by Jen Blood
“I’m going bugshit is what’s going on,” Monty said. “On top of the storm, trying to keep track of Jenny, Lilah, and now this government guy, not to mention the local cops and this guy from the crazy house that Lilah may or may not have worked her mental magic on…”
“It’s a lot,” I agreed. “But Finnegan has his eye out for Lilah and Jenny now, and I’m assuming Willett will as well, unless he really is convinced that Diggs and I are mad bombers at the heart of the conspiracy.”
“So what do you want my focus to be, then?” Monty asked.
I went over the whole thing in my head before I spoke. “The issue at hand is keeping people safe, right? Which means figuring out where J. is most likely to strike, and finding Lilah. Those are the priorities.”
“If we can get access to a computer,” Diggs said, “I can tap some online sources and see if I can find any record of where Lilah might be living around here. If she’s been here for a year, she must have left some kind of trail.”
“Did you have a particular computer in mind?” I asked, knowing full well what his answer would be.
“Let’s hit the Trib.” He looked at Monty. “You think you could focus on keeping an eye out for Jenny right now? I have a feeling she might show up at Edie’s place, so maybe swing by there.”
Jack emerged from the bar. The music swelled for a second before he shut the door again. “Do we have a plan?”
“Diggs and I are going to the Trib to try and find some record of Lilah. Monty will patrol the area and keep an eye out for Lilah or Jenny.”
“Sounds good,” Jack said. “I’m going to stay here for now, and work on Willett and Finnegan—try to get them to shut this place down for the night.”
“Talk to Mimi,” Diggs said. “I started working the guilt angle; how bad she’d feel if something happened to anyone because she wouldn’t close for the night.”
“Were you making progress?”
“I think so,” Diggs said. “Right now, this bar is definitely the most populated place in the town. As long as that’s the case and there’s a possibility J. really is working in Littlehope, I can’t imagine they’d choose any other target.”
I hadn’t actually thought of it in quite those terms up till that point. “I should go in and tell Kat and Maya to get out of there,” I said.
“You’re not going anywhere near there,” Diggs said. “Jack can relay the message. You’re with me, ace.”
“Just make sure you tell them,” I said to Jack. “Actually, tell them to go to the clinic. They should be safe there. I’ll get a message to them as soon as I can.”
“Got it. Now, go. Text me as soon as you have anything.”
“Should we plan on meeting back up?” I asked.
“I think it’s smarter if we stay split up,” Jack said, “with you two out of sight. At least for now—the less attention you can call to yourselves, the better it’ll be.” He shifted his focus to Diggs. “You’re armed?”
“Locked and loaded,” Diggs said.
“Good,” Jack said. “We’ll do check-ins every half hour to make sure everyone’s still okay. You two, don’t leave the Trib without either Monty or me. There are too many psychopaths running loose in town right now. Extreme caution is the rule of thumb.”
“Agreed,” Diggs said seriously. “So, we’ll see you in an hour.”
Monty agreed. Jack nodded, but the intensity in his eyes made a fresh wave of concern run through me. He might be invested in keeping the rest of us safe, but right now caution was definitely not his first priority.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jack waited until the others had gone before he ducked back into the bar. The music was too loud, and the snow seemed to have convinced everyone that New Year’s Eve celebrations should start earlier than they might otherwise. At just past eight o’clock, it was wall-to-wall locals. He surveyed the masses grimly before he went to the bar and managed to clear a spot next to Erin’s mother.
She was deep in conversation with Maya—the woman that had been her partner, up until last year. It looked like it was a good conversation, their heads tipped toward each other as they spoke. Jack tapped Kat’s shoulder awkwardly. She glanced over her shoulder at him, frowned, and twisted on her barstool to see him better.
“What’s the problem?” she said.
“Erin wants you two to get out of here,” he said, shouting to be heard over the noise. Trent Willett was talking to the bartender, who didn’t look at all receptive to his message—presumably, that she needed to close the bar for the night.
