by Minka Kent
“He’s with Greer,” I say, hands gripping the back of his chair. “He went to Vermont with her.”
“Vermont?” His face wrinkles, then his eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“I haven’t talked to her in days . . . not since I’ve been out here,” he says. “My phone wasn’t working half the time. I called her this morning, but my phone cut out.” Exhaling, he glances at the clock. “My family has a cabin in Vermont. That’s the only thing I can think of. Maybe she thought I was there?”
“Ronan went with her,” I say. “To look for you. She must’ve thought I was with you?”
“Like I’d kidnap somebody.” He rolls his eyes. “Your sister.”
The driver veers down a hilly gravel road that cuts between two mountains before the tires hit smooth pavement. Cracking the window, I let the cold air hit my face. I make a silent vow never to take fresh air for granted ever again. Harris reaches back to pat my knee, his own way of telling me everything’s going to be okay despite the fact that we have no way of knowing what’s to come.
We ride in silence, and while I’m no longer locked away, I don’t yet feel free.
I won’t until I find my sister.
A road sign ahead welcomes us to Zion Gardens State Park, and over the hill rests a little brown cabin with a single ranger truck parked out front.
I rub the red marks on my wrists until the aching subsides, and it seems like it takes forever for the driver to slow down.
“Here, pull in.” Harris points toward the station, and the driver slows. The second we’re stopped, he leads me inside, where a young ranger glances up from his computer with tired, glazed eyes. His name tag identifies him as Ranger Kyle Howe, and he can’t be much older than twenty-one judging by his baby face and the soft, peachy facial hair he’s trying to turn into some kind of beard. “I need you to call the police. This is Meredith Price. She’s been missing out of Glacier Park since last week.”
The young man blinks at me, as if he’s seeing a ghost, and I’m certain I look like a whisper of my former self. My hair is matted, my skin pale, my body gaunt.
“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Harris’s voice cuts through the small space, and he reaches across the desk, shoving the phone toward the kid.
Tucking the receiver against his shoulder, the kid punches in a series of numbers and keeps his gaze trained on me.
“Fletcher, we got her. That missing woman. She’s here,” he says. “Yeah. Send medical, too.”
As soon as he hangs up, he heads to a closet behind the front room, returning with a red woolen blanket, a bottle of water, and a meal replacement bar. Harris wraps me in the scratchy fabric and uncaps the drink, bringing it to my lips. I’m hungry, but I’m too tired to eat, and the meal bar feels like a rock in my hand, old as hell.
Within minutes, a white state car pulls up outside, and two troopers in brown uniforms rush inside, stopping in their tracks when they see me. The older of the two glances at Harris for a moment, but I place a hand up.
“He found me,” I say. “Ronan McCormack, he’s the one who did this. And you need to find him. He has my sister.”
Outside an ambulance parks beside their vehicle, a pair of EMS workers hopping out and heading to the back to grab their bags.
“Do you have any idea where he is right now?” one of the officers asks, his hand resting on his radio.
I glance at Harris. “He went to Vermont. He’s supposed to be back tomorrow.”
Harris takes my hand. It’s a sweet gesture, and one I hope to never experience again. It’s weird holding his hand, basking in his sympathies. All I want is for things to go back to the way they were before. I miss the snarky Harris. The sweet one is alien and serves only to remind me of the gravity of this disgusting situation.
“We’ll put a tail on him,” the other officer says, his thin lips flattening. “We’re going to get him, Meredith.”
CHAPTER 48
GREER
Day Eleven
A blazing flashlight blinds me the second the door swings open. Squeezing my eyes, I turn my face to the side.
“Jesus.” A man rushes to my side. “Found her, Robbins.”
“No.” I shake my head, my vision still adjusting as a gray-haired man in jeans and a thick down jacket comes into sight. “I’m not Meredith.”
“Greer Ambrose?” he asks.
I sit up straighter, confused. Nobody knew I was here. “Yes?”
