As Abby pulled into the shale driveway, startled chickens scattered for cover.
She and Sam got out of the car and approached the porch with caution. Glancing over her shoulder toward the woods, Abby said, “Someone’s out there, just beyond those tractors.”
“I saw him.” Sam kept his gaze straight ahead as he and Abby started up the steps. It was so dark inside the house, they could barely see through the screen. Sam knocked on the rickety frame. “Hello! Anyone home?”
A shadow appeared in the doorway. For a moment, Sam thought the woman a figment of his imagination. From McElroy’s description, he’d pictured Bobby Lee Hatcher’s grandmother as Ma Barker, looking a lot like Shelly Winters in the role. But this woman was tiny. She couldn’t have been five feet tall or weighed more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. Her white hair was pulled back into an old-fashioned bun, and a gingham apron covered her long-sleeved, high-collared dress. She looked as old as the hills with her wizened face and crinkled eyes, and as harmless as the chickens who’d run for cover at the first sight of a stranger.
But Bobby Lee Hatcher’s grandmother didn’t run. Nor did she seem all that harmless when she spoke. Her voice was coarse, her tone rigid, stern. A voice used to barking orders at errant grandsons. “Are you lost?”
“No, we came here to see you, Mrs. Hatcher. My name is Sam Burke. FBI.” He kept his introduction purposefully vague, not outright lying about his affiliation with the Bureau. He could feel Abby’s gaze on him. He couldn’t tell whether she approved or not, but the fact was, FBI credentials opened doors.
Not in this case, however.
“The Eff-Bee-Eye?” Nellie Hatcher growled in a thick, country drawl that gave each letter two syllables. “A revenue man, as my pappy used to call ’em. He didn’t have no use for ’em, and neither do I.”
When she started to back away from the door, Sam said quickly, “We’d like to ask you a few questions about your grandson.”
She hesitated. “I got a whole mess of grandsons, boy, and I pert near raised ever dang one of ’em myself.”
“We want to talk to you about Bobby Lee,” Abby said.
The old woman glared at Sam. “She the Eff-Bee-Eye, too?”
“My name is Abby Cross. I’m a detective with the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department.” She showed the woman her ID and badge.
Mrs. Hatcher shrugged. “Don’t mean nuthin’ to me. This is Crawford County.”
“May we come in and talk to you? It won’t take long,” Abby said.
The old lady paused again, then shoved open the screen door so quickly, it almost caught Abby in the face. Sam grabbed her arm and pulled her back, and for a moment, the feel of his skin against hers spurred his pulse. You’re not going to sleep with me. Okay. I got it.
Nellie Hatcher’s heavy cane thudded against the bare wood floor as she ushered them into the living room. The front room, she called it. Dust motes danced in a beam of light from a high window, but other than that, the area was dark and cheerless. There was no air conditioner so the room was hot and fetid with the smell of cooking meat.
The old lady plopped down in a wooden rocker and cradled her cane in her lap. She didn’t invite Sam and Abby to sit, so they both remained standing.
“So,” she said, glaring up at them. “You think my boy’s got something to do with those kidnappings up in Jefferson County, do you?” When she saw their surprised expressions, she gave a satisfied snort. “McElroy’s done been out here asking questions.”
Figures, Sam thought. That was why the sheriff hadn’t been overly helpful. He’d started his own investigation, hoping, no doubt, to garner himself a little publicity.
“We just want to talk to Bobby Lee,” Abby said. “Do you have any idea where we can find him?”
“No, I don’t. But I wouldn’t tell you if I did. The boy did his time. He did his time, and hers. Just leave him be, you hear me?”
The screen door creaked open and a young man of about twenty came into the room. He wore a pair of muddy rubber boots, filthy jeans, and a plaid shirt with the sleeves cut out to reveal a series of tattoos all up and down his arms. He carried a burlap sack in one hand and a twelve-gauge shotgun in the other.
He glared at Sam. “What’s going on, Grandma?”
