Don't Say a Word (Strangers Series) (3 page)

CHAPTER 4

BITTY CALLED THEM night terrors, and they were definitely terrifying—for the person having them as well as everyone else within earshot. As Allie climbed her way out of a deep sleep the next morning, she could still hear Carrie’s gut-wrenching screams.

When she finally managed to pry her eyes open, Sammy was looming over her. Seeing that she was awake, he grinned. With his blue eyes, fine sandy hair, and dimples on both cheeks, she thought he was the most beautiful sight ever.

Allie smiled back at him. She’d fallen in love with Sammy during her first ultrasound. That was the day she realized her life wasn’t about her anymore. Her life was all about him now, and she knew it always would be. He was going to give her life meaning, and she was going to give him the best childhood she possibly could. She only wished Sammy had a more involved father. Since he’d been born, Johnny had only visited a couple of days a month.

“Who here?” Sammy asked.

“Who
is
here,” Allie corrected. Sammy was a little behind his peers in verbal skills and was working with a speech therapist twice a month. She answered his question: “Two little girls. They got here late last night.”

Sammy straddled her stomach and plopped his little bottom down. “What their names?”

“Carrie and Zoe. Why? Did you hear them this morning?”

“Yes, they was in the hallway.”

“Want to go and meet them . . . and say good morning to Grammy?”

Sammy’s face lit up. “Yes!”

The girls sat at the dining room table, still in the nightgowns Allie had picked out the night before.

Both had swollen eyes and looked miserable. When Allie and Sammy walked into the room, Zoe looked up, her eyes reproachful. But when she caught sight of Sammy, they softened a little. Allie remembered what the caseworker had said about their little brother, and the gruesome way he’d been killed. She wondered if maybe Sammy reminded Zoe of him.

“You guys get some rest?” Allie asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Zoe said, quietly, her swollen eyes still glued to Sammy.

Clutching Allie’s thigh, Sammy quietly stared back at her.

“Sammy, this is Zoe and Carrie. They’re going to be staying here awhile.”

Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not true. Our dad is going to pick us up as soon as he gets back from his run,” she said, angrily. “Didn’t you hear me say that last night? Because I’m pretty sure I said it twice.”

Allie’s eyes stung.
No, I’m afraid he’s not. You’re never going to see him again. At least not alive.

“Why, good morning, sleepyheads,” Bitty said, walking into the room and seeing Allie and Sammy. She set plates of food in front of the girls.

“Grammy!” Sammy shouted, and released Allie’s leg. He wrapped his arms around the old woman as she arranged the plates. Bitty picked Sammy up and he kissed her on the cheek.

Allie noticed dark circles beneath the woman’s eyes from staying up so late the night before. And the night before that. As Allie’d guessed, the lack of sleep was beginning to wear her out.

“Are you hungry?” Bitty asked.

“Yes!”

Bitty set Sammy down and smiled warmly at Zoe. “Can I get you anything else, dear?”

Zoe shook her head.

“Okay, just let me know.”

Bitty went to Carrie’s side and knelt down. “Go ahead and eat, honey. You need your strength.”

The blonde girl dodged Bitty’s eyes, but dutifully picked up her fork and moved a little of her eggs around.

“There you go,” Bitty said, patting her on the shoulder.

Bitty gestured to Allie. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll bring out your plates.”

“Need any help?” Allie asked.

“Everything’s pretty much done. But maybe you can sit with the girls for a few minutes so I can get dressed? I’m taking them to the Child Advocacy Center in an hour.”

“I’ll drive you,” Allie offered. She’d bring her Kindle and the iPad for Sammy to play games on, and they’d wait for Bitty and the girls in the truck, then drive them home.

“Oh. Well, thank you. That would be great,” Bitty said. Allie could tell the woman was relieved she’d offered. Bitty just didn’t like to show it. Although she was always helping others, she wasn’t comfortable accepting help herself. Allie suspected part of the reason was she didn’t want to acknowledge that she was getting older—and that the lack of sleep took much more of a toll on her body than it once had.

The phone rang. Allie reached for it and answered. “Hello?”

There was silence on the other end.

“Hello?” she said a little louder.

She could hear someone breathing. Then, after a few seconds, the call disconnected.

A shiver moved through her.

When she looked up, Bitty was watching her expectantly. “Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “They didn’t say anything.”

Allie rubbed the goose pimples that had risen on her arms and tried to tell herself that it had been nothing. A bad connection or a wrong number. But given her past, alarms were sounding in her head.

She glanced at Zoe, who had stopped eating her eggs, midbite. “It might’ve been my dad trying to call,” she said, her tone hopeful. “Sometimes when he’s on the road he hits dead areas and he can’t hear us.”

A chair screeched against the tiled floor, making Allie jump.

Carrie stood and burst from the room.

CHAPTER 5

COLD RAIN SLAPPED the gutters of the one-story brown brick building that housed Johnson County’s behavioral services department. While Allie and Sammy sat in the warm truck, Bitty walked the girls in.

Allie lowered the windows an inch to let some of the cold, crisp air rush in. There was something about the chilly, rain-cleansed air that she’d always found soothing. Breathing in the tangy scent of wood smoke, she peered in the rearview mirror and saw Sammy also watching the girls. He’d had a million questions about both of them as he’d dressed that morning. She wondered what he was thinking now.

“You warm enough back there?”

Sammy nodded. “Why we not go with them?”

“Why
didn’t
we go with them,” she corrected. “Because it’s going to be boring in there. Someone’s just going to ask them a bunch of questions, then they’ll be done. They shouldn’t be long.”

Sammy returned his focus back to the game on his iPad.

Her thoughts shifted to the breather on the phone earlier that morning. The call was still creeping her out. If someone had simply gotten the number wrong, why didn’t he or she say something? Why just sit there like a freak, breathing on the phone?

