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SEPTEMBER PULLED INTO the Star Mall parking lot, and slowed Pam’s Jeep to a crawl. One lonely VW squatted near the bus stop next to an empty HART-Line vehicle. Score.
Guilt flogged her for leaving Pam behind, even if EMTs were on the way. She’d left a message at the shelter about Bruno and the rest of Pam’s dogs. She’d done all she could, at least while she was on the run.
Steven was priority number one. The flash drive was a lost cause. After Steven was safe, she’d concentrate on April. “Let him be here,” she said, as if speaking the hope aloud would make it happen. It wasn’t a prayer. Hell no. God never answered. Even Wilma would agree with her now.
Snow had changed to ice that chittered against the windshield. Wiper blades on the warm glass painted the mess into a frozen sheet except for the twin spots the defroster melted.
Light spilled from the mall’s glass entry, but the stores inside looked dark. The place must have shut down early for the storm, but September didn’t check her watch, didn’t want to know the time. Each minute ticked closer to failure. And failure meant death.
September braced herself for the slap of cold and levered open the car door. By the time she’d shuffle-skated to the entrance, sleet sugared her hair.
Her phone rang. She looked. Mom again. She didn’t answer. It was close to nine o’clock. Only 17 hours until the deadline.
The smeary doors gave her pause. How odd. Janitorial services kept entrances pristine, sensitive to shoppers’ first impressions. Smudges covered the glass from floor to chest height on the two center doors, and muddy paw prints slurried the tile entrance. Her shoulders unclenched with sudden relief. They were here.
She pulled open the glass door and hurried into the mall. “Steven?” September’s voice echoed. Metal accordion gates shuttered store fronts on both sides of the entrance, leaving only the massive hallways passable. If the individual stores had closed, that narrowed the search. She listened but heard nothing but the ambient buzz of florescent lights. The mall was empty. Maybe she missed them. Maybe they were safe with kindly strangers. “Where are you?” Steven might not answer, but if they were here, the dog would respond. “Shadow. Baby-dog, where are you?”
A yelp sounded, and September’s heart leaped. “Shadow, good-dog. Shadow, come. Steven, it’s Aunt September, don’t be scared.” She raced toward the yelps. Where the dog was, Steven couldn’t be far.
The pup skidded around the corner, yodeling with emotion. His big paws slid out from under him. He regained his feet and launched himself, aiming slurps at her face as he wailed and arooed happy sounds mixed with something else. Her stomach fluttered with dread.
“Baby-dog, settle down.” The jumping-jack behavior said he wanted her on his level, so she knelt to hug his shaking form. “Hush, it’s okay.” She eagerly scanned for Steven as she dodged the pup’s frantic licks, stroking his throat until he rolled onto his back. He’d wet himself. What the hell? Her throat tightened. Something was off. “Where’s Steven? Shadow, calm down. Settle. Where’s Steven?” She steadied herself and spoke with command. “Find Steven.”
“Steven’s gone! You’ve got to help. Call for help, my phone’s dead–”
September scrambled to her feet. Shadow rolled upright but continued to wriggle and cry.
“Who are you? Where’s Steven?” She backed away.
The old man shuffled closer in a frantic jig that favored a bum leg. His faded blue eyes swam with tears. His overcoat swallowed a frail body bent with arthritis, defeat, or both. He held stained bare hands before him. And shuddered.
“Call the cops. Freda’s cell phone is smashed. I don’t have one.” He stared at his dirty hands, wiped them against the front of his dark coat, and folded them together as though in prayer. “That’s a good dog, he tried to protect Steven.” His lower lip trembled. “That poor little boy.” He looked at her, anguished. “Nobody’s here! I’ve banged on every damn gate for somebody to call for help. But they closed early, nobody’s here. Thank God you came.”
“Is that blood?” She glanced at Shadow for his reaction, but his hackles remained smooth. “Where is Steven? He’s not hurt, is he?”
The man stumbled toward her, his voice desperate. “My friend, Freda. I think she’s dead.” He braced himself against the wall to keep himself upright. “Call an ambulance.” He whirled and nearly fell as he scrambled back toward the food court.
