She met his gaze. “He is my son. Not yours. Stay away from him.”
Elijah’s gray eyes lit with a white-hot flame. “I’m going to claim what is mine.”
“No.”
“Yes. In fact, I will use every damn cent the state paid me for its mistake to get partial custody of my son.”
“He is not your son!” She spoke louder than she had expected and quickly lowered her voice. “His father was Clarke Mead.”
“Look at the boy. Can anyone with a passing knowledge of genetics believe Clarke was his father?”
“Nate believes it. That’s all that matters.”
“He deserves the truth,” Elijah said.
“Is that what you told your Fireflies? Did you tell them about Nate? Because one of them told Paul Thompson.”
Elijah’s fingers curled into fists. “Did he threaten you?”
“Why do you think I’m here? Of course he did. He thinks he has leverage to get an interview out of me.” An icy chill flooded her veins. “Elijah, you have no idea how far I will go to protect my son.”
He grabbed her by the arm, his fingers biting into her flesh. “I’m no different when it comes to the boy.”
Ann snatched her arm away. “Stay the hell away from my son.”
She opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. As he stood beside the car and watched her, she fumbled with her keys and started the engine with shaking hands. She now realized that she had confused his silence for apathy. He clearly had been thinking about Nate far more than she had realized. She had miscalculated badly.
Her head swirled with all the chaos Elijah could create in their lives. If a judge were to take up his petition for custody, it would alter Nate’s life forever. Now more than ever, she needed to determine if Elijah or someone else was killing Fireflies. Once Elijah’s followers were dead, what would there be to stop the killer from going after her or Nate?
She drove away, leaving him standing in the street. She was not sure how long she’d been driving when her phone rang. Maura’s name appeared on the display.
Ann sat straighter and cleared her voice. “Maura. The house looks great.”
“Thanks. I have to mop floors today, and then you can stick a ‘For Sale’ sign in the front yard.”
“Terrific. I have your check. Can I meet you at the house first thing in the morning?”
“Sure. We can do a final inspection.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
“I don’t suppose you could pay me in cash?” Maura asked.
“Sure. But I’ll have to stop by the bank. I might be able to get enough out of the ATM.”
“No worries. And if it takes an extra day, I can wait. Cash is easier for me now.”
“I’ll call you when I have it.” She wound her way toward the house.
“You sound upset. You okay?”
“I’m fine. Ready to get my life settled.”
“Change isn’t always fun.”
“No, it is not.”
“Try to enjoy the day,” Maura said.
“Thanks.”
At the next red light, Ann checked her text messages, and realized Bryce had obtained a list of the Fireflies.
Bryce: Riley and Cameron are on the list.
Ann: Assume the third victim is also on it.
Bryce: Searching for pictures of all 13.
Ann: I’ll dig into the list as soon as I get home.
Bryce: Will be in touch.
She pulled into her driveway and sat looking at her new home. In the silence, she closed her eyes and tipped her face toward the sun. Like it or not, this case had forced a wedge under the lid of Pandora’s box, and soon there would be no stopping the truth from escaping.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Deer Lodge, Montana
Monday, August 23
7:15 a.m.
By Monday morning, Ann was on the road headed toward Deer Lodge to see Megan Madison, a Firefly on the list of thirteen women Bryce had sent her. Deer Lodge was less than an hour away, and she believed she could see Megan and then be back in Missoula to meet Bryce at the Classy Cat at ten.
When she pulled up in front of Megan Madison’s middle-class home in Deer Lodge, she was surprised it all looked so normal. The yard was freshly cut, the flower beds mulched and dotted with the heart-shaped daisylike yellow leopard’s-bane floating in a sea of green ground cover. The front door was painted a bright red, and a swirling M dangled from a hook on the front door. A green minivan was parked in the two-car driveway.
She had always pictured Elijah’s Fireflies as women who lived on the outskirts of society. In her mind they were disaffected, lost souls who were so consumed by their devotion for him that they did not have the capacity to manage a normal life.
Her own confirmation bias had blinded her to the idea that these women could be, or at least could appear to be, highly functioning and productive. She parked at the neatly edged curb and walked toward the front door.
Everyone had a core identity that they rarely fully revealed to anyone, including family, friends, and lovers. People, once they stepped outside, put on masks designed to attract mates, cajole parents, raise children, or climb the corporate ladder. In everyday life, most people were chameleons and liked altering dress, speech, opinions, and preferences based on the audience.
Given that, Ann should not have been surprised by Sarah Cameron’s success in business or Megan Madison’s seemingly average life. Both blended in like the grasshopper did on a leaf, all the while hiding their secret obsessions with Elijah.
She had not called ahead to make an appointment, fearing if Megan recognized her from last year’s news accounts, she would not speak to her. Adjusting her purse on her shoulder, she climbed the neatly swept stairs and rang the doorbell equipped with a camera. She stood to the side. Footsteps thudded in the house and paused by the front door before it opened slowly.
The woman staring back at her through the crack between the doorway and jamb was in her midforties. She was in good shape, kept her long blond hair loose around her shoulders, and wore knee-skimming shorts, a button-down shirt, and sneakers.
“Ms. Madison?” Ann asked as she met her gaze.
“That’s right.”
“I’m Ann Bailey.”
A flicker of recognition turned leery, and the woman shifted her body to block the view into her home. “Ann,” she said carefully.
“You’ve heard my name before?”
“You were in the news some last year.”
Ann shook her head slowly. “Elijah told you about me, didn’t he?”
Megan’s face paled, and she dropped her voice. “I haven’t written to Elijah in a long time. I told that to the reporter when he came by.”
“Paul Thompson?”
“That’s right.” She glanced behind her. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this with you or him.”
“I don’t want to pry into your life, but I’m trying to understand the Fireflies. Why was Elijah Weston so appealing?”
Megan’s dim demeanor brightened like a bulb. “You know what he looks like.”
“He’s very attractive.”
“He’s more than that. He has an energy that is beyond the average person.”