Gone in the Night Read online

  “It was fun,” Portia whispered. “Until it wasn’t.” Willa and Mercy nodded, but Portia’s big brown eyes shifted to the floor.

  “What is it, Portia?” Allie leaned forward, letting the other two girls take a bit of a lead. “I promise, anything you say here, none of us will be mad. We all just want to make sure Hope is found safe. Okay?”

  Portia didn’t look convinced.

  “Por.” Willa reached across Mercy’s lap and held out her hand. That Portia immediately grabbed hold conveyed the strength of friendship among these girls. “What’s wrong?”

  Portia’s chin wobbled. “I heard Hope get up. I should have gone with her, but I didn’t want to. It was cold.” The last few words came out in a sob. “I’m so sorry! I should have been her friend and now she’s missing and it’s all my fault.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as Willa tugged on Portia’s hand. Mercy moved to the side as they settled Portia between them, hugging their arms around her.

  “I didn’t hear her.” The alarm in Mercy’s wide eyes told Allie she wished she had.

  “That’s because you were snoring,” Willa said.

  “I do not snore!” Mercy countered and brought a trembling smile to Portia’s face; the goal, Allie realized when she caught a silent exchange between Willa and Mercy.

  Allie barely heard them over the roaring in her head. For the first time in as long as Allie could remember, the security she found in her clinical world crumbled. She clenched her fists to cling to the trained detachment that allowed her to do her job. Words that should help them seemed to have gotten trapped somewhere between now and twenty years ago when another nine-year-old had disappeared. During another birthday campout.

  Chloe.

  Allie squeezed her eyes shut, snapping them open again when she heard Willa speak.

  “None of this is your fault, Portia.” Willa hugged her friend close. “We should have all gone, just as we promised.” Willa turned pleading eyes on Allie with a pained expression that might haunt Allie for the rest of her days. “We made a pact when we first met. We’re sisters. Where one goes, we all go. Except we didn’t. And now one of us is gone.”

  Allie stared at the three of them, huddled so closely together she couldn’t determine where one ended and another began. Her own arms ached from her tightened fists. Her throat burned from trying to swallow. Her skin had gone icy, as if she wasn’t ever going to be warm again, and yet part of her, the tiniest part, clung to the thin thread of hope that this situation wasn’t what it seemed to be.

  “Are you all right, Dr. Hollister? Allie?” Mercy asked as Allie rose to her feet and walked to the French doors.

  Allie heard her as if from a vast distance. “I’m going to go see where you all were sleeping last night. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She pulled open the door, stepped out onto the patio and walked quickly around the pool. She could hear the girls calling her from inside the house, but she didn’t stop. Not as she hopped over the low-lying bushes. Not as she slipped and slid her way down the slight hill to the clearing ahead. She could see the outline of the red-and-blue tent situated beneath an outcropping of healthy pine and willow trees.

  Her breathing came in short bursts, as if she had to remember to inhale. The brisk morning air felt tainted with gloom, the heaviness pressing down on her as she kept her eyes pinned on the tent, resisted the pull into the past. She started to run, as if she could leave the memories, the sensation of panic behind. But she knew the emotions had settled inside her chest another early morning twenty years ago.

  She skidded to a stop at the edge of their campsite, her toes damp from the early-morning moisture. Four cloth folding chairs, water bottles stored in holders, the gooey remnants of the foil-wrapped s’mores lay amid wadded-up sleeping bags peeking out from the zippered tent flap.

  An odd keening erupted into the air and only as Allie turned in a slow circle, did she realize the sound came from her. She covered her mouth. Haunting little-girl whispers and giggles echoed through time and sent chills racing down her spine. “Not again. Oh, God, please, not again.” She bent double, her stomach rolling as she dropped down to the ground. “This can’t be happening.” The date. What was the date?

  “Dr. Hollister!” Deputy Sutherland, along with a handful of deputies, followed the same path she’d taken moments before. “Dr. Hollister, are you all right?” He hurried over and grabbed her by the arms to haul her to her feet.

