CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 24

"Shep's still not back?" Brooke asked, dropping the sack of groceries on the kitchen counter. She'd known he was still missing of course. If the dog had returned, Neal or Marilee or Leah would've texted or called and the retriever would have bounded to greet her.

"No." Leah shook her head. She'd found her spot at the table once more, only now there was no dog curled in his bed nearby and she seemed perturbed, angry about something. But then, didn't that always happen?

Brooke couldn't worry about her sister, not when there were too many other things on her mind. On the way home she'd driven slowly, studying and searching side streets and parking lots, peering into carports and garages with open doors. She'd also called the local vets and animal hospitals when she hadn't been talking with her friends, assuring them all that her daughter was home and unharmed.

"Thank God she's safe!" Andrea had said when Brooke phoned earlier. "Zuri just told me that she was home. I guess she posted it on Insta or something."

"So the word is out."

"Yes. And Allison Carelli is home too. Finally. Again, it's all over the Internet, and I think the police are talking to her and her cousin, Robert Barrone. It's just crazy. Zuri finally fessed up that she had an inkling of what was going on and let me tell you, she is sooo grounded."

"I know. Neal and I have to talk seriously with Marilee. Again."

"I hear ya. I don't know what gets into these kids' heads," Andrea admitted. "And Allison? What was she thinking? Does she have any idea what kind of hell she put her parents through?"

"Maybe that was the whole idea," Brooke said.

"Dark, Brooke, but I hear ya. Who knows? Look, I've gotta run, but I hope you find your dog."

"Me too," Brooke said, her heart twisting as they ended the conversation. She suspected that Gideon had taken him or let him loose, and she was heartsick all over again. If anything happened to sweet, goofy Shep and Gideon was behind it? She'd kill him.

Really? You'd murder the father of your child?

For now she pushed that homicidal thought aside and took a deep breath. At the moment she needed to concentrate on her family. Maybe Leah was right. It was time for Brooke to become more media savvy. If she wanted to know what was going on in her daughter's life, she needed to scan the Internet and social media, dig a little deeper by checking on her friends and acquaintances, the places they met, where they went.

"What took you so long?" Leah eyed the single sack of groceries.

"I drove around looking for Shep and ran a couple of errands, including getting gas and coffee, you know," Brooke said, not admitting how long she'd been at the coffee shop with its free Wi-Fi connection, where she'd tried and failed to do a deeper search into Gideon Ross. Once again she'd failed. It was as if he were a ghost. A ghost with evil intent.

She forced her mind to the here and now. "You hungry?" she asked her sister.

"Not really." Leah held up her cup. "I've had this. It's enough for now."

"Okay. And Neal's gone?" She had noticed his car wasn't in its spot in the garage.

"Yeah. He just said he was going out."

"To . . . ?"

"What am I, his keeper?" Leah asked sarcastically, an edge to her voice. "Isn't that your job?"

Brooke looked up sharply. "Geez, no. And I just thought he might've said where he was going."

"He didn't tell me, okay?" she said, obviously in a bad mood. "He just said something about being back in the afternoon."

"Odd," Brooke said aloud as she slid the package of bagels into a cupboard. Then she remembered it was Saturday. Golf. She checked the time. "Maybe not so odd." Nothing came between her husband and his standing tee time, not even, apparently, a family crisis with their daughter or the dog. Nope. Not when his two handicap was at stake.

Leah's lips pinched a bit. "He said you'd know where he was."

"I do." She nodded. "I just didn't think that he'd go to the course today. Not with what's going on with Marilee and Shep missing. I mean, we were up all night worried sick about our daughter."

Leah let out a huff of disbelief. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. But you know that boys will be boys, especially when it comes to boys and their toys," she said before taking a sip from her cup.

Brooke slammed down a carton of milk. "I hate those old expressions! They're just antiquated excuses giving men a free pass. You know, to play or to get out of responsibilities or chores or even be sane. Whatever happened to women's lib?" Under her breath Brooke muttered, "‘Boys will be boys.' Ugh!" She stuffed the carton of milk into the refrigerator.

"Tell me how you really feel!" Leah tossed back. "Why are you so touchy?"

"Why are you?"