“I’m Agent Berwick.” He snips the flex-cuffs before helping me stand. My bones ache, my muscles stiff. “Your sister’s been found.”
Your sister’s been found.
My heart drops. “Oh, God.”
“She’s fine. A little dehydrated, a little traumatized. But she’s fine.” He loops his arm around my shoulders. “She told us you were with him, tipped us off that he was on his way back from Vermont. We’ve been following you since Salt Lake City this morning.”
My hand cups my mouth as he leads me through the small, musty house and out the front door. An unmarked Suburban is parked behind two county patrol cars, but I don’t see anyone else.
“Where’s my sister?” I ask when we step outside.
“Unity Grace Hospital, few miles into town,” he answers, peering over his shoulder as he rushes me to the back of his car.
“Where’s Ronan?” I ask. “Ronan McCormack. He did this. He’s responsible for this.”
“We’re aware, ma’am,” he says, grabbing the door. “Watch your head.”
“Where is he?”
“Took off on foot after he answered the door and realized who we were and why we were there. We’ve got two guys on him. He won’t get far in this snow. And if he does, the cougars will get him before sunrise.”
He chuckles. I can’t tell if he’s kidding.
The idea of wild animals tearing him limb from limb might bring me great satisfaction if I weren’t so fucking terrified of that monster being on the loose.
Drawing in an icy breath, I let it go, trusting that they’re going to nail him one way or another. They’re on his heels. They won’t let him get away.
Berwick hands me a flannel blanket once I’m situated in the back seat, and I wrap it around my shoulders.
“You thirsty?” he asks.
I nod.
Ducking into the front seat, he retrieves a thermos. Unscrewing the lid, he pours it halfway full of steaming coffee before handing it over.
It’s cheap. Store brand, probably. But the strong scent comforts me.
And I think of Harris.
“Harris Collier . . . ,” I begin to say.
“What about him?” he asks.
My gaze narrows. “Was he with my sister?”
When I realized Ronan was behind all this, I was more fixated on getting free and finding Meredith than figuring out why Harris lied about his whereabouts.
Berwick hooks his hands on his hips, his lips pressed. “Sure was. He’s the one who found her.”
My jaw hangs slack for a second as I wrap my head around this. I start to ask a question when his radio sounds. He tells me to stay there and slams the car door before running toward the backyard of the little cabin.
A fogged windshield obstructs my view, but I’m able to make out the sound of men yelling, though I can’t decipher what they’re saying.
A gunshot.
Then three in a row.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
My heart stops cold. I don’t move.
Ronan is a cop. He has access to guns. He’s trained to shoot to kill.
I hit the locks like a coward, my exhausted mind crafting up some scenario where Ronan comes running toward the car, a gun pointed in my face, and a bunch of dead FBI agent bodies lying bloodied in the snow. I know a lock couldn’t save me from him, but at this point, I’ve nothing but a blanket to hide under.
“Ten-thirty-three, shots fired. Ten thirty-three, shots fired. Suspect down, still not in custody.” A man’s voi
ce plays over the agent’s car radio, sending shock waves through my frozen body. “Send backup. And medical.”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath the moment Berwick appears from around the back of the house. He jogs toward me, and I unlock the door, opening it for him.
“Stay in here,” he says. “We got him. He fired at us from the woods. One of the county guys fired back. Hit him twice.”
“He’s still alive?” I ask.
Berwick cocks his head, his chin jutting forward. “For now. He’s bleeding pretty good. Conscious and suffering, I’ll tell you that much.”
With that, he shuts the door and speaks into his radio before trudging back to the scene.
I hope the bastard suffers.
I hope his death is slow and painful and agonizing.
And I hope he never gets the privilege of living to regret what he’s done.
Agent Berwick insists I get an examination, but I refuse, forcing him to take me to Meredith instead.
Two officers stand guard outside her hospital room, nodding at Berwick as we pass through.
