Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(113)

Her mother still looked anxious, and Erin gave her another coaxing kiss. "We're going to be fine now. We got Cindy back, and now this big opportunity just falls into my lap. Things are looking up."

It took all the strength she had to keep the cheerful facade in place until the taxi arrived.



The traffic was a nightmare. Connor leaped out of his car when he finally arrived, bolted for the house, and beat on the door.

Barbara pulled the door open. "Connor, what on earth?"

"Is Erin here?"

She frowned. "Didn't she call you?"

"The phone's been busy for a half an hour," he snarled.

"She told me she would call you and…" Barbara's voice trailed off. "Oh, dear."

"What?" His voice cracked with fury. "She left? Alone? You're kidding me. Where the f*ck did she go?"

Barbara bristled. "Don't you dare use that language—"

"Just tell me, Barbara. Tell me now."

The desperate urgency in his voice made the color drain from her face. "She got a call," she said faintly. "From the museum where she used to work, for a lunch meeting, and then—"

"And then?" he prompted.

"Then she has to meet with that Mueller fellow. She told me she was going to call you. She took a cab to her apartment so she could change. She left almost a half hour ago. She's probably home already."

He bolted for his car. The screen door burst open and Barbara scurried after him. "Connor, I insist that you tell me what's going on!"

He wrenched his car door open. "Billy Vega was murdered this morning, before I ever had a chance to find him or talk to him. Strange, huh?"

Barbara's face went gray beneath her makeup. "Go," she said. "Hurry."

He ran lights, swerved in and out of lanes, screamed obscenities at slow motorists, but his most aggressive driving was nothing pitted against weekday Seattle traffic. He called her apartment while trapped at an interminable red light, and the machine picked up. "Erin, it's Connor. Pick up if you're there, please."

He waited, crossing his fingers. Nothing.

"Look, I just found out that Billy Vega's been killed," he went on. "I'm really wishing you hadn't broken your promise and left your mom's house. What were you thinking? Please pick up, Erin." The light went green. He dropped the phone and accelerated through it.

He double-parked, and took the stairs at the Kinsdale three at a time. No response to his knock. He used his ATM card again.

Erin was gone. The Mueller report was gone. Her perfume scented the air. She'd taken the time to make her bed, do her dishes, pick up her scattered clothes, feed her cat, and he'd still missed her. By so little that the animal was still crouched over its bowl, tail twitching for joy.

She had taken none of the items he had tagged with beacons, not even the goddamn organizer. He wanted to howl like a wolf, to break things, punch walls, smash furniture. He'd thought that she trusted him. He was bewildered, after the perfection of last night, that she would turn on him and disappear, with no warning, no explanation.

A sucker punch, right to the solar plexus.

He fished the phone number out of his freak memory, and dialed.

"Hello, you have reached the mobile number of the administrative offices of the Quicksilver Foundation," said Tamara Julian's melodious recorded voice. "Please leave us the date, time, and purpose of your call, and we will get back to you as soon as possible. Have a lovely day."

He grabbed the phone book and looked up the Huppert, wading through the voice mail menu until he heard the name Lydia.

"Lydia's out of the office right now," the secretary told him.

"I urgently need to get in touch with her," he said. "I know she has a lunch meeting. Do you know what restaurant? I could call her there."

"I'm sorry, I can't," the woman said. "I didn't make that reservation. She made it herself last night. I have no idea where they are.'"

He muttered an ungracious thanks, and slammed the phone down.

He ran down the stairs to let off steam, even though he had no place to run to. He tried throwing out the net for a pattern, a clue, any sort of jumping-off place, but his mind had to be soft and relaxed for that trick to work. This hurt was too sharp. It sank into his mind like claws, stabbing and rending, making him wild-eyed and stupid.

A door swung on the ground floor as he passed. An elderly lady with a shriveled apple-doll face and a lavender-tinted helmet of white curls peered out at him. "You're the fellow who's keeping company with that nice young lady on the sixth floor, eh?"

He stopped in his tracks. "Did you see her leave?"

"I see everything," the old lady said triumphantly. "She took a cab. Came in a cab, went away in a cab. Must've come into some money, because ever since her car got repossessed, she's been taking the bus."

"Was it a yellow cab? Or a private car service?"

The old lady cackled at his desperation. "Oh, it was a yellow cab. No telling where she's gone, no telling at all." Her voice was a singsong taunt. "You're just going to have to sit that fine tight tush of yours down and wait for her. Young folks these days don't know the meaning of patience. The more she makes you wait, the better off you'll both be."