“Did she have some suggestion about where we should go?”
“The clinic,” Jack said. He leaned in self-consciously. “She said you’ll be safe there.”
Willett’s gaze drifted to them. Since Mexico, Jack had had dealings with the agent more than once—primarily when Willett was questioning him about Erin and Diggs’ whereabouts. Now, the man looked from Jack directly to Kat. He stood and headed toward them. If they left now, Willett would undoubtedly follow.
Jack shook his head. Kat followed his gaze and settled on the short, bespectacled man headed for them.
“A friend of yours?” she asked Jack.
“Trent Willett,” Willett said before Jack could answer. He extended his hand, and nodded to Jack. Kat didn’t shake. Instead, she looked at the man like he’d proposed something indecent rather than simply offering his name.
“Trent Willett,” Kat said. “Now where do I know that name?” Jack didn’t care for the look in her eye. The band started in with another number. Willett frowned. He nodded toward the door.
“Come outside with me,” he said. Neither Kat nor Maya budged. Willett took his badge from his inside pocket and flashed it at them. “Please.”
Kat hopped off her barstool. Maya started to follow, but Kat stopped her with a shake of her head. “Please—wait here. I promise, I won’t be long.”
At the look in her eye, Jack thought the woman would refuse. After a moment, however, Maya nodded. “I’ll be here. But then, I’d really like an explanation.”
Kat nodded, chastened for the first time since Jack had met her, and followed him outside.
A cluster of local men stood smoking in the parking lot when they got outside, their shoulders hunched against the gusting wind. It was impossible to tell how much snow had fallen, the ground bare in spots while snowdrifts a few feet away reached the wheel wells of the countless 4 x 4’s that filled the lot. Jack felt only a moment’s relief from the assault of the noise in the bar before the bitter wind had him longing to go back inside.
“What are you doing here?” he asked Willett, once they’d found a spot on the leeside of the building, safe from the wind.
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” Willett said. “I’ve got reason to believe some shit’s about to go down here. Interesting that you all just happen to have shown up here now.”
“I’m from here,” Kat said. “So I didn’t just show up—it’s the holidays, I figured it was a good time to come home. But you never answered my question back there. You said your name’s Willett? That wouldn’t be the same gun-toting moron who shot my daughter, would it?”
“I’m with the FBI,” Willett said. Snow had gathered on his glasses. He took them off and blinked owlishly as he wiped them with his jacket sleeve. “And your daughter was fleeing when I was in pursuit.” She took a step toward him. Surprisingly, Willett stood his ground. “You’re Katherine Everett, then? I’ve actually been looking for your daughter for some time.”
“And you expect me to help?” Kat said. “Erin and I aren’t exactly close—I have no idea where she is. And considering what you did to her the last time you crossed paths, I’m pretty damn sure I wouldn’t tell you if I did know.”
“Spare me,” Willett said, dismissing the statement. “The fact is, I already know she’s in town. At the moment I don’t give a rat’s ass—right now, I’m more interested in talking to you.”
“About?” Kat said. The amount
of acid she managed to inject in the single word was impressive.
“Your husband, and a man by the name of Mitch Cameron.”
“My ex-husband is dead,” she said coolly, “and I don’t know anyone named Mitch Cameron.”
“No? Because I have some fairly intimate photos of you and Mr. Cameron taken over the past few months that would suggest otherwise.”
“You must be a wizard with Photoshop then, because I don’t know the man,” Kat shot back, not at all flustered.
The color rose in Willett’s cheeks. His eyes flashed with anger. “Look, this doesn’t have to go badly. Ask Mr. Juarez here: I can be a reasonable man. But I’m working on a severely limited time table at the moment. I don’t have time for games. If you ever want your daughter to be able to safely come out of hiding, you’ll talk to me.”
Kat’s jaw tensed. After a few seconds, she reluctantly nodded. “Fine—go ahead. What do you want?”
