Storm Lines Page 22

  “Not a problem. Report in by six, we’ll deploy as needed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Marley left Crawford’s office and went to her desk. She took a moment, sipping her now cold coffee. Maybe it was the impending storm that was making her skin so sensitive, her body so restless. She got that sense again of something approaching, of movement outside her peripheral vision, a sizzling of layered thoughts and questions.

  Marley sat up and opened her laptop, finding the Fleming Street file and starting from the beginning. Whenever this thing arrived, she wanted to be ready.

  * * *

  The rain started out light as Devon drove home from work early in the afternoon, just droplets picked up by the wind and scattered across her windshield. The grey clouds and small gusts of rain-wind were almost playful, but Devon knew this was only the start. The storm was all anyone could talk about at work. Storm nights made for busy ER nights. Devon assumed it was the same for Marley, but she hadn’t heard anything from her since that morning.

  Moments from their date night had crept in while she’d worked: Marley’s laugh, the press of her hands on Devon’s hips, the way their hearts had thundered together, pressing closer and closer. These fragments of sensory memory felt like a dream, but Marley felt real. Their date was a beginning and a promise for more.

  A gust of wind rocked Devon’s car, a spray of leaves from the overhead tree getting caught on her hood. Devon peered up at the sky, to see if the storm was on them already, if it had crept over the city while she’d been daydreaming about her girlfriend. But the sky kept its playful light grey, the strength of the wind gust the only reminder that something was coming. She dug out the garage door remote. The potential for flying branches in a neighbourhood lined with old maples, oaks, and pine, seemed high, so tonight seemed like a night to use the garage.

  Devon could tell Aimee had heard her come into the basement because the thumping of Aimee’s feet grew in intensity as she pounded across the kitchen floor and flung open the door to the basement.

  “Thought I’d trick you by coming in through the garage,” Devon said while Aimee danced at the top of the stairs. “But nothing gets by Captain Aimee Pants.”

  Aimee rolled her eyes, then made a big motion with both hands over her head and clapped her hands together, almost like cymbals.

  Devon climbed the last few stairs as Aimee repeated the gesture.

  “Are you talking about the storm?”

  Aimee nodded and took Devon’s hand and dragged her into the kitchen. Carla was peering into the freezer with a frown on her face, though she looked up and smiled when Aimee and Devon walked in.

  “Hey, Devon. Can I tell you how deeply disappointed I am you don’t have tubs of ice cream we need to consume before the power goes out tonight?”

  Devon laughed and put down her bag.

  “I think we should go out and get ice cream so that we can do just that.”

  Carla’s eyes glinted. “I’m thinking the same thing. It’s a bit of a tradition in our family, big storms and ice cream.”

  “I’m guessing we need a few other things,” Devon said, trying to remember what she had in the house for storm supplies. “Think there are any batteries left in the city? I think I’m low for flashlight batteries.”

  Aimee found paper and a pen and sat down to write a list while Devon and Carla called out items. Some were serious, like flashlights, bottled water, and food they could cook on Devon’s gas stove even if the power went out. And some were less so, like the two flavours of ice cream because they couldn’t agree on one and glow in the dark bracelets because Aimee had an idea for a lights-out craft.

  Carla peered over her granddaughter’s shoulder at the list.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said. But Devon could see the smile on her face, something of a rarity with Carla.

  “Carla, how do you feel about doing a run around town to get our storm items, and Aimee and I will stay home and get started on the chocolate chip cookies?”

  “You sure?” Carla said.

  “As long as you don’t mind going out,” Devon said. “The rain isn’t too bad yet, but take the car anyway, just in case it picks up while you’re out.”

  “You okay with that, pet?” Carla asked Aimee.

  Aimee made a twirling motion with one hand without looking up from where she was decorating the list with storm clouds and lightning bolts.

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind getting out for a bit, especially if we’re going to be cooped up for a day or so.”

