“Great. Maybe we can meet up later and talk about what you learned.”
“There’s more.”
“Okay,” Sawyer said impatiently.
“Where are you off to?” Aria asked. “How about I join you and tell you in the car?”
“Fine,” Sawyer said. “Come on, then. I’ll explain where we’re going after you tell me what this is all about.”
Once they were on the road, Aria related her visit with Nick Calderon’s boss and how he’d called in a guy named Adam and they’d made it perfectly clear that Nick had been nothing but trouble.
“What’s really weird,” Aria went on, “is that I have a feeling they were afraid to fire him.”
“What do you mean?” Sawyer asked.
“I think they were worried he might come back with a gun.”
“But you’re just speculating, right?”
Aria nodded. “I am. Anyway, as I was leaving the building, a woman came running out and told me that Nick did have a friend named Felix Iverson. I haven’t had time to do a thorough search yet, but it’s something, right?”
Sawyer’s pulse quickened. “Felix Iverson! There’s a photo on Nick Calderon’s Facebook page that shows three boys standing in front of the children’s home. The names Nick, Bruce, and Felix are scribbled in the margin. It has to be the same guy.” She could hardly stay still. “We finally have someone who might be able to shed some light on Nick Calderon.”
“Don’t get too excited,” Aria warned.
“Why not?” Sawyer glanced at Aria before fixing her gaze on the road again. “What did you do?”
“I went to Stockton.”
“Why Stockton?” Sawyer asked. And then it hit her. “You didn’t go to see Christina Farro, did you? You didn’t knock on her door, right?”
“I didn’t have to. She found me in my car. I had been parked across the street for less than thirty minutes when suddenly I looked up and there she was, heading straight for me.”
“Oh, God. What happened?”
“We talked for a little bit. Well, she talked. I was speechless. And then she gave us a warning.”
“Us?”
“Yes. You and me. She said that if we didn’t stop snooping around, we would regret it.”
“And that was it?”
“Not exactly.”
Sawyer groaned.
“I then asked Christina Farro flat out if she was a member of the Black Wigs,” Aria said. “I figured I drove all that way to see her and there she was, so I might as well just ask.”
Sawyer shook her head.
“That woman is scary,” Aria continued. “She knows everything about us. Isn’t that odd?”
“Yes,” Sawyer said. “It’s very odd. Please don’t do that again.”
“No problem. I think I’ll stick to researching on the computer.”
“That’s a good idea.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Harper paced back and forth inside the empty warehouse off Power Inn Road. It was beyond strange being back at the place where she’d killed a man. She stopped to stare at the metal piping where The Crew’s victim, Otto Radley, had been fastened before he quietly broke free.
She had walked inside the warehouse just in time to see Otto sneaking up behind Psycho. She could almost feel the butt of the rifle against her shoulder as she’d taken aim and fired. The jolt had been explosive, sending her flying backward.
The bloodstain on the cement floor had since been bleached and scrubbed many times, but the outlined shadow was still there. The real evidence was buried in the dirt about twenty feet away from the entry door.
She had killed a man.
And she hadn’t been the same since.
It didn’t matter how many times she reminded herself that Otto Radley, a real-life monster, had deserved what he’d gotten. The guilt and shame would not go away. Talking to someone about what she had done might help, but she couldn’t risk it. Her husband, Nate, would never understand. How could anyone understand something she hadn’t yet come to terms with?
When she’d helped form The Crew, the thought of killing someone had never entered her mind. Not once. Their plan had sounded so simple. They would kidnap their targets, take them to an isolated spot, and hold them captive for a day or two. The men would be blindfolded and bound. For months she’d felt energized by the notion of showing rapists what it felt like to be overwhelmed, powerless, helpless.
She rubbed her belly, smiled when she felt a kick.
It bothered her now to realize that if she’d sought help and found a way to accept the brutal truth that nothing would ever change what happened to her when she was growing up, maybe she would have made better choices. After she’d escaped her hometown and the ongoing abuse, if she’d found a way to accept what had happened, then maybe she would have been able to process her emotions and move past it. Instead, she’d buried her feelings and allowed the trauma to fester, turning her into a control freak, micromanaging everything around her.
It was as if a light had suddenly been switched on and she could see everything so much clearer now. But was it too late?
A movement outside captured her attention.
It was Lily. Five foot six, blue eyes with blonde hair tucked beneath her wig, she was the reason they had gone after Brad Vicente. Like most of The Crew, besides wanting justice for being wronged, Harper and Lily had little in common. Lily had grown up hunting with her father. She worked at an outdoor adventure shop. Never having married, she lived alone.
“Hey there. Long time no see,” Lily said with a smirk. “How are things?”
“Same-o, same-o,” Harper said.
Lily’s booted footfalls echoed off the walls as she walked to the far end of the warehouse. “It’s weird, being back here.”
“Agreed. Gives me the creeps.” Harper glanced at her watch. “Shouldn’t they be here by now?”
Before Lily could respond, gravel being spit up beneath a car’s tires caught their attention.
Lily pulled her mask from her back pocket and slid it over her eyes as she headed for the exit. “Sounds like it’s go-time.”
Harper put on her mask too and followed at Lily’s heels.
“Why are they in Psycho’s car?” Lily asked.
“No idea.” The only guarantee when it came to plotting and planning seemed to be that nothing ever went as expected.
Psycho and Cleo climbed out of the car and slid on their eye masks. Psycho stretched her arms high above her head, then bent over and touched her toes.
Just another rapist, different day. No big deal. That was the vibe Harper got from Psycho.
Cleo was another story. She looked pale. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Appearing restless and irritable, Cleo glanced Harper’s way as she approached but didn’t bother with a greeting as she walked around the car and opened the passenger door.
Harper peeked inside the driver door that Psycho had left open. The passenger seat had been adjusted so that their target was reclined.
Cleo grabbed the corner of the blanket and pulled it off the man. Then she ripped off the tape covering his eyes and mouth.
His face was drenched in sweat and saliva. He coughed and sputtered and then immediately yelled for help.