by Rysa Walker
“Even without the app, we’d have found you. Taylor had already narrowed it down to this street. I’ve been parked by the dock watching for any signs of movement for the past hour. The clerk at the gas station called the police after you left. They were debating issuing an AMBER Alert, but there’s no evidence of force. They think it’s more plausible that Deo left Bartholomew House with you and then decided to ditch you to head off with some other friends. Either way, though, they want to talk to you.”
“No! No police. They said I can’t tell anyone . . . that I have to wait. And that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to wait until they contact me again and do whatever the hell those people want me to do in order to get Deo back safe and sound. I need to get my stuff and—”
“Hold on. We thought that might be the case. Taylor and I are the only ones who know your actual location. Sam and Porter know that we know, but they don’t want details. The security system at the gas station is crap . . . don’t think they’ve updated it in a decade. The police couldn’t read the tag on either car, but they do know that you’re in a red Volvo, so . . .”
“Then I’ll catch a bus—”
He grabs me by the shoulders. “You need to play this smart. This Badea woman works for Cregg. Do you really think that the man who killed all of those girls is going to just ask you for a little favor and then set you and Deo free?”
“They’ll set him free before I do anything to help them.”
“So that’s your game? You’re going to play martyr? You don’t even know what they want from you!” His voice softens. “You heard what Molly said about Cregg. Could you really refuse to do what he wanted if he makes you watch while Deo carves himself up with a knife?”
My knees buckle and I collapse on the floor, wrapping my arms around my head. “Shut up, damn you! Shut up and go away.”
“I’m sorry.” Aaron drops to the floor next to me. His arms encircle me. “I’m so sorry, Anna. I know you didn’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth. And running from the truth isn’t going to get Deo back alive.”
I try to push him away, but he doesn’t let go. He just pulls me in tighter.
“It’s okay, Anna. You don’t have to do this alone. We’re on the same side. Let me help you.”
The tears I’ve been fighting back for the past few minutes brim over. Aaron doesn’t smell like vanilla—more like a forest, really, with a hint of the ocean spray he picked up waiting outside. But he makes the same soothing noises that Kelsey made when I was small, his lips pressed against my hair. I’m angry that Aaron has broken down my defenses, but there’s also this very contrary part of me that doesn’t want him to let go. That wants to be able to rely on his strength, just for a little while.
I give in to that weakness for a few minutes and cry into his shoulder. He smooths my still-damp hair and whispers, “It’s okay . . . shh . . . it’s okay.”
When I pull myself together, I give him what I hope is a convincing smile. “I’m sorry for being difficult. I know you’re right—this isn’t something I should do alone.”
And he probably is right.
But I also know that as soon as I hear from Dacia or any of Cregg’s people, I’ll be walking out that door without hesitation. And if they say come alone, I’ll be coming alone. As long as they have Deo, they call the shots.
For the next six hours, I alternate between the living room and my room upstairs, peeking out the windows and nervously checking my phone. I called Kelsey again and brought her up to speed. The fact that I hadn’t told her about Deo last night made me feel bad, but I’m pretty sure she understood when I explained why.
I also called Joe. Told him I had to leave town. That family issues came up. He immediately asked if Deo was okay—I’ve worked there long enough for him to know Deo’s the only “family” I have. And then I lied to Joe, too. Said Deo was fine, that I was sorry for leaving him shorthanded, and hung up before I started bawling like a baby again.
Aaron apparently got zero sleep last night between camping out in front of Bartholomew House waiting for his spidey sense to go off, and then trying to find me. He’s crashed on the couch in the living room, his sock-clad feet hanging off the edge. I told him to take one of the rooms upstairs, but I think he’s worried that he’ll sleep too soundly. That I might grab my backpack and sneak out without him hearing if he lets himself get too comfortable.
Smart boy. I’ve considered it twice already, and talked myself out of it both times.
