She placed the receiver back in its cradle and severed the connection. She stood where she was, staring down at the phone, unable to believe what had just happened. A story. He wanted to see her so he could do a story. Had the magazine editor put him up to it? Had he thought he could get to her through Paul? Tears flooded her eyes. She fought to hold them in, then gave up. She walked to where Ross couldn’t see her and cried silently. The phone rang again, but she didn’t answer it. She stood alone in a corner and wished everything and everyone would just go away.
It took her a few minutes to compose herself. Outside, the day was fading quickly toward darkness, and snow was beginning to fall once more in a soft white curtain. Street-lamps and porch lights glimmered up and down Woodlawn Road, and Christmas tree lights twinkled through frosted windows and along railings and eaves. On a snow-covered lawn across the way, a painted wooden nativity scene was bathed in white light.
Ross appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Are you all right?” Everybody’s favorite question. She nodded without looking at him. “Just disappointed.”
The phone rang again. This time, she picked it up. “Look, Paul,” she began.
“Nest, it’s Larry Spence.” She heard him breathing hard in the receiver, as if he had run a race. His voice was breaking. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry, that’s all. I’m sorry. I know you’ll probably never speak to me again, but Robinson is right—we can’t take chances with this business. You’re not thinking straight, girl. If you were, you’d see how much danger you’re in and you’d get the hell out of there. I’m just doing what I have to do, nothing more. But I’m sorry it had to be me, ‘cause I know you—”
“Go away, Larry,” she said, and hung up.
She stared at the phone absently. What was he talking about? She had no idea, but his tone of voice bothered her. He sounded anxious, almost frantic. Apologizing like that, over and over, for asking a few boring questions…
Then suddenly, unexpectedly, she thought of the children. She had forgotten about them in the rush of events, of Larry Spence coming and going, of the phone calls. She glanced toward her bedroom. They were being awfully quiet in there.
She walked down the hallway quickly, snapping on lights as she went. She was being silly. She was overreacting. Pick’s security net was in place. No one could get in or out of her house without her sensing it. She fought down the impulse to run. No, she kept saying inside her head, trying to reassure herself. No!
“Harper! Little John!”
She reached her bedroom and threw open the door. An orange blur shot past her from under the bed and disappeared down the hall—Hawkeye, hair all on end, hissing in rage and fear. Her eyes swept the room hurriedly. Shadows nestled comfortably in the corners and draped the bed in broad stripes. The puzzle and toys lay scattered on the floor. Harper’s cup of apple juice sat half-empty on her nightstand.
But the children were gone.
CHAPTER 2 5
At first, she could not bring herself to move. She just stood, staring at the empty room, shocked into immobility, frozen with disbelief. A rush of confused thoughts crowded through her mind. The children had to be there. She had put them there herself. She just wasn’t seeing them. Maybe they were playing hide-and-seek, and she was supposed to come look for them. Maybe they were under the bed or in the closet. But they couldn’t have just disappeared!
She forced herself to look for them because the sound of her thinking was making her crazy. Even though she knew what she would find, she searched under the bed and in the closet and anywhere else she could think to look. As she did, her shock dissipated and her anger began to grow. They were supposed to be safe; her house was supposed to be protected! Nothing was supposed to be able to get inside without her knowing! It was the first time that Pick had let her down, and she was furious at him.