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  Taking a few strides to the door, she started down the ladder, hoping her outward demonstration of bravery inspired the others.

  Amanda spoke under her breath, following Jaci. “Maybe now we can escape. Watch for the weaknesses of the house.”

  “There are none.” The baritone voice came from right next to them. Amanda squealed and nearly fell off the ladder.

  Clutching the rungs, Jaci saw the boss man, his arms folded across his chest. He looked at Amanda with his jaw tight, high, protruding cheekbones making his eyes look deep-set. “Where would you go? To the police?”

  A sneer graced his chiseled features. “Enough. For now, you’re my prisoners.” His eyes flicked up as Sara started down the ladder next. He lifted an arm and pointed down the hall, where Claber waited. “Go.”

  Jaci started down the hallway, Sara and Amanda falling into step with her. She said, her mouth barely moving, “Keep your eyes open. Anything, anything that might be useful, take note.”

  Neither of them responded. She hoped they had heard her.

  Claber led them down three, four flights of stairs, past closed doors and entry ways. The house was far from empty. Several men wandered in and out of rooms, marching down hallways with purposeful strides. One man, the dark-eyed one who had helped kidnap them, followed Claber.

  “Clean the basement,” Claber growled. He opened a closet and let a pile of brooms and mops fall onto the floor. “There’s a sink with water and soap. Rags are under it.”

  Turning his attention to the dark-eyed man, he said something and then stomped upstairs. The other man remained standing at the foot of the stairs.

  Sara poked her shoe at a spider, its legs curled up, dead in an old cobweb. The large basement was damp and not well lit.

  Jaci wandered over to the sink and picked up a rag. A dirty white door across the room caught her attention. She opened the door and stared into a bathroom, consisting of a toilet on yellowed, peeling linoleum and a rust-stained sink. The stench of old urine burned her nose. “A bathroom!”

  Amanda dropped her broom with a clatter and ran forward. “Let me use it,” she demanded, shoving Jaci aside.

  “Hey,” Jaci protested. There were footsteps on the stairs. Jaci turned to a lamp and started dusting it furiously.

  The third member of their kidnapping party, the white man with fat lips, joined the dark-skinned man. They exchanged words before the man with black eyes started up the stairs, leaving the fat-lipped guy behind.

  Movement out of the corner of her eye made Jaci turn. Amanda had left the bathroom. Jaci clutched her rag and hurried in. She locked the door and dropped to her knees, feeling an instant sense of gratitude for the isolation. Putting the rag on the floor, she put her head in her hands and cried.

  “Dear God,” she prayed, rocking backward and forward on her knees, “how do we get out of this mess?”

  A whisper made her draw in her breath. She scanned the tiny bathroom.

  The voice came again, from the upper corner by the toilet. Crawling forward, Jaci spotted a vent. She climbed onto the toilet and stood on her tip-toes, getting as close as she could. The words drifted down to her, muffled but audible.

  “…said no stops. Get the necklace and come straight home. What happened?”

  “We stopped in Idaho Falls to get a bite—”

  “What were you doing in Idaho?”

  “Got a call from our contact in Idaho Falls. Said he needed a new cover, the police were suspicious. So we drove up to take care of business.” It was the voice of their captor, Claber. Was he talking to the boss man?

  “Why wasn’t I notified?”

  “I assumed he called you first. Idaho’s not far from our Montana entry. I figured we’d kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Go on. What did the contact say?”

  “We relocated him and gave him a new cover. Since he knew we were coming, he had already bribed the mall security guard for us. It should’ve been quick and easy.”

  “Where’d the girls come from?” the boss man snapped. “I’m a jewel thief, not a kidnapper. I’m wanted for burglary, not murder.”

  “They were spying on us. It was either kill them or bring them along. They’d seen too much.”

  “They saw a black van.” The boss man’s voice rose to a shout. “You should’ve drugged them and dumped them in a ditch. And the girl that’s dead. What happened there?”

  “She was running to flag down a Jeep.”

