Wherever She Goes(68)

If Kim took something incriminating, she thought it’d be insurance. What she would have discovered is that Denis Zima would happily kidnap his own son and use him to get what she stole. Then he’d keep the boy and kill Kim.

That means whoever is holding Brandon might want the same thing: Kim’s insurance policy. And if they don’t get it? We’re not talking about a father taking his child. We’re talking about a bargaining chip that will lose its value once no payoff appears.

This must go to Laila Jackson and the police. Once I get away from here, I’m pulling over and calling her. I’m thinking this as I climb in the car, having not said a word to Ellie since we left Beth Kenner’s. I’m about to tell her when I’m idling at a four-way stop and see the driver in the vehicle across from us.

It’s the man who accosted me Sunday night.

Hugh Orbec.

There’s a moment, of course, where I think I’m wrong. I catch a glimpse of a man who resembles him, driving a Dodge Charger, and I think I’m mistaken. Then he looks over—not at me, just a casual glance toward my vehicle as I pass—and there is no question.

That’s Hugh Orbec . . . and he’s heading in the direction I just came.

Toward Beth Kenner’s house.

At first, I’m sure he’s followed me. But that makes no sense considering he drove right past. Even if he knows what I drive, this isn’t my car—Paul insisted we switch vehicles after the storage locker, giving me an extra layer of privacy.

If I’ve led Orbec to Beth Kenner, it’s not physically, but in another way—he’s following my virtual footsteps or tapping my phones or he’s arrived at the same conclusion independent of me. He’s been doing amateur detective work of his own, and he thinks Brandon is with Beth.

How Orbec got here doesn’t matter. The important thing is where he’s going—to the home of a retired woman who lives alone, who tried to help a young woman in need, and is now going to suffer for it. If Orbec thinks Beth has Brandon, he’s not going to take “Sorry, you’re mistaken” for an answer.

I watch as Orbec turns the corner behind me. Then I stop at the curb and throw open my door, startling Ellie from her own thoughts.

“Take the car,” I say. “Drive to . . . to a coffee shop. The first one you see. Text me the address.”

“What—?”

“I just saw one of Denis’s men heading for Beth’s. They think she has Brandon.”

Ellie’s mouth opens in an O, her eyes widening. “Shouldn’t I come with you?”

I shake my head. “I’ve got this. You get someplace safe.” I want to tell her to call Laila. Call Paul. Call someone and tell them where I am. But I don’t have time to explain. I have my phone. I can text her as soon as I get a second. And if I don’t get one? Ellie knows where I went and why. Good enough.





Chapter Thirty-Three





I call Beth. She gave us her number but warned she no longer carries her cell phone around, now that she’s retired. It rings three times. Then her cheerful voice invites me to leave a message. As I ask her to call back, I remember she’d been reading on the back deck when we arrived, and I curse under my breath.

I remind myself that she hadn’t been quick to open the door for us. She only did so when she saw Ellie. This isn’t a naive senior citizen—she was a social worker, and she knows to be cautious. That won’t help, though, if Orbec forces his way in. Or if he surprises her in the rear yard.

I zip to the street behind hers. I can’t see her yard from there, not with privacy fences and hedges everywhere.

I sprint down three houses. The driveway behind Beth’s is empty, the house dark. I race into the yard. There’s a six-foot fence between that yard and Beth’s. I hop onto the lower rail and peek over.

She’s not on her deck.

I’m about to hop the fence when my phone rings. It’s Beth. I jump into her yard and then spot her at the kitchen window, phone to her ear. I answer as I cross the yard.

“One of Denis Zima’s men is here,” I say.

“Here?”

“I think so. Is your front door locked?”

“Of course.”

She spots me as I hop onto her deck. She opens the door for me and starts stepping out, but I wave her back inside and follow. I go straight to the front door and double-check it. Both the dead bolt and key lock are engaged.

“We can leave out the back,” I say. “I’ll call Ellie and have her pick us up.”

“If you’re suggesting I hop that fence, I’m not your age,” she says. “I don’t even think I could climb it.” She looks around. “Do we need to leave? I’d feel better staying here and dealing with it.”

“This isn’t the sort of person you can deal with.”

She smiles at me, the kind of smile you give a very sweet but misguided child. “I was a social worker for forty years. I’ve talked drug dealers into putting down their guns. I’ve talked homicidal fathers into handing me their children. I can get rid of him, dear. He’ll walk away and rethink his strategy, and while he does that, we’ll contact the police.”

“Okay. But we can’t let him see me. Can you pull the front blinds?”