Page 81 of Cruel Dreams

“Yes. Zane and I are at my old apartment. What’s wrong?”

“Miss Maddox isn’t in her room. Miss Flannigan woke to use the restroom, and she’s not in her bed. We searched the penthouse, but there’s no sign of her.”

“Crap. Okay. We’ll be right there.”

Douglas’ breath hitches. “Thank you. We’re sorry about this.”

“It’s nobody’s fault. If I know Zarah, she’s been feeling cooped up, just like we all have. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

I disconnect and race into my bedroom. Shaking Zane’s shoulder, I say, “Hey, you need to wake up.”

“Sorry, I’ll stop,” he mumbles and tries to roll over.

“Zane. Douglas called. Zarah’s not at the penthouse.”

“What?” He levers himself onto one elbow.

I scrub the scruff along his jaw. “Your sister’s not in her room.”

Groggily, he slides out of bed. “What did Douglas say?”

I find comfortable clothes. Loose knit pants, a tank top, and a shirt thrown over it. “They searched everywhere, and there’s no sign of her. Ingrid woke up to go to the bathroom, otherwise, they might not have known until morning.”

“Fuck. This is my fault. I haven’t been spending as much time with her as I should.”

Gripping his arm, I stop him in the living room, and he pauses. “I’m to blame, too. When I was avoiding you, I was avoiding her. She’s lonely, and Max is gone. Come on.”

I don’t bother putting on a jacket, though the temperature has dropped. We hurry to his SUV. Due to the late hour, the streets are empty, and we reach the penthouse in under fifteen minutes.

We stand in the elevator and he wraps his arms around me. It feels good to be facing something together, instead of on opposite sides of the problem.

The elevator doors open to the foyer revealing Douglas pacing in the living room. Dressed in a nightgown and robe, Lucille’s sitting on the couch shredding a tissue, and Ingrid is standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows crying.

Zane walks to her side and rests a hand on her shoulder. No one blames her. Zarah’s headstrong and was raised to do as she pleases.

I sit next to Lucille.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she says, hugging me.

“I missed you, too.”

“Do you think we should call the police?” Douglas asks. He’s wearing a black suit similar to what he wears when he’s on the job. He looks stiff and uncomfortable dressed for work at three o’clock in the morning.

“Let’s not just yet. I don’t think she’s in trouble,” Zane says, shoving his hands into his pockets and tipping his head back. “Maybe she was restless, and Stella and I haven’t been around much. She probably misses Mel and Quinn. Denton. Max, obviously, and her doctor adjusted her meds not long ago. I guess that was poor timing, but Jesus, I hate her drugged up like that and I want her off that shit as quickly as possible.”

I agree with Zane about the police. They won’t help us. Not all of them. Eight precincts of the King’s Crossing Police Department were shaken up and rattled down when the Blacks were arrested. The district attorney’s office and the police department’s Internal Affairs are looking into every officer and detective in the city. Not every officer in the department is guilty, but the chances of a detective coming to the penthouse who didn’t have an axe to grind are slim.

“Where would she go?” I ask. “Do you think she grabbed a cab and she’s riding around town? Or maybe she found a café, and she’s sitting outside drinking a coffee.” That’s what I would do if I needed air and wanted to go somewhere in the middle ofthe night. Find a café that’s open all night, order a coffee, and sit on the sidewalk and watch the midnight crawlers walk by.

“That doesn’t sound like her, but neither does running off,” Zane admits. He turns to Ingrid. “Has she said anything to you recently? Mentioned wanting to go anywhere, or see anyone?”

She shakes her head. “No, only the usual. She misses the closeness of everyone in the hotel. I’ve tried playing games with her, encouraging her to read like Dr. Reagan suggested, get her mind moving, but she’s been out of sorts. We go for walks, but I can tell it’s not the same. She loved having everyone around.”

“That’s what I thought. She’s had to tolerate too many changes at one time.” Zane rubs his face.

“On the bright side, she is an adult, and her mind is clearer,” I remind him. “We’re not dealing with a child. She knows what she wants, even if it’s a little fuzzy at the moment.”

Lucille squeezes my hand.

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