  “What, are we going to leave a trail of dead bodies from Idaho to Canada? Lead them right to us?” Abruptly his voice lowered. “You know what’s on my head. No false moves. We can’t afford it. Everything we pull in this year goes to pay that debt, understand? At least we’ve still got the Swan Lake necklace. Claber, get me Sid. He’ll buy those girls for half a million, maybe more. We’re still in the game.”

  “Hold on, Truman.” Claber spoke softer, as if farther away. “I’ll call Sid, but didn’t you recognize the little Latina girl? That’s Gregorio Rivera’s daughter.”

  Jaci gasped and put a hand to her mouth. How did they know her father?

  “Who’s Gregorio Rivera?”

  “The Carcinero.”

  Jaci jerked and lost her footing on the toilet. She slipped, hitting the wall with a clunk, and froze. Had they heard her?

  The doorknob to the bathroom rattled. “Hey! Open this door.”

  She jumped up and hurried to unlock the door. “Sorry,” she said with a meek smile. “Habit.”

  The man eyed her and peered inside. “Leave the door open next time.”

  “Yes, s-sir,” Jaci said, her mind buzzing. They knew her father’s name. And they had called him the Carcinero—the Butcher.

  Chapter 6

  It took hours to finish the basement. When they were done, their fat-lipped blond guard moved them to a large suite on the first floor. It was devoid of furniture, and the floor and chair molding had almost grown together with cobwebs.

  Jaci’s stomach growled. She wasn’t sure which was stronger, her hunger or her thirst. At least she had taken a drink of water in the bathroom.

  They dusted until the molding shone, spraying down the walls with a chemical that smelled of bleach. Each time Jaci thought they were done, the guard would point out invisible spots to clean.

  Her thighs hurt from squatting, and her hands were chapped. She put down her rag and studied her fingers, white in the joints from the chemicals. A shadow loomed over her and she grabbed up her rag, wiping quickly at the wall.

  It was Claber. “Time for dinner,” he growled.

  Jaci dropped her rag. The thought of food made her knees weak.

  She expected Claber to send them back to the attic with… well, with dinner, whatever it was. Instead, he led them down the red-carpet hallway. Before they reached the entry way, he turned a corner and the house changed, looking like a historical museum instead of an old, unused mansion.

  Paintings dotted the walls, each room full of priceless antiques and monuments. One of the paintings, as large as the wall, covered it like a mural. It was done in a renaissance style, with large bubbly people and muted reds and blues.

  For a moment Jaci let her mind wander, imagining what it would be like if this weren’t a scene from a horror movie—and then she smelled the food.

  A huge dining table was set in the middle of a white room, with pillars in the corners and crown molding running along the tops of the walls. Paintings of fruits and gardens decorated the walls, but none looked as lovely as the arrangements that covered the table.

  Jaci shook her head, coming to her senses. This wasn’t a buffet, it was a prison. She focused on the man standing at the head of the table. It was the boss man. What had Claber called him? Truman?

  Jaci examined him surreptitiously, keeping her eyes lowered. He wasn’t old, maybe mid-thirties. He had high, square cheek bones and his brown hair was cut in precise, sharp angles. Although a slight man, his demeanor commanded respect.

 
; He bowed and pulled out his own chair. “Please. Sit.” He motioned to four chairs pulled out from the table. Serving bowls close to him held cuts of meat, vegetables, and slices of fruit.

  In front of each place was a bowl full of a bright green soup. Jaci felt a stab of disappointment. She leaned over and sniffed. It didn’t smell too bad.

  Truman piled his plate high. Spearing his broccoli, he looked at them. “I don’t particularly like the color of pea soup either. There’s fresh bread.” He indicated a cloth-covered basket in the middle of the table.

  Jaci grabbed rolls from the basket, stuffing one into her mouth and dumping several others in her lap. The soft buttery texture melted in her mouth, and she relished it, closing her eyes.

  She opened them and felt her face grow hot; the boss man was watching her with a smile. Ducking her head, she poked her spoon at her pea soup.