  “Done,” Devon said.

  Ten minutes later, Carla had backed the car out of the garage and headed to the grocery and hardware store, and Devon and Aimee got started on cookies. Aimee used a whisk to blend the dry ingredients, but she seemed to be more interested in making designs in the flour with the whisk tip. They had decided against music, preferring to listen to the wind outside. Devon was about to start mixing the butter and sugar together when she heard a knock at the door.

  Aimee froze, her eyes zeroing in on Devon.

  “Probably a neighbour,” Devon said, trying to soothe Aimee’s nerves. “You wait here, okay?”

  Aimee went back to making flour designs as Devon wiped her hands on a towel and went to the front door. With a few open windows in the house and the wind outside, she had to pull hard, the door resisting against the suction of the house, as if it was fighting back.

  Devon didn’t recognize the young woman at her door. She was in her mid-twenties maybe, with straight, dark brown hair and big brown eyes made bigger with a hint of makeup. She was wearing tan capris and a light pink cardigan, and she smiled as soon as Devon opened the door.

  “Hi, are you Devon?”

  “I am,” Devon said with friendly caution.

  “I’m Eva Karagalis. Miss K. I’m Aimee’s teacher.”

  Devon blinked. The woman’s smile was brilliant.

  “Miss K? Wow, hi. Yes, Aimee’s mentioned you.”

  A gust of wind threw some rain sideways against the front porch.

  “Do you mind if I come in?” Eva said. “Just for a moment, I know I’m dropping in at dinner time.”

  Devon’s muscles felt tight, her jaw and neck and shoulders, her body putting up the smallest resistance, like something was a little bit out of alignment.

  “Of course,” Devon said automatically, politeness winning out over nameless doubt.

  As Eva Karagalis stepped into the house, Devon took note of how tiny she seemed.

  “Thanks so much,” the woman said. “When I got back from vacation, I had a message from my principal about Aimee and some kind of trouble. I had to make sure she was okay.” The slightest fidget, a nervous twitch. “Is she here by any chance?”

  Doubt flared into suspicion.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m afraid you just missed her. She and her grandmother went out to pick up some supplies for the storm.” She silently willed Aimee to stay quiet in the kitchen.

  The woman blinked and looked out the window beside Devon’s front door.

  “It’s supposed to be a big one,” she said. She turned back to Devon, that huge smile firmly in place. “I drove from Windsor to see her, do you mind if I stay for a bit? I’d love to see her again and know she’s okay.”

  Just as Devon was about to come up with a reason she couldn’t stay, the oven beeped in the kitchen. It was actually the signal that the oven had come to temperature, but Devon decided to use the brief distraction.

  “Can you give me a moment?” Devon said. “I’ve got something in the oven. I’ll be right back.”

  The woman’s smile faltered, but she stayed by the front door as Devon headed to the kitchen. The room was empty when she walked in. As Devon walked around the far side of the island, she saw Aimee crouched down, her face pale and eyes huge.

  Devon crouched down in front of the young girl and put her arms around her. “It’s okay,” she whispered.

  Aimee shook her h
ead hard and leaned into Devon, pulling her closer. Devon could feel her shaking as Aimee put her mouth to Devon’s ear.

  “Mace,” Aimee breathed.

  Mace. Marley had questioned Aimee about Mace. Aimee had shut down, something about a secret. Shit, shit, shit.

  “Come here,” Devon said. She opened the cupboard under the sink and crouched down again. “Stay here, stay quiet.”

  Aimee scrambled under the sink and Devon closed the door. She walked over to the oven, opening the door and closing it again. Then she filled a glass of water.

  Mace was looking at Devon’s bookshelf, and she turned around when Devon returned.

  “I brought you a glass of water. It’s so humid outside.”

  “Thank you,” Mace said.

  Devon made no move to sit down, though the couch and chairs were only feet away.

  “Do you know how long until Aimee is back? I don’t want to impose, but it would be great to see her.”

