Page 63 of Dead Girl Running

Philadelphia. The rumbling train, the 30th Street Station, the river, the mugging. No money. No credit cards. Months on the streets, cold, hungry, desolate, terrified.

Then the child, the sobbing little girl.

Annie’s voice sounded in Kellen’s ear. “Did we lose our connection?”

“No! I’m still here. I was thinking that it’s kind of Mr. Di Luca to want to help, but—”

Annie interrupted, “Maximilian is competent at everything he does. He’s powerful, aware, responsible, attentive. You’ll see.”

Nothing Annie said banished Kellen’s disquiet, and in fact her emphasis on his qualities made her queasy.

“Max is taking the red-eye and he’ll be there first thing in the morning,” Annie finished triumphantly.

So it was too late to turn him back, and really, why would Kellen want to? Even if he wasn’t All That, he’d at least take part of the burden. “Thank you, that sounds great.”

“Maximilian can stay as long as he’s needed. In fact, while he’s there, I’m sure he’ll also keep up his work for Di Luca Wines, although at this time of year, there’s not much happening in the business. Now, dear, Leo says I’m babbling, so I’ll get off the line. Say hello to dear Maximilian from me. I hope you two get along.”

“I’m sure we will.” Kellen hung up, held the phone out and looked at it.

Annie was behaving very oddly, almost guilty, definitely excited. That painkiller must be great stuff.

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Leo’s firearms collection included some real gems: an 1894 Winchester .30-30 designed by John Browning and with the name of every owner engraved on the scabbard, a Winchester model 1873 with an octagonal barrel, a Colt Single Action Army, a Smith & Wesson Model 3. Kellen passed over the antiques and chose a Ruger LC9s. Slim and accurate, it felt good in her hands, and the holster fit well under her jacket. When she had it strapped on, she looked at herself in the mirror and nodded at her reflection. Only someone with combat experience would know she was packing.

Then she ran up the stairs to the office. She turned on the computer and searched for Maximilian Di Luca. She found him on the Di Luca Wines website, with a bio so brief as to be curt. Based on the information, she started a file in her mind.

MAXIMILIAN DI LUCA:

MALE, 30S, ITALIAN AMERICAN. FORMER FOOTBALL PLAYER. CURRENTLY WORKS FOR DI LUCA WINES. STERN FACE, TANNED SKIN, BLACK SHADOW OF A BEARD, CURLY BLACK HAIR CROPPED INTO A BUSINESSMAN’S LENGTH. BROWN EYES…

She zoomed in. Long dark lashes surrounding gloriously light brown eyes… Reaching out her fingers, she almost touched the screen, then clenched her hand into a fist. His face was not familiar, but he was from Pennsylvania. If she’d met him before, she didn’t remember.

Annie had behaved oddly about him. Did Annie know something she wasn’t saying? Or was the danger that haunted the resort stealing Kellen’s precious sanity? She’d always feared succumbing to whatever madness had taken that year from her. Had she not saved that child? Had she instead hurt the child?

That would explain…this… Kellen touched the scar on her forehead.

Oh God. She’d been through this a million times before, plucking at her mind, seeking memories. If the truth hid there, she couldn’t find it, only fragments of fear and, perhaps, insanity.

She pulled up the resort employee group email, then sat with her fingers on the keys, ready to address the issue of safety…as soon as she figured out what to say. She didn’t want to shout out that Lloyd Magnuson was missing when no one was sure what had happened to him. At the same time, she had to saysomething. Finally, she typed a brief note that let them know Annie was recovering, expressed her sympathy for those who had known Priscilla Carter, gave the assurance that law enforcement would investigate and that they had a new security director on his way. She included a heartfelt request that everyone be extra vigilant and take every care of themselves and others. Finally, she asked them to report to her anything they observed that struck them as peculiar, and thanked them for their continued diligence. She pressed Send, shut down the computer and the lights and sat in the dark room.

She had found herself unable to tell Mr. Gilfilen about Nils. She considered Mr. Gilfilen a trustworthy man, but she wasn’t willing to jeopardize a federal sting operation based on her belief.

She knew she would not tell Nils about Mr. Gilfilen. She didn’t completely trust Nils.

She didn’t trust Sheri Jean. Or Mara. Most definitely not Chad Griffin. Adrian and Mitch she believed would guard her back in a combat situation, but when it came to making a profit by whatever means? She felt a wobble in her trust-o-meter.

She couldn’t even confide in Birdie or Temo. Anything she said would put them in danger. So she would say nothing. She would tell no one what she knew from any source; she remembered her aunt’s favorite saying, “Of course I can keep secrets, it’s the people I tell them to who can’t keep them.”

This news about Lloyd Magnuson changed everything. He’d gone to the Virtue Falls coroner with the body of one of the Librarian’s victims…and disappeared. Sure, it was possible he’d hit the bars and run into trouble. But no one had seen him, and seriously, who went on a bender with a plastic container of rotting flesh in the trunk?

So what exactly had happened? The Librarian had disposed of Priscilla’s body somewhere close to the resort on the coast, it had washed ashore, and when the identity of the body became known, the Librarian had been alarmed. Perhaps having the body examined by a coroner might somehow lead to the Librarian’s identity.

Yes. What they’d discovered had worried the Librarian and made him, or her, take extraordinary measures to reacquire Priscilla’s body, and what happened to Lloyd Magnuson as a result didn’t matter. Except it did. The guy’s only crime was being a part-time policeman.

Kellen had, she realized, cratered in on herself, erecting that familiar ice wall between herself and everyone else, the way she had after the explosion, in those traumatic days in New York and on the grim streets of Philadelphia…

Turning on the desk light, she pulled a yellow tablet close, got a pen and in her brain pulled up the files for each person she deemed a suspect. If she believed everything Nils Brooks had told her, and she more or less did, then the Librarian was one of these people. Probably. And if she or he had a couple of flunkies, they’d be on the list, too. Probably.

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