“Wait. Somebody’s dead?” The room spun, steadied, and she dashed after him. “Where’s Steven? And who the hell are you?”
“Are you deaf? Call the ever-lovin’ police!” His stiff old-man gait moved more quickly than she could have imagined. “If it matters, I’m Theodore Williams. They call me Teddy.”
The dog’s ears twitched. He whined as he kept pace with her, insisting on contact as they moved.
“Who’s dead, Teddy?”
He stopped abruptly and pointed, and September surged past. Shadow pressed so hard against her leg, she tripped.
Teddy pulled off his glasses and swiped his tears with a sleeve. “We only wanted to help the boy and he shot her!” He found a napkin on a nearby table and scrubbed his hands, then shredded the paper into confetti. “I tried to give her CPR. You’ve got to call nine-one-one. Help Freda.” He gulped. “Stop that man who took Steven. God, the poor little kid was screaming, he was so scared.” He balled his fists, white knuckled with anger and fear. “I couldn’t stop him. He would have killed me, too.”
They turned the corner into the food court that held a dozen or more café tables with flimsy chairs. Near a large central planter, spilled fries and ketchup mixed with brown liquid from a crushed cup. The HART-Line driver was sprawled next to an overturned chair like she’d attempted to sit and missed.
September rushed to the woman, brushing her lank hair aside. A neat hole just left of center marred Freda’s smooth throat, blood pooling beneath Freda’s head. She was still warm, but without a pulse or respiration. Nothing she could do.
She slowly got back up. Her bruised ribs had stiffened. Teddy stood with his head bowed, hands clasped before him, mumbling in prayer. He wobbled, and she caught his arm, noticing Teddy smelled like wet wool and tobacco when his smoker’s cough rattled his lungs. Afraid to ask, she forced the words out anyway. “Tell me, Teddy. Who took Steven?”
He crossed himself, and took a steadying breath. “I bought them French fries.” He stuck his free hand in his pocket, still wary of bloodstains on the canary yellow sweater he wore under his coat.
Steven would have been drawn to that color, just as he’d been willing to board the yellow bus when April’s car failed to show up. She frowned when Shadow padded close to the dead woman and sniffed her leg.
“Shadow, let’s go.” She waited until the pup made eye contact, and then led Teddy and the dog toward the exit. “It was kind of you and your friend to help. Steven and Shadow love French fries, it’s their special treat.” She was talking about snack food with a woman dead on the floor, and wanted to shake him, but there was no rushing Teddy. His frantic pleas for action had morphed into dazed confusion. He looked ready to collapse. Shock did that to people. “What happened?”
“Steven told us his name, address and phone number.”
She nodded encouragement. April taught him to parrot the information in case he wandered away, something autistic children often did. German shepherds helped prevent wandering like a moveable fence, and were trained to corral their charges and alert them to unusual situations.
When she looked at him, Shadow cut his eyes away and whined. His tail beat a low-held fast wag. It wasn’t the dog’s fault. Training took time. Shadow was little more than a baby himself. She was responsible. For all of it.
“Freda called the number.” Teddy’s lips trembled so much he was hard to understand. “Steven’s dad was coming to get him. I was in the men’s room when he got here. I heard them yelling, Steven screaming, and I should have helped. I should have done something. He shot Freda. Why’d he do that? He would have shot me!” Teddy turned and vomited.
September supported the old man, her mind awhirl. April hated Doug, she’d never send him. And if Doug did show up, it made no sense he’d shoot somebody for rescuing Steven.
Then she understood. Steven repeated April’s cell phone number. Since Lizzie had April, she must have answered her phone and sent Ghost Man, although it didn’t seem possible he could have beat her here from the park. “What did he look like?”
“I only saw the back of him as he left. Tall, overweight, wore a hat with earflaps. Is it a custody battle? I know those things can get nasty.”
She sucked in a breath, feeling sucker-punched. So it wasn’t Ghost Man. Lizzie must have an army of henchmen and sent someone else.
