Devon strode out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into his son’s bedroom. Caleb lay under the covers, a Bob the Builder book in his chubby hands. He turned his head when Devon entered, but the grin that usually came when he saw his daddy never arrived.

  “I’ve got to run to the bank,” Devon said.

  Caleb hopped off his bed. “I come, too.”

  Devon squatted until he was eye-level with his child. “No, buddy. I need to you stay here with Rico. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

  The left side of Caleb’s mouth drooped—the precursor to tears. Devon pulled him to his chest. “Someone has to take care of Rico. He’s pretty sick.”

  “Don’t like Rico.” Caleb’s voice quivered.

  Devon hugged him tighter. “I know, bud. I don’t much like him either. If I go to the bank and bring him back some money, I think he’ll go away. You want him to go away?” Caleb’s head nodded against Devon’s shoulder. “Then I need you to be brave.”

  He pushed Caleb away so he could look into his gray-brown eyes. They were brimming with tears. “We gotta do this together, buddy. Daddy can’t do it alone.” The words weren’t easy to say. Devon had been depending on himself, his own intelligence, for so long. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, the truth was, he did need his little boy to be on his side, to cooperate with the plan right now.

  “You can lock yourself in your room and keep it locked until I get back. Does that work?”

  Caleb nodded again.

  “Okay.” Devon stood. “Lock the door when I leave.” He marched from the room without looking back and shut the door behind him. He heard the lock click. He tried the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

  A little voice came through the wood. “I did it.”

  “Good job, Caleb.” Devon swiped his hand across the top of the door. No key. He walked the hallway, feeling above each of the doors, found the key on the bathroom doorframe, and pocketed it. It was only a psychological help. He knew that if Rico really wanted to get into Caleb’s room, he could do it. The tip of a knife, a screwdriver, a boot, all would break the flimsy lock, but it was the best he could do.

  “I’ll be back with the cash, then you’ll be leaving?” He said with his hand on the front door.

  “That’s the plan,” Rico said.

  Devon opened the door, and Rico cleared his throat. “You understand that if the police show up, I’ll have to use Caleb as a hostage?”

  Devon walked out into the cold, gray morning without answering.

  The drive to town was like a dream. A nightmare, really. Devon drove as quickly as he dared on the icy roads, the image of his son’s bereft face clouding the windshield. He parked in the same space they’d parked in the day before, but this time, instead of going to the ATM, he walked inside the building.

  The bank was almost empty. Two people stood in the teller line. One banker sat at her desk. He strode over to her. The woman, middle-aged, plump, and pretty, looked up from her computer screen. “Can I help you?”

  Devon sat in a chair opposite her. “I need to close out an account.” He slapped his debit card and driver’s license onto the desk.

  She took them, and her fingers began tapping. She stopped, read something on her screen and the pleasant smile she’d been wearing slid from her face. “I’m sorry, but there’s a hold on this account.”

  “What do you mean, a hold? Why would there be a hold?”

  “Apparently someone withdrew one thousand dollars yesterday.”

  “Right, that was me.”

  “Your account is set to send an alert for any withdrawal over fifty dollars. We sent an alert, and someone reported the withdrawal to the fraud department.”

  Devon’s chest tightened. “I didn’t see an alert?”

  “It was sent at,” she ran an eye over her screen,“8:15 last night.”

  “I never got it.”

  “Did you check your text messages today?”

  Devon’s hand moved toward his pocket, then he realized Rico had his phone, which was why he’d never seen the notice. “It doesn’t matter.” He returned his hand to the desktop. “I’d like to close the account either way.”

  “We’ll have to get the hold lifted before we can do that.” She gave him a small, tight smile.

  “Okay. Lift the hold.”

  “There are two signers on this account. You and Fiona⁠—”

  Caleb’s sad face emerged on the screen of his mind. He cut the woman off. “My wife, right. She’ll be okay with this. Just call her.”

  The banker tapped her keyboard. “What’s your wife’s number?”

  He recited it from memory.