“The Eff-Bee-Eye is a-looking for Bobby Lee.”
“What the hell for?”
“We’d like to talk to him,” Sam said. “Do you know where we can find him?”
“He’s probably down in New Orleans by now.”
The rap of the old woman’s cane against the wood floor was like the sound of a shotgun blast and had Sam reaching for his weapon before he realized what had happened.
“Now, you listen to me, boy,” the old woman thundered. “Bobby Lee ain’t down in New Orleans. He got that she-devil out of his system a long time ago.”
“I don’t know, Grandma. I bet he went down there to try and find—”
The cane crashed against the floor again. “Don’t ever speak that woman’s name in this house. You know better than that, Ray Dean Hatcher. Now you get on into town and get me that chicken feed before the store closes.”
“Yes’m.” The boy looked properly chastised except for his eyes. They gleamed with some secret satisfaction. He turned and ambled back outside, casually resting the shotgun over his shoulder as he went out the screen door. After a moment, a car engine started up.
Mrs. Hatcher trained her gaze back on Sam and Abby. “Light’ll be gone soon. You two best head on back to town, too. You don’t want to be caught out here after dark. Folks get lost in that swamp, they never come out again.”
“I THOUGHT that went rather well,” Abby said dryly as she and Sam started across the yard toward the car.
“We’re both still in one piece,” he said. “That’s something, I guess.”
“Yeah, well, we’re not out of here yet.” Abby glanced around. Here in the yard, the sun was still shining, but a few feet away, the woods, and presumably the swamp beyond lay in deep shadows. A couple of outbuildings were almost hidden by the graveyard of rusty, abandoned cars and boats at the back of the house.
A chill went up her spine. What if Bobby Lee Hatcher was the one? What if he’d taken Sara Beth and Emily and brought them down here to this godforsaken place? What if they were hidden even now in one of those old sheds? What if they were hurt, sick, frightened that no one would come and find them?
Okay, it was a long shot, Abby thought. They were over two hundred miles from Eden. Why would Bobby Lee have driven north for four hours to seek out his prey? Why not go on the prowl closer to home?
Fear of being apprehended?
Abby tried to turn back to the car, but she couldn’t make herself. Her gaze kept straying to those buildings.
“What is it?” Sam asked.
She nodded toward the junkyard. “Those buildings,” she said. “I keep imagining those little girls inside.”
“We’ve found no evidence to suggest that.”
“I know. But I don’t think I can leave without checking. I’d keep seeing them in there, so close, so helpless, and I didn’t do anything to save them.”
Sam frowned. “We’re on shaky legal ground here, Abby. We’ve been ordered off the property, and I doubt we can find a local judge who’d issue us a search warrant because of a gut feeling.”
He was right, of course. And Abby had always played by the book. She’d always been a stickler for the rules because she knew she had to be. There were those, even in her own department, always looking to trip her up. Always looking for an excuse to point out why women shouldn’t be allowed in law enforcement.
But the abductions had changed all of that. All Abby cared about was finding those children, no matter what it took.
“You can turn your head and pretend you don’t know what I’m doing if it’ll make you feel better,” she told Sam. “But I’m checking out those buildings.”
“I’m not worried about covering my own butt,”
he said almost angrily. “I was thinking of your career.”
“My career won’t mean much if we don’t find those children.”
“All right,” Sam said grimly. “Then we do this fast. You take one building and I’ll take the other. Let’s get this done before Ray Dean gets back with that shotgun. And for God’s sake, be careful.”
They skirted the house, taking cover among the junked cars and boats as they made their way toward the outbuildings. Abby moved toward the first shed, and Sam took the second. She had no idea what the buildings were used for, but as she opened the door, a dank, musty smell arose from the shadowy interior. The floor was concrete, and a garden hose ran through an open window to a sink beneath.
As Abby moved toward the basin, cold fingers moved up and down her spine. The porcelain was badly chipped and discolored, and as water dripped slowly from the hose, part of the stain became dislodged and washed in a pinkish trail down the drain.