Sam called a little after nine a.m. and gave us more detail on the security footage from the gas station. Deo was walking back to the Volvo when a late-model BMW sedan, metallic blue or black, zipped in from Chesapeake Beach Road. It screeched to a halt directly in front of him. That’s when he dropped his drink. Given the glare from the lights overhead and the tint of the windows, neither of the cameras got a clear shot of the passengers or the tags. But a second after the car appeared, the back door swung open. Deo hesitated briefly, then got in, glancing over his shoulder toward the entrance.
The local police think the fact that Deo didn’t resist means that he was friends with someone in the car. But Sam said Deo looked frightened. He believes someone was pointing a gun at him. And he’s right. Otherwise, there’s no way in hell Deo would have gotten into that car.
They did discover that the car took a right at Old Solomons Island Road. So, aside from an approximate make and color on the car and which way they turned, the tape showed nothing I didn’t know already.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and go back up to my room. The air is wet and salty, and I pull my sweatshirt around my body to ward off the chill as I step onto the deck to get a better view of the street. Nothing suspicious looking. Aside from a few passing cars and delivery trucks, the street has been empty all morning. It’s a gray, rainy day, too late in the season for beachgoers. I doubt they’d be attracted to this particular shore anyway. There’s no sand, just waves lapping against black and gray rocks. A few blocks down, there’s a pier jutting out over the ocean. The handful of hardy souls who ventured onto the pier earlier this morning, dressed in rain ponchos and, in one case, holding an umbrella as he cast his line from the very end of the pier, have all given up now.
Right after her sister died, Kelsey mentioned how much Barbara had enjoyed fishing on that pier before she got sick, so I won’t be going out there. If Kelsey’s sister hasn’t moved on to wherever, that’s probably where she’s hanging out. And while I’d be happy to help her pass on a final message, or catch that final fish, I can’t take on any distractions until Deo is safe.
I’m about to go back inside when a car turns onto Atlantic Avenue. Not a blue or black BMW. Not a police cruiser. An unmistakable pale-purple Jeep.
The ghost of Emily MacAlister shudders at the string of words running through my head. What in God’s name is Taylor doing here?
She pulls in behind Aaron’s car, and a few moments later, the doorbell rings. Then the garage door goes up, and I watch through the blinds as they play musical parking spaces so that Taylor can get the Lavender Disaster into the garage next to Kelsey’s car.
I’m in no mood for Taylor’s angst. For the first couple of minutes, I stay in my room, but it’s clear that’s not going to work as soon as I hear them talking downstairs. I have to know what they’re saying, on the off chance that Sam told Taylor some bit of info rather than phoning us again.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, Taylor is sitting on the couch next to Aaron. Two sketch pads are on the coffee table in front of her. Her right hand is rummaging around in the front zip pocket of Deo’s backpack.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
She jumps, nearly dropping the bag, a guilty look on her face.
“It’s okay,” Aaron says. “I thought you were asleep or I’d have asked first. Taylor’s searching for something she can use to track Deo.”
“Exactly what do you mean by track?”
Taylor’s nose w
rinkles. “Yeah, Aaron. You make it sound like I’m a damn bloodhound. I’m looking for something that might give me a reading. Is there anything in here that Deo is especially attached to? Something he sleeps with? Or that he might have worn next to his body recently. Jewelry is better than fabric.”
I try to rein in my skeptical look, but it’s been an emotional day, and I probably fail miserably. Taylor rolls her eyes, then closes them, shaking her head wearily, as though praying for patience.
And yes, I realize I’m being unfair. I’d have realized it even without Molly muttering in the back of my head.
I told you already. Taylor finds stuff.
