Vanished (31 page)

"Do you have children or any household help?" Logan
asked.

"Grown kids. Clean the house myself." She forced a smile. "I
take pride in that. My husband's in Europe, but I'll be OK if I
can just get this bone to stop bouncing around in my arm."

He helped the woman upstairs, then followed Kaya into a
huge master bath. While she rooted through the vanity for an
ACE bandage, he said, "I'm going for a little walk."

"Why?"

Logan remained silent.

"Oh no. I can see it in your face-you want to go next door
to the Reynolds house. Not a good idea."

"I don't even know if he's there. Marita thought he was in the
office, but he didn't answer her knock. That's why she brought
Kimmie to Grace."

"If he's not there, why go?"

"My job. Hilary wants to come back here. I need to make
sure it's safe."

She turned to face him. "I have no use for that creep, but now
is not the time."
"

I need to," Logan said. "I don't know why, but I need to go
over there."

"Fine. We'll go together."

"People are waiting for us back at Grace. You finish up here.
I'll just run up, and then I'll come back in a few minutes."

"Don't get into anything with him." Kaya clutched his
shoulders. "Remember who you are, Jason. And remember
who you belong to now."

The woman with the broken wrist lived in a house three times
the size of Logan's old Victorian. Carlton Reynolds's house
was twice the size of hers, designed to look like a thirties-era
mansion with white cedar siding, floor-to-ceiling windows,
French doors, a marble foyer, and Cinderella stairs. Going
room by room, Logan half expected Katherine Hepburn or
Cary Grant to pop out and start with the sophisticated chatter.

As Marita had said, no one was there. The housekeeper and
gardener had hoofed it down to Grace with her and Kimmie.

Logan lingered in Kimmie's room, smelling her pillow.
Wondering how long it would take her to prefer being in this
room-decorated like a princess's castle-to her tiny room at
his house. Eventually, she'd want all Carlton Reynolds could
offer: a horse, piano lessons, her own cell phone, a fancy car, a
super sixteenth birthday party.

He fingered the letter in his pocket. Until he opened it, she
was still Kim Li Logan-his little girl.

But what if they were really cut off from the world they had
known? If Reynolds hadn't been here to receive his letter, would
it have gone back to the post office? No, the housekeeper would
have signed for it, then taken it out back to his office.

Logan went out through the kitchen, surprised to hear the
whir of the refrigerator. Had power come back? He picked
up the phone. Dead. Marita must have started the generator
before heading down to Grace.

Behind the swimming pool and patio was a high row of
privet hedges. Logan's heart ached at the sight of beach toys
he had bought Kimmie, now scattered on the patio and in the
pool. He went through the gate to the back acreage, most of
which was shrouded in the mist.

Carlton Reynolds's office was a one-story building with
arched windows. The custody papers listed his occupation as
financier and his annual income in the seven digits.

There was a mail slot in the door.

Logan walked onto the deck. The room beyond was dark. He
knocked, waited. Getting no response, he knocked harder, then
unholstered his weapon and used it to break a pane of glass in
the front door.

With his heart thudding, he reached his hand in and
unlocked and opened the door.

Carlton Reynolds lay crumpled on the floor.

Logan lifted the man's hand, searching for a pulse. Thready,
if at all. Kaya would know what to do, but he only could guess.

Logan ripped open Reynolds's shirt, trying not to think
about his wife pressed against this man's skin. A medical alert
necklace-the guy was a type 1 diabetic, meaning insulin
dependent.

Reynolds's blood sugar must be nonexistent to put him
into a coma, Logan thought. He pulled open the desk drawers
but found nothing. He went to the kitchenette and found the
syringes, insulin, and testing device. He turned the device on
but got only a glowing screen-fried by the bomb and whatever
magnetic storm had followed.

Logan went back out on the deck, trying to figure out what
to do. To the north, the mist swirled. Cold air blew over him.

He could just walk away and leave Reynolds to his fate. If
he died, it wouldn't be at Logan's hands but because of his own
illness. The custody issue would be moot.

What was it the bum in the mist-his father-had said? You
don't think that little trinket you pretend is your daughter is
worth dirtyin' your soul for.

How easy it would be to put this all behind him. Rather
than risking the process to chance, Logan could go back in and
cover Reynolds's mouth and nose with his hand. Within two
minutes he'd be dead. Chances were, even an autopsy wouldn't
show any cause of death other than diabetic shock.

Logan slipped his hand into his pocket again, fingering the
letter from the testing lab. No matter what the test results read, he was Kimmie's father. He had the right to do this, didn't he?

No, son.

A father's voice, but not the bum in the mist or even Joe
Logan's. Fatherhood was not a matter of DNA but of the heartwhich was why he had to trust his heavenly Father's heart.

Logan went back into the office and dug through the
cupboards until he found a pack of sugar wafers. He opened
Reynolds's mouth and shoved a wafer into his cheek.

Then he sat back and waited for Carlton Reynolds to come
back to life.

ILL A MONSTER, CHANGE A POOPY DIAPER-ALL IN A
day's work, Alexis thought as she swabbed the baby's
bottom.

Cleaver in hand, Tripp leaned his bulk against the door.

"It's locked. And fortified," Alexis said. "Theft-proof."

"It ain't thieves I'm worried about," he said.

