“This is Alex Bennick’s house, Mom!”
She was swinging toward him in horrified confusion when she caught sight of Mendelson’s face. His smirking, gloating face. At least there was blood still leaking from that curving wound.
“What?” she managed before her tongue went too heavy and dry to function and they pulled into a garage crowded with boxes and tools and detritus.
When the door closed behind them, all her hopes for Everett were shut out with the sunlight.
The relative darkness helped her headache, at least, and her brain began churning with possibilities, none of them good. “What’s happening?” she demanded, but Mendelson just turned his smirk at her and winked.
Were he and Alex actually working together? To what end? What the hell could this possibly have to do with poor Amber running for her life?
Unless it didn’t have anything to do with her at all.
Maybe Alex really was a serial killer. Maybe the two men were some kind of ghoulish tag team. Her mind spiraled as Mendelson got out and shut the door, and she was spinning so hard she almost missed what Everett said. “Mom, I called 911. They know we’re in trouble. And they know he’s a cop. I couldn’t remember his name. I—”
And then Mendelson was opening her door and pulling her out, and she could only stare wide-eyed back at her son.
He’d called for help?
She huffed out a bark of pain or laughter, she wasn’t sure which. It didn’t matter. If help was coming, they could get through this. The whole force couldn’t be dirty. She just had to drag it out for as long as she could.
When Mendelson pulled Everett out, she rushed toward her son even though she couldn’t put her arms around him. “I love you,” she said into his sweaty hair. “I’m so proud of you, baby.”
“I love you, Mom,” he whispered back before Mendelson shoved them both toward the scarred wooden door past the front of the vehicle. She knew it wouldn’t change a thing, but she desperately wanted her hands free so she could touch her son, hold him and offer comfort. Instead, she only pressed her left arm as tightly as she could to his shoulder as they moved together.
“Let me go first,” she murmured, approaching the three steps that led up. Just get through this. Just draw it out. Just keep him talking.
Mendelson reached past her, turned the knob . . . and the horror awaiting her was just a laundry room. No one loomed with an axe or a gun. No one appeared at all. Mendelson shoved her through the doorway, and Everett followed right after.
“Turn right. Go sit on the couch. Both of you.”
She glanced back in question. “What are you going to do to us?”
“Go sit on the goddamn couch!”
She hurried forward, trying to rush without losing her balance, and stepped out into a very short hallway. A stairway in front of her led up to a second story. A dimly lit living room loomed to the right. To the left she caught sight of white linoleum. The kitchen.
But something that hadn’t registered in her vision dragged against her brain, and after one step toward the living room, she stopped and peered deeper into the shadows of the kitchen. At the very edge, the floor turned from white to blood red. She took a step back in that direction, pulled along by fear. She saw a limp arm on the floor. A body. Another victim.
Her stomach lurched, acid burned high in her throat. Then Mendelson shoved her hard.
“Want to join him?”
Pressing her body against Everett’s, she herded him in the other direction, toward the couch and away from the blood.
What the hell was happening? Either Alex was involved or he wasn’t. It didn’t make any sense to drag him in as another victim of Mendelson’s search for his wife.
She wanted to call out for Alex, but she wouldn’t let herself. She couldn’t bear it if he walked into the room wearing the same sick smile Mendelson had flashed. Something inside her would give way to animal panic, and she needed to be able to think.
The ancient hulk of a couch in that strange living room became an unexpected refuge, because as soon as she reached it, Everett sat right next to her and pressed himself to her side, halfway crawling onto her lap. They were together again.
Mendelson didn’t turn on any lights, but enough of the curtains were open that she could see easily as he set his radio on a shelf and turned to face them. “Your son is extraneous,” he said flatly. “You’re the one with the information.”
Panic crawled up her spine like a scurrying animal, and Lily shook her head hard, sending sparks through her damaged brain. “That’s not true! You know I’ll cooperate if he’s here. I’ll help you find her. I’ll do anything.”