Double Vision (27 page)

A
dults were really bad at keeping secrets. So bad, in fact, Molly sometimes wondered if their hearts were really in it.

She'd listened at the door while Dr. Ramey told Mom they needed to talk to her. Lucky for Dr. Ramey that Liam wasn't home from work yet. He'd told her mom a while back that he thought it best for them to stay out of the investigation as much as they could from then on. He felt strongly that it was time for their family to move past the day at the grocery store.

Boy,
this
probably wasn't what he'd had in mind. Lots of policemen had been around this afternoon, looking for Mr. Beasley. She wouldn't mind going out and helping them look for him if they'd let her. But they wouldn't. Said she was too little. Dr. Ramey would've let her help look.

Come to think of it, Molly wondered why Dr. Ramey and the agent with her were stopping to talk to her at all, but then again, Dr. Ramey hadn't been one of the policemen out searching. Maybe Dr. Ramey was trying to track down something else. She didn't want to ask too many questions. She liked helping Dr. Ramey too much.

Now they sat in the living room, and Molly let her legs dangle off the recliner chair. One day, her feet would touch the ground, and that wouldn't be nearly as fun as swinging them.

“So how are you, Molly?” Dr. Ramey asked.

“I'm good,” Molly said, watching the glitter on her new pair of shoes glisten in the living room lights as they moved.

“I wanted to come by and check on you. See how you were doing . . .”

“That's not what you said to Mom,” Molly said. Dr. Ramey hadn't treated her like a baby before, and she wasn't about to let her now.

Dr. Ramey bit her lip, then frowned. “You're right. I shouldn't tell you something like that. You're a big girl, and you've helped us a lot. You deserve to be treated like you can handle the situation.”

Molly smiled. That was better.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Molly, I need to ask you something, and I can't tell you a lot about the question because it has to do with our case. You know how I told you before some things about the case have to stay secret, right?” Dr. Ramey asked.

“Sure,” Molly said.

“Okay, good. I just need to ask you one important thing. It might seem confusing, but you're the person I know who can help. You're really good at numbers, and I think this could tell me something I need to know.”

Molly nodded. “I'll try.”

“Okay. Sounds good,” Dr. Ramey said. “If I were to ask you the first day of the year that came to mind, what would it be?”

“Christmas Day,” Molly said without thinking.

Dr. Ramey nodded. “That's a good one. What would you tell me about that day, in numbers?”

Molly cocked her head. What a weird question.

“Um . . . twelve twenty-five. Twelve days of Christmas, which
is
twelve twenty-five, so that's funny. Twelve signs in the zodiac. Twelve knights in King Arthur's Court, but it was thirteen if you counted King Arthur, kinda like Jesus in the
Last Supper
painting . . .”

Dr. Ramey looked almost disappointed for a second, but the minute Molly tried to figure out why, the face was gone.

“What other days are special?”

“I like Halloween. Ten thirty-one,” Molly said. This time she didn't wait for Dr. Ramey to ask. She wanted her to know she caught on. “The numbers thirty-one, three hundred thirty-one, three thousand three hundred thirty-one, thirty-three thousand three hundred thirty-one, three hundred and thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-one, three million, three hundred and thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-one are all prime. Isn't that weird? Thirty-one flavors at Baskin-Robbins ice cream. Ten cents in a dime. Ten pins in bowling, ten frames in each game. My favorite thing about ten is that it comes between nine and eleven, my birthday.”

Dr. Ramey's head jerked slightly.

“Your birthday?”

“Mm-hm. Nine eleven oh-seven.”

“How old will you be on your birthday this year?”

Dr. Ramey really sounded weird now.

“Seven,” Molly answered, worried she'd said something wrong. “Dr. Ramey, are you okay?”

“Fine, Molly. Hang tight right here, okay? I need to talk to your mom a minute.”

•   •   •

J
enna nodded to Porter to stand guard in the living room. No one in this house would be alone until whoever had taken Eldred was found, so she'd leave Molly under his eye for the moment. She had to speak to Raine.

The second Molly said nine eleven oh-seven, the jungle green she associated with puzzle pieces had flashed in. She wasn't sure exactly how any of this fit into the Triple Shooter case, his obsession with threes, or his weird connection to Greek mythology, but her gut said it did.

Plus Molly was turning seven and was born in the year two thousand seven. The sevens were there, and she was supposed to be the seventh victim. Something about this added up. Jenna just had to figure out how. God, trying to put this together was making her head hurt.

In fact, this case and the way none of its colors matched up neatly gave her a downright migraine.

