Read Online Amy Maxwell's 6th Sense by Heather Balog - Free Book Online Page A

see is Colt.
    “Allie, he’s not out here,” I call out, hoping she will suddenly remember where her brother is. I hear no response. Sighing, I poke my head back in the doorway. “Did you hear me?”
    She glances up from her phone. “Uh, huh.”
    “Did he go with Daddy?” I ask, not even reminding her about roaming charges.
    “How should I know?” She offers me an eye roll and returns to her oh-so-important phone conversation, which is probably 90% emoticons and 10% abbreviations that I don’t understand.
    “You should know because I asked you to watch him,” I point out, oddly frightened and pissed off at the same time.
    “Uh, no you didn’t,” she retorts. “You asked me to watch Evan. Not Colt.”
    I squeeze my fists open and closed, willing myself not to flip out. “Allie, it was implied that you would keep an eye on both of your brothers. Now I have to call the front desk and see if anyone has seen him.” My voice breaks off at the end, panic rising in my chest. Would DFYS be dispatched for sure now? Who loses two of their kids in one day?
    “There was a vending machine in the hall,” Lexie pipes up helpfully, exiting the bathroom.
    Rubbing my temples, I stride nervously over to the phone and reply, “Not now, Lexie.”
    “But Mom…”
    “Lexie! Not now!” I repeat, picking up the phone receiver.
    “Mom—” She grabs my arm and tugs on it just as I’m about to dial. I nearly whack her in the face as I try to detach my arm from her grasp.
    “Lexie, this not the time to be badgering me for snacks. Just go in my wallet if you need change.” I wave her away, annoyed that at twelve years old she doesn’t grasp the concept of her brother being misplaced in a hotel. I recall my conversation with the airport employee and shudder as I attempt to dial the phone again.
    “Mom, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Lexie whines as she depresses the button to disconnect my call. “Colt was going through your wallet for change. He was babbling about Doritos. I think he went to the vending machine in the hall.”
    Oh. Damn. Maybe I should listen a little more closely and not assume that Lexie is simply out to drive me bat-shit crazy. I have this terrible habit of tuning out my youngest daughter when she speaks more than two sentences, simply because she has the tendency to ramble and go completely off topic at times. I have no idea where she gets that from.
    “Thanks,” I mumble with shame and slip a pair of flip flops on my feet. “Um, watch Evan,” I instruct both girls as I pull open the door leading to the hall. I step out and pad down the hall, the door slamming with a thud behind me. I can see the glow of the vending machine in an alcove at the end of the hall. Getting closer, I hear the sound of coins being fed into the machine, and a male voice saying something about Doritos. I nearly collapse with relief.
    Thank God. I’m not a horrible mother after all. He was only thirty feet away the whole time.
    I stop in front of the doorway to the alcove, propping my hands on my hips and announcing, “You’re in big trouble mister! You need to tell Mommy where you’re going from now on!” I start to waggle my finger, just like my own mother used to do when I had been bad. Except my hand falls to my side, suddenly heavy. Before me stands, not Colt, but two grown men.
    “I think you have the wrong person,” the taller of the two men comments. His eyes roam up and down my body and I realize I am only wearing a robe. I wrap my arms around my body and suck in my breath.
    “Are you looking for someone?” the shorter of the two asks. He is a younger version of Danny DeVito. Except more hardened and not nearly as funny.
    “Um, my son,” I manage to stammer, and then instantly regret it as the two men exchange sidelong glances with each other, causing a shiver to run up my spine.
    “A young boy?” the first man asks, jiggling the change in his hand.
    Don’t tell him anything, Amy, my