Gone by Lisa Gardner Read Free Book Online Page B

stairs by his father? Were there foster parents in heaven?
    Or did these children spend eternity all alone?
    Quincy didn’t have these answers. He just got up and went to work each day. It was what he did.
    Kincaid took Mandy’s photo down from the wall. The safe was mounted behind it.
    Quincy gave the combo. Kincaid turned the dial. The door opened and they both eyed the contents.
    “I count three handguns,” Kincaid said with a trace of triumph, while Quincy said:
    “It’s not there.”
    “But look—”
    “All backups. That’s a twenty-two, a nine-millimeter, and my old service revolver. I don’t see her Glock.”
    “Would she have left it anyplace else?”
    “No. The rule is when at home, the gun is locked in the safe. We wanted to make sure we were in the habit. You know.” For the first time, Quincy’s voice cracked. He caught it, soldiered on. “For when we adopted our child.”
    “You’re adopting a child?” Kincaid sounded honestly flabbergasted.
    “Were. Past tense. It fell through.”
    “Why?”
    “The DUI. That event, coupled with a few things from Rainie’s past, made her look emotionally unstable.”
    “No shit,” Kincaid murmured.
    “The system isn’t meant to be easy.”
    “But you thought you were adopting? Right up into September?”
    “For a while, Sergeant, we had a picture of the child.”
    “Damn,” Kincaid said. He looked back at the safe, mental wheels obviously churning: Burnt-out investigator, overwhelmed by failed marriage, failed adoption, takes her own life. In policing, once again, you had to play the odds.
    “Well,” Kincaid said philosophically, “morning’s here, conditions are improving. I think the thing to do now is get some dogs in the woods. Do you have any family?”
    “My daughter’s coming.”
    “Good, good. That’s probably best.”
    “Don’t give up on her,” Quincy said tightly. “My wife is a former member of law enforcement. She deserves better than to become just one more neglected case piled on the desk of an overworked Major Crimes sergeant—”
    “Whoa—”
    “I have resources, too, Sergeant. Hasn’t that occurred to you yet? Say the word, I can call in old favors. There are people in this town who know and love Rainie. They believe in her. They’ll plow through those woods, they’ll slog through the mud and the rain—”
    “Hey, I’m not giving up on this case!”
    “You’re already jumping to conclusions!”
    “As an objective outsider—”
    “You didn’t know my wife!”
    “Exactly!”
    Kincaid was breathing hard. Quincy, too. For a long time, the men stared at each other, each one waiting for the other to back down.
    Then Quincy’s phone rang.
    He glanced at the screen and immediately held up a silencing hand.
    “Is it—?”
    “Shhh. It’s Rainie.”

7
    Tuesday, 8:04 a.m. PST
    “H ELLO? ”
    Static. A beeping sound. Then a click as if the call had been disconnected.
    “Hello?” Quincy tried again, voice more urgent, hand white-knuckled on the phone.
    The call was lost. He cursed, tempted to hurl the tiny phone across the room, then it rang again. He flipped open the phone before the ring completed its first musical chime.
    “. . . morning paper.”
    “Rainie? Where are you?”
    “She can’t come to the phone right now.” The voice sounded distorted, mechanized.
    “Who is this?”
    “You must read the morning paper,” the voice intoned.
    “This is Investigator Pierce Quincy. I’m looking for Rainie Conner. Can you tell me where she is?”
    “You must read the morning paper.”
    “Do you have her? What is it that you want?”
    “What everyone wants—fame, fortune, and a finely baked apple pie. Goodbye.”
    “Hello? Who is this? Where are you?”
    But the caller was gone. Quincy knew it before the first syllable left his mouth. He immediately returned the call, but on the other end, Rainie’s phone just rang and rang and rang.
    “Who was it? What’d she say?” Kincaid was standing over him,