“Do you know where Mitch Cameron is right now?”
“No,” she said immediately.
Frustration was rapidly reaching a boiling point for the man. “Do you know a woman named Lilah Waters?”
“Never heard of her. Is that it?”
Willett took a step toward her. Jack had no doubt the man could—and would—do damage, but in this case he wasn’t sure he would bet against Kat. Willett seemingly came to the same conclusion, because he reined himself in. “If you speak with Cameron or your daughter, this is my number,” he said to Kat. He handed her his business card. Kat slipped it into her pocket without glancing at it.
“Is there anything else?” she asked.
He frowned. “Not at the moment.”
“Good. Happy New Year, Agent Willett.” She turned to the door, but paused to look at Jack before she disappeared inside again. “I think Maya and I will be leaving soon. You know where to find us?”
He thought of Erin’s message, and nodded. “I do. I’ll be in touch.”
After she’d gone, Jack remained beside Willett. The snow had gathered around his collar, melting down the back of his neck until he was chilled to the bone.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Willett said when they were alone. “I’m the guy who shot your friend.”
“And her dog,” Jack pointed out. “She’s actually more pissed about that.”
“She ran—I gave her every opportunity to stop. And the dog…” He stopped with a frown. “I’ve been looking for these people for the better part of more than twenty years. That’s my career, in a nutshell. I’ve watched them murder schoolrooms full of kids, whole families. I’ve watched them twist people’s minds until all that’s left is hate. So…yeah. I shot the damn dog. I shot Erin. Chances are pretty good that I’d do both again without a second thought, if it got me closer to shutting this organization down.”
Jack didn’t say anything. He turned the information over in his head, thinking again of Lucia. Always Lucia. Lucia, dying alone with their unborn child inside her—raped and tortured, terrified in those final moments. What would he do to put an end to J.?
“I’m just trying to stop them,” Willett concluded, his tone suddenly weary.
“Then stop focusing on Erin and Mitch Cameron,” Jack said. “Erin isn’t behind any of it, and right now Cameron’s accounted for. This Lilah Waters—what do you know about her?”
“She’s a homicidal psychopath who gets off on inflicting pain more than anyone I’ve ever met.” Jack didn’t miss the significance of the statement. Willett didn’t say more, but he didn’t have to: Jack could tell that he knew what had happened to Lucia. And that Lilah and J. were behind her death. Willett hesitated.
“Do me a favor,” Willett said. “Give me a second—I need to talk to the sheriff, and get him to shut this place down before something happens. Then, will you come with me?”
“Where?”
He indicated the general store a few houses down. “I’m renting a place over that store. I figured if the town went up in flames tonight, maybe I’d get a couple of nights comp’d. I’ve got files up there. I’ll show you everything I have. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Jack agreed after a moment’s thought. “Okay. After we get the bar shut down.”
Sheriff Finnegan arrived fifteen minutes after Willett called him, looking harassed and not at all pleased to be summoned by a federal agent when he clearly already had several other fires he was trying to put out.
“Willett,” Finnegan said shortly, nodding as he approached the two men. “Jack.”
They were inside the bar once more, the band still going full-bore. Kat and Maya had gone, but by Jack’s count they were the only ones—the place was standing room only.
“I’ve got my men looking for those women whose descriptions you gave me. But that’s not why you called me out here, is it?”
“This intelligence we have is good,” Jack said. He led the sheriff to a darkened corner that was only slightly quieter than the rest of the bar.
“Then why can’t I get anyone but you to tell me about it?” the sheriff countered. It had been a mistake to underestimate him, Jack realized. “I’ve got a few contacts in DC myself, believe it or not. I gave them a call—and it turns out, they don’t know what the hell either of you are talking about. From everything I can gather, you were fired six months ago.” He directed the statement at Jack. “And you’re one mistake from being shoved out the door yourself,” he said to Willett. “And no one seems to know why the hell you would be in Littlehope, Maine, right now, running around screaming about the sky falling.”
