24 Hours

Will had understated his income, and he doubted Cheryl had any concept of the kind of royalties he would earn from Restorase. “I can give you a lot more money than that, Cheryl. If you’ll help me save Abby, I mean. Enough to get you away clean. Really free. Forever.”

A faint flicker of hope lighted her eyes, then died. “You’re lying, sweetie. You’d rat me out the first chance you got.”

“Why would I? I’d have nothing to gain.”

“Because it’s the nature of things. I’d do the same. If you had my kid, I’d be over there right now giving you the sofa dance of your life. I’d take you to bed and give you around-the-world like you never imagined it before.” A note of professional pride entered her voice. “I can do things for you that your wife never even heard of. That your wildest old girlfriend never heard of. When was the last time you got off four times in one night?”

Will treated this as a rhetorical question.

“I thought so. But you could. I could make you. And if you had my kid, I would. Gladly. But as soon as I had my kid back, I’d rat you out.”

He started to argue, but there was no point. She would not be persuaded.

Cheryl held up her drink in a mock toast. “Don’t feel bad, Doc. Like I said, it’s just the nature of things.”

Will had stopped listening. He was thinking about what Cheryl had said she would do to save her child, if she had one. And about why Hickey had chosen to spend the night with Karen rather than with him. And what Karen would or would not do to save Abby.

SEVEN

Hickey pulled the Expedition into the garage and shut off the engine. In the ticking silence, with the leather seat clammy against her backside, Karen felt dread settle in her limbs like cement.

“Party time, cher,” Hickey said. He opened his door and climbed out, then waited in the glow of the dome light. “You’re not doing anybody any good sitting there. You or me.”

She folded her panties into her jeans and got out. As she walked to the laundry room door, she could feel the tail of her blouse covering her behind, and she was thankful for that. At the door she stopped and waited for Hickey to open it, but he walked up and handed her the key ring.

“You do it,” he said. “Your house.”

She tucked her jeans under her arm, then bent and took hold of the doorknob with her left hand. When her palm touched the brass, a mild shock went through her. Before this house existed, she had drawn it on a piece of paper. Every room. Every window. She had chosen the knob in her hand. Worked with the architect on the blueprints. Badgered the subcontractors. Mortared the patio bricks. Painted the interiors. If any place on earth belonged to her, personified her, this house did. And now it was about to be violated. In point of fact, it already had been when Abby was taken. But the violation to come would be more profound. She could read the thoughts in Hickey’s mind as though no border of flesh and bone concealed them. He wanted her body, yes. But his intent was more complex than that. He wanted more to desecrate her marriage.

“Come on,” he said. “Meter’s running.”

A desperate thought flashed through her mind. She could shove open the door just far enough to slip inside, then lock it behind her. Lock it and call the police. But what would that accomplish? Nothing but pain or death for Abby. Hickey had his pocket cell phone, and he could be talking to his giant of a cousin in seconds. No. There was no choice but to obey.

She turned the key and walked inside, right through the laundry room and pantry to the kitchen. Every instinct told her to pull her jeans back on, but that might prompt Hickey to retaliate. She simply stood there, on the oven side of the island, waiting for a command.

He walked up slowly and smiled. “Up the hall. To your bedroom.”

She turned and walked up the hallway, heavy-footed as a zombie. She was walking in Abby’s tracks, in the last footsteps her child had taken in this house. That knowledge infused her with guilt, but also hardened her will to resist. The scent of Abby’s room was strong here, even with her door closed. The comforting smell of toy animal fur and little girls’ makeup kits.

“Stop,” Hickey said.

Karen stopped. He reached around her left side and opened Abby’s door. Faint moonlight shone through the window, falling upon the countless inhabitants of the room.

“Take a good look, Mom. This is why we’re not going to have any trouble being friends tonight.”

Karen looked. Here was the justification for whatever she would have to do to get through the night. To bring Abby back to this sanctuary.

Hickey’s cupped hand flashed up under her shirttail and slapped her flank, hard. He laughed when she jumped, then poked her between the shoulder blades, pushing her until she reached the master bedroom.