Exposure (28 page)

“You knew who she was?”

He smirked. “I know everything about your life, Tammy. I know you were a sick little girl in Atlantic City. So ill your father was willing to rob a bank to help you get well.”

Kaycee couldn’t reply. She couldn’t remember being sick.

“For twenty-six years to this very month I’ve hunted you and your mother. She was good at hiding. Kept on the move. I’d nearly given up — and then you started writing your columns. Spilling all the details of the paranoia you learned from Monica Raye. Oh, the stories you told of constantly moving as a child, friends forever left behind. No relatives. Her untimely death. The circumstances seemed right, your age was right. I looked up your picture” — he smiled a chilling smile — “and then I knew. It was too late to catch Lorraine Giordano. But I could catch
you.
”

The well water swirled and eddied. Any more from this man and Kaycee would fall in and drown. Her mother, always watching, flicking glances in the rearview mirror. She hadn’t been sick. She’d had a
reason
.

“I’m sorry for passing it on to you
,
Kaycee. I tried to make a better life for you.”

Kaycee thrust her fingers into her scalp. Her chest sagged.

“Tell me where the money is.” Rodney pushed his thumb against the base of her neck.

“What money?”

“The seven million! Your mother stole it from me.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“She took it, Tammy. Remember? You were with her. She fled Atlantic City that night.”

“My mother would never steal from anybody!”

“She did it to get me back for killing your father. Left me as good as dead.”

“I — ”

“Where’d she hide it?”

Kaycee emitted a bitter laugh. He’d tortured her with memories, killed two policemen, kidnapped Hannah — for this ridiculous story? “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Rodney jumped up and grabbed her arms. Yanked her to her feet. His face flushed deep red, his eyes specks of coal. “Don’t you laugh, don’t you
dare
laugh.” He pushed her backward and slammed her against a wall. Breath gushed from her throat. “You have no idea what I lost. I chased your mother that night — and could never go back. I lost my home, my family. My
life
.” He snarled at Kaycee, his voice like flint. “She chose to run, but Joel “Nico” Nicorelli didn’t. For twenty-six years I’ve looked over my shoulder. You know what it’s like to hide from La Cosa Nostra, Tammy? I had to change my name, my accent, the way I walked. I had to become somebody else, inside and out. You owe me. So you tell me where that money is, or Hannah will never leave here.”

“If she took the money, she spent it.”

“I’ve read every column you’ve written. You and your mother lived simply.”

It was true. Kaycee’s mouth snapped shut.

“You’ll remember! I’ve made you remember everything else.” Rodney jerked her from the wall and into the kitchen. “Here.” He rammed her against a cabinet, then flipped her around. “Open it.”

Kaycee lifted a shaking arm. Her fingers slipped off the handle. She tried again. The door creaked open.

Inside sat a tattered brown teddy bear. The sight sent her reeling.

Belinda
.

Heat flooded Kaycee. Why had she thought that name? She shrank from the stuffed animal, then toward it, her hand lifting it out. She pressed its softness against her chest. Terror and comfort and joy and grief sloshed inside the well, spilling new memories over the top.

“I want Belinda!”

“We’ll get her
,
we’ll get her.”

Rodney whipped Kaycee to face him. “You dropped it. That night.”

Her throat swelled shut. She couldn’t breathe. This man’s story was for real.

“Where’d you go after that?”

Kaycee shook her head.

“You know! Your mother drove a big Ford van. Close your eyes, see it. Did you drive all night? Did she unload those boxes on the way to some new town?”

“I — I don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I
don’t
.”

Rodney’s teeth clenched. “I will
make
you remember.”

He dragged her away from the cabinets, toward the closed-off room. Belinda slipped from her hands. She heard Hannah crying. At the door Rodney held on to both of her wrists with one hand and shoved his other into a pocket. He brought out a key and unlocked the door. Flung it open.

Hannah sat on a bare mattressed bed, her face tear-stained and eyes puffy. She wore the long-sleeved blue shirt Kaycee remembered, a sweatshirt wadded and thrown into one corner. The knees of her jeans were torn, a dark red scrape across one palm.

Kaycee fought against Rodney’s strong grasp. “Hannah — ”

“Shut up, Tammy.” He pulled her into the room and scowled a look at the girl. “Get out.”

Hannah’s eyes widened in terror.

“Get out!”

She limp-ran from the bedroom.

One corner of the room thrust inward about four feet square, with a door. Rodney smacked a wall switch, and the bare bulb overhead snapped off. He shut the bedroom door. Instant darkness fell, softened only by light filtering underneath. He hauled Kaycee toward the walled off corner and threw its door open.

She couldn’t see it, but she knew. A closet.

“No!” Kaycee’s lungs congealed. She would die in there. Her legs tried to pedal backwards, her arms wrenching free and flailing wild punches at Rodney. He ducked and caught them again. “A closet, Tammy. Just like the one you and your mother hid in. Your mind is ripe now. In there, you’ll remember. When you do, I’ll let you out.”

“No,
please
, don’t make me — ”

Rodney threw her inside and slammed the door. Kaycee thudded against the back wall and collapsed in darkness.

The unseen walls closed in. White-hot claustrophobia clawed Kaycee’s throat. Her mouth sagged open, air stutter-creaking down her windpipe. Not enough, never enough. She was going to
die
.

Kaycee threw herself forward, hands scrabbling for the door. Her fingers bumped over the frame, seeking a knob.

Nothing. Just bare wood.

Kaycee kicked it. Beat her fists against it. “Lemme
out
!” The small of her back caved in, pushing her stomach up against her lungs. No room to breathe, no oxygen in the air. She keened like a mad woman and flung herself against the door. “Lemme oooutt!”

