Find Her (Detective D.D. Warren #8)(47)

“Maybe. But I’ve never seen Flora at the house.”

D.D. frowned. “She was following the Summers case. Closely.” She shot Keynes a look. He didn’t deny it.

Again, Pam shrugged.

“Could she have talked to them by phone?” D.D. asked.

“Possible. They never mentioned it, but Colin, especially, isn’t one to share. Why are you so sure she had contact with them?”

“Colin, when he called this morning. He asked directly if Flora had been the one to kill Devon Goulding, which was a pretty big conversational leap. Furthermore, when I pressed him about Flora, he immediately became evasive. I would swear he must know her, if only from what he wasn’t willing to say.”

“I never saw her at the house,” Pam considered out loud. “And Pauline never mentioned anything to me, but it’s possible Flora met with Colin at his office.”

“Why meet with him and not Pauline? Talk to the father but not the mother?” D.D. asked.

“I might know the answer to that,” Keynes spoke up abruptly. He was relaxed back in his own chair, fingers now clasped on the table.

“By all means,” D.D. indicated.

He turned his gaze to his fellow victim advocate. “According to your assessment of the family dynamics, Pauline, the mother, functions as the heart of the family—the emotional epicenter.”

“True.”

“While the father, Colin, he’s the brains and the brawn. He’s focused on tactics, strategies, anything to ensure his daughter’s safe return.”

“Alpha male,” Pam agreed.

“Flora isn’t interested in emotions. She’s not comfortable with them. Tactics, on the other hand, getting things done . . .”

At that moment, D.D. got it, knew exactly where Keynes was leading.

“Colin Summers didn’t hire a private investigator to find his daughter,” she said.

Keynes shook his head. “No. Chances are, he hired Flora instead.”





Chapter 21


ARE YOU IN PAIN RIGHT NOW? Do your joints ache, your fingers burn? Does your skull throb? No? Then you’re fine.

Are you thirsty right now? Doubled over with hunger pangs, licking at your own skin just to have something to taste? No? Then you’re okay.

Are you freezing right now? Or maybe overheated, with sweat streaming down your face? Feeling either stifling hot or bone-cracking cold? Not yet? Then you’ve got nothing to complain about.

Are you lonely right now? Terrified or frightened or overwhelmed by the dark? Are you thinking that if he left right now, never came back, there would be nothing you could do? You would be stuck here. You would die here, all alone. And your mother would never know, never even get to bury your body. Just as he has threatened, promised, time and time again.

No?

Then you’re fine.

Listen to me. Believe me. Trust in me. I know what I’m talking about.

I’m comfortable. I’m not in pain or hungry or cold or hot or frightened. I need nothing. I want nothing.

I am fine.

Locked alone in the dark, I’m perfectly all right.


*

WHEN I WAKE UP AGAIN, I’m immediately aware of a change to the room. Food. The smell of roasted chicken wafts toward me through the dense black. And the scent of something hot and savory. Gravy, dressing, mashed potatoes? Maybe all three? My stomach growls immediately, and despite my best intentions, I start to salivate.

I still can’t see. I remain alone in a sea of night. Not even a sliver of light to illuminate the frame of a doorway. But the smell is strong and fresh. Definitely, there’s food somewhere in the room.

I sit up gingerly, feeling around with my fingertips. The last thing I want to do is knock over a plate of sustenance and waste this unexpected offering. I still have no sense of time or rhythm in this sensory-deprivation chamber. Does a chicken platter mean it’s dinnertime? Of the day I was taken or later?

And does this mean I’m entitled to food, three hots and a cot, as the saying goes? Or is this yet one more experiment being conducted by Evil Kidnapper? First, to explore my reaction to a cheap pine coffin. Now, to witness the animal in the zoo at feeding time.

Had he read my case file? Maybe he’s one of the crime junkies who followed my case in the news? A fan of sorts who heard about a girl who was kidnapped and held in a pine box. Except, instead of being horrified that such a thing could happen . . . it struck a nerve. Unlocked a deep dark fantasy he never even he knew he had.

Such guys exist. After I returned home, I received letters from several of them, turned on by all the lurid details of my captivity. I even received a marriage proposal.

Because Jacob Ness isn’t the only monster out there, and yes, they take an interest in one another’s work.

I remind myself I’m not interested in motives yet. Just tangibles. And the scent of chicken could promise more than just food. What about a ceramic plate? Or, better yet, a cutting knife?

I move slowly off the mattress, dropping to my knees, as my tethering chain rattles behind me. It irks me to crawl on the floor. I’m nearly positive he must watch through the one-way glass, wearing night-vision goggles to penetrate the gloom. Because, again, why go to all this trouble if not to enjoy the spectacle? Most likely he waited till I’d dozed off, then opened the door I haven’t found yet, delivered the food, then exited in time to take in the show. I hate the idea of some person, some faceless, nameless freak, watching me crawl. But tripping over the dinner offering would be worse, so forward I go, bound hands in front of me, chain rattling behind me as I inchworm forth.