Raine was sitting at the top of the stairs, waiting. It seemed like a strange place to park and think, but Jenna was no one to judge. Besides, if she were Raine, she'd stand within earshot of the people talking to her daughter, too.

Jenna sat on a step a few below Raine.

“We've called Liam at his office to let him know what's going on,” she said quietly.

Raine stared at her feet, smirked. “He was thrilled, I bet.”

Jenna patted the woman's clasped hands where she was currently wringing them in her lap. “He'll be all right. We all know he wanted to keep Molly out of the middle of this for the best of reasons, but it was important we talk to her. You made the right decision.”

Raine looked up, and her eyes met Jenna's. “You think? Even if I might've put her in danger?”

Jenna took a deep breath. How could you tell a mother that her child already
was
in danger? “Raine, do you know anyone who would want to hurt Molly?”

Raine cocked her head, confused. “What?”

Jenna sighed. This wouldn't be easy.

“I'm concerned that someone tried to hurt Molly that day in the grocery store. It's hard to explain, but I think someone told the shooter to aim for her the day your mother died. I'm not sure why anyone would do that, but I need to know if you can think of anyone who might have a reason to want to harm your daughter.”

Raine stared at her, eyes blank.

Then she shook her head. “I can't imagine anyone who . . . my God! Are you sure?”

It was the most animated Jenna had seen the woman yet.

“I'm trying my hardest to learn more so I can tell you what exactly is going on, but yes, I'm fairly certain.”

Raine shook her head again, touching the gold charm on her necklace. “No, I don't know anyone who'd want to do . . . oh my God. Is she . . . are they . . . are they coming back?”

A color tried to jut in as Raine's moving fingers drew Jenna's eyes, but she pushed it back in favor of holding on to her current train of thought.

If someone had wanted to hurt Molly, they could've done it at any time since the shooting. The only thing she could figure was whoever
they
were, they didn't realize the FBI had determined that Molly was the intended victim, and so for now, had left her alone. But if they'd wanted her dead for some reason—whatever reason a person could want a child dead—they would eventually target her again.

Jenna forced herself to ignore the pesky voice in her head trying to make sense of why, if Molly was the target, they wouldn't have just gotten rid of her when they had the chance. The pain in her temple throbbed harder.

“I don't know. No one's going to leave you alone in the house while the search for Mr. Beasley is on in the neighborhood, but even after that, I'd like to station some agents outside for your family's protection. In the meantime, I need to ask you to keep this information completely confidential. No one needs to know that Molly was a target. Letting anyone know that we're aware of this could put Molly in jeopardy,” Jenna said.

Raine nodded hard, still fiddling with her necklace. “I understand.”

“If you think of anyone who might have a reason to want to hurt Molly, call me. No matter how small the information may seem,” Jenna said. So many times in these situations, the mother would be a suspect, but in this case Jenna had dismissed Raine as a potential suspect as much as Molly herself. First of all, Raine couldn't have kidnapped Eldred and be in the room with CiCi and Yancy at the same time. Second, unlike classic cases of parents wanting to be rid of their kids, the child hadn't disappeared one day at random, the parents issuing vague claims about the kidnapper's looks that could fit half the general criminal population. Molly had been shot at by a serial killer.

And third, Raine's color just didn't add up. That robin's egg blue had nothing to do with the crimes so far. And while this information wouldn't ever hold up as official evidence or in court, for Jenna it was good enough.

“I will,” Raine said.

Jenna climbed back down the stairs only to see Yancy standing at the bottom just past the curve where the foyer moved to the staircase. He'd been out looking for Eldred Beasley. Jenna hadn't seen him since they'd left this very house hours ago, when the old man was still safe and sound.

Yancy's hair was dark with sweat, his shirt damp as well. He looked so tired, but something else lingered in his eyes. Something she'd seen before. Failure?

“Heard anything else?” he asked, hopeful and resigned at the same time.

“No, unfortunately. They're going house to house asking if anyone's seen anything, but so far, no luck. Where's CiCi?” Jenna replied.

He gestured toward the door. “She's riding with Victor. He let her go along with him to drive around the neighborhood and look for places Eldred might've gotten interested in if he wandered off. I honestly think Victor's just trying to give her a way to feel like she's doing something.”

His face fell at the mention, and the salmon color she'd seen when he'd called to tell her Eldred was missing flashed in again. This time, she recognized it: holding back.

“What aren't you telling me, Yance?”

He looked down, was silent a long moment. “Let's walk. We might need some air for this.”

Y
ancy put one foot in front of the other, with every step his dread growing. How do you tell someone you love that you've screwed up something so badly they might never forgive you?