“Mer.” I freeze the moment I see her. She’s hardly recognizable, so faded. So fragile.
“G.” Flinging the covers off her legs, she tries to come to me, but a nurse stops her before she hurts herself.
Making my way to the side of her bed, I wrap my arms around her tight. I’m not a hugger, but I could hold her forever.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” I pull myself away, keeping my hands on her shoulders. “You did nothing wrong.”
“I didn’t tell you about Ronan, about the affair. I didn’t tell you I’d been talking to Harris about all the things I didn’t want to tell you,” she says. “I didn’t tell you anything because I wanted you to think everything was fine, that you didn’t have to worry about me anymore.”
“None of that matters now,” I say, brushing my fingers through her tangled blonde waves. On the drive over, I thought about Harris and how he rescued her. And here I was ready to strangle him for sending my emotions into a spiraling free fall and me on a wild-goose chase. I’ve never been so relieved to have been wrong about someone. “I have to admit, I’m shocked about the Harris thing. I thought you two hated each other.”
Her mouth draws into a careful smirk. “We did. And then I called him once when I wanted some nonbiased life advice, and somehow that turned into him becoming my sounding board, and . . .”
My sister rambles on, filling me in on the last eleven days, on Harris, her reasons for contacting him instead of anyone else, and how he found her by locating Jack Howard, a local business owner with hundreds of rental cabins in Utah.
“I was in the twenty-eighth cabin,” she says. “He hired a driver, printed off a bunch of maps, and drove to each and every address until he found me. They’re all over the state. Took days.”
“Wow,” I say as my fondness for Harris starts to reignite. Picturing him as some kind of hipster superhero puts a dopey smile on my face. “Who’d have thought Harris could be so valiant?”
“I know, right?” Meredith’s head tilts, and she laughs through her nose. It’s good to see her like this, especially when I was expecting her to be a shell of herself after everything she’s been through. I should’ve known she was resilient. I raised her to be that way, after all. “He’s been really sweet, G. But I kind of miss the other version of him.”
“Where is he, anyway?”
“He went to grab a coffee, I think,” she says. “He’d been trying to call you since yesterday, when he finally found a cell signal.”
“Ronan threw my phone away.” I exhale.
“Did they find him yet?” Meredith reaches for a plastic cup of water on a nearby table.
Pausing, I swallow a deep breath. “They haven’t told you?”
Bringing the straw to her lips, she stops, shaking her head. “Told me what?”
“They shot him outside the house he was keeping me in,” I say carefully. She’s been through so much, and I’ve yet to determine how she feels about him at this point, if she’s resentful, confused, or illogically compassionate. “I guess you told the police he was flying back from Vermont, and they sent a couple of plainclothes agents to tail him from the airport.”
Meredith is silent, her chin tucking against her chest.
“You okay?” I place my hand over hers.
“Yeah,” she says. “Just wrapping my head around all of that.”
“He was a sick man.”
My sister nods. “I know.”
“Greer.” Harris’s voice calls my name from the doorway, where he stands with two cups of coffee. Striding across the room, he hands me one. “They said you were on your way.”
There’s a fullness in my chest, swelling as I lock eyes with him.
“Thank you.” I wrap my hands around the warm Styrofoam, stuck somewhere between wanting to run into his arms or bask in how good it feels to see him again.
“Figured you’d be tired.” Harris studies me. “You doing all right? You’ve been through . . . shit, I don’t even know what you’ve been through.” He takes a step closer, reaching toward my face with gentle hesitation before cupping my cheek. “I was so worried about you, Greer. The thought of something happening to you . . .”
Harris’s words fade, and his warm palm leaves my cool cheek. He doesn’t want to finish his thought.
“I’m fine,” I say. I’m not sure if I’m fine or what the lasting repercussions of the last couple of days are going to be, but for now, I’m with my sister and we’re both safe, and that means everything’s going to be okay. “Thank you for . . . for what you did.” I nod toward my sister. “You saved her life.”
