I don’t tell him where I’m going because I just don’t know.
I save the video, lock the phone, and leave it on the coffee table.
Then I leave the house. I shut off the built-in GPS. I back out of the garage onto the street and pause there, making sure the garage closes, making sure the house is safe and warm and protected to the best of my ability. I idle in the street, waiting.
It’s nine o’clock in the morning on Thursday. I don’t know how he’s going to contact me until I hear a musical tone. It’s coming from the glove compartment, and a million thoughts run through my mind. He got in, he could have left a bomb, he could have been inside our house. I swallow my rage and fear and open the glove compartment. There’s a small phone inside, screen glowing. I answer it.
“Hello, Gina,” the voice on the other end says. “I’ve sent you a map of where to go. I’ll expect you tomorrow. Then we can get started.”
It’s that short, that calm, and then he ends the call. The number’s blocked, no way to call it back. I check, and there’s a text message with a link. It leads to a map. To the coast of North Carolina.
He didn’t tell me to go straight there. Just that I have to get there by tomorrow.
I go to Kez.
I drive to Javier’s cabin. It’s a long way, and by the time I park outside his gate, next to his rental, I’m not calm but at least I’m not screaming. I see Boot lying on the front steps; he gets up, panting, watching me. Boot knows me; he knows I’m a friend. But I also know that he’s not my dog, and he can sense the change in me.
He barks, and Javier opens the front door. He’s got his phone in his hand, and he looks exhausted and worried, and he stares at me like I’m a ghost he’s conjured up, then blinks and says, “Come on inside.”
Boot recognizes that I’m allowed, and sits politely as I open the gate and walk up the path. I pat his warm head but get only an appraising look, no friendly lick, and he’s already stretched out again on guard duty when the door closes behind me.
Javier puts his phone down. “You didn’t say you were coming.”
“I need to talk to Kez.”
“She’s—”
“Not resting,” I say. “Not if I know Kez.”
He accepts that without comment, except to ask, “Want some coffee?”
“Sure,” I say. Coffee is the last thing I need, but if he offered moonshine, I’d probably drink a jug right now. The old Gwen, the sensible one, is conspicuously absent. He fetches a mug and hands it to me.
He’s got his own morning potion, and we sit together and drink for a moment before he says, “She’s okay. The baby’s okay. Thank God.”
I hate this. I hate that I’m about to put all that at risk, but I know Kezia Claremont. I know she won’t back off, and at least if she’s with me in this terrible, dangerous course, I can try to protect her. But I can’t tell him. That’s clear. “I’m so glad, Javi,” I say. “I’m so glad you’re here too. They’re not expecting you back?”
“Nah. I can make it up.” He gives me a long look. “You heard about Prester?”
“Kez told me,” I say. It’s hard to swallow the next mouthful of coffee. “I’m so sorry. He was a good man.”
“He was,” Javi agrees, and it sounds hollowed out with real grief. “His wife passed. They didn’t have any kids. I’ve been helping Kez get in touch with some of his nieces and nephews. Pretty grim. She told him to see the doctor. But he just . . . wouldn’t. It’s really hurting her.”
I just nod. I don’t know what to say. I can’t lie to Javier, I can’t. I finally put my mug down and say, “I’ll go talk to her.”
He seems relieved, and I hate the guilt that digs its claws into my guts.
I knock on the master bedroom door; I know this cabin like my own home, I’ve been in and out of it a hundred times over the past few years. Kez calls out to come in.
She’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, propped against pillows. Her laptop is open. She glances up at me, and I’m struck by the bruises, the bandages still in place on her head. “I’m fine,” she says, probably because of the look on my face. “Did he contact you?”
“Yes,” I say. “He sent me a map. I’m supposed to be there tomorrow.” I take the burner phone out and show it to her, and she studies it intently. “Kez. Please stay here. I’m begging you, please.”
“Can’t,” she says. It sounds utterly certain. “And don’t tell me about why it’s smarter. I know I can’t stay here. For one thing, he’s afraid of me. He came after me, Gwen. And whether he killed Prester or not—or had him killed—he used Prester’s death to beat me with, again. He wants me here. So here is where I can’t stay.”
“What about Javier? Are you going to tell him?”
“I’m sending him on an errand,” Kez says. “We’ll be gone when he gets back.” She looks absolutely sure about this. And she nails me with a look that sears me like a laser. “Don’t you even think about leaving me behind. You just showed me the map. You think I can’t remember it? You think I won’t follow you? It’d be a whole lot easier if you’d just accept that I’m going to use you to get to him, Gwen. Because he’s going to be after you.”
“I’m your bait,” I say. She nods. Oddly, that feels . . . better. Cleaner. “Then you should come separately.”
“No point in that,” Kez says, and closes her laptop. She puts it away. “He’ll be tracking that phone you have. He’ll know you came here, and he’ll know by now that I can’t let this go. He can’t afford me as a loose end. If I stay here, he’ll clean up after himself, just like he did that couple up on the road who had video of his car. This bastard’s been doing this a long time, that’s my guess. He knows how to dead-end a trail.”
It was Sam’s guess too. MalusNavis, a shark gliding under the surface, coming up only to take his prey. Sheryl was his prey. Now I am. Only I won’t vanish without a trace. I’ll leave a hell of a mess.
Maybe he’s getting sloppy at last.
“We should go if we’re going,” I say. “Last chance, Kez. Stay.”
She just shakes her head, says, “Let me take care of this first.”
I stand in that room as she walks out and tells Javier that she’s got a bad headache, and the doctor’s called in a prescription for her at the pharmacy in Norton; she sounds normal, calm, exactly as I’d expect. She tells him I’m going to stay with her, just in case. I hear them kiss. I hear her tell him she loves him.
And Javier grabs his keys and leaves. I left my husband and kids while they were sleeping, and that was incredibly hard. But at least I didn’t have to lie to the ones I love.
When I hear the front door close, I step out. Kez is standing silently, staring at the door, and the expression on her face is so wounded. So raw. Fragile and strong and fierce all at once.
She drags in a breath, and it looks like it hurts. “We need to get moving,” she says, and heads for the gun case. She takes out two shotguns and hands them to me, grabs a duffel bag, and fills it with shells. I watch in silence as she packs what we’ll need—food, water, more weapons.