Hush (28 page)

“You're just trying to distract me, aren't you?” Remembering the comment about her snoring, which had come right on the heels of the morning's first alarmed thought of Emma, and, with more reluctance, last night's incendiary kiss, she was sure of it. She eyed him crossly. “Stop doing that. I'm not five years old.”

“Worrying yourself sick isn't going to do Emma any good,” Finn said, in a tacit admission that she was right. By underlining that he could tell when she was thinking of Emma, it was also an admission that he was far too good at reading her, which she made a mental note to remember. “At this point the people who took her don't have any reason to hurt her, and we've got the best agents in the world pulling out all the stops to find her. I need you to focus on what you're supposed to do.”

“Get George to tell me where the money is.” Her voice was flat.

“That's it.” Pulling his zipped and apparently packed suitcase out of the closet, he said, “You got everything? We need to go.”

Her purse hung from her shoulder. She picked up her phone, which was on the table beside the bed. She'd brought nothing else.

“Yes.” As she followed him to the door and, when he opened it, preceded him through it, she absorbed the significance of his packed bag. “You're not planning to come back here?”

“Don't know.” They walked to the elevator. “I'll have to see how things work out. We'll stop by Margaret's house, then head for Stringtown and—”

The elevator arrived, interrupting. There were other people in it, and more in the lobby partaking of the free breakfast. The buzz of conversation, of activity, filled the air along with the scent of bacon and toast.

Finn nodded at the buffet. “How about we grab a coffee and a couple of doughnuts to go?”

Riley was too tense to be hungry. She was already thinking ahead to how she would tell Margaret about Emma, and the knot in her stomach multiplied by about ten. But she nodded. If they didn't get something to eat here, she had little doubt that Finn would stop at a drive-thru on the way.

She could understand. He was a big guy. He needed food. Didn't mean she had to participate.

A few minutes later, armed with coffee and, in Finn's case, a couple of chocolate-covered doughnuts, they were in the car pulling onto the expressway. Traffic was already heavy. An anxious glance at the clock reassured her: there was still plenty of time before Margaret got up.

“How is this going to work, exactly?” Riley asked, watching as Finn, with one hand on the wheel, demolished his second doughnut in maybe three bites, then took a gulp of coffee. As much as she needed the caffeine, she'd taken a couple of sips of her own coffee and put it back into the cup holder. Her stomach
was rebelling against even that small amount of liquid. “I'd rather you didn't go in with me. I'd like to talk to Margaret in private.”

“I wasn't going to go in with you. The less you're seen with me, the better.” He chugged more coffee. “It's possible that whoever is holding Emma is watching Margaret's house, although the team on that is reporting no evidence of surveillance. But I'd rather not take the chance.”

Riley shivered inwardly at the idea of what her being spotted in Finn's company might mean for Emma. But without him, she was positive that Emma's chances would be far worse.

You did the smartest thing. . . .
She knew it, but still she couldn't help feeling afraid.

Stay cool
.

She said, “You have a team watching Margaret's house?”

“At this point, we have a team watching everything.”

Riley wasn't sure how she felt about that. But she was for whatever it took to get Emma back and keep Margaret safe.

It just means I have to be extra careful.

“While you're in there, pack a bag.” Gulping coffee, Finn glanced in the rearview mirror, then changed lanes. “You'll be gone overnight at least.”

Riley hadn't thought of that.

“I can't leave Margaret alone tonight,” she protested. In fact, leaving Margaret alone to go with Finn immediately after breaking the news of Emma's kidnapping struck Riley as a really bad idea, too. Margaret would be distraught, to say the least.

Finn drained the last of his coffee. “Can't be helped. It's a seven-hour drive to Stringtown. No way are we making it there and back, and then you have to meet with George.”

Riley watched him put the empty cup into the holder. “I thought the FBI flew its agents all over the place.”

“Car's way more anonymous. We want to stay under the radar. I'd have to request a plane, which involves a lot more people, which means a lot bigger chance of it getting to the wrong ears.”

At the thought of what those “wrong ears” might mean for Emma, Riley felt a fluttering of panic. She instantly resigned herself to traveling by car and being gone overnight.

As they reached their exit and Finn turned down the off-ramp, Riley unsnapped and unzipped her purse, and pulled out her phone.

Braking for the red light at the intersection, Finn looked over at her. “Calling somebody?”

“Bill Stengel,” Riley said, having hit on what she considered the best solution under the circumstances. “He'll be glad to come over and stay with Margaret while I'm gone. He'll keep her calm if anybody can.”

Finn looked a question as the light changed and he drove on.

“Family lawyer,” Riley explained, already punching in Bill's number. “He and Margaret are good friends. In fact”—she broke off as the truth of what she was about to say truly hit her for the first time—“I've always thought Bill had a little crush on her. I think he'd like to be more than friends. At some point. When Margaret's ready.”

“Hmm.” Finn didn't sound particularly interested in Margaret's love life. “You planning to tell him about Emma being kidnapped?”

Riley gave a slow nod. “At least, I think Margaret will want
to. He's one of the few who's stood by her through this whole thing.” She looked worriedly at Finn. “Do you see any reason why we shouldn't tell him? He won't be able to be much help to Margaret unless he knows.”

“Not as long as you trust him to keep his mouth shut and stay the hell out of it.”

Bill's phone was already ringing. Final decision time: she nodded. “I do.”

But Bill didn't answer. Riley left him a message asking him to come to Margaret's house as soon as possible, hoping as she disconnected that she would be able to stay until he got there. Then she called in sick to both her jobs. She hated to do it, but there was no other choice.

By the time she finished, Finn was pulling into the strip mall closest to the entrance to Margaret's subdivision.

As he drove through the nearly deserted parking lot around behind the Kroger that anchored one end, Riley was surprised to see a yellow cab parked beside an overflowing dumpster.