Taylor takes a deep breath, and with her patience wish apparently granted, opens her eyes. “I’m the only reason they found Molly’s body, Anna. Officially, they got an anonymous tip from a hiker, but I sketched the woods where they took her. I drew a map of the winding dirt road that led back to the highway. It wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough.” Tears are building in her eyes. “It took me more than three months of doing nothing else but trying to match the map I’d drawn to satellite views, but I finally found the location. I hoped it would give her Pa and Mimmy some closure, but . . .” She’s quiet for a moment, then shrugs, a defeated look on her face. “Maybe it would have been better for them to keep hoping. I don’t know.”
No, Tay. Not your fault.
“They needed to know,” Aaron says. “Even if we couldn’t find anything to pin it on Lucas, you finding Molly was a good thing.” He gives her shoulder a squeeze, but she doesn’t look convinced.
“Molly just said the same thing, Taylor. She doesn’t want you blaming yourself.”
I hold out my hand for Deo’s bag, but I don’t hold out much hope for this avenue of investigation. Even if Taylor succeeded in finding Molly, she admitted it took months. And she found a body. I shove that thought away so hard that I can feel the recoil. I can’t even consider the possibility that all we’ll find is his body.
“I think I put his phone back in here last night . . . ,” I say, rummaging around.
“Um . . . not so sure about a phone,” Taylor says. “Seems to work better if it’s something they wore.”
“Deo wore his phone more often than anything else. But . . .” I pull out the phone and unclamp the ear cuff from the top of the case. “I was actually looking for this. I gave it to him last Christmas. He was—”
“Wearing it at Sam’s office,” she says. “Yeah. I noticed.”
I drop the cuff into her hand, and she scoops up her sketch pads and a pink sparkly bag lying next to her on the sofa, which I guess is a pencil bag. It looks familiar for some reason.
“I’m going to take over one of the rooms upstairs,” she tells Aaron. “You didn’t bring your headphones by any chance, did you? Forgot mine on the table back home.”
He shakes his head.
I pull out Deo’s purple-and-white earbuds from the pack, and my mind flashes back to him leaning against the brick wall at Carver’s Deli with these in his ears, waiting for me to get back from my meeting with Porter.
“Here.” I toss Taylor the earbuds. “No guarantees on the sound quality. I think Deo buys this brand as much for color coordination as anything else. And because they’re cheap.”
“They’ll do. I just need something to help me block out any noise.” Her eyebrows go up slightly. “Deo was carrying a blue set of these last night, wasn’t he?”
I nod, even though I hadn’t actually remembered that until she spoke.
Taylor turns to Aaron and hands him a folded note she’s just pulled from the pocket of her sweater. “I found this next to the coffeepot this morning, which might explain why Daniel didn’t answer his cell last night. I don’t want to talk about it now, because it will piss me off and that interferes with my focus. But you might want to let Sam know.”
She grabs the overnight bag next to the stairs and hurries up to the second floor.
Aaron curses and wads up the note.
“What is it?” I ask, as Aaron, who’s apparently decided it was a bad idea to crumple it up, unwads and refolds the note.
“Daniel. Of course. Says he got a call last night and they want him to report early. So he’s off again without bothering to tell Taylor or Mom a proper good-bye.”
“Well . . . did he have a choice? I mean, one of my former tenants was in the Navy. When they say jump—”
“He had a choice about reenlisting. And this is just . . . typical. Sam would have been happy to take him into our business, happier than I’d have been actually, but Daniel was all worked up about how he could do more good as an actual police officer. They were excited to have him—Sam was ranting after you guys left last night about how Daniel was unappreciative and all the strings he pulled to get him bumped to the top of the list, but that’s garbage. Five years of active duty, including investigative experience, meant the police training was a breeze—he was practically pretrained other than learning all of their administrative crap. But now he gets a bug up his ass four months out of training and he’s off again, just as he gets to a place where he might actually be useful to us. Mom’s always given him the benefit of every single doubt, so maybe he’s right. Maybe she does understand, but Taylor sure as hell doesn’t. And I’m pretty sure Mom thought she’d at least have a chance to say good-bye before he . . .”