Leah just glared at her. Sipped from her cup.

"Okay, okay, I'm on edge, okay. It was a long, hard night." Harder than you know, Brooke added silently. "And it's not just Neal, it's . . . everything."

Leah's voice softened. "I get it. We all feel it. It was a long night." Frowning, she glanced out the French doors. "Looks like it's gonna rain again. I think I'd better go for a walk now before the skies open up. Maybe I'll find Shep in the park."

"I hope so," Brooke said without much hope. "Neal tried last night. I'm sure he scoured the place."

"Yeah, I know, but dogs wander. And a lot can happen in eight hours."

Amen to that,Brooke thought hopefully as she emptied the grocery sack and folded it. "Has Marilee been down?"

Leah shook her head. "Still in her room as far as I know." "Okay." Brooke stuffed the bag into a cupboard, then headed upstairs. Quietly, she poked her head into her daughter's bedroom. Breathing evenly, Marilee had burrowed herself under the covers as if she were blocking out the world.

Now wasn't the time to disturb her.

What was the old saying from one of the Roosevelts? Speak softly and carry a big stick? Something like that. So maybe in this case it was walk softly and let sleeping dogs lie, or some such amalgam of words of wisdom. In any case she closed the door.

Hearing the front door close, she made her way to the guest room and picked her way around Leah's scattered clothing to the window. Looking out, Brooke spied her sister wearing one of Brooke's jackets. With the hood up against the rain, Leah had crossed the street and was hurrying into the park.

Marilee was dead to the world for all intents and purposes, so Brooke was alone in the house.

She took advantage of it.

She didn't have much time because she wasn't certain how long Leah would be out. Marilee could sleep forever, and Neal wasn't going to return from the country club for hours, so Leah was the unknown. She could be gone for two hours or return in fifteen minutes.

Remembering how Gideon had made comments about her and Neal making love, she went to their bedroom. If, as she suspected, he'd somehow invaded her home either physically or electronically or both, she wanted to find out how he got in, what surveillance equipment he'd installed, and where.

As rain drizzled down the windows, she stood in the middle of the room and scoured the walls and ceiling for any hint of a tiny camera or microphone. Slowly, she rotated, surveying every inch in the plaster walls and dark window casings with her eyes. If there was a camera hidden, she'd certainly see a flaw, something disturbed in the room.

Nothing.

And time was ticking by. She wouldn't have the house to herself forever.

She looked under pictures and lamps and searched beneath the bed, where she came up empty. But there had to be something here.

Undeterred, she studied the closet doors and the line of sight when they hung open.

Again, she didn't find anything obvious, nothing seemingly out of place.

If the spying equipment was in this room, it was well hidden or, conversely, hidden in plain sight and she was missing it.

Where, where, where?

"Come on, Brooke," she said under her breath.

Her cell phone buzzed and she jumped. Leah's number appeared on the screen. "Hey," she answered, her eyes still scanning the room. "What's up?"

"I thought I'd walk over to that little restaurant for a deli sandwich. It's almost noon and my coffee's wearing off. Want anything? I could bring it back."

"Al's Bistro?" The little café was on the far side of the park.

"Yeah. That's the one."

"No . . . I'm okay," Brooke said, her stomach uneasy as she stepped back for a better view of the room.

And she saw it.

What appeared to be a small beetle or spider or some kind of insect at the baseboard near the foot of her bed.

Her insides froze.

"Suit yourself." She heard Leah's voice as if from a distance. "I'm going to window-shop, I think, and ask around about Shep."

"Good. Good. Yeah." Brooke was barely listening. "Let me know if you find him."

"Will do." Leah cut the connection and Brooke ran to the side of the bed to kneel down so quickly she felt a twinge of pain in her ankle, a sharp reminder of her fight with Gideon.

She leaned down, ignoring the dust bunnies, and fingered the spot in the baseboard. Definitely a small hole and coming from it, almost invisible to the eye, was a clear wire that ran between the baseboard and the carpet.

She felt a moment of triumph, quickly replaced by dread as she followed the wire along the floor to the doorframe, where it met the corner of the room. From there the wire disappeared into the wall.

On the other side was the unused staircase.

