Gone (Deadly Secrets #2)(89)

Raegan’s heart cinched down hard. No, she wouldn’t believe that. She knew Alec had been upset last night when the FBI had dug up those remains, but he’d told her he didn’t want to drink. He’d told her he’d never spiral back to that dark place he’d been in before.

Except . . . he’d also told her that every day was a struggle and that he would always be an addict. And he hadn’t come home last night. Swallowing hard, she realized that he could have very well gone to that bar. He could have been drinking. He could be drunk right now.

Her pulse beat hard, picking up speed until it was a roar in her ears, but not because she was afraid of where he was or what he could be doing right this minute. It raced because she loved him, for better or worse. That’s what she’d said. That’s what she’d meant. She wasn’t going to walk away from him now or ever. And she wouldn’t let him push her away again either.

She met Miriam Kasdan’s emotionless stare with very focused eyes. “I don’t care.”

“Well, I do.” The older woman’s jaw tightened, and for the first time since she’d admitted to her horrendous crimes, Raegan saw a glimmer of anger. “I’ve thoroughly vetted each family. No parents addicted to any kind of vices will ever be approved for relocation. You might turn a blind eye to the reality that your ex-husband is a stinking drunk, but I won’t. If you want this new start with your daughter, Ms. Devereaux, you’ll have to take it without him. Choose now.”

Raegan’s mind skipped with what-ifs. But before the first even registered, she found her answer in the other woman’s steely gaze.

There was no choice. Miriam Kasdan was never going to take Raegan to Emma. She was going to con Raegan into leaving this mansion with her, and then she was going to get rid of Raegan, probably the same way she’d gotten rid of Conner Murray.

Instinct curled in her belly. An instinct that made her abandon any plan of running and told her she was dead if she tried to leave this room. An instinct that also told her the answer to her daughter’s whereabouts could be found here. In Miriam Kasdan’s personal office where the woman flaunted her trophies of children stolen and sold.

“Okay.”

The older woman lifted her perfectly threaded brows.

Raegan nodded. “I’ll go with you. I need my Emma. That’s all that matters.”

“More than your husband?”

“Yes. More than . . . Alec,” she lied. “If he was in a bar today, I’ve already lost him. I can’t lose Emma again.”

Miriam Kasdan studied Raegan speculatively, then slowly nodded. “Wise choice. Follow me. My associate is waiting to take you to your daughter.”

Raegan waited until the woman’s back was turned, then she reached for the lamp from the edge of the desk and jerked the cord from the wall.

“What on ear—”

Miriam Kasdan only made it halfway back around before Raegan slammed the base of the lamp into the side of her head. The older woman’s body sailed sideways, hit the doorjamb, and slumped to the ground.

Raegan’s head came up, and she stilled, listening for the secretary or anyone who’d heard what she’d just done. When only silence met her ears, she set the broken lamp down, stepped over Kasdan’s limp legs, and grasped the woman by the arms to pull her all the way into the room.

Her hands shook as she dropped the motionless woman on the floor behind the desk, stepped over her once more to pull the office door closed, and locked it. No guilt consumed her as she checked Kasdan’s pulse. Death was too simple for this woman. Raegan wanted her to suffer. In prison for the rest of her life, surrounded by all the same unsavory people she believed didn’t deserve a child. Finding the woman’s pulse slow but steady, she rose and scanned the office for a phone but couldn’t see one.

Damn. Hers was in her car. She didn’t have time to look for a phone. She only had minutes before someone came looking for the bitch.

She yanked drawers in the desk open one by one, knowing there had to be files somewhere. All she found was computer cords, pens, cardstock, and a small key.

Shoving the last drawer closed, she looked around again. Fear grabbed hold of her throat and squeezed. There were no file cabinets in the room. There was no computer. Only the desk, sitting area, the fireplace, and a row of shelves. No place even to store files.

Her stomach twisted as she zeroed in on the shelves. Moving quickly across the room, she scanned titles. Most of the books were paperbacks. Romance novels. Mysteries. Not classic leather tomes like the ones she’d seen in the library. These, obviously, were Miriam Kasdan’s personal books. Lifting her hand, Raegan pulled a stack from the shelf and flipped through each one.

Just normal, publisher-produced paperbacks. No notes crammed inside, no photos, nothing.

Dropping them on the floor, she reached for another stack. And another. In a matter of minutes she had the entire shelving unit stripped of books. Stepping back, her hands shaking from defeat, she stared at the empty bookcase. And realized . . .

The section of shelving three rows up on the right looked different from the others.

She jerked forward and narrowed her gaze on the wood one shade darker than the rest of the unit. Lifting her hand, she ran her fingers over the back until they passed over a keyhole. One you’d never find unless you knew it was there because it was camouflaged to look like the rest of the wood.