He shrugs, taking a sip. I love his modesty. I love that he doesn’t expect accolades or attention.
“Let’s not make it into a thing, all right? I did what anyone else would do.” Harris steps closer, releasing a hard breath through his nose as his lips press together.
“I don’t know about that,” I say, the corner of my mouth pulling up. It’s as if I’m looking at him in a whole new light. He saved my sister. He saved her because he knew how much she meant to me. He saved her because he’s a good person with a good heart and a good soul.
I hate that I doubted him.
And that I doubted myself.
“I meant what I said last week.” His voice is low, soft as a feather.
Resting my palm over his hand, I smile. “I know.”
“You know, do you?” He chuckles, and my gaze lands on the dimple on his left cheek, the one I used to kiss when we first started dating because I thought it was so cute. He called me a “weirdo.” I laughed and told him to get used to it. He told me he’d love my idiosyncrasies if I promised to love his.
“You never stopped,” I say, stating it as if it were an inarguable fact.
Harris pauses before rubbing the back of his neck. “Never. Not once.”
“What the hell are we doing?” I ask.
He shakes his head, exhaling. “I never should’ve let you go, Greer. It’s just, you went so quietly, without a fight. I thought you were over me. Over us. And you seemed fine on your own, like you didn’t need me.”
“Harris.” I bite my bottom lip, blinking away the tears threatening to fill my eyes. “You’re it for me. I couldn’t get over you if I tried. And trust me, I tried.”
His mouth pulls wide. “Want to go somewhere and talk? Alone?”
Turning toward my sister, I watch her eyelids grow heavy. I’d hate for her to wake up to an empty hospital room.
“I can’t leave her,” I say. “Not yet.”
“Right. Of course. Getting a little ahead of myself.” Eyeing a spare chair in the corner, he takes a seat. “Then I’ll just be here. Waiting. And when you’re ready, I’ll take you away, anywhere you want to go.”
“I just want to go home,” I say. “To our apartment. With you.”
His face li
ghts. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”
CHAPTER 49
MEREDITH
“She’s right in here, sir.” One of the officers outside my door steps out of the way as my husband pushes past.
His eyes widen when he sees me, and he takes careful steps toward my bed, falling to his knees. His amaretto-colored gaze never leaves mine, and I see it—I see that he’s sorry. He’s sorry he wasn’t able to protect me.
“What did he do to you?” Andrew’s voice shakes, which sends a fullness to my heart. Looking at this man, I wholeheartedly believe he was beside himself in my absence, even if he didn’t show it—and knowing him, he kept his cards close. Rising, he sits next to me. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. You’re safe now. You’re with me.”
He bends forward, pressing his lips against my forehead, and I cower at first, thinking of Ronan until I inhale my husband’s familiar musky aftershave.
Andrew cups my cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t worry more about you.”
Shaking my head, I say, “Worrying about me never would’ve stopped him. He had this planned for years.”
“I heard they shot him,” Andrew says, huffing. “Serves him right.”
I say nothing. Despite recent events, a part of me still struggles to believe that the Ronan who was once so sweet and unassuming and affable was capable of all this. He was always so normal. That was what I always liked most about him.
I know now that he was mentally ill, deeply disturbed, and he was only ever pretending to be the person I thought he was.
“How’s the baby?” Andrew rests his palm across my belly, and for a flicker of a second, I imagine him holding a swaddled baby—our baby—and my chest swells. If I can make it to that day, to that moment, everything’s going to be okay.
“I had an ultrasound,” I say, eyes resting on his. “Everything looks good. I’m just over six weeks. Heard the heartbeat and everything.”
“Thank God,” he whispers, taking my hand in his. “How are you holding up, though? Other than being traumatized and wafer thin?”
My gaze follows the line of the IV drip they’ve had hooked to me since the second I got here. I’m guessing we’re on bag number four in less than twenty-four hours. Despite the fact that nothing feels real, I’ve never felt more alive.