Kate pulled jenny to the door to stand with him. "What're
we going to do, Miz Latham?"

Angelina caught Alexis's finger and squeezed, her cocoa eyes
seeming to ask the same question.

Leaving the store would be like cutting out Alexis's heart.

No-this was no time to indulge in melodramatic whimsy.
Going up to the church made the most sense. She'd hand the
baby to the nurse, settle Kate, Jenny, and Tripp with some
responsible adult, and then come right back.

This was her fight-not the kids'.

"We're going to Grace with everyone else," Alexis said.

Kate grabbed jenny, who in turn clutched Tripp's free
hand. They didn't trust her anymore, Alexis realized. They
had endured windows exploding, Ralph dying, thugs closing
in, and being circled by a monster. Oh, and by the way, had
lived through the stretching and shaking of yet another bomb.
Were those cockroach terrorists done blowing up the neighborhood, or was there more coming?

She laughed. "All in a day's work."

"What?" Jenny said.

"Nothing" Alexis carefully picked up the baby and breathed
in the smell of formula and baby wipes. The baby snuggled into
her, ready for another nap. At least Angelina still trusted her.

"Get your stuff together," she said. "We're going up to Grace.
Jenny, take the stroller down, please. Tripp-you take the baby,
and I'll take the knife, lead us down and out."

Tripped straightened, and his chubbiness took on heft, as if
he was transforming before their eyes from a fat kid everyone
dumped on to a protector of women and children. The hand
holding the cleaver trembled, but his gaze was steady. "I'll lead
the way."

"Good enough. Kate, do you have the diaper bag I packed?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You take the baby."

"I made her cry before. Because I held her the wrong way."

"And now you know better." Alexis smiled as she passed
Angelina to the girl. "Go ahead, Tripp. Open it up."

He unlocked the door and stepped out onto the platform.
He had to start down the stairs before there was room for the
girls to get out.

Alexis slipped her gun out of her pocket and clicked off
the safety. Just let some stupid sewer snake try to hurt these
kids.

Slowly, slowly they crept down the stairs. At the bottom,
Tripp turned and looked to Alexis. "Which way?"

"Go down two rows. There's no drains in the cereal aisle."

Tripp shuffled forward, jenny and Kate practically climbing
up his heels. Alexis scanned the shelves, watching for the Cocoa
Krispies to topple and the sewer snake to lasso them again.

Focus.

They moved past the registers and toward the front door.
Alexis unlocked the padlock and handed her gun to Jenny so
she could raise the grate.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" the girl moaned.

"Point and shoot at anything that moves."

"Anything that ain't us," Tripp added.

Alexis lifted the grate, took the gun back, and stepped
outside. For a moment, the sight of shopping carts in the corral
disoriented her, as if she had made this whole nightmare up
and life outside went on as normal.

Then she spotted Harry Stevens sitting in front of his store
with what looked like a .45 in his hand. He shook his head at
her, then nodded to his right.

The kids crowded out behind her.

"Want me to pull the grate?" Tripp said.

"Please," Kate said. "Before it follows us out."

"Wait," Alexis said, finally spotting what Harry clued her
in to.

Hoops, Hoodie, and four other gangbangers stood at the
corner of the store, fully armed.

"Get inside," Alexis whispered.

"Maybe if we're nice ... give them money or something ... they'll let us go," Kate said.

"It's not money they want," Alexis said. "You, of all people,
should know that. Now, get inside."

"No," Tripp said. "They won't shoot. Not with all these
witnesses and stuff. In daylight. They just won't. Right, Shawn?
You ain't here to shoot anyone."

Somehow Alexis knew they would shoot because a few hours
ago the bomb had blown apart more than the Circle, and it
would take an act of God to put it all right again.

Tripp was still trying to play peacemaker. "We can talk this
out. No shooting."

"Shut it, Sheffield," Hoops said. "That witch shot me and
I'm here to return the favor." He limped toward them, blood
seeping through the gauze wrapped around his foot.

He held the gun all wrong, like too many others who had
never been trained and depended on spraying bullets instead of hitting their mark. Alexis could raise her gun and likely kill
him before he could figure out how to sight down the barrel.
But then his friends would unleash their firepower, and that
would mean all of them dying.

"Tripp, take the girls inside," she said.

"Oh, no," Hoodie snarled, raising his gun. "No one moves."

Hoops stopped and leaned against a pole, his face distorted
with pain. The bandage on his foot was soaked with blood.
Unable to walk another step, he'd end it now.

Alexis would die, but she would not bow to fear. Never had,
never would. Tightening her grip on the gun, she glanced sideways and locked eyes with Tripp.

You know what to do, she willed him to understand. Just go
inside, leave me alone.

She looked Hoops in the eye, thinking somewhere deep
inside that this was insane, hoping her fifty-three-year-old
reflexes would somehow be faster than his.

Something flashed at his feet. He yelped and, instead of
aiming for Alexis, shot at his own feet. The kid bellowed
with pain, screeching to a fearful wail. His crew joined the
shooting, blasting away so that Hoops nearly broke in two at
the knees from the bullets.

Tripp grabbed Kate and jenny and pulled them into the
store-bless him-but Alexis couldn't move other than to
shelter behind the concrete column and watch in horror as the
monster wrapped around what was left of Hoops and pulled
him into the sewer drain.