“Everything that’s happened the last couple of years here,” Jack began. “The showdown out on Payson Isle the spring before last; everything Diggs and Erin went through up north a few months later… Someone bombing Kat’s house last winter. Do I really need to go on? You’re a smart man. You really think this much bloodshed is standard for a town of less than fifteen hundred people?”
“Only if it’s in a warzone,” Finnegan returned evenly. “Don’t talk down to me, of course I know something’s not right. But if you know something—hopefully, something a little more concrete than the fact that there are two crazy women out there somewhere intent on doing some damage—I’d really appreciate being in the loop.”
“As soon as I find out anything more, I’ll let you know,” Jack promised. “But please—clear this place out. It could be a huge mistake if you don’t.”
“It would have to be to make up for the stink Mimi’s gonna put up when I tell her she has to call it a night.” Jack didn’t waver. Finally, the sheriff nodded. “Right. Shut it down.”
“Is there anywhere else in town that you can think of where people would gather?” Willett asked. “If these people are targeting anything tonight, they’re going for maximum carnage.”
“In Littlehope? Bennett’s is pretty much it. Everything else is closed tonight. The only other thing I can think of is Edie’s place, and I already sent guys over there to keep an eye out.”
“Good,” Willett said. “Now all we need to do is find Jenny and Lilah and get them locked up, and maybe we can keep this thing from happening.”
The sheriff took a breath and nodded toward the bar. “All right—if I’m doing this, I might as well do it now. You boys got my back? My guess is if any violence gets done tonight, it’ll be when I tell everyone they need to call it a night at eight-thirty on New Year’s Eve.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Trib was locked up tight when we got there, thanks to the weather and the holiday. Diggs unearthed a key from under a flowerpot out front. Though the bar was only a couple of doors down, snow coated my eyelashes and froze my cheeks. The wind rattled signage along Main Street and whipped ice-coated branches off the trees. Eight o’clock on New Year’s Eve, and—with the exception of Bennett’s—the whole town was locked down tight.
“After you,” Diggs said when he’d opened the door, and nodded me inside. I stomped my boots on the welcome mat at the door. Diggs did the sam
e.
We didn’t turn the lights on inside, but instead followed the red glow of fire doors and exit signs down the long linoleum hall. Like the rest of the town, the building was cold and utterly deserted. Somehow, it still managed to evoke the best memories I have of my teen years in Littlehope.
Diggs had gotten quiet again. Instead of heading for the newsroom at the very end of the hall, he stopped at a pale wooden door and fished a key from his pocket.
“What are you doing? I thought we were here to work.” I asked as he unlocked the door.
“We are—but I’d rather work in here, away from all the windows in the newsroom. Okay?”
Not the worst idea he’d ever had. Inside, Diggs closed the door behind us and flipped the light switch on the wall. The old florescent bulb overhead flickered a few times before it came on, bathing the room in an overly bright wash of white light. Together, Diggs and I surveyed our old domain.
The former storeroom hadn’t changed much from the days when Diggs and I used to work together out of the space, back when I was in high school. Same hulking metal desk and same mini fridge, though someone had replaced the ancient plaid sofa that had been there before. A soft leather one was in its place.
Diggs draped his arm over my shoulders, warming me with that single move. I nodded toward the dinosaur of a computer on the desk.
“Can you even get the internet on that thing?”
“Can, do, and will,” he said. “I think.” He went over and started it up. It whirred with aged determination. Diggs grinned at me. “See?”
He sat down in a musty wooden chair, while I hopped up on the desk beside him. Against all odds, he got us online. Diggs typed with one hand, his other on my leg.
“Lilah Salvator,” I said to Diggs. “That’s what she’s been going by here, according to Edie.”
He typed it in. His other hand slid under the snowy cuff of my jeans. I saw him frown when he found thermal underwear instead of bare skin. Undeterred, he moved beyond the second layer. My eyes sank shut when he grazed my naked calf.