“Jenna, I can't keep this from you anymore, not just for my sake, but because of Eldred . . .”

Shit, this was hard. What would happen to Oboe if he went to prison? Jenna probably wouldn't take him. Not after his owner had been such a douchebag, screwup failure.

“Yancy, what are you talking about?”

A police car passed, one of the many out looking for CiCi's father. God, if something had happened to him . . .

“I didn't tell you everything about why I didn't want the local cops called in,” he said quickly, afraid of losing his nerve.

He couldn't tell if the sudden chill in the air had to do with the sun setting or his own nerves.

“Okay,” she said.

He walked on, the familiar thud of his leg as it clicked the pavement the only sound between them while neither spoke. Jenna hadn't even noticed the metal leg the other night in the shower when their shins hit, and he'd worried he might've ruined the moment.

The longer you don't tell her, the more you're putting Eldred at risk. Your little lies by omission and switching a few details could be the reason he's gone, cool guy.

“The husband isn't exactly what I said. She . . .”

Jenna stopped at the cross of the road that intersected with the end of the Tylers' block. “Spit it.”

Yancy glanced around. Cops everywhere, all of them capable of swooping in after he said this if she called them. But for the moment they were out of earshot.

Tell her, you coward.

“I was meeting CiCi for coffee. I know I shouldn't have gotten personally involved, but at the time, you didn't need me on this case . . . and she . . . well, I felt needed.”

Pathetic.

“When I got to her house to pick her up, someone else was there. He was threatening her. I thought it was her husband. I tried to scare him off with my gun, because he—Jenna, he was strangling her . . .”

Jenna's face darkened. “What did you do, Yance?”

His eyes stung in the breeze. “Jenna, he pulled a gun on me.”

Her hair blew in the wind, and she rubbed the chill bumps forming on her arms. He wanted to put his arm around her, but the straight line of her mouth, the attack posture, said he couldn't go to her.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

“I shot him, Jenna. Okay? I fucking shot a man,” Yancy blurted, throwing up his arms.

Tears glistened in her eyes, which were wide in disbelief and anger at the same time.

“I don't . . . I don't understand. What . . . you're still not telling me . . . something . . . God, Yancy, what the hell . . .”

“He wasn't her husband. Her husband doesn't even live with her anymore. They're separated. The guy was a pimp. That part was true. He wasn't her husband, though. She was making money on the side to support her father's medical needs, and this guy was threatening her, hassling her for the money she owed him.”

“You didn't call the cops? What the hell
did
you do?” she practically screamed.

“Jenna, I couldn't. The pimp and the people running the prostitution ring were dirty cops. That part was true. I did some digging.” He leaned in, whispered, “You know, Yancy kind of digging . . .”

Jenna nodded, still pissed. She folded her arms.

“Well, I looked into it, and she wasn't lying about that. They'd have killed her
and
me if they found out I'd killed one of their own, and . . . oh, fuck . . . I was scared they'd come after you, too. And A . . .”

Jenna's glare turned even colder. “Don't you
dare
bring Ayana into this.”

Yancy closed his eyes, unable to look into hers anymore. He turned his back, hands clasping his head. He opened his eyes again. With Jenna's disappointed expression no longer glaring at his face and instead just searing his back, he tried to steady his breathing. “I'm not just saying that, Jenna. I swear.”

“So what are you saying? He's dead, and you called no one? What did you
do
?”

The way she said it, he realized she already knew the answer. He couldn't bring himself to say the words.

“It could be them. Who took Eldred,” he said instead. “The way they came in and got out without us hearing. Cops could manage that, right?”

She said nothing.

He spun around, needing desperately to read her body language. Her gaze was fixed on her feet, and she was just shaking her head back and forth.

“I didn't tell you before, because I don't think it's likely. They wouldn't know . . . there's no way they
could
know what happened. But what if they do?”

Her head snapped back up. “Why wouldn't they know? Tell me, Yancy. Say it!”

He stared into those eyes, the ones he'd looked into in the hot, sensual shower just the night before. So loving, satisfied with him. So
his.

“I got rid of him,” he said, unable to believe he was hearing himself saying the words out loud. “They couldn't know, because I made sure no one could, damn it.”

Jenna looked back at her feet. She was quiet a long moment.

Then she stepped toward him, swift. Purposeful. Past him. Back toward Molly Keegan's house.

He moved to catch up to her, and she spun around.

“Just stay away from me right now, Yancy. Just get the fuck away.”

He watched her go, not sure what she'd do next or when he'd talk to her again. But he had no right to defy her wishes. Not anymore.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled, but he knew he was saying it only for him to hear.