Exposure by Brandilyn Collins

last of being interviewed. No, tonight had only been the beginning. The FBI would be heading up this investigation, Forturo told him, and agents were already on the way from their Newark office, about two hours’ drive away. They’d meet with the detectives to go over the information gleaned tonight, but tomorrow they’d want to see Martin personally.
    His fingers tightened on the wheel. Why hadn’t he thought about all this ahead of time? What made him think he could fool all these professionals?
    A good night’s sleep, that’s all he needed. He was just too tense tonight. No time to calm down.
    Forturo had towered over Martin as they stood. “Thanks for all your help, Mr. Giordano. Sorry you had to go through this.”
    “Sure. Thanks.”
    He walked to his eleven-year-old Pontiac in the station parking lot, rehashing his answers.
I did it right. Didn’t I?
    In the car his thoughts had turned to the money.
    His cut was one hundred thousand. A pittance, given the take. But to Martin it amounted to a gold mine. One hundred thousand could buy Tammy all the tests she needed. The care and medicine, if they discovered some hard-to-cure disease. They could make a down payment on a house — in a year. He couldn’t go throwing around money anytime soon.
    All Martin had to do now was keep it from Lorraine. How he’d explain the money he didn’t know. A long lost rich uncle died? He’d think of something. For now he’d hide it. Somewhere.
    Tomorrow he would get the cash.
    Martin turned into the lighted storage lot and parked his Pontiac next to Lorraine’s old van. As he rounded the corner toward the apartment, the door flew open. Lorraine ran out, their daughter in her arms. “Daddy’s home, Tammy!” Feigned brightness coated the terror in his wife’s voice. “Daddy’s home!”
    Martin wrapped them both in a desperate hug and hung on tight.

TEN

    Darkness surrounds Kaycee
,
smothering
,
chewing. She senses walls around her
,
closing in. Something mashes her arms to her chest. Both legs prickle with sleep. Kaycee struggles to cry out
,
but her mouth won’t move. She fights for oxygen
,
but the air is stale and thick as cheese. Panic swells her throat shut. Fingers — her own? — claw her lungs. Breathe.
Breathe!
    Someone shoves her from behind. Kaycee’s limbs wrench free
,
and she scrabbles through blackness
,
churning
,
churning. Light seeps toward her
,
then drenches her body. Her blinded eyes squeeze shut.
    The world stops. Time hangs in the hall of her mind
,
a fat quivering drop
,
then zips from sight in ragged ribbons.
    Running footsteps. A wail. Someone falls to her knees
,
and Kaycee feels the motion in her own body. Through this unknown person’s eyes she sees two red-black holes in a man’s pallid face. Puddled blood by his head on a dark yellow floor. Its sweet-iron smell cloys the air. The someone screams
,
and Kaycee’s throat rips. She scrambles away and tumbles off a cliff edge into nothingness —
    A violent spasm jerked Kaycee awake.
    Her eyes flew open to a dark bedroom — not her own. Her heart pummeled her ribs, each breath an uneven staccato. Heaviness pressed her into the bed, her skin slick with sweat.
    Tricia’s guestroom.
    Someone was there, watching Kaycee. She could
feel
it.
    For a moment she couldn’t move.
    With a small cry she threw back the bedcovers, rolled to her side, and fumbled for the switch on the nightstand lamp. Blessed golden light spilled into the room. She sat up, casting wild glances into all four corners. She saw beige walls, a framed print of mallards in flight. White dresser. Her overnight bag on the floor.
    No one was there.
    A dream. Just a dream.
Kaycee ran a hand through her hair and willed her breathing to calm.
    The small digital clock on the nightstand read ten minutes after three.
    She flopped back down against her pillow, air whooshing from her mouth. Her pulse wouldn’t slow. That dream! It had been so real. Even now she could feel the darkness,