Chosen To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Bianca headed for her bedroom door but stopped short when she heard Michelle hiss in a whisper,

“It’s the sheriff’s department.”

294

Lisa Jackson

Mom!

Bianca’s heart froze.

Her father groaned and she imagined him rolling off the couch though the TV was still on. News, it sounded like, though it was late enough that it was probably on the DVR.

“Is it about Regan?” he asked soberly, and Bianca knew instinctively that she’d learn more if she didn’t walk into the room, if she stayed eavesdropping.

“I don’t know, but it’s her partner,” Michelle said.

“Wanted to speak with you.”

“Christ,” he murmured, but he wasn’t angry. He sounded as worried as Bianca felt and, just as she suspected, her dad did still care about her mom, if only a little.

“Always something!” Michelle said and in the mirror placed on the wall in the hallway outside the bathroom door, Bianca caught a reflected view of the living room. Her father, hair rumpled, was standing in stocking feet and sweats, blocking her view of the flickering television. Michelle, wearing skinny jeans, a sweater, high-heeled boots, and a frown, was facing him, her arms crossed over her chest and under her boobs so that more cleavage than usual was visible in the V-neck of her fuzzy red sweater.

“This is Luke Pescoli. Yeah . . . Hi . . . What? Jeremy? He did what?” Her father heaved an angry sigh and shook his head. “Great.” She read the tension in his back. “Yeah . . . Okay . . . Listen, can’t you cut the kid a break . . . His mom . . . Well, hell, do you know anything more about Regan?”

Bianca strained forward. The news hadn’t been about Mom. Jeremy, somehow, had gotten himself into trouble again. It figured. He had dog food for

CHOSEN TO DIE

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brains! Cisco was smarter than he was by a long shot.

“Oh. All right. Thanks.”

Dad hung up the phone and Michelle said,

“What about Regan?”

“Nothing new,” was the grim response.

Bianca clutched the jamb to her bedroom and slowly sank to the floor. Mom, where are you? She fought back an urge to cry and kept her eyes on the mirror’s reflection of Dad and Michelle, whose pretty face had taken on a decidedly tense expression.

“Well, what did Jeremy do?” Michelle demanded.

“Got in a fistfight with Cort Brewster and is in the drunk tank.”

“My God.” She was annoyed. “Over Brewster’s daughter? You’re not going to go get him, are you?”

Dad was looking around, as if for his coat. “You think I should leave him there?”

“Yes! He needs to learn some things.”

“In the drunk tank at the sheriff’s department? With his mother missing, possibly kidnapped?”

“He could have thought of those things first, instead of adding to the problem.”

“He could’ve. But he didn’t.” Dad was starting to get annoyed right back.