  “No.” His demanding question pierced the fog in her brain. Now wasn’t the time to break down. Now wasn’t the time to lose control. She needed to get a hold of herself. Disconnect. Separate herself from the nightmare unfolding around her. Hope, she told herself. Hope was all that mattered. And yet... “Is there any sign of Hope?”

  “No, ma’am.” An officer who introduced himself as Deputy Fletcher shook his head. “We’re about to expand the search. My officers already went through this area—”

  “She won’t be here.” Allie shook her head and only then did she see the concern on the older deputy’s face. “She’s gone.”

  “Gone? You mean you think she went down to the river?”

  “No, that’s not what I mean.” She took a step back, focused on the tent.

  And the solitary plant situated on the ground.

  Violets.

  Allie walked forward, knees wobbling. Every impulse coursing through her urged her to discount the pot and spilling flowers. A coincidence, she told herself, but as she, Eden and Simone had learned in the last few months, there were no coincidences.

  She took a shaky step forward and then another.

  Every cell in Allie’s body screamed out as she remembered that night, the following days before their friend’s strangled body had been found.

  In a field of violets.

  Allie touched a hand to the hollow of her throat. “Chloe.”

  “Hope,” Deputy Sutherland corrected. “Dr. Hollister, if you think we need to be searching elsewhere—”

  Allie shook her head, got to her feet and pulled out her cell phone. She pointed at the deputy while it rang. “You need to get your team back here, but no one should touch anything. Not a thing, do you understand?” Allie’s hands shook. When the deputy didn’t move, she shot into command mode. “I think we’re standing in a crime scene. I’m a special consultant with the Sacramento PD, Deputy. I also work extensively with the FBI, so believe me when I tell you you’ll want to do as I suggest. Now.”

  “Ma’am.” The hostility was expected; clearly he wouldn’t appreciate being told what to do in his own jurisdiction. “What exactly is going on?”

  Allie held up her hand to silence him. “Lieutenant Santos? It’s Allie Hollister.”

  “Allie?” The shock on the other end of the phone didn’t surprise her, nor did the distinctive sound of rustling sheets and murmured voices. “Hang on. We had a late night with the kids.”

  Allie pressed her lips tight and wrapped her free arm around her waist.

  “Ma’am?” Deputy Sutherland’s tone strained to the point of snapping. “Would you please tell me what’s going on?”

  “Hope didn’t run away,” Allie whispered. She returned her attention to the potted plant, resisting the pull once again to fall solidly into a past she’d been trying to climb out of for two decades.

  “Allie?” Lieutenant Santos came back on the line. “This can’t be good news if you’re calling me before seven on a Sunday. What’s going on?”

  “You need to get Cole and Jack and get up to—” she recited the Vandermonts’ address, grateful that she could request two detectives who were friends “—as soon as you can. One of my patients, who was staying overnight at a friend’s house, went missing in the last few hours.”

  “That’s out of our jurisdiction, Allie. As much as I’d like to help—”

  “Hope Kella
n is nine years old. She was camping with her three best friends. Now she’s missing.” Allie’s eyes burned. “But this isn’t just about Hope.” She took a deep breath and uttered the words that would turn her nightmare into reality. “It’s about Chloe Evans.”

  Chapter 2

  Max Kellan missed a lot of things about Florida. Late-night boat parties, fire-emblazoned sunsets, that ocean-tinted smell that wafted along the shoreline after a summer rainstorm. Humidity? That obnoxious gift of nature didn’t come close to making his list, not when it meant his morning jog required a before-sunrise start time. Too bad that in the weeks since he’d moved to the upscale suburb of Sacramento, California, he’d been unable to reprogram his brain to allow for mid-to late-morning runs.

  His feet pounded in familiar 7:00 a.m. rhythm as he focused on his breathing, felt the cool morning air wicking away the sweat building on his face and arms. His lungs burned in that familiar five-mile, pressing-himself-too-far kind of way.

  Pushing his limits, embracing the aches and pains, forcing himself to feel reminded him he was still alive.