She practically flew down the stairs to the laundry room, where she pulled out the key ring and a flashlight, unlocked the door, and quietly started to climb. She switched on the dim overhead light, then clicked on the flashlight with its intense beam. Slowly, she ran the bright light around the edges of the staircase, across the low ceiling with its myriad of spiderwebs to the dusty steps, where dead bugs and traces of mice were visible. Shuddering inwardly, she moved up the stairs to the landing on the second floor.

Nothing had appeared on the lower steps, but as she shone the harsh light on the wall that backed the master bedroom, she saw it. A thin, nearly translucent wire was stretched across the top of the doorframe.

"Son of a bitch," she hissed, keeping her voice low; Marilee's room was just on the other side of the door and across the hall. She searched for a camera or listening device but found none. Could it be wireless? On battery? Still, it would have to be able to survey, to view, or to listen in.

The thought was nauseating.

She concentrated on the wire and noticed that it rounded a corner, then ran upward.

Leading to the attic.

Holy shit!

She'd known it, damn it, she'd known it!

Holding her flashlight in her teeth, she carefully climbed the unsteady rungs. All of her muscles were tense, her legs aching as she paused to open the trapdoor in the ceiling before poking her head into the empty space. Cool air, dust, and darkness greeted her.

She heard the sound of rain pinging against the roof and water running in the gutters.

Standing on one of the rungs, she swept the beam of the flashlight around the perimeter of the attic, where the roof joists met the crossbeams at the floor. Then she directed the light over the interior of the roof itself.

Nothing.

Wait . . .

Where would the camera be?

Over the bedroom?

Or . . . with a gut-wrenching realization, she understood that she might not be searching for only one camera and/or microphone. There could be more than one, perhaps dozens. "Oh, please," she whispered to herself. For a few disgusting seconds scenarios of her private life spun through her mind. Not only the intimate, private scenes, but just the normal, day-to-day conversations and interplay of the family; the private jokes, the recriminations, the playful banter, the silly talk to the dog . . . all so personal.

Then she considered something more disturbing. Darker. She remembered the comments about her daughter.

I hope pretty little Marilee is enjoying the dance.

And then:

Your daughter is as beautiful as you are.

Be careful.

It would be a shame if you were to lose her.

Could Gideon have been watching as she undressed or showered or listened in on private conversations about her hopes, her dreams—

Bile rose in her throat.

Oh. Dear. God.

Gideon?

Or someone else?

More than one sicko?

Her throat went dry at the thought.

Don't go there! Not now!

First things first, she told herself as she tamped down her fear and found the spot where the wire should have run through the attic floor. Carefully, her skin itchy where it rubbed up against the insulation, she dug, silently cursing herself for not wearing gloves. Nothing. She reached deeper, to the attic floor. The tips of her fingers scraped against plywood.

It had to be here!

It had to.

Craning her neck to see into the small hole she'd dug in the insulation between the joists, she searched the area. She shone the light into the hole.

Nothing.

But it had to be!

She twisted the flashlight a bit and the beam caught a glimmer of something: a taut strand strung below the plank that ran the length of the narrow wooden pathway through the attic. It led to the island of plywood in the center of the garret where old magazines, records, and discarded, long-forgotten boxes were piled.

Anticipation mixed with dread.

She hoisted herself up to a crouching position and started to inch forward.

As long as she walked on the planks or balanced on the floor joists, she would be okay. In between, should she trip, she would fall through the sheet rock of the ceiling below.

Not good, she told herself and focused the flashlight's beam on the wire. Its shimmering edge peeked over the joists. Whoever had strung it hadn't bothered to drill through the beams.

Bent down and teetering, telling herself she was a certified idiot, she made her way over the planks to the plywood platform where she tested the makeshift flooring with her weight, then lowered herself to a kneeling position.

She located the end of the wire. Sure enough, she found what she assumed was a dime-sized camera attached to it. The insulation had been cleared from a spot at the edge of the platform, and when she lifted the camera she discovered a small hole right above what she knew was the overhead light of her bedroom.

"Terrific." Despite being alone in the dark attic, she felt herself flush with a mixture of embarrassment and outrage. "Son of a—"

Oh shit!