Teddy pulled a linen handkerchief from one pocket, and dabbed his mouth. “I should have gone after him, I should have stopped him. Steven screamed. He didn’t want to go.”
He could have saved Steven. She wanted to smack him, but she deserved punishment even more. She’d frozen at the park, and hadn’t saved Pam. She’d as good as led a killer to butcher Chris and Dakota. She was nobody’s hero. How could she blame Teddy when he’d at least tried to help?
“He didn’t even know I was there. He was busy watching Freda and dodging the dog. You call him Shadow?”
The pup’s head swiveled toward Teddy at mention of his name, and back at September when she couldn’t catch her breath. Shadow sniffed her gloved hand and shoved his brow beneath her palm for the comfort of a pet.
But she pulled her hand away. He’d failed Steven. But she’d trained him. He wasn’t Dakota. Dakota would have saved Steven or died trying, just as Dakota sacrificed himself for Chris. And left her alone.
Bile flooded her mouth. September bent, hands on knees, and retched. Her empty stomach twisted repeatedly in a painful, unproductive knot.
Now Teddy supported her. “I’m not a fighter, I’m a teacher.” She wanted to tell him to shut up, but couldn’t get past the dry heaves. “Taught computer science, writing programs, what do I know about guns?” His bushy eyebrows rose and fell above the rim of his glasses. “Where’s your phone?”
“It’s dead.” She had to give him a plausible reason for not calling. Had to get away from him. Now that Lizzie had Steven, she’d won and had all the cards.
“But you have a car. I couldn’t find Freda’s car keys. I didn’t want to move her.” He sobbed, and forced himself to continue. “You can get us to a phone; my house isn’t far from here. The police will know what to do, right?” He wanted answers, wanted forgiveness, and she had nothing to give. “I’m so sorry about your son.”
September didn’t bother to correct him. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
“I want to make it up to you and your little boy. Make it up to Freda.” Teddy straightened to his full height, assumed a professorial dignity with the small posture change.
She’d bungled everything. Blew off April’s call, missed Steven at the park, taunted Lizzie into shooting Wilma, let April be taken, and involved Pam. This poor woman’s murder and Steven’s kidnapping, it was all her fault, too. Everything she touched turned to crap. She didn’t have the flash drive, hadn’t a chance in hell to find it, and without that as ransom, April and Steven would die.
September’s knees turned to rubber, and she sat down hard on the floor. Her ribs throbbed. She had no tears left. Yes, call the police. That’s what Mom would want. It’s what by-the-book Chris would do, too. She couldn’t stop Lizzie, couldn’t save anyone. Hell, she couldn’t even protect herself without triple-locked doors and window bars.
Shadow pushed his front half into her lap, and she stiffened and pushed him away. “I taught you better than that.” But he wouldn’t be denied. Shadow buried his muzzle in her armpit and cried.
She couldn’t help herself and gave in, her arms clutching and then cradling him. September held him tighter and tighter. She buried her face in the soft black fur of Shadow’s ruff. And it felt good, oh God it felt so good, it had been so long . . .
“That’s a great dog. I think he bit the guy.”
“Good-dog,” September whispered fiercely, “You marked the sonofabitch.” Her words spit venom but her hands remained gentle as they stroked his fur, and then hesitated when she felt something strung around his neck.
September parted the dog’s coat. She followed the fine chain down both sides of his throat to where a pendant hung hidden in the fur of his chest. “Shadow, move. Move, baby-dog. Wait.” He didn’t want to, but finally pulled himself away from her body. She pulled the lanyard over his head to examine the 16-GB flash drive suspended on the chain.
“Good-dog, Shadow. You’re such a good boy, good-dog.” She quickly slipped the lanyard over her head, and dropped the flash drive beneath the front of her coat.
Shadow wriggled with delight, ears flat to his head. He banged his tail against the floor. He’d stopped shivering.
Teddy offered his hand and helped her struggle to her feet. “What’s that?”
She pressed one hand over the flash drive where it nestled between her breasts. “A miracle, Teddy. It’s life itself.”
