There was also a new addition of a small, round conference table with four chairs in the top corner of the room, making the statement that the man who now used that office respected his colleagues and sought their input.
A credenza behind the desk had been added. That had a framed picture of a very pretty woman who was perhaps in her twenties. She was smiling happily at the camera. Beside and just behind that, another picture of Harry with his arm slung around an older man who was likely his father, and another man his age, who was probably his brother. They were standing by a picnic table.
Where the gunrack had been, now hung a large, and rather gorgeous painting of our misty lake.
His desk was not entirely neat, but it wasn’t untidy.
He worked there.
This wasn’t a veritable throne room, it was a place to do business.
Important business.
Polly brought us vanilla malts from the Double D, which Pete had sent over.
We did not drink them.
Celeste cried.
Twice.
I held her when she did and silently raged.
Hours later, Jace walked in.
He was wearing his father’s face.
Neutral.
“David’s out of surgery. He’s still with us. He’s critical,” he stated. “We’re going home.”
Celeste deflated.
He held his sister’s hand, and I walked like C3PO at their sides to his Ram.
I made Celeste sit in the front with her brother.
I sat in the back.
Jace drove.
His mood was wet and stormy, and it beat through the cab like a hurricane.
Even if my mood matched it, for Celeste, I tried to cut through it.
“Harry’s wife is very pretty.”
“Harry’s wife died a year after he married her when she broke her neck after her horse threw her,” Jace replied.
The picture of the pretty girl smiling happily at the man behind the camera formed distinct in my mind.
Thus, the hard face.
I shut my mouth.
Jace took us home.
The curtains were pulled, and Megan was fussing.
Dan sat at the kitchen bar with a gun holstered on his hip.
There was a lasagna staying warm in the oven, frozen garlic knots laying out on a cookie sheet, lined up to go in, and a dressed Caesar salad waiting for croutons in the fridge.
Some Mexican casserole extravaganza was cooling on the counter, ready for refrigeration or freezing, depending on our appetites and how long it took us to consume the lasagna.
I was thinking freezer.
I was sitting cross-legged on the couch, Celeste was lying on her side, her head on my thigh.
I was running my fingers through her hair.
That was when Bohannan and the boys walked in from the back deck.
Megan drifted to her man, and he curled his arm around her hips.
We all watched Jess lock the door behind him.
That was not a good sign.
Bohannan glanced at Megan and dipped his chin to Dan.
Then he looked at Celeste and me.
She’d sat up and was now plastered to my side.
And we were both looking at her father.
He switched his focus to me.
“Your guy is our guy. Robertson saw him.”
Celeste took my hand.
I held tight.
“He got away, but we know who we’re looking for and we know he’s an excellent shot. We also know he’s got resources. He got David with a long-range tactical rifle. They don’t come cheap.”
I refused to shift my attention to the closed drapes.
“We ran out of daylight and we’re runnin’ out of steam. Both lead to mistakes. We caught his trail. We followed it. But if we all keep stumbling around in the dark, we might fuck it up. What he did today, he didn’t have time to cover his tracks. A fresh team has been dispatched, and they’re still on it. And no, he did not vanish into thin air when he took Alice. Leland missed it, but once he got his ass out there, Harry didn’t. What he had was time to plot his escape. Having that time, that was what he did. In part, literally covering his tracks. He diffused the dogs because he spent time in those woods. His scent was everywhere, except on the path to Alice. That was a straight line. One path out, then, when they picked up his scattered scent, they didn’t know which path to follow. At this time, Alice had sustained a serious concussion because he’d dealt a blow to her head. He was carrying her, and my guess, she was unconscious, and he’d wrapped her in a blanket that was scented with him. She wasn’t leaving a trace.”
He held my gaze.
And said, “Today, he left a trace.”
He seemed to want something from me, so I nodded and asked, “Is there reason people don’t know this and instead think he has preternatural powers?”
“Specifics of a case are rarely released. But in this instance, that was held back for him. Yes, it scares people. No, I don’t like that. And yes, that gives him what he needs. But it also can build complacency. If he thinks he’s got the upper hand, if he thinks he was outsmarting Leland, and then outsmarting me, he might give that to me.”
I hated that he got to further scare people.
But what Bohannan said made sense.
“Are you saying he knew Alice and her friends were going to be out there?”
“I’m saying he lured Alice and her friends out there.”
Holy God.
“The girls said that?” I asked.
“It was a game, instigated by Alice.”
“He got to her beforehand,” I whispered.
“He got to her beforehand,” Bohannan confirmed.
“Behind my boathouse, he disappeared,” I reminded him.
Bohannan said nothing.
Oh God.
“Did you keep that from me too?” I demanded.
“No,” he finally answered. “That time, he disappeared, and it was concerning.”
Concerning?
“So he does have preternatural powers,” I stated drily.
“No, Larue. And he never did. What he has are skills. And he proved that today by making that difficult of a shot across the fucking lake.”
On that, I had nothing further.
“This is a ploy to rattle you,” Bohannan shared.
I was wrong.
I did have something.
“He shot David.”
“He’s trying to rattle you.”
I bolted off the couch, piked toward him and screamed, “He shot David.”
“He’s feeding his need, Larue. He’s got sniper skills, and that means not a soul in Misted Pines is safe. And many people who live in these mountains know guns, they know what that shot means, so they know that.”
“So he meant to leave David alive?”
A hesitation.
God! This was torture!
Finally, he answered, “No, he meant to scare the shit out of you, Celeste too, and make me give chase. He meant for David to bleed out. He had no idea you’d see him and have it together enough to call 911. If David laid on your deck maybe two minutes longer, that would have happened. You saved David’s life today, sweetheart.”
It should, but it didn’t make me feel even an iota better.
“He’s the puppet master, Bohannan.”
“He’s rattling you.”
“Because he’s god!” I shrieked.
“And you’re rattling me.”
I shut up.