He stops and gives me a rueful smile. “Sorry. I’m an idiot. You’ve been through enough in the past twenty-four hours without having to listen to me bitch about my inconsiderate jerk of a brother.”
Aaron’s smile is infectious, and despite everything I find myself returning it. “You couldn’t say anything worse than what I was thinking yesterday when he dumped me on the sofa.” I nod toward the stairs. “I don’t suppose there’s anything we can do to . . . help her?”
“Stay out of her way. Keep quiet. And have food around when she takes a break. Viewing makes her hungry.”
“So . . . that’s what this is? Remote viewing, like they talked about in the video I watched last night?”
“Pretty much, although remote viewers usually don’t have an object to read. There are perfectly good blanket terms for what Taylor does—clairvoyance, psychometry. But the military didn’t like the paranormal baggage attached to those. Taylor says she just sits there and meditates, more or less, until something comes to her. Then she picks up the pencil and starts sketching the image she sees in her head. Vague outlines at first, but then she goes back and concentrates until she can fill in the necessary detail.”
“Did she have an object to . . . read . . . when looking for Molly?”
He nods. “One of those BFF necklaces, shaped like half a heart. Molly gave half to Taylor for her thirteenth birthday. Partners in Crime etched on the front if you pressed the two together.” He gives a small chuckle. “Which described those two perfectly. And Molly was wearing the other half when they found the body.”
“But it still took her months.”
“Yeah, but she’s got a quicker start this time. And Molly was in a ravine in the middle of the woods. In the middle of nowhere, the next state over. One stretch of woods looks a lot like another. Deo’s probably in a building somewhere.”
Unless . . .
I shove myself up from the chair and go into the kitchen, as though leaving the room will put distance between me and my thoughts.
It doesn’t, of course.
Unless he’s already dead.
Stop it. You need to stay positive. You can’t sit here and work yourself into a panic. If they want something from you, they’ll keep him alive.
“Then why haven’t they called?” I slam my fists against the kitchen counter. And send a silent apology up to Taylor, hoping I didn’t break her focus.
Aaron sits on one of the bar stools and looks at me across the blue tile counter. “They’ll call, Anna. They’re purposefully waiting, trying to worry you. Get you worked up enough that you’ll be willing to do whatever they say.”
/> “Yeah, well, if that’s what they wanted, all they had to do was pull back around while I was standing there screaming in the parking lot. Deo doesn’t deserve this. He’s just a little . . . kid.” I realize how dumb that sounds before I even finish the words. I expect Aaron to think it’s stupid, but he doesn’t react. He just watches me, with an expression very similar to the one Kelsey wears when she’s trying to get me to calm down and think things through.
I open a bottle of orange soda that’s in the pantry and pour it over a glass of ice before turning back to face Aaron. It’s low on fizz, probably left behind by Kelsey’s sister or some previous tenant, but I chug half of it anyway.
“I’m not delusional, Aaron. I know he’s nearly six feet tall. Deo’s not a little kid to anyone but me. But I held him when he cried. When he was a little kid. I promised him I’d keep the monsters away. That I wouldn’t let anyone else hurt him. I promised. And now—” I stop and pull in several deep breaths. I don’t want to lose it again like I did this morning. “It makes me so angry!”
“I can tell. And I’d feel the same way if someone had Taylor. But you’re going to wear yourself out at the very time you need to be strong. Eat something. Sleep if you can. Turn on the TV. Read a book. Try to take your mind somewhere else. I know you can’t, not really, but you need to try or you’re going to make yourself crazy.”
So . . . I try. When it becomes clear that the TV, even with its bazillion channels, isn’t going to hold my attention, we resort to some of the board games stashed on the hallway bookshelves. Trivial Pursuit is a total joke—Aaron quickly discovers it’s not the best game to play against someone with nine or more sets of random knowledge. We play one round of Aggravation, which lives up to its name but gives my mind way too much time to wander.