She frowned.

Finn said, “I told you, I don't want you to be seen with me any more than necessary. If there is surveillance that we just haven't spotted yet, they'll be busting their asses trying to identify me if I drive you home.”

What felt like an icy finger ran down Riley's back. “They'll know I went to the FBI.”

“Yeah.” Finn pulled up beside the cab. “Take the taxi to Margaret's house and have him wait while you're inside. Then have him bring you back here.” At what must have been the alarmed
look on her face he added, “I'll be keeping tabs on you, don't worry. The only time you'll be out of my sight is when you're actually in the house.”

Riley took a deep breath and nodded.

He asked, “You have money?”

To pay for the cab, he meant. From that, Riley surmised it was a real cab, and not some kind of FBI plant. Probably. And not that it mattered.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He stopped the car. She was about to get out when he said, “Riley. You need to bring me Jeff's SIM card. There might be information on it that can help us find Emma.”

R
iley got out of the car without answering.

Jeff's SIM card.

Finn's tone made it clear that he was sure she had it. And that he thought she could bring it to him when she returned.

She never would have admitted to possessing it, never would have given it to him, but Emma's kidnapping had changed everything.

It was, indeed, in Margaret's house, hidden among Riley's things. Which wouldn't be hard for him to surmise, especially if he had gone through her purse looking for it and had come up empty.

She would comb the SIM card, go through everything that was on it as best she could in the limited amount of time she was going to have, delete anything she found that needed deleting, and then hand it over.

And pray that he and/or the team going over it wouldn't find anything incriminating that she missed.

Jeff might have been looking at something she didn't even know about when he was killed. Maybe there was something on there that would lead to whoever had killed him, and maybe whoever had killed him now had Emma.

The thought made Riley's breath catch. It made her go weak at the knees.

If they killed Jeff, would they . . . ?

Get a grip
.

The best and only thing she could do for Emma now was keep a cool head.

Since there was already a squad car in the driveway, the cab parked on the grassy verge in front of the house. The neighborhood was awake by this hour, with people out walking their dogs and picking up their newspapers and getting into their cars on their way to work. The sun was still only a little way above the horizon, pale in the cloudless blue sky. The heat was already oppressive. Somebody nearby was out cutting grass: the scent of fresh-mown grass and the growl of a lawn mower hung in the air. Around here, people got their outside chores done early to beat the heat.

Finn had said he would be watching her, and she had no doubt that he was, but she couldn't see him.

Conscious of what she must look like to anyone interested enough to watch her cross the yard—that would be just about everyone in sight; the Cowans were big news these days—Riley kept her head high and took long strides toward the small brick house.

She even waved at the cops in the squad car, who looked her
up and down as she passed and who, when she waved, waved abashedly back.

If there'd been a news crew around, and thank God there didn't seem to be one, she would have been expecting to have her image heading home, wearing what was clearly an evening dress on a bright, shiny Saturday morning, flashed all over the nation as a perky announcer chirped something like “Riley Cowan takes the Walk of Shame!”

Ordinarily she would have railed inwardly about her life as a tabloid headline, but she didn't have time as she entered the house and fear and dread immediately replaced annoyed embarrassment. As soon as she closed the door and the cool shadows of the living room swallowed her up, she heard faint sounds that could only be Margaret moving around at the end of the hall where the bedrooms were located. The smell of coffee was further confirmation that she had miscalculated: Margaret had been up for at least a little while.

“Emma?” Margaret called. The worry in her voice told Riley that she had discovered Emma's absence. Her voice sharpened, grew louder. “Emma?”

Riley hurried into the hallway.

She had been right: Margaret was standing in Emma's open doorway, one hand on the knob as she looked toward the top of the hall in response to the sounds of Riley's approach.

Seeing some of the tension leave Margaret's face as she spotted her killed Riley. The last thing Margaret would be expecting to hear was Riley's terrible news.

“Riley.” Margaret sounded relieved. She was wearing white slacks and a navy blouse, and Riley guessed that she'd gotten
dressed and put coffee on before checking on Emma. “Emma's not in her room.”

“I know.” Riley reached her and took Margaret's hand. It was thin but felt warm, and it returned her grip affectionately. Then Margaret's eyes flickered over her face. At what she saw there she frowned.

“Are you just now getting in?” Margaret asked.

A knot formed in Riley's chest.

“Come here,” she said, and drew Margaret into the bathroom.

“What's wrong?” Margaret's voice rose fearfully as Riley closed the door behind them, turned on the tap full blast, and then gently pushed her down on the closed toilet seat and crouched in front of her. Margaret stared at her with wide-eyed horror. “My God, what's happened?”

As gently as she could, Riley told her everything. By the time she finished, Margaret was whimpering like a wounded animal and rocking back and forth with her head in her hands. Riley's heart ached. Margaret's pain tore at her insides. She wanted to whimper herself.

Margaret's head came up. Her eyes were wild. “That money. That cursed money. It killed Jeff. Now it might kill Emma. Oh, please, I can't lose Emma, too.” The cry sounded as though it came straight from her heart.

Riley took her hands, which were cold now and trembling, and gripped them tightly. “I know. I told you what we're going to do. All you have to do is keep it together. We'll get Emma back.”

Even though she could see the older woman was in no place to hear it, Riley kept talking and walked Margaret meticulously
through her plan, going over what she intended to do until she was sure the other woman understood. She'd fine-tuned it so that Margaret was required to do nothing more than keep her mouth shut about what they'd done, because she'd known that in the aftermath of hearing about Emma, Margaret would be barely able to function.

Clearly, she'd been right.

“Are you sure we shouldn't just tell them?” Margaret's voice shook. “Just give them the money, and tell them, and be done?”