  “An hour maybe?” Devon said. “They had quite a list.”

  Anger flashed in Mace’s eyes, a bright spark quickly smothered by feigned disappointment.

  “That’s too bad. She’s such a special kid, you know? I was really attached to her when she was in my class. And my principal said she had stopped talking? I couldn’t believe it. She was such a chatterbox.”

  She must have read Aimee’s file somehow.

  “She is an amazing kid,” Devon said, forcing a smile. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  “And is she talking? I’d hate to think something scared her so much she stopped talking for good.”

  There it was, the lie that revealed the truth of this woman. “No,” Devon said, using years of clinical practice to keep her voice calm. “Aimee hasn’t started talking yet.”

  Mace took another sip of her water, relief in the set of her shoulders.

  “I think it would be good if Aimee had a chance to meet with you,” Devon said. “She’s mentioned you more than once. But it doesn’t look like tonight is going to work. And I think it would be good to give her a heads-up about something unexpected. It’s best for Aimee, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Professional to fake professional.

  “I suppose that’s true,” Mace said, eyes darting around the room, desperation heightened. “Could you text her grandmother? Maybe they are on their way home right now.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Devon said, pulling out her phone. She texted Carla first. Stay away from house. Then Marley: Mace here. Then, to distract Mace, she smiled and pulled up her photo gallery. “Oh, I should show you some recent pictures. She’s such a ham.”

  Devon turned the phone and scrolled through a couple photos of Aimee making faces. She felt sick showing this woman pictures, but she needed to keep this trust charade going as long as she could.

  “Oh! She’s grown,” Mace said, sounding more agitated than impressed. “What a cutie.”

  Devon pulled her phone back, still smiling, like she couldn’t get over how cute the picture was. But she’d toggled between apps and saw that Marley had replied.

  Bad storm. On my way.

  Something must have changed in her expression, some hint that she wasn’t buying what was going on. Because when Devon looked up, Mace had dropped all pretense of sweetness and concern.

  “It looks like we’ve got a problem,” Mace said. “How about some real answers now, Devon?”

  Devon sighed and pocketed her phone, then sat in one of her living room chairs. She gestured for Mace to sit as well. It was the only strength she had, the only superpower she could draw on, her ability to talk and de-escalate and listen. It was all she had to protect Aimee.

  “Yes, Mace, I think we have a problem. Why don’t we sit and talk?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marley was scrolling through case notes, jotting down random thoughts she was sure would make no sense tomorrow. Or maybe even now. She was just thinking her time might be better spent grabbing some food before starting what would likely be an all-night shift when her laptop froze, then logged her out and shut down.

  “What the hell?” Marley said. She thought maybe it was just her own computer, but from the alarmed and annoyed sounds around the office, it was the whole network.

  She was about to ask if anyone knew what was going on when Arnie ran by her desk, an open laptop balanced on his forearm.

  “You need to hear this,” was all he said as he beelined for Crawford’s office.

  Marley grabbed her phone and ran after him, a sense of dread building in her chest.

  Arnie was already updating Crawford when Marley barged in.

  “Full system breach, which probably isn’t as bad as it sounds,” Arnie said.

  “It doesn’t sound good, Constable Arnold.”

  “I think it’s a cover, multiple hits at multiple access points, bits of data copied from numerous servers, all to cover what I think the hacker was actually after.”

  “Which is?”

  Arnie glanced at Marley.

  “The Fleming Street file.”

  Aimee. Carla. Devon.

  “Can you tell what they looked at? What they stole?”

  Arnie shook his head. “Not yet. I’ve locked down the network for now, but I need more time to dig into what’s been tampered with. This is a high-level hacker that’s been in the system for a least a couple hours now. They just tripped over my redundancy file closer, that’s why it triggered a network shutdown.”

  “You mean those annoying emails we get if we open but haven’t closed a file?”

