The Night Bird (Frost Easton #1)(56)

It was the last face she wanted to see, but it didn’t surprise her at all.

“Jason!” Frankie called. When the bedroom door over her head stayed closed, she called again impatiently. “Jason!”

Finally, her husband opened the door and came to the loft railing, which he grabbed with both hands. He was still dressed. His face was angry, but his anger dissolved as he looked past Frankie to the familiar face frozen on the fifty-five-inch television screen.

“What is that?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“I found him,” Frankie replied. “It’s Darren Newman. You were right. He’s part of whatever’s going on.”





28


Frost checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time. By ten thirty, Lucy still hadn’t arrived at Alembic.

He kept an eye on the front window, where he could see the night lights of Haight Street. His phone was on the bar in front of him, and every time it lit up, he expected a text or call from Lucy, but she was off the grid. He heard from Duane. Herb. Jess. But nothing from Lucy.

A finger of worry stroked his neck. He texted her again. It’s Frost. I’m at Alembic. Everything okay?

The message didn’t get delivered. When he dialed her number, the call went to voice mail. Her phone was off. He left another message and then drummed his palm on the bar impatiently. He peered through the crowd, expecting to see her face. She’d see him, she’d smile, she’d wave. Everything would be fine.

But it wasn’t fine.

At ten forty-five, he left. He walked two blocks back to where he’d parked his Suburban. When he got inside, he headed east on Haight. Lucy’s apartment was twenty blocks away, and he cut across the city, past the wild neighborhoods of Tibetan craft shops, piercing salons, and drag fashion boutiques. He parked in front of a vacant lot opposite her apartment building. Traffic was heavy, and he ducked across the street between cars. At the gated security door, he pushed the buzzer for Lucy’s apartment. No one answered. She wasn’t home.

He noticed lights in the apartment above his head, so he pushed the bell to get their attention. An older woman in a paisley dress and slippers stepped out onto the balcony above him. He held up his badge, and she buzzed him through the gate into the building. Inside, the stairwell was musty. He jogged four flights to Lucy’s door, and when he knocked hard, the door eased inward with a quiet click. It wasn’t latched.

The apartment was dark, except for the streetlights from the window overlooking Haight.

He called out. “Lucy?”

He switched on the overhead light. The studio apartment was just as he remembered. Nothing looked disturbed. The room smelled of pine cleaner, and most of the clutter from the floor was gone. He saw a magenta dress stretched neatly across Lucy’s bed, and next to it was a matching pair of two-inch heels. That was what she’d planned to wear to Alembic, but she never put it on.

Frost spotted Lucy’s purse on the kitchen table. When he checked it, he found her wallet inside and her apartment keys. He felt a pounding in his head, but he pushed it aside to concentrate on what was in front of him. This was no time for emotion. Work the case.

He remembered their last conversation.

What are you doing now?

Taking out the garbage.

She’d had her phone with her, but he didn’t see her phone inside the apartment. She never came back. He took her purse and locked the door behind him as he left. He took the steps back to the ground floor and followed the hallway to a locked door at the back of the building. Outside, he found himself in a narrow alley.

A streetlight halfway down the block cast a dim glow. The cold wind blew into his face. He saw a black garbage bag hanging down the side of a trash bin ten feet away. Debris littered the pavement near his shoes. The pages of an old copy of Cosmopolitan magazine flapped in the breeze, and Frost bent down and picked it up.

He checked the mailing label. The magazine was addressed to Brynn Lansing.

Frost slammed his fist against the stone wall of the apartment building so hard that he thought he broke a bone. He knew exactly what had happened.

The Night Bird had taken her.



“Luuuucy. Luuuucy.”

Lucy heard the voice calling her back to the bridge, but she didn’t want to go. Wherever she was now, she could simply drift along in dreams. Frost was there, and they were kissing. She could taste him on her lips as if it were real. They were in a park, alone on the green grass, and the sun beat down, warming them. She smelled honeysuckle and heard the rumble of ocean waves.

“Luuuucy.”

She didn’t want to go back, but the voice was irresistible. It chased away her dreams. The fog of her memory cleared, and she knew what to expect next. The music. When the music began, she went to the bridge. As much as she tried to hold it back, as much as she wanted to stay away, the music carried her, like a hawk snatching a bird out of the sky.

The voice taunted her. “The ground, the ground, it’s so far down.”

“Please, no,” she murmured in her head, but she made no actual sound. She stared into whiteness around her. She heard only her own breathing, coming faster as she waited for the music. Her skin was damp with sweat.

“Better not fall, better not fall!”

“Oh, no, no, no, not that. Not again.”

She stood frozen in place, alone among nothingness. She couldn’t go back to the bridge, but she had no choice. The music exploded like fireworks in her brain. It filled the room, filled her mind—loud and wild. The beat of the song thumped so heavily in her chest that she could barely take a breath. The whiteness of the room dissolved from her eyes.