The Girl Who Disappeared Twice (Forensic Instincts 1)

Her reaction had been odd. Yes, she’d been genuinely stunned and devastated. But then her shock had transformed into something else. A grim determination. A panicky impatience. She kept glancing at her watch, clearly waiting for something to happen.

Or to make something happen.

The hell with Ashley’s lack of cooperation, and Hope’s morning-long absence. Casey could sense that something was going down. And she had a pretty good idea what that something was.

Her theory was confirmed when she spotted Hope slipping down the back stairs and out of the house with a duffel bag that looked suspiciously heavy, and with a frantic pulse throbbing at the side of her neck.

Casey didn’t say a word to anyone, although she felt Hutch’s probing stare as she slipped out the door. To avoid potential problems, she turned in the doorway and mouthed the words to him, I’m just getting some air, before she sprinted to her car. She knew he didn’t buy her staged exit. He obviously assumed she’d gotten some clandestine lead. But his hands were tied. He had no way of knowing if her lead was valid, or even if she’d truly gotten one. He was deep in his investigation, with no concrete reason to follow a private consultant wherever the hell she was going. So Casey was safe, and on her own—for now.

Jumping in her car just as Hope’s garage door went up, Casey ducked down behind the wheel to avoid being spotted. From her crouched position, she made a quick call to Marc, instructing him to find and follow Edward Willis, no matter where he went. Simultaneously, she watched Hope back out of the driveway and speed up the street.

That was her cue.

Easing back up, Casey turned on her own ignition and shifted into Drive, waiting until Hope’s Acadia was halfway up the block before following her.

Wherever Hope was taking that stash of money, and whether she was acting alone or with Edward, Casey was about to find out.

The mall’s second-floor food court was every bit as crowded as Hope had expected. Five o’clock was prime shoppers’ dinner hour. Her shoulder throbbed from the weight of the duffel bag, but she made her way among the throngs of people, not stopping until she reached the trash can that was tucked inside a little alcove across from the pretzel kiosk.

Her heart was pounding like a drum. Her insides were twisted into knots. She resisted the urge to look around. Krissy’s life depended on her following instructions to a tee.

She lowered the duffel bag to the tiled floor right behind the trash can, where it was half-hidden and out of the path of the main flow of traffic. Keeping her head conspicuously down, she squeezed her eyes shut for one moment, fighting a wave of sickness. Then she sucked in her breath and walked away, heading directly for the door leading to the second-floor parking lot.

Please God, she prayed. Please let things go as planned. Please let Krissy come home to me.

It was going to be the longest hour of her life.

Casey stood in the middle of the food court, impatiently scanning the area for Hope. There were scores of people crammed into the various tables and chairs, endless lines in front of each restaurant station, and still more shoppers milling around the kiosks. Finding Hope was going to be a major challenge.

It was a good five minutes before Casey spotted her. Wearing her generic brown trench coat, she was halfway down the corridor, moving purposefully toward her destination, despite being weighed down by the duffel bag.

Casey elbowed her way through the crowd, losing sight of Hope twice before spotting her nearing the exit door. This time there was no duffel bag on her shoulder.

Dammit.

Following her target, Casey scrutinized the passersby in the thin hope of seeing someone with the heavy duffel bag in tow.

No such luck.

She reached the exit, pushed her way out, and headed for the garage where she’d seen Hope park her Acadia not thirty minutes earlier.

The SUV was still in the same parking space. Hope was inside, sitting in the driver’s seat. Her arms were folded across the steering wheel, and her face was buried in her arms. Even from a distance, Casey could see that her shoulders were shaking with sobs.

The damage had already been done. The payoff had been made. Hope was obviously waiting for her daughter’s appearance—an appearance Casey knew would not be forthcoming.

But Hope had to realize that for herself. If Casey went over there now, Hope would always blame that interference as the cause for Krissy not being returned.

Casey retreated to her car, which was parked diagonally across the way, slid inside and waited.

Thirty minutes passed. Then forty-five.

Hope got out of her SUV and began pacing around, looking from her watch to the pillars at the exit door.

No one appeared.

A good hour and a half passed before Hope sagged against her car, raking her fingers through her hair and breaking down completely. She sank to the concrete floor, her knees raised as she curled forward and wept.

Casey jumped out of her car. She crossed over until she was standing beside Hope.