  “Uh huh,” Arnie said absently. “It’s an anti-hacking trick.”

  “A useful one,” Crawford said. “Constable Arnold, the highest priority is ensuring the system is now safe, next highest is targeting what the hacker was after. Everything else we’ll deal with later. Got it?”

  Marley’s phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out, almost without thinking. A short text from Devon.

  Mace here.

  Here. In Devon’s house. With Aimee. Here. In their database, in their network.

  “Mace,” Marley said, staring at her phone.

  “That’s my guess,” Arnie said, glancing up. “We recently identify a high-level hacker wanted by the RCMP and now we get hacked? On the file she’s attached to? I don’t think—”

  “No,” Marley shouted. “Mace is at Devon’s house. Now. She’s there.”

  Crawford immediately picked up the phone and put a call into dispatch for 9-1-1, stopping only to ask Marley the address.

  Action—she needed to move, she needed to make the right decision, she needed to race home to Devon, to Aimee, to Carla. She needed to think, and Crawford was pounding her with questions as officers from the floor began crowding the office.

  “Take a breath, Officer,” Crawford said, his voice sharp. “And tell me what you know.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I think they’re all at home, at Devon’s house. Carla, Aimee, and Devon. I just got a text from Devon. It said, Mace here.” She opened her eyes. “That’s all I know.”

  “Are we assuming a hostage situation? Kidnapping? What’s her motive?”

  “Either,” Marley said. “It could be either.”

  Locked in panic mode, Marley stared at the phone as Crawford dispatched squad cars to the neighbourhood.

  “Constable Marlowe.”

  Marley stared, the chaos in the office too much.

  “Marlowe!”

  Marley looked up.

  “You’re with me,” Crawford said, his voice low but not gentle.

  They moved down the hallway, Marley following her commanding officer out of the building and towards the parking lot. It was darker than it should have been at six o’clock; wind howled and dark clouds lumbered across the sky, threatening torrential rain with every gust and stolen breath.

  “Call Dr. Wolfe,” Crawford said as they got into his car. “If this is a hostage situation, let’s start by making contact.”


  Crawford started the car and turned on his lights but no siren as Marley hit the green call button on her phone.

  It rang and rang and rang. Devon’s voicemail picked up. “No answer,” Marley said.

  “Count to thirty, try again. We can signal urgency without scaring anyone into rash action.”

  He sounded so calm and reasonable. Marley counted in her head as Crawford navigated the street, turning on his siren when traffic became clogged. As they drove through an intersection against the light, Marley saw the traffic light swing wildly in the wind.

  Marley hit thirty in her head and dialed again. No answer. Then her phone rang and Carla’s number came up.

  “Marley? Do you know what’s happening? I just saw a message from Devon to stay away from the house. I’m out shopping. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  Carla sounded frantic. “We’ve got squad cars on the way now, Carla. I got a text from Devon, too.” She took a breath. “Is Aimee with you?” She knew the answer but needed to ask anyway.

  “No,” Carla said, her voice catching. “She and Devon stayed home to bake cookies to go with ice cream I just picked up. For the storm.”

  “Where are you right now?”

  “At the Centennial Plaza,” Carla said.

  “Only a few blocks away, then.” Marley updated Crawford on the critical information—only two people in the residence with Holly Mason.

  “Tell her to meet Constables Atwal and Henderson at the corner of Royal and Lawton. We’re setting up around the corner from the residence.”

  Marley relayed the message to Carla, who repeated it, her voice sounding stronger with some action and answers. Marley wished she felt the same.

  “Is it Randolph?” Carla said.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ll be there in less than five, Carla,” Marley said. “We’ll figure this out.”

  “See you in five.”

  Crawford relayed instructions through his Bluetooth as he drove, calling for a hostage negotiator and backup. Four squad cars blocked the entrance to Devon’s small side street of the neighbourhood. Wind spat wet leaves and flower petals at them as they exited the car, thunder in the background.