  She nodded. “That’s what we have on file.” Then she picked up the phone on her desk, punched in the numbers, and waited. Devon chewed on the side of his thumb. Pick up, pick up, Fi.

  “Hello, Mrs. Randall, this is Marsha Thompson from Citywide Bank in Big Bear.”

  Devon dropped his hand.

  “Your husband would like to close your joint checking account, but I need you to withdraw the hold before I can do that.”

  Come on, Fi. Do it without asking questions.

  “Please give me a call back at this number.”

  His heart thudded to his stomach. She wasn’t there. He glanced at his watch—9:25. She must be teaching.

  The woman shone her tight-lipped smile at him again. “As soon as we hear from Mrs. Randall, we can lift the hold, but there’s nothing I can do for you until then.”

  Anger gripped him. This was his money. His account. This, this, woman, had no right... His right eyebrow twitched. Caleb’s lip drooped in his mind. Think, think. Their other accounts, an IRA and a savings, were with a small bank with no branches in Big Bear.

  Savings. They did have one savings account at this bank. He reached for his wallet and searched for a second card. He didn’t have one. “We have another account, a savings account.”

  “Yes, I see it here.”

  “There’s no hold on that, is there?”

  “No.” She said the word slowly, making two syllables of it.

  “I’ll close that one, then.” There wasn’t much in it. It was Fiona’s Christmas fund which had been all but depleted a couple of months ago, but he didn’t want to show up at the house empty handed.

  “That account appears to be in your wife’s name alone.” The banker said.

  “Yes, but... ” Damn it. He dropped his head into his hand. What was he going to do? What would Rico do if he turned up without the cash?

  “Is there a number where I can reach you? I’ll call as soon as we hear from your wife, and this is all straightened out.” Her voice was cold.

  Devon gazed at the face that had been so open and friendly when he sat down. It was now shuttered and hard. She thought he was trying to steal his wife’s money, that they were in the middle of a nasty divorce. It happened all the time. He knew better than anyone what people did to those they’d vowed to love and protect.

  This was useless. He gave the banker his number and walked to the car. A sheriff’s department vehicle was at the end of the lot, fog flowing from the tailpipe. He paused.

  Should he? He could walk right over to that cop, explain what was happening, and call in reinforcements. That’s what he’d tell his client to do if their spouse had kidnapped their child.

  But what if they handled things poorly? What if they provoked Rico to violence? A vision of a SWAT team stationed outside the cabin, Rico in the window holding a knife to his son’s throat played across his mind. He pivoted, walked to his car, and drove out of the lot.

  7.3.4

  FIONA

  “Great job today, ladies,” Fiona called after her 9:00 class as they left by the front door. Crackers popped up from his bed in the corner and wandered over, head down, tail wagging. She rubbed the fur on the top of his head. “You’re a good watchdog, aren’t you?”

  He apparently thought so because he trotted to the cupboard where his treats were stowed. Fiona gave him one, poured herself a cup of coffee from the break room, and wandered to the front desk again. She glanced at the schedule and saw she had a private client at 10:30, which gave her twenty minutes or so to relax. That was enough time to call Devon and Caleb. She hadn’t spoken to her son in over twenty-four hours—too long.

  Before she got to her phone, she heard it ring from her purse under the counter, and she retrieved it. It was Devon. “Hey. I was just going to call you.”

  “Did you put a hold on our checking account?” He didn’t bother with a greeting, just shot the question at her like a bullet.

  “Yes.” She couldn’t keep the hurt from her voice. “The bank contacted me and said someone withdrew a thousand dollars yesterday. I thought we’d been hacked.”

  “That was me. I withdrew the money.”

  Fiona didn’t speak for a long minute. He sounded so angry. She chose her words carefully. “Why?” It was the only thing she could think of.

  “I wanted to have cash on hand. The weather is rotten. The roads are rotten. I thought I might need it if power went down and the ATMs weren’t working.”