  Having spent most of his thirty-three years on the strict, self-imposed routine that acted partly as life-preserver, Max didn’t feel inclined to abandon the regime. Yep. He’d had more than enough change to even think about ditching his schedule. Working out cleared his head, helped keep it clear. It had been a rotten six months. Max ducked his head in a useless effort of avoiding the wave of depression that threatened him. Near as he could tell, the only good thing to come out of the last year was his brother’s suggestion he make a fresh start of things.

  Leave it to Joe to tell him the truth: that he’d wallowed too long. It was time to get up off the mat and fight back. But what to fight for? That was the question. What did an ex-firefighter do when he walked away from everything he knew? Come out to California, obviously. Plenty of space for him to live his life, Joe had said. A life on his own terms for a change.

  With strings attached, of course.

  Max grinned. As if he’d ever call his brilliant, beautiful, willful niece Hope a string. He’d been crazy about her from the day she was born. She was his video-chatting buddy, his email pal; they even competed against each other in that online game about birds destroying pigs. The few weeks during the summer she’d come out to visit him were what he looked forward to most. It didn’t matter how bad a day he’d had—seeing Hope’s face, hearing her voice, put everything in perspective. And now he got to see her every day.

  If moving out here made his niece smile again—even a little—what was packing up his shattered life compared to that? The visible change in Hope since her parents’ less-than-amicable separation physically hurt him. His niece needed security, familiarity. With her father’s hectic travel schedule and her mother’s lack of parental interest, Hope needed reminding just how much she was loved.

  All the things Max and his brother had growing up. Until they didn’t.

  Taking up residence behind a country club had never been in Max’s plans. He was as blue collar as they came. His kid brother had gotten all the brains and earned his status by turning his ideas into a freaking fortune. Who was Max to complain when his new digs came with an amazing, inspiring jogging view?

  He rounded the corner, picking up the pace as he headed for the driveway, his body already humming in that way it had when it knew he was nearly done with his daily overexertion. Coffee. Max’s blood pumped in anticipation. He needed coffee, stat.

  He gave a cursory glance to the sedan parked on the street in front of one of those dinky wannabe SUVs. As if his appearance had triggered their release, two people climbed out of the sedan and approached him. He stopped jogging, planted his hands on his thighs and bent over, took slow, deep breaths to bring his pulse down to normal. He pushed his too-long hair back when it fell over his eyes. “Can I help you?”

  Cops. The blazer one man wore wasn’t the only giveaway, nor was the badge on the waistband of his jeans or the uniformed deputy right on his heels. Despite this guy’s congenial expression and California-boy good looks, Max had spent enough time around the police to identify one from thirty paces.

  The deputy behind him, however, appeared barely old enough to shave, with that fresh-faced blue-eyed optimism still shiny and new. Max tilted his head. He’d give it another year, two tops, before he tarnished. He shifted his attention to the woman shuffling about as she climbed out of her car.

  She barely reached the detective’s shoulder. Jet-black hair that curved over her ears and brushed over concerned brows, along with the pale pink pants and shirt reminded Max of those flitting-fairy animated movies Hope was so nuts over. Not his type, Max told himself, trying to recall the face—and figure—of the last woman he’d dated. Instead, all his mind could come up with was this smiling pixie of a woman.

  “Joe Kellan?” the seasoned cop inquired.

  “My brother’s on a business trip.” Max didn’t have as easy a time catching his breath as he usually did. Probably because his pulse was beginning to hammer in an unsteady rhythm. “What’s this about?”

  “You’d be Max Kellan, then.” The detective scanned the area as he approached. Between the steady hand on his badge and the serious tone in his voice, Max’s skin prickled.

  “That’s what my driver’s license says, Officer.” Grudging respect didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy ribbing the boys in blue. He planted his hands on his hips and let his gaze return to the woman as she joined them. Any thoughts he might have had about aiming a smile at her faded as he caught the uneasy glimmer in her eyes. Wow. Max took a sharp breath. He’d never seen such dark eyes before, eyes that reminded him of the deepest dives he’d taken in the Keys.

  “I’m Detective Jack MacTavish. This is Officer Bowman and Dr. Allie Hollister. Do you mind if we go inside?”