  “So,” he said, placing some golden, deep-fried shrimp on his plate, “why were you watching the robbery?”

  No one answered. He turned to Amanda, seated on his left. “Well?”

  She didn’t look at him, and his eyes fell on Sara. “What do you think, girl?”

  Sara’s eyes lifted from her bowl. “Curiosity.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Dangerous.”

  His gray eyes lightened a little. “Such beautiful girls. Do you have names? How about it? Red?” He nodded at Amanda. “By far the most beautiful of the group. Exquisite beauty.”

  He looked at Sara. “And you are nothing but a child. Yet your innocence is so captivating.”

  Turning to Jaci, a half-sneer spread across his face. “And you.”

  Chills ran down her spine. “What about you?” she asked, trying to act calm. “We don’t know your name.”

  “Of course you do. Who else would I be, but The Hand?”

  Amanda gasped, her eyes wide, staring at him.

  “Never mind. I already know who you are. You’re all over the news, though the police are hesitant to link your disappearance to the robbery. They haven’t found your friend’s body yet. That will throw them off track; I don’t usually deal in homicides.”

  Callie. Jaci choked on her soup. She reached for her cup of water with a trembling hand.

  “An unfortunate incident. I do regret it.” He began to cut his steak. “Life is cruel. There’s no way around it.”

  He proceeded to put some cuts of meat into each of their bowls. “Eat. I’m not trying to starve you. You’re no good to me dead.”

  He watched as they fished out the meat and ate it. Standing, he pushed his chair away from the table. “Grey.”

  The second guard from the basement, the one with the fat lip, hurried into the room.

  “I’m done. Get them back to the attic.”

  September 16

  Shelley, Idaho

  “Amanda’s a bit boy-crazy. But she’s a good girl. She would never run away with a boy.” Mrs. Murphy’s hands twitched in her lap, and she wrung her fingers together.

  She might have been a beautiful woman once, but the puffy skin around her tired blue eyes and the lines around her mouth had aged her.

  Carl nodded, taking a few notes. He believed her. He had double-checked Sara’s emails and text messages. All had appeared innocent and frivolous—comments about homework, track practice, and where to meet up before and after school.

  Besides that, their disappearance on the same night and from the same location as a robbery, coupled with the fact that nobody had seen or heard from them, pointed to a kidnapping.

  Or homicides.

  Carl preferred a kidnapping. “So Amanda didn’t have a boyfriend?”

  “No one special. She had lots of crushes. A few dates.”

  The front door opened, and Mr. Murphy walked in. Carl stood and offered a hand. “Please join us. I was just asking a few questions about Amanda.”

  Mr. Murphy shook his hand. “Any new developments?”

  Carl looked down. “No.” He wished he had something, anything to offer these people.

  Mr. Murphy sat on the couch. “Go ahead.”

  Reseating himself, Carl focused his thoughts. “Did you ever see signs of unrest or rebellion in Amanda.”

  “Absolutely not,” Mr. Murphy said.

  “Well, rebellion, no.” Mrs. Murphy shook her head. “Sometimes she did get bored, but she wouldn’t have run away.”

  “Would she go along if someone else wanted to?”

  She frowned. “I don’t think so.”

  Carl leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “The girls have been gone for three days. Each day that passes lessens our chances of finding them. If you can think of anywhere she might have gone, anything she might do—it might help me.”

  Mrs. Murphy averted her eyes. “Well, she did have kind of a silly obsession with The Hand.”

  Carl leaned back on the couch, his heart skipping a beat. “What do you mean?”

  “We’d go over the news together. It was kind of a fun activity, you know. Then she’d plot out his raids and try to guess where he might go next.”

  Carl wrote quickly. Could she have anticipated The Hand’s next move? “Did her friends know about this obsession?”

  “Yes, yes. They shared it with her.”

  Carl looked up, meeting Mrs. Murphy’s eyes. “You know it’s not normal for a teen to fantasize about a criminal. It’s not healthy, either. There are a lot of psychological implications, starting with her wanting to change something in her life, or feeling like something is not under her control, but not knowing what to do about it.”

