Gone In The Night. Anna J. Stewart
how.
“What about Hope’s mother?” Detective MacTavish asked.
“Gemma wouldn’t have any problem letting me hang.” Max grimaced. “We aren’t the other’s favorite person. We only get along for Hope’s sake. I’ve never trusted or liked her and she knows it.”
“Why don’t you trust her?” Allie asked.
He hesitated. No need to air that bit of dirty family laundry unless absolutely necessary. “Because my brother’s worth about three-quarters of a billion dollars and she didn’t pay him much attention until he hit the Fortune 500.” Aggravation built to the point of bursting. Max had long believed Gemma had only had Hope to ensure she would be financially tied to Joe forever. “Search the house, take my prints and DNA, hunt down Gemma, set up your phones or what have you, but I need to do something. I’ve got training. I can be out there looking—”
“We need you to stay close to home for the time being,” Detective MacTavish cut him off. “At least until we can get your brother or sister-in-law back here. You being around to answer any questions we might have is exactly the kind of help we need. Beginning with any friends of Gemma who might be able to help us track her down.”
“I’ll be here if you need me,” Allie’s too-soothing voice grated on Max’s nerves.
“I don’t need you,” he spat. “I don’t need anything other than for my niece to walk through that door and prove to me this is all some horrible mistake. So take your niceties and your platitudes and put them to use somewhere else. You find my niece.” He moved in on the detective, who straightened to meet him eye-to-eye. “And you do it fast. Or I’m going to do it myself.”
It was strange, Allie thought, how time possessed a vicious will of its own. It sped up when you wanted to stretch out the memories and slowed to an agonizing crawl when all she wanted to do was push forward.
The hours that had passed since she’d sat before three terrified little girls felt like days, days she’d do anything to pretend had been a dream. Now, as she stepped inside Hope Kellan’s second-floor bedroom, the reality of the little girl’s absence hit her like an anvil.
She watched as the last member of the Sac PD’s crime scene unit snapped a metal case shut and left. The tech offered a strained, understanding smile as he did so. Never before had Allie put so much faith in the department she’d worked closely with and in the detectives heading up the case. She trusted them, absolutely and without question.
And yet...
Allie, of all people, knew there were no absolutes in life. Not where children were concerned. Not twenty years ago and not today.
She’d needed solitude; she’d needed quiet. Watching Max Kellan occupy himself with pacing, sitting, standing, and then repeating the pattern, pressed in on her. She understood how he felt; all she wanted to do was go out the front door, breathe in the fresh air and walk until she couldn’t walk anymore.
His panic, his concern, tasted bitter in Allie’s mouth as she tried not to surrender to the logic of what statistics said about how Hope’s disappearance would play out. The first twenty-four hours were vital—forty-eight, if they were lucky—but Allie was a realist; she knew the odds didn’t favor a happy reunion. Chances increased by the second that she’d be standing in another field, over another little girl’s body.
“Stop it!” She had to say it out loud, so she could hear it through her own ears. It’s what Simone or Eden would tell her, but they weren’t here. What she wouldn’t give for her best friends to be standing beside her. They were her support system, had been from the moment they’d met on the kindergarten playground.
Allie had been trying to stand up for herself against a second grader who wanted the bright blue plastic ball she’d gotten for her birthday, but she soon found herself flat on her back on the cement.
Next thing she knew, Simone Armstrong and Eden St. Claire were standing over her, hands stretched out for her to take. They hauled her up, introduced themselves and then their friend Chloe Evans, who had been standing behind them. Chloe, with her excitement-tinged, wide-green-eyed uncertainty, crooked pigtails sticking out on either side of her head. Her clothes hadn’t matched, not even a little, Allie remembered.
That day Simone had helped Allie straighten her new pink dress and sweater while Eden retrieved Allie’s ball—before being sent to the principal’s office for kicking the second grader somewhere Allie later learned was vastly inappropriate.
They’d been picking each other up off the ground ever since.
Times like this, as she stared at the youthful optimism of Hope Kellan’s bedroom, Allie envied people like Max Kellan.
Where other people became jittery and restless when faced with a traumatic situation, Allie pulled into her tiny, tiny shell like a petrified, silent turtle.
Call it professional training or life experience, it was part of what had kept her sane all these years. Today, for the first time, the calmness seemed to be pushing her to the brink.
When her cell phone buzzed, Allie answered without thinking. “Dr. Hollister.”
“Well, there’s a surprise. I thought for sure I was going to get your voice mail.” Nicole Goodale’s cheery voice dropped Allie into the quicksand of her youth, exactly the last place she wanted to dwell. “I just wanted to thank you for coming last night to the soft opening of Lembranza. We really appreciate the family support.”
“It was my pleasure, Nicole.” Allie rubbed the space between her brows. If there was one talent her foster siblings, Nicole and her brother Patrick, had picked up during her three years as one of Allie’s parents’ “projects,” it was Allie’s mother’s bad sense of timing, unfortunately. “The meal was fabulous and it was great to see both of you again.” Funny how, after more than fifteen years and sporadic contact, Nicole seemed inordinately determined to make up for lost time. Not that Allie minded. Nicole and her brothers were among the few bright spots in her childhood.
“Glad to know we earned your seal of approval. I also wanted to check in and see if everything’s okay with you.” The concern in her foster sister’s voice dropped another weight of guilt onto Allie’s shoulders. She hadn’t wanted to go last night and had even contemplated cancelling at the last minute, but if she’d done that she never would have heard the end of it, especially from her mother.
“Everything’s fine,” Allie lied. “I’m just dealing with a problem with one of my patients at the moment. Sorry if I sound distracted.”
“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Nicole said.
“Serious enough,” Allie said. “And I hope I wasn’t too much of a downer last night at dinner. There’s just been a lot going on.” Being stalked by the monster responsible for murdering your best friend didn’t make for emotional stability. “But it was great to reconnect.”
“Seeing you again made us realize how much we’ve missed you,” Nicole said. “And you’re right, things have been...” Her voice trailed off and Allie flinched. “It’s been a rough few years trying to get Mom settled and, well, the rest of what happened.”
She did know. Of the three Goodale kids who had stayed with Allie’s family while their mother underwent in-patient treatment for severe psychosis, Tyler had been the youngest and, even to Allie’s young eyes, the most fragile. She hadn’t been surprised to hear years later that he’d eventually developed the same issues as his mother and been committed to a long-term psychiatric facility. “Tyler was always very nice to me.”
Allie shivered and looked down at the pale pink carpet. Tyler had been so considerate, so attentive. Especially after Chloe’s death. He’d followed