Abby’s heart slammed against her chest. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, she thought, reaching for her weapon. Please no. Please don’t let it be—
She clutched the gun in her hand as she tried to calm her panic. Stay calm. Stay focused. Don’t forget what you know.
Fish scales shimmered on the concrete floor, and Abby told herself the sink was used for cleaning fish. Nothing more sinister than that.
But a deep premonition had taken hold, and the blood in her veins ran cold. Keeping a cautious eye on the open doorway, she walked deeper into the room. It was larger that she’d thought, narrow but long, and so jumbled with debris, she had to move slowly in order to search all the shadows, probe all the corners. Near the back, her heart stopped again as she spotted a large, boxy structure covered with a tarp. Large enough to hide a child?
Abby glanced back at the door. The late-afternoon sunlight streaming in didn’t quite reach the back of the shed, and she hadn’t brought her flashlight. She wished she had. She wished she and Sam had stayed together. She wished—
Something moved beneath the tarp, and Abby’s pulse went wild. She reached down, grabbed a corner, and threw it back. At first, she thought the cage was empty, but then a movement drew her gaze to the bottom. To a writhing mass of sleek, intertwined ribbons. Snakes.
Abby gasped and stepped back. Into a hard body.
Before she could react, an arm came around her neck and a strong hand closed over her wrist, squeezing so hard the gun fell to the floor with a clatter. Abby was shoved forward, toward the cage.
She tried to struggle, but her captor was strong and he’d taken her by surprise. She’d done the one thing she’d been trained not to do. She’d left herself vulnerable.
Releasing her wrist, he unfastened the top of the cage. Abby tore at the arm cutting off her wind, but he grabbed her again and thrust her hand into the top of the cage, inching her fingers toward those writhing bodies, those deadly fangs—
“Let her go!” a voice said from the doorway.
For one heart-stopping moment, her hand remained poised over the snakes, within striking range. Then her captor released her, and she struggled away from the cage, her hand massaging her bruised throat. She leaned down and picked up her gun.
Sam moved slowly into the room, weapon drawn. “You okay?” he said to Abby.
“I’m fine,” she said hoarsely. “Thanks.”
Ray Dean Hatcher watched them through hooded eyes. He made no move to escape. He didn’t have to. Sam and Abby were trespassing, and all Ray Dean had to do was claim he’d been threatened. Swear he was protecting his property. It was like Sam had said earlier. They were on shaky legal ground, and they all three knew it.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” she muttered.
THEY RETRACED their route, traveling north toward Eden. Traffic was thin, and the weather was still clear. They made good time. Sam was driving. He’d offered after their run-in with Ray Dean, and Abby had resisted at first. “This is a sheriff’s department car. You aren’t authorized to drive it.”
“We weren’t authorized to search private property, either, but I didn’t see that stopping you.”
“Point taken.” Abby had acquiesced. She supposed it was a testament to her growing comfort level with Sam that she’d given in so easily. That she could close her eyes and drift off to sleep if she wasn’t careful.
She jerked her eyes open and glanced around at the darkened countryside. It had still been daylight when they’d left Palisades. “Where are we?”
Sam glanced at her. “Almost home.”
“You mean I’ve been asleep for over three hours?” she said in amazement. “I can’t believe it.”
“Obviously, you needed the rest. How many hours have you slept since Emily disappeared?”
Not many, Abby thought. Not enough. She’d drag herself home when exhaustion threatened to drop her, only to lie awake, thinking about the horrors that might have been inflicted on those little girls. Having nightmares about it if she dared let herself doze off.
She sat up, trying to shake off the lingering inertia. “What did you make of the Hatchers?”
“My first impression is that they take the fun out of dysfunctional,” he said dryly. “But I wouldn’t want to make any snap judgments.”
