Page 67 of Shark Cove

Malia ignored this. “Can you come over here by any chance?”

“I’m at the hospital.” Camille was crying. “They admitted me when I came in, said I was dehydrated. I’m calling you because—Mom’s trying to send me to a mental institution.”

“What?” Malia looked around wildly. “No way!”

“She’s got the doctors convinced I have PTSD and an eating disorder, just because something is wrong with my stomach and I can’t keep anything down. Malia, you have to help me! I think Mom might be behind this whole thing!”

“Wait a minute. Why would she have her own daughter kidnapped?”

“She’d do anything to get back at Dad. Her gallery’s been struggling and needs cash. I bet she thought this would be a nice two for the price of one: stick it to Dad, and cream off a couple mil of his money for herself in a kickback from the kidnappers. And boy, she stuck it to him, all right.” Camille wept in great sobbing breaths.

“Your mom seemed so upset when I followed her yesterday. What makes you think she’s behind it?”

Camille struggled to stop crying, gulping and blowing her nose. She finally said, “I should have told you yesterday when we were alone. I was just in shock or something, but I overheard the kidnappers talking about whoever had paid them. They were going to double-cross “her” and they said “she.” What other “she” is there, other than my mom?” Malia pictured Camille in the hospital bed, white as the sheets she lay on, terrified and alone. “And don’t forget Mom fed me rat poison!”

“You knew about that?”

“I suspected. I’ve suspected a lot of things.”

“Oh man. I’ll call my mom. She’ll know what to do. Did you talk to Blake about this?”

“No. He was too busy trying to tell me he had a crush on you, and frankly I couldn’t care less. My mom’s trying to get me put away!”

Malia squelched the tiny surge of relief she felt at Camille’s words—now wasn’t the time to get into any of that. “I won’t waste another minute. I’m calling my mom. She can stop this.”

“Please! You have to do it now. They’re moving me to the mental ward any minute, and I won’t be able to see anybody or call anybody once I’m locked up!” Camille broke down again.

“I love you, Camille. I didn’t save you from kidnappers to see you shipped off to a rubber room. Hang in there.” Malia hung up.

“Wow,” Kylie bugged her eyes theatrically from her side of the table.

“You can’t talk to anybody about this,” Malia said.

“I’m not a baby.”

Malia rolled her eyes and called Harry’s cell phone.No answer.She called the station, asked to be put through to Harry’s office. The voice mail picked up.

“Dammit!” Malia paced and finally called 911.

“What’s your emergency?” the operator said.

“I urgently need to speak to Detective Harry Clark. This is her daughter.”

“This is a public emergency help line, not a message service, young lady.”

“It’s an emergency! She’s not answering her cell or office line, and the girl I just rescued, Camille William—is being put in the mental ward!”

“I understand you’re upset, Malia. I heard about you on the news this morning. You were very brave.” The dispatcher’s voice was too calm.

“Please, can you just get hold of my mom and have her call me?”

“Malia. Calling 911 for nonemergency is a serious offense; I’ll let your mother know you called this number as a favor. I’m sure she won’t be happy about it because it’ll be going into her employee file.” The operator hung up.

“That didn’t go well,” Kylie said.

“I have to get to the hospital. I have to do something.” Malia thought of calling Blake, but an adult was a better idea. She called her dad’s cell.

“What’s up, Malia?”

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