Never Die Alone

“Go away!” she cried. But the hound held his ground and started to bay, sending her into a new panic. “Oh, for the love of God!” She hurled the pack of cookies over the fence. Maybe that would deter him. She didn’t pause to look, but took off again.

Soon she’d reach a main road.

Soon she’d get help.

Soon she’d find Zoe.

CHAPTER 19

From the couch in his apartment, Jase hit the Send button on his laptop, then set the computer aside and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. It was late, after two in the damned morning, but he knew he couldn’t sleep. He was still too hyped up.

He’d missed his deadline for the morning edition, but his story, a piece about Donovan Caldwell, would run the following day. He hoped by then to have a companion piece about the De

Carson hadn’t wanted to talk to him and had said so when Jase had finally co

No arguments had changed his mind. He wasn’t buying into the fact that the paper with its print circulation, online subscribers, and co

“Look, thanks. I know you have a job to do, but I’m not certain that the girls are missing. Not yet. This is just the kind of stunt they’d pull.”

“Stunt?”

“Well, prank, I guess.”

Jase had thought of Selma, the way her frail body had seemed on the verge of collapse in Bria

“They would do this?” Jase had probed. “Put everyone who cares about them through an emotional wringer?”

“They’re kids,” Carson had responded. “And sure, now they’re supposedly legal adults. You know. Twenty-one. But we all know that twenty-one is the new seventeen. They’re all about themselves, still.”

Jase had checked his notes. Both girls had been good students and athletes, no arrest records, no real sign of trouble. Chloe worked at a coffee shop near campus. Jase had already spoken with the owner, who’d sung her praises. Chloe had never missed a day of work, and aside from one time when she’d been late due to her car not starting, she’d been on time, a stellar employee. Zoe, who was employed by an accounting firm, had gotten a similar review from her boss. “Tons of energy, always a smile,” Peggy Tavernaro had said. “Always eager. Never complains. At least not to me. To tell you the truth, I wish I had three more Zoe De

Both the coffee shop owner and Ms. Tavernaro had expressed concern that the girls hadn’t shown up and had asked Jase for reassurance that they were “all right.”

“I don’t know,” he’d admitted, and said he’d hoped so.

But Peggy Tavernaro hadn’t been put off. “If someone from the Observer is calling,” she’d pointed out, “this can’t be good news. What’s happened to Zoe?”

“I don’t know,” he’d admitted honestly.

“Well, please, have someone keep me in the loop.” She’d sounded worried, and he hadn’t blamed her.

Considering everything Jase had learned about the girls, he had been pissed by the flat response of the twins’ father. Did Carson De

No. He didn’t think so.

Nonetheless, Jase hadn’t been able to convince Carson to grant him an interview.

Yet.

“All in good time,” he said, though patience definitely wasn’t a virtue that could be attributed to him. Eager. Pushy. Anxious. Now, those were his character traits, and they had served him well in his profession. Just not in his private life. Especially not with women. And so he staved off his new feelings for Bria

Of what he knew about her death.

About how he was involved.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, and squeezed his eyes shut. His last view of Aria

Jesus God.

That face had haunted him for over a decade. He was reminded of Aria

Guilt nagged at him. From what he’d learned about siblings who’d been conceived and grown in the womb together, there was always an invisible cord linking them. If that co

His gut clenched and he walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and dragged out the last beer from the six-pack he’d bought earlier in the week. After twisting off the cap and taking a long swallow, he discarded the cardboard pack and headed back to the living room, where he flopped onto the couch and stared at the cold grate.

Maybe it was time to unburden himself.

And what? Face murder charges? How would that help anything?

Another long pull on the bottle. More staring at the blackened firebox.

But still no answers.

He couldn’t let her get away with it.

If he didn’t find a way out of this trap, everything would be ruined. Everything! He couldn’t let that happen. With difficulty he dragged in several deep breaths. Then, assured that his windpipe was intact, he grabbed hold of the edge of the workbench and hauled himself to his feet.

He had tools, lots of them. Crowbars and scissors and wire cutters. And screwdrivers that would fit into the screws holding the hinges of the trapdoor in place.

But getting up to reach it was another problem. The ladder was useless, as there was no opening to rest the rails on. But maybe if he dragged his workbench to the spot below the opening . . . If he stood on the bench, he was tall enough that he shouldn’t have any trouble reaching the hinges and unscrewing them.

The hard part would come when he had to force the door open on the hinged side when the locked side wouldn’t budge.

But what had his miserable mother told him over and over again? “Where there’s a will, there’s a way, boy. Don’t you forget it.”

God, he was glad she died young. Early-onset dementia and some kind of paralysis in her lower extremities had sent her to the nursing facility long before her time.

Served her right.

He rolled to his side and winced. Shit, his face ached, his throat was on fire, and his crotch was still throbbing. Goddamn that Chloe! He pounded one fist against the stained concrete floor, then told himself to rein in his rage.