She noticed that just on the other side of the camera the wire split in several directions. Slowly, painstakingly, she followed each thread, her blood pounding in her ears as she located a tiny camera mounted at the edge of the platform. When she lifted it she found it had been placed in the ceiling over Marilee's bed. Just as she'd speculated and dreaded.

"You bastard," she whispered. "You lowlife, fucking bastard." She tore the camera from its hiding spot, ripping the wires, hating the man who had done this and hating herself for allowing him to get close.

Rage pulsing, she crawled along the planks and discovered yet another tiny camera nestled in the insulation over the staircase. You sick prick! She tore it from its wires. Then she found another located over the guest room, again hidden in the overhead light fixture. Well, no more! She yanked that camera as well, then, gritting her teeth in frustration, ripped out all the effing spy equipment.

Were the cameras attached to a router, something that would forward images to a computer somewhere? Or were they somehow connected wirelessly to some unknown computer? If so, why were the wires here?

Who cared?

It didn't matter.

What did matter was the fact that Gideon had slipped into the house and set up the whole nest of minuscule cameras.

Her blood pounded through her veins at the thought of him spying on her, watching her make love to Neal. Or gaping at Leah as she primped or slept? Worse yet, playing the voyeur and observing Marilee in various states of undress, staring at her young, supple body.

Oh. God.

Her stomach heaved and she fought the urge to vomit.

In her mind's eye she saw Gideon on his sailboat, alone, leaning back in a chair, sipping a beer and watching the images on his computer. Was he getting off on what he saw? Or becoming quietly furious?

Either way, you did this, Brooke. It's your fault.

She was ill at the thought of what she'd done to her family, how she'd let him into her life, how he'd taken her trust and abused it.

What kind of psycho was he?

She thought about going to the police. Immediately she discarded the idea, but her stomach churned when she realized he'd overheard their private conversations, their whispered secrets. He'd even watched as she'd found the bracelet, and when she'd sneaked into Neal's office. He'd probably watched her freak out when she'd found the dead rat and had smirked in satisfaction at her panic about losing the dog.

Sick, sick, sick!

Her stomach churned.

She considered confessing to Neal, but again thought better of it.

She couldn't tell Leah or any of her friends, and especially not Marilee.

No, she had to solve this problem. Alone.

And she would.

Her teeth ground together and rage burned through her blood as she ripped out the wires, hearing the pop, pop, pop of staples being splintered from wood.

No way could she let him get away with this!

A dozen quick ideas of dealing with him swirled through her mind, all of them murderous. She would stop him if it was the last thing she ever did. How in the world had she ever gotten involved with him? When she thought of their stolen hours together, their private trysts, the way she'd abandoned herself to him, she wanted to scream.

And then there was the baby.

What a mess!

After stuffing the damning cameras into her pockets, she eased her way back along the plank to the ladder to the trapdoor. She had just started down the rungs of the ladder to the attic when she heard the sound of the front door opening and Leah's voice.

"Brooke! Brooke!" she yelled, and Brooke slid down the ladder and sped down the staircase as quietly as she could.

"Brooke!"

Shit.

In the laundry room she closed the door and shoved the key into her pocket with all the small spy equipment.

"Brooke!" Leah was walking fast, her footsteps reverberating through the house.

What now?

Frantically, Brooke brushed the cobwebs from her hair as she hastened up the half flight to the kitchen.

"What?" she asked, rounding the corner from the kitchen to the foyer.

Leah was in the hallway, her hair wet from the rain, her eyes shining.

Next to her, bedraggled and muddy, Shep shook himself before galloping up to Brooke.

"Oh my God," Brooke cried, falling to her knees. Her heart cracked as she petted the wet dog, who eagerly washed her face. "I missed you too," she said, her throat thick, tears burning her eyes. "Marilee!" she yelled. "Marilee!" Then, still petting the dog, she looked up at her sister. "Where did you find him?"

"In the park. On my way back from the deli."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I might've missed him, but some guy yelled at me and asked if I was looking for a dog."

Brooke's insides congealed. "What guy?"