  That sounded rehearsed. Fiona knew her husband. She’d been sensing something was wrong for several weeks, which was why she’d agreed to let him take Caleb away without her. She figured he needed down time. But she hadn’t felt he’d been lying to her. Withholding information, yes. Lying, no. This sounded like a lie.

  “That’s a lot of cash, Dev.”

  “Who knows how long we’ll be stranded?” He paused then spoke in a softer voice. “I guess I overreacted.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Anyway, the bank called you. Could you ring them back and lift the hold? I think they thought I was trying to wipe you out or something.” He gave a half-hearted chuckle.

  “Sure.” Fiona chewed her lower lip. Why did he need the hold lifted if he already had a thousand in cash? She’d do it. She needed to go to the store later, and although she could use her business fund, she liked to keep home and work separate.

  “Thanks. Love you, Fi.”

  Was he saying goodbye, getting ready to hang up? “Can I talk to Caleb?” she blurted out the words before he could.

  “Ah, he’s in the middle of a puzzle. I don’t think we should bug him.”

  “Devon,” her voice was sharp. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

  She chewed on his words for a moment, then a thought struck her so hard, she jumped from her stool. “Did Caleb get hurt sledding? Did you need the money for Arrowhead Hospital?”

  “No.” He sounded alarmed. “Why would you think that?”

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. You didn’t want me to see the bill, so you paid in cash.” She hugged herself with her free arm. “Dev, talk to me. You have to tell me the truth, or I’m getting in the car and coming up there.”

  A pause. “Okay, okay. You’re right. Caleb fell off the sled, but he’s okay. Just got the wind knocked out of him. I took him in just to be on the safe side, but he’s okay.”

  “Let me talk to him.”

  “Honey, he’s⁠—”

  “Let me talk to him.” She’d yelled that time. She and Devon never yelled at each other, but he’d never kept her son from her before.

  “Calm down. I’ll get him.”

  The phone went dead for a very, very long time. She thought she heard muffled voices in the background—Devon’s, Caleb’s, but there was another one. A quiet rasp of a voice. It could’ve been Dev speaking quietly, but it could’ve been a third person. She couldn’t be sure.

  Finally, she heard what she’d been waiting to hear. “Mommy?”

  Relief weakened her knees, and she sank onto the stool again. “Hi, baby. How are you?”

  “I okay.” He sounded so small.

  “Are you having a good time with Daddy?” Her heart thudded as she waited for the answer. It never came.

  “I miss you, Mommy.” There was a crack in his voice. He was near tears.

  “I miss you too, baby. Daddy says you got hurt sledding.”

  “I fell.”

  “Are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you?”

  “No. I not hurt.”

  Again, relief cascaded over her. It was short-lived. A sound, like something being scraped against the phone came, then a muffle of voices she couldn’t interpret.

  “I gotta go now.” Caleb’s voice was clear.

  “So soon? I wanted to talk more.”

  “Yeah. Rico⁠—”

  His words were cut off and Devon came on the line. “We’re getting ready to go out and play in the snow.”

  “What was he talking about? Who’s Rico?”

  “Oh, he made a Lego man. He’s calling him Rico for some reason.”

  “Like Uncle Rico, the Napoleon Dynamite character?”

  “Yeah. Funny, huh?”

  “Has he even seen that movie? I hope you haven’t watched that with him. It’s too mature for a four-year-old.”

  A pause. “No, we didn’t watch it. Must have heard someone talking about it, maybe a kid in preschool. Anyway, he’s all bundled up and sweating. I better get him outside. Don’t forget to call the bank.”

  “Right.”

  When they hung up, Fiona had more concerns than she’d had before she called, but she didn’t have time to ponder them. Her 10:30 client was walking in the door.

  About halfway through Fiona’s 11:30 appointment, she made a decision. She was going to call Sylla to see if she could get someone to drop in on Devon. Things weren’t right up there. It was unlikely, but it was possible that her half-brother had discovered where Devon and Caleb were and had decided the best way to punish her was to punish them.