  The woman wilted under his gaze, her eyes dropping. She shriveled against the upholstery. “I didn’t know it was bad.”

  Mr. Murphy crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw set. “I told you not to indulge her so much.”

  Tears rolled down Mrs. Murphy’s face, and she shot a hostile glare at her husband. “You indulged her as much as I did. It’s your fault we moved to this horrible town.”

  Carl put his pen down. Things were not well in the Murphy house, and he didn’t think it started with Amanda’s disappearance. “How was Amanda at home?”

  Mrs. Murphy wiped her eyes with her knuckle. “She didn’t show much interest in things after we moved here. She wanted to go back to California. We were glad when she found something to divert her attention. Even if it was a silly obsession.”

  “When did you move here?”

  “Six months ago.”

  “Did she like her friends?”

  “They were different from her friends in California. More naïve and not willing to try new things. That bothered her.”

  Amanda was sounding less and less like the other girls. “So she wanted an adventure.”

  Neither parent responded.

  Carl ran his hands over the pleats in his suit pants. “Any stress at home? Anything to make her want to escape?”

  Mr. Murphy let out a sigh. “We moved when I lost my job. I had an offer here that didn’t pan out. For two months I’ve worked at odd jobs.”

  “It’s been stressful on Amanda,” Mrs. Murphy said, grabbing a tissue from the end table and shredding it to pieces. “And on me.”

  Mr. Murphy added, “We’re getting a divorce.”

  Carl looked back and forth between them, careful to keep his face neutral. “Do you think this has had an impact on Amanda’s behavior?”

  “Amanda doesn’t know.” The woman put the shredded tissue pieces back on the table. “We haven’t told her yet.”

  Carl sat in silence for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He doubted Amanda was oblivious. He stood. “Thank you so much for your time. You have my card. Call if you think of anything or hear from her.”

  He let himself out of the house. Three down, one to go.

  It was hard to get Mrs. Rivera’s attention. “This is César, my baby,” she said, kissing her eight-year-old on the forehead.

  He made a face and pushed her away, then chased the cat around the room.

&nbs
p; “César! Deja el gato en paz. You had some questions for me?” The shadows under her eyes gave away her stress.

  Carl glanced around. “Will Mr. Rivera be here soon?”

  “He’s not back from his business trip.”

  Carl raised an eyebrow. “Does he know about his daughter?”

  “Oh, well, of course.” Her cheeks flushed and she glanced at César.

  The boy hissed and started throwing couch pillows at the cat, which hovered under the computer desk.

  “César! Para ya! His job is important.” She shoved a lock of black hair out of her eyes. “It’s unpredictable. But he should be home tomorrow.”

  “What does he do?”

  She licked her lips. “César, if I tell you one more time to leave the cat alone, you will go to bed with no dinner.”

  The garage door slammed and a young man stepped into the room. “Mamá, llegué.”

  Carl appraised the tall, dark-haired youth that entered. He had thick, wavy hair and deep brown eyes.

  “Hi. I’m Seth.” Seth stuck a hand out. “You must be Detective Hamilton. Mama’s mentioned you’re looking for Jaci. Any luck?”

  Carl shook his head. “No breakthroughs yet. Do you have anything you could help us with?”

  He took a deep breath. “No, but I am worried about her.” He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “We fought, you see. I left angry at her.”

  “Seth,” his mother said softly.

  “I just want to help. If I can help you find her—tell me.”

  Carl nodded, touched by the boy’s plea. “Did you know her friends, Seth?”

  “Sure. They were here all the time.”

  Carl looked at Mrs. Rivera, aware that she hadn’t answered his questions. “Would you show me Jaci’s room, please?”

  “Of course.”

  Carl searched her room, looking for names, clues, anything. “We were saying. What does your husband do?”

  “He’s a traveling consultant. He helps other companies with their accounts and auditing.”

  “Oh? What did he get his degree in?”

  She clasped her hands together in front of her pink skirt. “Ah, accounting, I think.”