Gingerbread Man

protested. "Amanda wasn't in custody."
    "She was told not to leave the hospital without clearance," Selkirk said.
    The chief shot Vince a pleading look. Vince read it clearly. He didn't want this asshole to be the one to find Amanda D'Voe. Vince didn't want him to be the one to find Holly. But he was worried about more than that. Holly had a look about her the last time they'd spoken. It was one he had seen before, one that said she was keeping something from him.
    "Look at the sign," Vince said, pointing. " 'Emergency Parking Only.' They probably moved the car, and then found a place to get some sleep." He caught the chief's eye.
    Mallory was blank for a second, then he lifted his brows and jumped in. "That's right. I think one of the hospital staff was saying the vehicles were going to have to be moved." He glanced out over the lot. "Vince, Jerry, you two check the front lot out, row by row, if necessary. Agent Selkirk and I will cover the lot in the back." He looked at Selkirk. "It's right around the corner. Come on." Then he just started walking, leaving no time for arguments.
    Selkirk followed Mallory as Vince led Jerry out into the parking lot, toward his own car. And as soon as the chief and Selkirk were out of sight, he yanked his keys out of his pocket, slapped Jerry on the back, and said, "Let's hit it."
    They were in the Jeep, pulling out of the parking lot seconds later.
    "So, where do we begin?"
    "I don't know," Vince said. "Holly's house. Amanda's house. Whatever the hell they're up to, I imagine it started with a stop at home. Seems like they'd want an umbrella if nothing else."
    "I suppose that makes as much sense as anything." Jerry shook his head. "Why do you think they took off?"
    "I don't know."
    "Do you think they could have reached the same conclusion we did, back there?"
    Vince's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "I hope so."
    "Really?" Jerry looked at Vince in surprise. "I thought you wanted them kept in the dark until we knew for sure."
    "I do. But the only other reason I can think of for them to take off like this is that maybe Amanda started to remember something."
    Jerry blinked, then his eyes widened. "About the killer? Holy shit! You think they've gone after him?"
    "God, I hope not," Vince said grimly. He remembered all too well what it had done to him to walk into that room in the rundown house and find the bodies of Kara and Bobby Prague. Holly couldn't survive something like that. Amanda probably couldn't either. "I hope not."
    * * *
    "THIS IS YOUR uncle's house?" Amanda asked, searching Holly's face.
    Holly nodded. "I don't understand this. Are you sure, Amanda?"
    Amanda looked at the house, at the lighted windows, the shutters. "I remember standing right here, looking at that house, and knowing I had to get away. Away from that house.
He
was in there." She covered her face with her hands, and Holly wrapped her arms around Amanda protectively, instinctively holding her hard and close.
    "It's all right. Nothing can hurt you now."
    Amanda looked up, tears mixing with the rain on her face. "We aren't frightened little girls anymore."
    "No." Holly's head was still spinning. Uncle Marty. It made no sense. But there was no time to work it all out, not now. "But Bethany is. And she needs us. I can go in alone, if you want."
    "No. No, I'll go with you."
    Nodding, Holly hooked her arm through Amanda's, and they walked across the lawn, toward the back door. Holly reached up to ring the bell, but Amanda caught her hand. "Just... try the door."
    Holly glanced sideways, saw the closed garage door, and beyond its windows, the glint of metal. "Looks like Aunt Jen is home. Her car's in the garage." She couldn't see if Uncle Marty's bread truck was back from its most recent run. It would be around the far side where the driveway looped around the house. "It's going to be all right, Amanda." She gripped the knob, and turned it slowly.
    It wasn't locked.
    There was nothing strange about that. It was a small town. Folks rarely locked their doors when they were away, much less when they were at home. She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
    The lights were on, and the living room was a mess. Cabinets and drawers, the closet, everything open and things strewn everywhere. The cushions on the sofa were askew, as if someone had pulled them off and then tossed them carelessly back down again. "My God," she whispered. "Someone must have broken in. Aunt Jen?" she called.
    A door slammed. The side