stairs." Neal was already heading to the door on the second floor.

Brooke hurried alongside him, stride for stride. "The door is locked."

"I've got a key." He fished in his pocket and extracted a jingling key ring.

"You have a key—to the—?"

"Of course I do. I have keys to all the locks here and at the office." He sorted through the keys, extracted one, and slipped it into the lock before pushing open the hallway door and stepping into the back staircase. A few seconds later a light snapped on, spilling a weak shaft of illumination into the hallway.

"All this time I thought that was a closet," Leah said, poking her head inside, then, "Ooh, ick. Spiders!" She swiped a hand in front of her face as if she'd stepped into a web.

"We don't use them."

"Maybe you don't use the back stairs"—Leah gestured toward the door yawning open—"but it looks like maybe he does. Why else keep a key on his ring?"

Brooke was wondering the same thing and as she did, all her worries congealed.

"The things you don't know about people," Leah observed.

"Amen," she whispered as Neal reappeared.

"Nothing," he said to Brooke's unspoken question, "but I think someone has been in there. The dust was disturbed. I saw footprints."

My footprints, Brooke thought.

"What are you talking about?" Leah demanded and he explained that they never used the back stairs because they were unsafe.

As he spoke, Brooke's legs gave out and tears began to drizzle down her face. Her girl was gone. Her baby. Fear curdled through her blood. Don't do this, she told herself. Now is not the time to fall apart. You need to find her. You have to find her! Blinking, she swiped her sleeve over her nose.

Neal crouched down beside her, his worried eyes holding hers, and as if he'd heard her thoughts, vowed, "We'll find her." He gathered Brooke into his arms. "We'll find her." His fingers tangled in her hair as he held her close.

She choked out a sob.

"Shh," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and got lost in his strength.

"Come on." He pulled her gently to her feet.

Brooke sensed Leah staring at the two of them huddled at the top of the stairs, their world crashing in around them.

Leah cleared her throat. "Look, I think she probably just snuck out with Nick," she said. "I know, I know with the other girls going missing that you're freaked. I am too, but really, she was here. In her room. She's probably with Nick."

"Let's hope," Neal said.

Leah went on, "I know you're out of your heads panicked, but I really think you should wait until morning to make those calls. If she hasn't shown up by five or six, snuck back in, start calling around. If you wake up her friends, big deal. This is serious."

Brooke barely heard her. Buried in Neal's arms, her face crushed to his wrinkled shirt, she told herself that everything would be all right.

That Marilee would be found.

That Gideon would go away.

And that she wasn't pregnant.

But she couldn't convince herself.