  Doctor? Max’s smile vanished. “Not until you tell me why you’re here.” Cops and doctors on the doorstep first thing on a Sunday? Alarm bells Max hadn’t heard in months, had hoped he’d never hear again, clanged in his head. “Is Joe in some kind of trouble? Did his plane—”

  “As far as we know, your brother is fine,” Detective MacTavish said. “We’ve been unable to get in touch with him or his wife. We’ve also been trying to reach you for the last few hours—”

  “Yeah, my cell phone’s charging. It’s insi—” The words he planned to speak vanished from thought. “What is this about? Wait.” He searched his memory, eyes pinned to the woman’s face as she very lightly, almost imperceptibly, flinched. “Dr. Hollister. I know that name. You’re Hope’s shrink.”

  “I’m her therapist, yes.” Dr. Hollister’s eyes narrowed in a way that told him she didn’t appreciate the moniker. “Please, Mr. Kellan—”

  “Max. It’s Max. Tell me what’s going on.” His heart picked up speed, racing faster than it had at any time during his jog. His entire body went cold.

  “Please.” Dr. Hollister took a step toward him. “Let’s go inside so we can talk. It’s about Hope.”

  He dug in his pocket for the house key. Once inside, he managed to hold out until they had closed the door behind them. “Tell me.”

  He leaned against the wall and stared blankly at the three people in his brother’s foyer. He focused on Dr. Hollister, daring her to blink, to look away. She didn’t blink. Nor did he see anything other than cool detachment in her stoic expression.

  “Your niece has been missing for at least four hours. The Vandermonts contacted us when they realized she was gone from their property. We’ve been searching ever since,” Detective MacTavish said. “We still have people searching for her as we speak.”

  “How could she have disappeared?” He bent double, bracing his hands on his knees as his stomach rolled. “Are you sure? How can you be sure? The Vandermonts were home when I drove her up there last evening.” Everything had been fine when he’d left. Hope
had been so happy and excited, she’d run off without even saying good-bye.

  Good-bye.

  “Let’s go sit down, Mr. Kellan. Get you something to drink to calm your nerves.”

  “I don’t need to sit down.” His spine stiffened against the fear coursing through him. Hope missing? How was that possible? He pushed off the wall, walked to the kitchen and poured himself the coffee he’d been looking forward to for the last mile. Once it was swirling in the mug, all he could do was stare down and feel himself fall...falling...

  “What are we looking at? A kidnapping for ransom? A stranger ab—” He dropped his chin to his chest, unable to complete the thought. He needed to find some logic here, something to grab onto like the plans made to combat a nasty out-of-control fire. But where was logic when a child was missing? When there wasn’t anything other than complete and utter panic.

  “We’re considering every possibility,” the detective told him, but he found the statement far from reassuring.

  “My brother—”

  “Mr. Kellan. Max.” Detective MacTavish stood across the counter from him while Dr. Hollister remained just inside the doorway, those eyes of hers scanning the room like a laser beam. “I realize this is difficult, but we need to know if you’ve heard from your niece since you dropped her at the Vandermonts’ yesterday evening.”

  “Um, yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She sent me a text message before she went to sleep. It’s our routine.” Max spun in a circle. Where had he left his phone? “Here.” He pulled it free of the charging station and handed it over. “There’s a picture of her with her friends. I think they were eating s’mores. It’s all over her—” He couldn’t think. Why couldn’t he think? He stared down, transfixed, at the grinning image of the only person who brought him a modicum of joy these days. “I need to call my brother.”

  “Please.” Detective MacTavish nodded, but Max could tell the cop was humoring him.

  Max dialed, clenching his teeth so tight his head ached. “Voice mail. Typical. Joe, it’s me. Call me back. Now. It’s about Hope. She’s...” He scrubbed his hand across his forehead. Missing? Dead? Gone? His chest hurt from breathing so hard. “Just call me back, man. Please.” He clicked off, let out a sound that might have been a laughing sob. “Can you believe my brother’s invented some of the most advanced technology on the market and half the time he forgets to turn on his cell?” He tossed the phone on the counter, barely noticing when the detective picked it up. He needed to move, to think. To do something, anything.