Little Girl Gone (An Afton Tangler Thriller #1)(71)

“Anywhere,” she sobbed. “Away from here.” She lifted her eyes and saw Marjorie standing on the porch now, struggling to pull on her pink ski parka.

“Not her,” Shake said through gritted teeth. “Not now.”

Ronnie waved a hand at Marjorie. “Go back inside,” he yelled. “She’s fine.”

“She fine?” Marjorie screamed. “Are you crazy?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Ronnie yelled back. “Just . . . get away.”

Muttering loudly, throwing murderous looks at Shake, Marjorie finally retreated back inside the farmhouse.

Shake was jibbering now, scared out of her mind. “We. Have. To. Go.”

“Shhh,” Ronnie said. “Stop crying. We’ll do it, okay?”

Shake was still crying. “What?” Had she heard him correctly? “You mean we’ll run away? Together?”

“Yes, of course together. But not like this. After you have the baby. Then we’ll pack up and go. Just leave this . . . place. I know it’s not good for us.”

Relief flooded Shake’s brain. “Jeez, Ronnie, do you really mean it? You promise?” He’d jammed himself partway into the car and she was clutching at him now, as if he were her only lifeline.

“Cross my heart, I promise. Now just . . . come back inside, okay? This can’t be good for the baby and I’m freezing my nuts off out here.”

“We’ll really go? Soon?”

“I think . . . maybe next week,” Ronnie said. “Now come on . . .” He turned off the ignition, then reached a hand out and helped hoist her out of the car. “We’ll go, okay?”

Shake clung to him, nodding. “Okay, okay.”

She followed him back inside, but deep down, a tendril of fear lingered. Ronnie talked a good game right now—and she almost believed him. But what if he really didn’t have the guts to run away? Then what?





30


AFTON felt beleaguered and nauseous. Her condition wasn’t a product of Max’s erratic driving, but of all the dead ends they’d been hitting in the search for Elizabeth Ann Darden. She’d felt certain that the interview with Eleanor Winters might turn into something, but it was just another false lead. How would they ever find that baby? Each road they went down seemed to lead nowhere. She was beginning to lose heart.

Now they were on their way to interview Bob Binger. Andy Farmer had already interviewed Binger, but now Thacker wanted them to take another crack at him. Maybe the man that Richard Darden had fired from his post at Novamed would be able to shed a small amount of light on the situation—or throw some dirt on Darden. Afton wasn’t sure which.

As they bumped west on Highway 55, Afton’s restlessness grew into irritation. The seemingly endless pods of slow traffic made the drive seem even more tedious. She slumped in her seat and stared out the window. As soon as they’d made the transition from urban to suburban, fast-food franchises seemed to spring up like errant mushrooms and towering office buildings loomed at each intersection.

Max read her frustration. “Almost there,” he said. They turned onto 494, zipped past the Carlson Towers, took the next exit, and then bumped down a south-side frontage road until they hit a shabby-looking redbrick strip mall. There was a tax preparer’s office, a Thai restaurant, an office furniture store, a veterinarian, and three other small-to medium-sized businesses. He pulled into a parking slot in front of a silver sign that said MEDIGAIN. “Some corporate office, huh?”

Medigain, Afton had learned, was one of a hundred upstart medical tech companies that had come on the heels of millions of dollars of venture capital money. Most of that money had long since dried up or been frittered away, but there were a few companies that had dug in their heels and hung in for the long haul. Medigain was one of these. It had recently received a government patent for a new type of heart valve and its stock was slowly beginning to tick upward.

Afton and Max entered the lobby and were pleasantly surprised. The reception area was neat and orderly with a half dozen bright red club chairs and dozens of healthy-looking green plants. Their front desk was staffed by a smiling twentysomething woman who was wearing a telephone headset.

“Welcome to Medigain,” the receptionist said, beaming.

“Good morning,” Max said. Then he caught sight of the clock over her shoulder. “Afternoon,” he corrected.

“No worry,” the woman said. “That clock just ticked past noon a minute ago.”

Max fished out his badge and held it up for the woman’s inspection. She seemed to experience a moment of indecision, then said, “How can I help you, Detective?”

“We have an appointment to speak with Bob Binger,” Max said. “We called earlier.”

“Then I’ll let him know you’re here.” She hit a few buttons, connected with Binger, and announced their arrival. “Okay,” she said into her headset. “I’ll bring them right back.” She stood up and smoothed her flowered skirt. “If you’ll follow me, please?”

They were led down a narrow corridor between beige industrial-looking cubicles. A few of the cubes were empty, but most held staffers who were busy talking on their phones, texting, or eating lunch. The receptionist opened the door to a generic-looking conference room and ushered them in.