She found the big Stop sign in her mind and waved it in front of her eyes.

Stop!
she told herself.
Relax. It was
just
a wrong number.

It was a technique Bitty had taught her years ago that helped her suppress negative or obsessive thoughts. It worked really well . . . most of the time.

Prone to depression and anxiety attacks, Allie had learned that if she controlled negative thoughts, ate well, took a low-dose antidepressant and a handful of supplements, the bad feelings usually went away very quickly. On the other hand, if she didn’t do all the above religiously, they often spiraled out of control.

She powered on her tablet and was in the middle of reading a nutrition article she’d bookmarked when someone tapped on the driver’s side window.

She almost flew out of her seat.

Her eyes darting to the window, she realized it was just Bitty. Exhaling loudly, Allie lowered the window and cursed her exaggerated startle reflex. It was going to end up giving her a heart attack.

“Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Bitty said. “But Zoe said she won’t talk to the therapist unless you’re in the room with her.”

Allie frowned. “What? Me?” That didn’t make sense. Bitty was the one good at connecting with people . . . comforting the children. Not her. So why did Zoe want Allie there? They didn’t even know one another.

Besides, Allie’s rule was to never get involved with the foster children. “But that’s crazy. Why would she ask for me?”

“I don’t know.” The woman watched her. “If you don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to do it.”

Allie
definitely
wasn’t comfortable.

“I can go back in and say it’s not an option,” Bitty continued. “And they’ll just have to find some other way.”

But Allie had never said no to Bitty, and she wouldn’t now. She pulled herself together and unbuckled her seat belt.

The building’s lobby smelled of lemon disinfectant and stale coffee. When they entered the waiting room, they found Carrie slumped over in her chair, sound asleep.

Allie set Sammy down and pointed to a small play area. “Looks like there are some fun toys to play with,” she said. But Sammy wasn’t interested. Instead, he climbed on the empty seat next to Carrie and studied her while she slept.

“Okay, well, sit here for a few minutes while I go in. Grammy will stay out here with you, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy,” he said, powering on his iPad and staring at Carrie some more.

“Make sure if you leave that chair, you tell Grammy first, okay?”

Sammy nodded.

Footsteps sounded on the tiled floor, and a large black man wearing a police uniform rounded the corner with a police hat and a leather-bound notebook in his hands.

“Allie, this is Sergeant Lyle Davis,” Bitty said. “He’s one of the investigating officers on the girls’ parents’ case. Lyle, this is my daughter, Allie.”

Allie shook the man’s hand, trying as she always did in public to appear cool and confident. Fortunately these days, it was an act she was able to pull off well enough to impress even herself.

“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Sergeant Davis said. He had a kind smile and brown, watery eyes. But what Allie was most aware of was the gun that rested in a holster on his hip. She hated guns after seeing what her brother had done to himself with one. It was the main reason Bitty didn’t keep any in the house.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Allie said.

She heard more footsteps from around the corner. A moment later, another man appeared holding a Styrofoam cup. When Allie saw him, her stomach did a somersault and her hand instinctively went to her cheek. It was one of several ways she used to hide the many parts of her face that she’d loathed.

All her life, she’d suffered from BDD (or body dysmorphic disorder), a condition that distorted the way she saw herself. With her long dark hair and big gray eyes, people had always said she was beautiful . . . stunning even . . . but when she looked in the mirror, she found the girl who peered back at her to be far from attractive. She’d healed significantly the past six years, but she still had a ways to go.

Realizing she’d been trying to hide, she immediately dropped her hand to her side.
Stop that, dammit. You don’t do that anymore.

“Allie, this is Detective Lambert,” Bitty said.

Swallowing hard, Allie looked at the man who was staring back at her. He appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties and was wearing plain clothes: a crisply pressed blue button-down, a brown leather jacket, and a pair of black jeans. He had dark, tousled hair and blue eyes. He stood taller than Sammy’s father, Johnny, who was six foot, so she put him at about six foot two. He was easily one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen.

Suddenly she realized Bitty was still talking.

“. . . worked with many of the same kids over the years and have gotten to know one another quite well. Detective, this is my daughter, Allie.”

Detective Lambert’s eyes continued to hold hers as he reached to shake her hand. She fought the urge to look away because, as usual, she questioned her appearance. This morning, aside from a little mascara and some lip ointment, her face was essentially bare. She was also wearing her long dark hair in a ridiculously messy knot on the top of her head. But eye contact had become very important to her over the years, especially since she’d become Sammy’s mother. She wouldn’t show fear or weakness, let on that she had body issues, or be submissive to anyone . . . if she could help it.

Not anymore.

She wanted Sammy to have a mother he could be proud of. A
strong
mother.

She shook the detective’s warm hand and forced her eyes to remain steady on his, wondering what he was seeing. The person she saw in the mirror or what Bitty and other people seemed to see.

He smiled, showing perfect teeth. Her heart fluttered, which made her angry at herself . . . for her lack of control.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes quite that shade of gray before,” he said. “They’re . . . well, they’re striking.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s great to finally meet you, Allie,” he continued. “Your mother’s a very good woman. But I expect you already know that.”

“I do.”

The light bar above her head buzzed. Suddenly conscious of the bright fluorescent lights that made everything a little uglier, herself included, she cleared her throat and turned her eyes to the sound of footsteps approaching.

A young woman with red hair rounded the corner. Her eyes immediately found Allie and she smiled. “Hi, are you Allie?”

“Yes.”

She held out her hand. “I’m Renee. I’m the lead forensic therapist here. I’ll be the one talking with Zoe this morning.”

Allie shook the woman’s hand. “Nice to meet you. What do I need to do?”

“Just sit in the room and be there for her. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

“Great. Follow me.”