Free Cracked by Barbra Leslie Page B

It almost looked like they hadn’t moved since I went to bed. Two uniformed cops were chatting quietly by the front door, take-out coffees in their hands.
    Darren motioned for me to sit down next to him on the couch. He put his arm around me and kissed my head. Between the two of them, they filled me in.
    The boys’ kidnapping was all over the news. The FBI had been called in and a command post was being set up, along with lots of equipment in the dining room to record all phone calls in case of a ransom demand. Everyone was looking for the twins. Darren and I had been asked to not leave the house. We were to leave the search to the professionals. The police had even contacted our brothers Skipper and Laurence and advised them not to fly down, and to take extra precautions for their own safety.
    Without saying so directly, it was obvious that they thought we might be targets as well.
    But Fred was still in custody. DNA is DNA, and due to the sensational nature of the crime – beautiful Newport Beach matron murdered in a no-tell motel on the wrong side of the tracks – and Fred’s wealth and profile, all testing had been rushed. The police believed that the woman who took the boys could be Fred’s accomplice. He was being questioned.
    No matter how angry at me Fred had seemed the night before, I simply couldn’t believe that he was capable of a crime of passion, especially against Ginger. But the police were right, if the phony suicide note was addressed to me, and somebody had bothered to pose as me – fake I.D. and all, and an elaborate enough network to pull off pretending to be police detectives in one of the wealthiest areas of the world? I was pretty certain that somebody wanted to get my attention. But other than to break the hearts of everyone who loved me, I couldn’t figure out why I would be anyone’s target. I had nothing anyone could want. I was a divorced crack addict on the verge of bankruptcy who rarely left my crappy apartment. Even I could see that my life was pathetic. I might have had some illegal habits, but I doubted that the bank that had issued my Visa card was going to go to these lengths to fuck with me.
    I leaned against Darren. I knew that I needed food, and I needed a shower and probably some caffeine, if my body could handle it. I needed my sister to come into the room and tell me that this was all a bad dream, some kind of drug-induced psychosis. I closed my eyes, willing the cravings to pass. I needed crack. I needed a new life. I needed my sister to be alive. I needed Matty and Luke to be brought back here, safe and sound and without anyone having touched them. Because if anyone hurt those boys, I didn’t think I’d be able to manage. I’d lost my parents and my twin sister, and my husband – whom I still loved, and always would – was following the demons living in his brain. If my nephews were lost, my twin sister’s twin sons, all I could imagine was losing any humanity I had left in me, and turning into a killing machine. Then I could let myself disintegrate into a million tiny pieces and disappear into the ether.
    I needed to talk to Gene. Regardless of how fucked up he was, he was my best friend. Outside the family, he understood me better than anyone in the world. At least these days, since Jack and I were no longer, and I had nose-dived into druggie oblivion.
    I excused myself from Darren and Miller, mumbling something about a shower. There was a phone on the bedside table. I hadn’t bothered to bring my ancient cell phone with me down here; it was a 90s-style flip phone and I doubted it would even get service here. I was old school, used a landline. I sat up in bed and dialed my own number. He was probably still there. As crummy as my place could be, especially after one of our benders, it was still better than Gene’s. He had keys, and usually spent most of his time there.
    I let it ring until the voicemail picked up, then hung up when I heard my own voice. I tried