“That’s right,” Paige said. “Mom didn’t like the way we were treated. She thought the police didn’t do enough. It got worse a few days later when one of Mom’s good friends asked her if maybe I made up the story to get attention.” Paige exhaled. “I wish I’d never said anything to anyone.”
“But you’re talking to me now.”
Paige perked up a little, her expression quickly changing from sad to determined. “Because it did happen,” she said. “And I want to help find the girl who disappeared the other day.” She grew quiet for a moment. “It’s true what Mom said: every time a young girl goes missing, somebody knocks at our door. My mom tells them—reporters, detectives, whoever—to go away.”
“Does that happen often?”
Another shrug. “Often enough,” Paige said. “Even when a young girl disappears in another state, I spend weeks thinking about the missing girl, obsessing about where she is and what she’s doing. I also see the woman’s face as she shouts at me to come back, and I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of her taking me home with her. The woman who tried to grab me was crazy.”
“Besides the obvious, why do you say that?”
“She had big, I mean huge, marble, glossy-brown eyes. The kind of scary eyes that look right through you and make it seem as if they know what you’re thinking. She had a long, thin face with pointy cheekbones and chin. Her hair, a dull grayish-blonde, hadn’t been combed, and her lips were pale and cracked.”
“I thought you hadn’t seen her face.”
“After that girl was taken—”
“Riley Addison?”
“Yes. Riley Addison. I saw the news right before bed last night, and when I was trying to sleep, bam!”—Paige put her hands to both sides of her head and gestured outward as if there was an explosion—“when I was under her car, crawling away, I looked back, and there she was on hands and knees. Our gazes locked. That’s when I saw her face and those big, scary eyes.”
“That must have been frightening.”
“I’m fine,” she said unconvincingly as she pushed herself to her feet.
“You didn’t tell your mom?”
“Nope. I should go now.”
Sawyer stood too. “Thanks for your help, Paige. If you remember anything else, will you call me?”
“Sure. I have your number.” Before she left, she turned back to Sawyer and said, “I do have a question for you.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve been keeping track of girls who have gone missing in and around Sacramento. If I text the names to you, can you tell me if any of them were ever found?”
“Send me the names. I’ll do what I can.”
“Okay,” Paige said before heading for the exit.
“Goodbye, Paige,” Sawyer said.
Paige seemed much older than her age. Like Paige’s mother probably did every chance she got, Sawyer kept her eyes on Paige as she climbed into her car, kept watching until she drove away.
As Sawyer gathered her things, she found herself once again looking at her notes:
Cora O’Neal: disappeared five years ago—Elk Grove
Carly Butler: disappeared three years ago—Sacramento
Paige Owens: near abduction five years ago—Carmichael, escaped
Danielle Woods: listed as a runaway four years ago—Sacramento
Riley Addison: disappeared one day ago—Sacramento
Cora and Carly had both received media attention, but neither had been found.
Paige Owens’s mother had kept the media at bay. And Danielle Woods was thought to be a runaway. What if she wasn’t a runaway? If Paige had disappeared five years ago, and Danielle Woods had been abducted, that would mean there could possibly have been five abductions in five years.
Could it be that young girls were being plucked right off the streets, never to be seen again, and nobody cared? The idea of it caused the fine hairs at the back of Sawyer’s neck to stand on end.
Palmer was right. Where was the media uproar?
Was anyone searching for them? Could Riley Addison’s case be connected to the others somehow?
And who the hell was the woman in the red sweater?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Crew sat inside the 2012 Ford Econoline that Bug had purchased the year before just for this occasion. They were parked at the farthest corner of the parking lot at Green Meadows High School. Everyone had on their black wigs. They would wait to put on their masks.
Psycho had volunteered to drive and was positioned behind the wheel, slumped back into the seat to stay hidden.
Malice occupied the passenger seat, and Bug and Lily were in the very back of the vehicle, hunched on the floor. The back seats had been removed to make room for the football players. Tasers would be used to subdue the men so that they could bind their arms and legs with heavy-duty zip ties. Their faces would be covered with burlap bags so they could breathe but couldn’t see.
Having graduated from Green Meadows High, Bug had received an invite along with an itinerary of the night’s events. Cocktails would be flowing freely from the moment a guest walked into the high school gym. Dinner was scheduled for 7:00 p.m. There would be dancing and plenty of room to mingle. Awards would be given throughout the night to the people who’d traveled the farthest, had the most kids, had the most unusual career, et cetera.
Psycho tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. “I thought Cleo said she would be here.”
“Something came up,” Bug replied. “She had to cancel.”
Lily snorted. “What happened to ‘all for one and one for all’?”
“It’s probably for the best,” Malice said. “There isn’t enough room for everyone as it is.”
“It’s ten o’clock,” Psycho said. “Time to send the first text.”
“Are you sure it’s going to look as if the text is from his friend?” Lily asked.
“Positive. All I needed was Tony Bryant’s mobile number, address, and date of birth to get the carrier to ‘port out’ his number to my burner.” Bug let out an audible breath. “Is everyone ready?”
They all answered in the affirmative.
Bug read the text: Surprise! I made it, after all. Remember what we used to do before class? I scored some quality shit. I’m in a van at the far end of the parking lot. Back doors are open.
“Okay,” Bug said. “The text has been sent.”
The next few minutes were spent in the quiet. Malice felt the beat of her heart pick up its pace.
“I hated high school,” Lily blurted, nerves seemingly getting the best of her. “Mean girls and bullies,” she went on. “Shitty teachers who didn’t want to be there any more than the students did. I wouldn’t go back and do it over for all the money in the world.”
“Not me,” Psycho said. “High school was everything. I was young and happy. I had friends and hope for the world. I would definitely go back in time and do it again, but I’d be ready for any piece of shit who ever tried to touch me,” she said in a voice that sent shivers down Malice’s spine. “I would carry a switchblade, and after college I would start a program to teach women how to defend themselves.”