It made Hyland’s skin crawl.
When she checked the database for Jennifer Griffin, it showed the same company, Distinctly Connex, had sent the same man to restore their service and that Jennifer was alone in the house with him at the time.
Hyland swallowed.
The repairman’s name was Zoran Volk.
Hyland sat up, her keyboard clicking as she typed.
We’ve got a new lead here.
Seventy-Three
Elk Creek, Pennsylvania
Gravel ricocheted under Lorena Jo Tullev’s Ford Escape as she drove deeper into the woods of northwestern Pennsylvania.
Lorena couldn’t remember the last time she and Zoran had been here together. She took in the tranquility of the forest with its gentle slopes and streams. The region was paradise for people who liked to fish.
Or wanted privacy.
Coming to the eagle-like rock formation that marked the turn for Zoran’s cabin, Lorena slowed down but kept driving. Passing by the acreage, staring through the interlacing of trees, branches, and leaves, she saw a corner of the cabin, a flash of chrome, a reflection of glass, and she identified Zoran’s white van.
He’s there.
She didn’t see a second vehicle.
If Zoran was cheating, maybe he would meet the other woman here, or maybe he’d picked her up? He had enough time. Lorena had waited nearly two hours before she left Buffalo, heading west on I-90 after he said he was going to his cabin to fish for a couple days.
Now, having spotted Zoran’s van, she drove around a bend, then a little farther until she’d come to the mouth of an unmarked entrance to a neighboring property. Its grassy pathway was nearly invisible in a thicket. She parked her Ford there, on the side, grabbed her bag, and got out, satisfied her SUV was concealed by the shrubs and branches.
She walked back down the road then left it, entering the forest. Staying off the pathway, she stepped carefully through the woods making her way to the rear of Zoran’s cabin. Constructed of logs, it sat some forty yards from a wide, twisting expanse of Elk Creek.
She went to the cabin’s back wall, stood next to it, listening for voices. A long minute passed. The leaves in the treetops moved in a little breeze, birds chirped. There was the soft peaceful flow of the creek.
But no voices.
What am I doing? This is silly. I should go home. No. I have to do this. Something’s going on with Zoran. Something’s not right.
Suddenly Lorena heard movement inside, someone walking. She slipped into the bushes, positioning herself to see the front door that faced the creek.
Zoran had stepped outside.
Carrying a rod, a tackle box, and a plastic bucket, he locked the door then took a trail that cut into the woods.
When he was out of sight, Lorena went to the door, got her key from her bag. She’d secretly made a duplicate months ago when she first suspected Zoran was cheating at the cabin.
She slid her key into the slot, hoping he hadn’t changed the lock.
She turned it.
Nothing happened.
She tried again, shoving it in all the way, jiggling, and turning.
It clicked.
Stepping inside, the air smelled of lumber with a hint of fried bacon.
Lorena could feel memories stirring as she inventoried the place. It had one private bedroom and one small bathroom with a shower. The rest of the interior was a large open area. In one corner, the kitchen, in another, sofa chairs faced the stone fireplace.
On the table was Zoran’s big backpack, a couple of empty beer cans, and an open bag of Doritos. The chairs were draped with his jeans, his hoodie, a T-shirt, and socks.
Lorena went to the bedroom door.
When she opened it, she stopped in her tracks.
A tripod with a video camera stood at the foot of the bed.
Chains with handcuffs reached from the headboard and footboard.
He’s making his own porn here. Or he’s cheating with someone who’s into bondage. Or both.
Anger surged through her.
Who’s he doing this with? Who?
Lorena thought.
His laptop! Yes, I came here to find it.
A quick search of the bedroom—the dresser drawers, the closet, under the bed, under the mattress—resulted in no laptop.
Lorena returned to the living area, scanning it for answers, looking at the table. She went to Zoran’s backpack. If it wasn’t in there, if he’d locked it in his van, she’d be out of luck.
Rifling through his backpack, she found mostly packaged food, then something hard and flat.
Bingo! Laptop.
She placed it on the table and fired it up.
As it came to life, she reached into her bag for her wallet and the slip of paper with Zoran’s password.
Everything worked.
She was in.
He had a galaxy of folders. The first she went to were listed as “JOBS,” and she opened a few randomly. They looked like work orders for repairs and connections.
Another was labeled “SPORTS” and seemed to contain team stats, probably for his gambling on games.
Next she found an array labeled “FUN” that appeared to be porn, purchased or at least downloaded. He was not in the few videos she’d zipped through, and she didn’t recognize any of the women.
Lorena shot a glance to the window, listening for Zoran’s return. Biting her lip, she continued opening folders, finding records on his taxes, banking. She kept hunting, then found a folder hidden within a folder, within a folder, following it until she found one labeled: “PROJECTS.”
Projects?
The next one she came to had a folder labeled “LP Cardinal Hill.”
It contained a mundane-looking work order with a date, address, and name.
Then she found a series of short videos.
One was taken inside a house, showing a woman’s folded laundry on a large bed, specifically underwear. Then she found footage of a woman, a rather pretty woman, in the house, that seemed to have been recorded without her knowing. Then there was video taken from a dash-mounted camera of a car being followed in traffic. Then the camera angle changes to show the woman driving the car was the same one who’d been in the house.
What is Zoran doing?
Lorena went to another folder, one labeled “J.G. Trailside Grove.”
Opening it, she saw a collection of news stories and headlines:
Missing Woman Investigation Continues
Mystery Surrounds Mom’s Disappearance