Page 88 of Our Little Secret

Damn!

She slid back the desk chair, stepped to one side, and pushed it noiselessly into place.

“Brooke?” Neal called, and she slipped around the desk to the couch.

She could keep quiet and hope he went into the kitchen first. If so, she could move hurriedly from his office through the entryway to the living room.

“Honey?” he called at the base of the stairs. “Are you down here?”

Shep gave up a soft “Woof” from his spot in the kitchen.

“Hey, boy,” Neal said as she heard him start for the back of the house. “Have you seen Mom?”

She didn’t hesitate, just silently eased out of the room down the short hallway past the staircase and into the living area. As she reached the window, she said, “In here.”

Neal appeared from the darkened dining area.

“What’re you doing?”

“I heard something and came down to look around the house. Make sure I locked all the doors.”

“What did you hear?” He was crossing the room, and even in the semidarkness she could see that his eyebrows were drawn together, his eyes dark.

“I don’t know.” She sounded breathless and cleared her throat. “That’s what I was checking.”

“Probably the dog,” he said and placed an arm around her shoulders.

She thought of the sounds she’d heard. “Definitely not Shep.”

He snapped on a light and she realized he was still dressed in the clothes he’d worn all day, the wrinkled shirt and pants, his beard shadow dark on his jaw, his hair askew. “Well, let’s look around. Nothing in here.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.” As he walked across the foyer to his office, his frown deepened into a scowl. “I know I closed this,” he said, touching the door to his office. “I remember doing it.” He walked inside, then came out quickly, pulling on the knob and testing it. His eyes found hers. “Did you go inside?”

“No! Well, yeah,” she equivocated from the living room, her heart knocking. Dear God, was she really afraid of her own husband, of his reaction? Is that what they’d come to? “It was closed. I opened it, poked my head in to make sure no one was inside, then came in here.”

She should tell him the truth. Ask him about the loans to Leah. The file markedJA.

Neal rubbed a weary hand over his face, scraping at his beard stubble. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll test all the doors again.” He started toward the kitchen, then held up a hand behind him, as if expecting her to call after him with more directions. “And the windows.” He yawned. “I’ll test them too.” He walked in stocking feet to the staircase leading to the garage and laundry room.

“I’ll take the upstairs, double-check the windows.” She was up the steps in an instant, wondering if she was going crazy, afraid that her paranoia and guilt were distorting her reality. Slowly, she cracked the door to the guest room, where she found Leah curled in the fetal position in the bed. The old quilt Nana had pieced together half a century earlier partially covered her body. Her roller bag lay open near the small closet, clothes spilling out.

The next room she verified was Marilee’s. Quietly, she pushed the door open, and in the half-light from the windows saw the bed, covers mussed, sheets falling to the floor, but empty and cold to the touch. “Mari?” she said softly, her eyes scanning the room where the computer screen was constantly changing with underwater scenes. “Marilee?”

Brooke’s heart began to thud with a new, terrifying dread.

She snapped on the light and quickly turned around, certain she’d missed her daughter, but the room was empty.

Half running, she went into the hall and then the guest bath, littered with Marilee’s toiletries, Leah’s floral Dopp kit hanging from a hook on the back of the door. “Marilee!” she yelled louder as she threw back the shower curtain on the old claw-foot tub, the hangers scraping noisily over the rod.

Nothing.

Oh. God.

Two girls had gone missing. Both around Marilee’s age. One just recently.

“Neal!” she yelled and ran into her own bedroom, hoping against hope that her daughter would be there.