  She ended the appointment exactly at 12:30, then her client, a young woman attempting to get her pre-pregnancy body back postpartum, wanted to chat about her diet. Frustration surged through Fiona’s veins, but she contained it, smiled, sold the woman a package of five more appointments, and shooed her out the door as gracefully as possible.

  At 12:47, she called Sylla. The detective had given Fiona her cell number, which probably wasn’t something she normally did, and Fiona was grateful. It was lunchtime, but Sylla answered on the third ring.

  “Fiona?” It sounded as if her mouth was full.

  “Hi, Inspector Sylla, I’m sorry to bother you at lunch.”

  “No, no worries. Just grabbing a bit of grub. What’s up?” The cheerful tone in her voice disappeared. “Something wrong?”

  “No. Well, maybe. But not with me.” She said hurriedly. “It’s Devon.”

  “He still in Big Bear, yeah?”

  “Yes. He and Caleb, but something’s not right up there.” Fiona filled her in on the last three phone calls, the bank withdrawal, and the voice she may or may not have heard through the phone.

  Sylla didn’t respond immediately. When she did, she seemed to choose her words carefully. “Your marriage—everything okay?”

  “Yes. I mean we have our ups and downs like every couple, but Devon is a great husband and father.”

  “So it couldn’t be that he’s⁠—”

  Fiona cut her off, “Planning to leave me and take Caleb with him? No. It couldn’t be that. I’m afraid... ”

  “You’re afraid he found them.” Sylla finished her sentence for her.

  “Yeah.”

  “How could he? Could he have called Devon’s office? Did you post the trip on social media?”

  A rock dropped into Fiona’s gut, and she closed her eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I did. I didn’t give an address, but I posted that Dev was taking Caleb to Big Bear, and I bragged about having a weekend to myself.”

  Sylla’s answer was thoughtful, not condemning. “How would he have found them? Big Bear isn’t a big town, but there are hundreds of vacation rentals. You didn’t put anything on the internet other than what you told me?”

  “Just a picture, that’s it.”

  Fiona heard the crush of paper through the phone, then Sylla spoke again. “Is your Instagram account private?”

  “No. I keep it public for the business.”

  “What’s the name?” Fiona told her, and the phone was silent for a long moment.

  “Ah. Okay, then. Look in the background.”

  Fiona quickly opened the Instagram app on her phone. “Oh, no.” Her heart sank. There, in the corner of photograph, was a street sign.

  “I’m not going to lecture you,” Sylla said, and Fiona braced herself. “But this is why we should never post about vacations until we are safely locked into our homes again. Criminals love social media.”

  Fiona didn’t answer, didn’t defend herself. Sylla was right. Guilt wrapped scaled arms around her and squeezed. “So, what do we do?” It was almost a wail.

  “Well, we don’t panic. Honestly, your worry that your son was injured while sledding and hubby doesn’t want you to know is the most likely scenario. However, I can ask somebody to go by and check on them.”

  “Would you?” Relief cascaded over her. “I’ll give you the address.”

  Fiona read the address off to Sylla, and they disconnected. Then she returned the call from the bank in Big Bear and lifted the hold on the checking account. That done, she walked to the wall of windows and gazed at the roiling waves below. A patch of sunlight created a blue section in the gray tableau, and inside the sunlit space, she saw the tail end of a rainbow.

  She hoped it was a sign. Fiona wasn’t usually superstitious, but she wasn’t usually terrified out of her mind, either. Hope was a thing with wings, wasn’t that how the poem went? It had flown out of her world, but just knowing that Sylla was in her camp, that the police would send someone to check on the people she loved most in the world, beckoned it back.

  A cold, wet nose thrust itself into her hand. She glanced down at Crackers. “You missing your family, too?” He gave her one wag, sighed, and leaned his shoulder against her leg.

  It hadn’t rained since the night before, which meant the snowfall was probably slowing in Mammoth and Big Bear. “The roads should be clear by tonight,” she told the dog. If they were, she was going to head up the mountain, whether she had to take Crackers with her or not.

 

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