"I didn't get his name. He was far away, straddling a motorcycle at the curb. I guess he heard me calling for Shep, you know. I yelled back that I was searching for Shep and he said he saw one and pointed in the direction of the gazebo. And there he was, his leash caught in one of the benches, which was weird because I'd been by there not five minutes before."

"And you didn't get the guy's name? Or see who he was? Get the license plate of the motorcycle?"

"Are you kidding? It was raining like hell, my damned hood fell off, and I wouldn't have recognized him anyway. He was wearing a helmet and before I could say anything, even thank him, he took off."

"Don't you think that's weird?"

"Or lucky!" Leah said. "Who cares who he is? The important thing is that Shep's back."

"Right, of course," Brooke said, but her emotions were roiling and she did care; she cared a lot. Straightening the wet dog still dancing at her feet, she yelled up the staircase to her daughter, "Marilee! Come down here."

She heard a thump and then slow footsteps.

A few seconds later her daughter, disheveled and squinting, a blanket wrapped around her, glowered down the stairs. "What?" she demanded crossly before her gaze landed on the dog. "Shep! Oh! Oh!" She dropped the blanket and as she ran down the stairs, Shep bolted up, dripping water and mud. The two met at the center of the staircase. Marilee, almost bowled over, knelt down and embraced the wriggling mass of dirty fur.

"Shep, Shep," she said, burrowing her face into his neck as he whined and wiggled in excitement.

Tears streamed down Marilee's face and Brooke's heart melted. No matter how angry, worried, and downright scared she'd been the night before, she felt nothing but joy and relief seeing her daughter and her dog together.

"Thank you," she said to Leah.

"Don't thank me, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Thank the guy who found him."

"If only I could."

"What? I thought you found him," Marilee said to her aunt.

"I did, but I had help." Leah brought Marilee up to speed as she peeled off Brooke's jacket and hung it in the closet. "As I told your mother," she said, shutting the closet door, "the important thing is that Shep is back and unhurt. So I guess it doesn't matter."

But she was wrong, Brooke thought.

It mattered.

It mattered a lot.

And it had to end.

Now.

"Hey, what's this?" Marilee asked as she fumbled with Shep's collar. The dog yipped as she yanked something free.

Brooke asked, "What?"

"Some kind of necklace—no, a bracelet, I think." Marilee unwound the gold links and red stones and held it up to a nearby lamp, where it winked bloodred, the tiny sailboat charm catching the light.

"What the devil?" Leah said as Brooke felt every muscle in her body go rigid. "Is this some kind of a joke?" She glanced up at her sister. "Do you think it belongs to the guy who found Shep? Or . . . or someone else?"

"I have no idea," Brooke lied, her stomach grinding. "I guess we have to keep it until he comes back to claim it."

"How can he do that?" Leah asked while Marilee studied the bracelet. "I didn't even give him my name, much less this address."

Oh, he knows.

"Maybe it has an inscription," her daughter said, hopping to her feet. "I'll check."

Oh no!

"Look," Marilee said, glancing up at her mother. "On the sailboat. A date, I think."

"Let me see." Leah took the bit of jewelry from her niece's hand to study the charm. "You're right. Just this past spring. It must be important."

Brooke swallowed hard and wanted to argue about the bracelet and the importance of the engraving, but she held her tongue.

"Should we take it to the police?" Marilee asked.

"I don't think so." Brooke shook her head and tried to keep her voice even. "It doesn't look valuable."

"Not to you, maybe. But to someone—I mean, with the date on it." Marilee was fingering the bauble. Then she grinned suddenly, "I know! I'll post it online. See if anyone recognizes it," she said. She turned to Shep. "Come on, boy! You can be in the picture too! After a bath!"

No! Don't give him the satisfaction!

"Do you think that will work?" Leah asked as they heard the creak of old pipes and the rush of water as Marilee turned on the spigots in the hall bath. "Putting it online?"

"Probably not," Brooke said, filled with dread at the thought. If Marilee put the picture out on the Internet and Gideon saw it—was even looking for it—he would be back. And satisfied. Smug in the fact that he'd toyed with her, made her uncomfortable, his presence noted to the family, the threat of exposure all the closer.

And there was no telling what he would do to up his game.

She had to find some way to stop him.

Forever.