“Dysfunctional, or just plain weird, given Ray Dean’s penchant for shotguns and snakes.” Abby shuddered, remembering her close call. “It was pretty obvious he and his grandmother don’t have much regard for the law. I’d say that goes for Bobby Lee as well, unless he learned his lesson behind bars.”
“I wouldn’t want to put money on it,” Sam said.
“Or stake two little girls’ lives on it.” Abby paused. “That trip left me with more questions than answers. Bobby Lee was married before he went to prison, but we don’t know to whom. He may be with his cousin, Marvin, but we don’t know where. And we didn’t connect any of the Hatchers to Eden, much less to the kidnappings. You must feel like I took you on a wild goose chase today.”
“Not necessarily.” Sam glanced her way. The dash lights illuminated his face, making his eyes seem darker than ever. “Actually, we know quite a bit more about Bobby Lee Hatcher than we did. All we have to do is find out his wife’s name and/or where his cousin lives. One of them may give you your connection to Eden.”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid we’re grasping at straws.”
He stared at road, saying nothing.
Abby closed her eyes for a moment. His silence seemed to speak volumes. “You don’t think we’re going to find them in time, do you? You think it’s already too late.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see it in your eyes.” Abby felt almost overwhelmed by despair, but she fought it off. She wouldn’t succumb to those terrible doubts, but it was hard to stay positive in the face of reality. Emily had now been missing more than five days. Sara Beth, three. The likelihood of finding either child alive and well grew dimmer with each passing hour.
“I’m not giving up, Abby,” Sam said.
She lifted her chin. “I’m not, either. Those little girls are alive to me until I find out differently,” she said with fierce determination.
THE PARKING LOT next to Evie Mae’s Sweet and Spicy Ribs was deserted except for Sam’s rental car. He pulled up beside it and parked. It was only a little after ten, but the restaurant was already closed.
He turned to Abby, his expression unfathomable in the sudden darkness. “I’m glad you asked me to ride along with you today.”
“Good thing I did, considering.”
For one brief moment, he put a finger to her bruised throat. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” Abby said, trying to hide her surprise, her reaction to his touch. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew they were deep and dark. Mesmerizing. She tried to look away, but she couldn’t.
“Abby—”
The way he said her name caused panic to bubble inside her. “It’s late, Sam. I need to go home and ge
t some rest.”
He nodded, and reached for his door handle. Instead of sliding across the console, Abby got out to go around to the driver’s side. Sam’s car was parked on the passenger side. They met each other, sidestepped the same way, then back again. Sam took her arms. Abby thought he meant to guide her out of the way, but instead, he held her still. Her heart thundered in her ears as she gazed up at him.
He wanted to kiss her, she thought. But she remembered last night and how wrong her assumption had been then. How close she’d come to embarrassing herself. So, even when she perceived his head lowering toward hers, she did nothing for fear she was misjudging his actions again. And then, when his lips touched hers, she did nothing for a moment because she still couldn’t believe it was actually happening.
But it was happening, fast and furious, giving Abby a glimpse at the dark passions beneath Sam’s rigid facade. Giving her a hint of her own secret desires. The forcefulness of her feelings left her stunned. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and flatten her body against his. She wanted to run her hands over his shoulders, down his chest, lower and lower until she knew without a doubt he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
But the shock of his tongue against hers finally brought her back to her senses. She stepped back, putting up her hands in front of her like a wall. “Whoa,” she said shakily. “Not a good idea.”
“It seemed like one at the time,” he said with a touch of irony.
“I meant what I said earlier, Sam. I can’t get involved with you.”
“One kiss hardly constitutes an involvement.”
“No,” she agreed. “But it’s a step in the wrong direction. I won’t go there.”
He stared down at her in the darkness. “You keep telling me that and I might start to wonder who you’re trying to convince.”
Chapter Nine
Saturday
“Three words,” Sheriff Mooney said the next morning when Abby had brought up the subject of using Sam as a consultant. “Conflict of interest.”
The Innocent Page 11