Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [122]
Please, no.
She opened up Outlook and watched the boldfaced names pile into the Inbox. She waited for Marcelo’s email to load and braced herself to read the article. But Marcelo’s wasn’t the email that caught her eye. She moved the mouse, clicked on another email, and opened it, reading quickly.
And then she screamed.
And when she stopped screaming, she reached for the phone.
Chapter Ninety-two
Ellen shot up like a rocket, sending her desk chair rolling back across the floor, and ran to the door, then tore down the stairs.
Clop, clop, clop, clop, like a racehorse she sounded. She reached the living room, grabbed her purse and keys from the windowseat, snatched her coat from the closet floor, then flung open the door and hit the icy air.
She slammed the door shut behind her and went flying down the steps, spraying snow everywhere, her heart in her throat, heedless of the reporters, who surged forward as they had five minutes ago, raising cameras that had been at rest and flicking on generators to power up klieg lights and microphones.
“Hey, where you going now?” a reporter called out, filming her, and the others joined in. “Ellen, what’s going on?” “You going back to Sarah’s?”
Ellen tore through the snow on her front yard, staying on her property where the press couldn’t follow, struggling in the deep snow to get to her car, as the reporters shouted questions from the sidewalk.
“Can’t you give us a statement?” “Ellen, come on, give us a break!” “What’s all the activity? You going to see Will?”
Ellen chirped the car door open, jumped in, and switched on the ignition. She threw the car in reverse while she hit the button to lower the driver’s window. “Move, move, everybody!” she hollered, gesturing frantically out the window, her heart pounding. “Get out of the way! Get out of my way!”
“Where are you going?” “Have you heard from your son? Are they letting you see him?”
“Move, move, MOVE!” Ellen reversed out of the driveway, hitting the gas until they jumped out of the way. Some shouted questions while others sprinted to their cars and newsvans, ready to follow her again.
“Ellen, they’re staying at the Four Seasons, did you know? Is that where you’re going?”
“MOVE!” Ellen put the car in drive and hit the gas, spraying road salt and snow, speeding to the corner, and turning left so fast that she almost fishtailed on Wynnewood Road. She kept control of the car and accelerated up the plowed street in almost no traffic, and by the time she hit City Line, she was being followed by newsvans with microwave towers and an array of pursuit vehicles. The traffic light ahead turned red, but she hit the gas and powered through the intersection. She passed a snowplow, a bus, and even an ambulance at speed.
Nothing was going to stop her.
Not now, not ever.
Chapter Ninety-three
Ellen hurried from the waiting room behind Special Agent Orr, passing the thick gold seal of the FBI, the framed picture of the president and the attorney general, the Ten Most Wanted posters, and whatever else was hanging on the off-white walls. She followed Special Agent Orr down the glistening hallway and reached a wooden door with a plaque that read CONFERENCE ROOM.
Special Agent Orr twisted the knob. “Here you go, Ms. Gleeson,” he said, admitting her, then leaving.
Ellen stepped inside, getting her bearings. She had driven the farthest to get here, so they were all already in place. Special Agent Manning stood up at the head of the table, and on the near side, Ron Halpren stood up, too, with an uncertain smile. He was dressed in a tux from a benefit dinner, and Ellen shook his hand.
“Sorry to disrupt your night, gentlemen,” she said, sitting down next to Ron. She nodded at Special Agent Manning, who retook his seat at the head of the table. “Thank you, too, Special Agent.”
“It’s my job.” His