After She's Gone (West Coast 3)

“You went through a horrific tragedy before, when your mother was stalked by that maniac. You were nearly killed and Allie witnessed—”

“Don’t even go there!”

“It’s part of your history. Of Allie’s history. Certainly of Jenna Hughes’s history, and there’s a new interest in what happened then.”

“No,” Cassie said through clenched teeth. Her darkest fears were coming to light. She couldn’t relive the horror.

“You lost a boyfriend,” Whitney went on, and Cassie felt a numbing cold when she realized the story had already been researched. “He was murdered.”

“I don’t know why you want to bring this up now.”

“Because the public wants to know and they’re going to. I’m doing a report on what happened ten years ago.”

Knowing it would do no good, Cassie couldn’t help herself from begging. “No . . . please. There’s no reason to dredge all that up again.” Images of ice and snow, blood and freezing water, frozen visages of Jenna in her most popular roles sped through her memory. But the image that was most indelibly painted in her mind: Josh, slumped behind the wheel of his truck, a dark oozing gash visible on his throat. She could still hear the loud music pulsing through the frigid night, still recall the pure fear and shock she’d felt.

Her knees threatened to buckle. She felt suddenly cold to the bone as she thought of the madman who’d terrorized them, how close she and Jenna had come to becoming his final victims. She was shaking so badly she leaned against her car for support.

Watching her, Whitney seemed to pull back with genuine concern. “The story about Jenna’s stalker airs this week. I just thought you might want to add something that I could edit in.”

“Go to hell,” Cassie ground out, pulling herself together. “Leave me and my family alone, you bloodsucking bitch.”

“Wait!” Whitney Stone raised a hand. She was irritated as hell, but tried to hide it under a smooth coat of civility. “Okay, I get it, you don’t want to talk to the press, but I just have a few questions. As I said, to help. And really, come on, it’ll be good publicity with the movie coming out in a couple of months.”

Cassie slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ve said all I’m going to.”

Whitney grabbed on to the open driver’s window. “I thought you might want to tell your side of the story. You know, what happened then. What’s happening now. I’m going to run it, you know, as I’ve already star

ted airing my investigation. So, with or without your input the story will air, but I would love to hear what you think, to try and work with you.”

“I have nothing to say.” She jabbed her key into the ignition.

The car started but Whitney was still hanging on. “The police questioned you for hours. You were reportedly the last person to see your sister before she disappeared. And it’s common knowledge that you two had your ups and downs.”

Cassie tried to keep her cool, but the woman was irritating the hell out of her and the cameraman had positioned himself so that if she backed up, she might hit him. “How long have you been following me? How did you know that I’d be here? Now. In this park?”

A tiny muscle worked in the reporter’s jaw. “I was going to talk to you at your house and I got there just as you were leaving so—”

“You know where I live?”

“Of course.”

Cassie mentally reviewed the stops she’d made before landing here. “You followed me to the post office and through the coffee drive-in . . . For God’s sake—” She snapped. “All the way from Portland to LA? You’re unbelievable.” She glanced at the hulk who was blocking her exit. “Get out of my way and leave me the hell alone.” Before waiting for an answer, she shoved her Honda into reverse. “You’d better move,” she told the cameraman.

“I know you want to find out what happened to your sister,” Whitney pleaded. “I do, too.”

“For a story.”

“Maybe we could help each other.”

“Tell your boy there to watch out. I’m not stopping.”

Whitney was still talking as Cassie rolled up her window and eased backward, certain her back tire would roll over the toe of the big galoot’s boot. Well, tough. She kept reversing. At the last second the cameraman moved slightly away, and she kept right on backing up until she could maneuver her car around the bastard. “Idiot,” she muttered under her breath as she tore out of the lot.

She didn’t know if she was talking about Whitney Stone, the man with the shoulder cam, or herself.

CHAPTER 14

“I, um . . . I don’t suppose there’s any word. About Allie Kramer, I mean.” Her eyes wide, the girl behind the antique cash register at the hardware store looked up at Trent expectantly. She had layered red hair, a turned up nose spattered with freckles and braces, and she smiled a bit anxiously as she handed him his sack of nails, his receipt, and change.