She gasped and gulped, kicked and pummeled, her limbs out of control, mind shrieking. For how long she didn’t know, only that it lasted a lifetime. Each second she would surely suffocate. Each second she didn’t, only for her terror to swell. Her torso shrank, her hands and legs shortening. Kaycee’s cries rose in pitch like a little girl’s. “Lemme go! Mommeeee!”

Kaycee screamed until her throat was raw. Beat until her fists throbbed. Her chest swelled and shrank like creaking billows. Her side ached. Still she yelled and begged and pounded until her energy waned. Her beating fists slowed, her legs too heavy to kick. In her brain the fear shrieked on, but her limbs lost their ability to fight.

Kaycee sank to the floor, groaning.

A distant sound filtered to her ears. She raised her head. A child crying.

Hannah
.

The panic beat back, a receding wave on battered shore. Kaycee leaned her head against the wall, trapped and helpless. A new, bright terror arose. If she died in here, no one could save Hannah.

From far away and days gone by came Tricia’s voice.
“You have to pray every day. You have to pray against the fear.”

Both hands fisted and pressed against Kaycee’s face. For the first time in her life she fully understood what Tricia meant. Asking for God’s help here, now, was the only thing she had left.

“Please, God,
please.
Save me and Hannah.”

Mark.

Kaycee pictured his face, heard his voice.
“When this is over
,
I’m taking you out.”

She folded over and sobbed.

Minutes ticked by, long and black. Hot. The well memories swelled. Fresh terror fluttered wings against Kaycee’s chest.

No.
No.

She listened. Silence drummed in her ears. Where was Hannah? What was Rodney doing to her? Kaycee held her breath, straining to hear.

She had to get
out
of here.

Not until she remembered . . .

Could she?

Kaycee blinked at the blackness, willing herself to focus on that night. Losing Belinda. Crying for her bear . . .

The well water shifted — and she saw her mother at the wheel of the van, back ramrod straight.

Yes
,
yes
,
come on!

Little Tammy’s eyes drooped with sleep. Her head lolled against the passenger seat . . . and the memory faded.

Kaycee fought to get it back. It wouldn’t come.

Where had they gone that night? Kaycee’s first memory of a specific town wasn’t until she started kindergarten at five and a half. Maybe they wandered like gypsies till then. How terrified she must have been as a four-year-old without a home, with a new name. What her mother must have done to chase the memories from her head.

“She stole that money to get back at me . . .”

“I tried to make a better life for you . . .”

Kaycee shifted her legs — and new fear fibrillated her limbs. She clamped her jaw. In another minute the claustrophobia would come rushing back. This time it would kill her. She focused hard on remembering, but nothing more came. Only a dark hole where her early childhood had been.

Why should Rodney believe she would ever remember where the money was? Even if she could conjure the scene in her mind, after all these years she may not be able to name the place. The man was crazy. As obsessed with the millions as she’d become with her own fears —

A trapdoor opened in Kaycee’s stomach. The walls closed in. New panic surged up her spine. Kaycee shoved to her feet and hurtled herself against a wall. A second time, a third.

Deep in her brain a voice shouted no, no! She had to save Hannah.

Kaycee gulped two deep breaths and kicked what she thought was the door.

“Rodney! Nico! I remember!”

Silence.

“Nico!”

Muffled noise. Footsteps approached. Light filtered in from beneath the door. Kaycee fixed upon it as if she’d never seen such a blessed sight. But now she saw the closet walls, the closed space. Her chest burst open —

A metal sound. The lock clicked and the door flung back. Light bounced into Kaycee’s eyes. She squinted, one hand flinging up.

Rodney looked her up and down with contempt. She could imagine her splotchy face, the wild curls. This man detested her for her fears.

Kaycee pushed hair off her cheeks, chest heaving. She
had
to get hold of herself. Center.

“Where is it?” he demanded.

Such arrogance on his face. Kaycee swallowed. “Not till I see Hannah.”

Rodney’s jaw flexed. He turned his head slightly toward the door, gaze fixed on Kaycee. “Hey! Come here!”

Timid steps. Hannah edged across the threshold, her face pale and chin tucked in. Kaycee’s heart leapt. “Hannah, you okay?”

The girl’s gaze cut to Rodney as if seeking permission to speak. He broke eye contact with Kaycee and glowered at Hannah. Her head shrank down between her shoulders.

Anger at her victimization exploded in Kaycee. She barreled out of the closet and into Rodney’s chest.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing. His hand caught Kaycee’s wrist. One thing about fear and rage — they knew how to shoot adrenaline. She plowed the man back with all her might. He tripped, floundered sideways, and fell, pulling her down with him.

Hannah screamed. Kaycee heard other screaming — and realized it was her own.

She thrust up on one knee and threw a wild punch at Rodney’s face. His nose crunched. Blood spurted on her hands. He cried out in fury, slapped both hands against her shoulders, and pushed. She tumbled off. Her temple thudded against the floor.

Rodney sprang up, blood running down his mouth, his chin. He hulked around to face her, right hand shoved under his T-shirt for his gun.

Kaycee shook her head hard to clear it. Rodney’s fingers grazed the top of his weapon. She rocked back on her spine, drew up both legs like a spring-load, and shot her heels straight into his left knee. It snapped backward. He yelled and collapsed.

Strength borne of terror pushed Kaycee to her feet. Pain scrunched Rodney’s face, his eyes murderous. He would kill her now, forget the money. Or make her watch while he shot Hannah. For an eternal second she hovered, not knowing what to do. Rodney’s uninjured leg dug against the floor, scuttling him around to face her in a jagged half circle. Both hands fumbled for his weapon. Blood smeared down his cheek, over the wood. The smell rose in Kaycee’s nostrils. Her stomach flipped. In her mind she saw her daddy’s frozen, bullet-holed face, his blood streaked against dark yellow . . .