Page 103 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“We’ll find him. He’ll be safe. You have to trust that, Cissy. Okay?”

She nodded, willing herself to be strong.

“Did you call the police?” Jack demanded, glaring at the neighbor, who’d returned.

“I…” She shook her head.

“Oh for Christ’s sake!” Jack retrieved his cell, punching out numbers.

Cissy glanced down at Tanya’s body sprawled across the rug, blood pooling beneath her. It was the second body she’d seen this past month. So much like Gran’s. Cissy’s stomach revolted, and she retched, barely able to keep the contents of her stomach down. Acid burned up her throat. What had happened here? Why had Tanya stolen their child and ended up dead? This didn’t make any sense.

Marla…She’s behind this…. You know it. She’s a psycho.

A new fear crawled through her veins.

Marla wouldn’t hurt B.J. Not her own grandson….

But you think she killed Gran, don’t you?

And Rory, her own brother?

What about Cherise?

Why would she stop there?

Why not murder Tanya and B.J. too?

“No!” she said, denying the evil thoughts.

Jack, cell phone to his ear, snapped back to attention. “What?” he said, but before she could answer, she heard a voice coming from his cell phone. The 9-1-1 operator.

Jack’s blue eyes were as sober as she’d ever seen them. He stared at her but spoke into the receiver. “This is Jack Holt. I need to report a murder. A woman is dead, and a child is missing. The victim is Tanya Watson; she’s our nanny. She’s dead in her apartment. It looks like she’s been shot and…and she had my, our, son, Bryan Jack Holt. He’s missing. What? The address?” He looked at Cissy, who dully recited it, and Jack repeated it for the officer, then added, “Send an ambulance and help. We need help…Oh…wait…” He looked through the doorway to the parking lot, where a car was wheeling over the apron and into an empty slot.

Cissy recognized the unmarked police car and the men inside as the officers who had been watching her house and following her.

“They’re here,” Jack said and hung up as the two men flew ou

t of the car, weapons drawn, their faces masks of determination.

The rain was finally diminishing as a tall Latino man with clipped hair and a weathered face yelled “Everyone out!” as he walked to the open door. “Now! Oh Jesus.” He squatted next to the body and felt for a pulse, then looked up and shook his head as his partner approached. “Dead. Call it in, and we’ll seal off the area. Start talking to the neighbors, see who heard what. Then phone Paterno.”

“Already on the phone,” the other, heavier-set detective said, clicking a cell to his ear.

“Our son is missing,” Jack said. “He was here with Tanya, and we can’t find him.”

“You’ve searched?”

Jack nodded.

“You need to get out of the apartment…. Please wait on the porch.”

“But he’s not here,” Cissy cut in. “We checked. We have to find him.”

“I’ll look again, but you have to leave. This is a crime scene.” He was motioning with his hand to Cissy and Jack. “In just a minute we’ll get your statements—yeah!” he said into the phone as he walked into the room. “O’Riley.” He gave his badge number, then said, “Detective Perez and I are here at what looks like a homicide. Dead female. We’re first on the scene. We were following Cissy and Jack Holt.” He glanced up at Jack, who lingered near the doorway. “Victim’s name?”

“Tanya Watson,” Jack supplied again, his expression grim, lips blade thin, muscle working in his jaw. “Our nanny. I already called it in.”

O’Riley nodded.

---