They managed to get away and kept running.
I found a charge on Mason Kramer’s credit card account around the same time for two business class tickets to the Cayman Islands over Christmas. One in his name and the other traveler listed was Oliver Cade. Kendrick flew back to the U.S. two days after Christmas, but the return portion on the second ticket was never claimed.
Yesterday, a Delta flight attendant was able to identify both Jesper Olson and Josh Kendrick as seated in her section on the flight to Grand Cayman.
So yeah, we’re still working this case.
It could be months yet before we can see the full scope of this operation. Nailing Kendrick was a victory for GEM for sure, but who’s to say it ended with him? Sure, we succeeded in finding those kids, but none of them came away unscathed and they will all need extensive therapy. Besides, who knows how many of them are still out there we don’t know about?
The truth is, we may never get all the answers we want but it certainly won’t be for lack of trying.
I’m exhausted. A common aftereffect of hypothermia, I’m told. It’s been a full day of planning, even after Remington finally left. I’m convinced we haven’t seen the last of him, but there’s little more we can do about it. Like every member on our team, he won’t rest until the last T is crossed and I is dotted.
The man is like a dog with a bone.
“Go home. Get some rest,” Raj orders.
Home.
It used to be my sanctuary. I’d walk in and leave everything on the doorstep. These past few weeks it has become a bitter reminder of what feels like a surprisingly lonely existence.
I don’t even own a pet, for crying out loud.
Stopping at Kroger on my way through town, I pick up a few odds and ends to make a hearty stew. Something filling and wholesome that will last me at least a couple of days.
It’s been getting colder and, apparently, we’re expecting snow tomorrow afternoon. We don’t generally get a whole lot of the white stuff here, and I’m not exactly looking forward to it.
I wish I could trade places with Janey. She is flying to Grand Cayman the day after tomorrow for a bit of recon.
Maybe a trip to the islands would get my mind off Mitch Kenny.
It’s dark when I pull up to my small, two-bedroom farmhouse, so I’m glad for the outdoor lights I have on a timer. Most of the three acres of property that came with it are treed, the original farmland surrounding those long sold off to neighboring farmers by a previous owner. The lights make it look a little more welcoming.
I turn off the engine of the small SUV I’ve been driving. Another rental while I shop around for a new truck. It looks a little out of place in the country, but it’ll have to do until I can find something better.
Grabbing the two bags of groceries, I get out, lock my doors, and head for the ramshackle front porch. The front door sticks, so I have to use both hands to open it.
The moment I step over the threshold, a bright beam of light hits me from behind.
Mitch
Jesus, she lives in the boonies.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s pretty country, but a little remote for a woman alone.
I shake my head and chuckle. What the hell am I thinking? This is Kate we’re talking about.
A one-woman army.
But also the softest, kindest, and most passionate woman I’ve ever had the pleasure to get close to.
Although that may have changed, after letting two weeks pass without getting in touch. Granted, I was pretty messed up those first few days with Sawyer in the hospital and then had my hands full with the aftermath, but that’s not really an excuse.
The longer you let time pass, the harder it becomes.
It was actually my daughter who got on my case and, more or less, shoved me out of the door this afternoon. A bit ironic, given the way she reacted to Kate the first time they met, but since the rescue at the lake, Sawyer has become Opal Berry’s biggest fan.
The headlights hit the mailbox with the number Janey messaged me, in bold black letters.
My palms are damp as I turn my car up the driveway. Could be I’m a little nervous about the reception I’ll get.
The answer is obvious when I catch sight of her, framed in the doorway as she swings around, the rifle in her hands pointing straight at me.
Maybe a call would’ve been a good idea.
I slam my foot on the brake just as she tilts her head to the side.
Then she slowly lowers the barrel and I blow out the breath I’ve been holding. I ease my foot from the brake and continue up the driveway to the house, pulling my car next to the silver SUV.
“I guess I deserved that reception.”
She already has the rifle tucked out of sight when I climb up her steps.
“What are you doing here, Mitch?”
I stop in front of her and notice the dark circles under her eyes. She looks tired. Dropping in unannounced may not have been a great idea, but I’m here now.
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“A phone call would’ve been easier.”
She’s quick with her response and perhaps a little touchy.
“You’re right, it would’ve, but then I wouldn’t have been able to look at you when I tell you the ways I’ve fucked up.”
She opens her mouth and immediately snaps it shut again. Then she drops her head and, for a moment, I think she’s going to tell me it’s too little too late, but instead she steps to the side.
“You may as well come in then.”
Not exactly a warm invitation but an improvement on the promise of a bullet between the eyes.
She takes off her coat and reaches for a couple of grocery bags just inside the door. I quickly take them from her before following her down the hall to a surprisingly modern kitchen. It’s clear that at some point someone did some renovations, knocking out a wall between the kitchen and the living area, creating an open L-shaped space, and adding sliding glass doors in the back.
“Just put them on the counter.”
I do as she directs and she immediately starts putting groceries away. She avoids looking at me as she moves around the kitchen, going on about refreshments.
“I don’t have much to drink, but I can make a pot of tea. Unless you prefer coffee? I may be able to find a dusty bottle of wine left somewhere, but I’m afraid milk and water are the only other things I can offer. I’m gone a lot of the time…”
She’s nervous.
“Kate.”
“…and even when I’m home I rarely have people—”
“Kate,” I repeat, a bit more firmly as I step in her path and put a hand on her shoulder.
Her pretty gray eyes finally look at me.
“Tea is fine.”
She nods briskly and goes about filling a kettle at the sink.
“How is Sawyer?” she asks, with her back to me.
“She’s recovering well. She’s been on my case about getting in touch with you.”
Darting me a glance, she turns, sets the kettle on the stove, and lights a burner.
“You needed encouragement?”
She leans with her hip against the counter and her arms crossed in front of her.
“Not really, but I thought I needed time to get my head and my heart and my gut back in sync before facing you.”
Time for honesty.
“I was torn, Kate. And pissed and scared witless, and frankly, confused. Mostly about the force of my emotions. In this line of work, you develop an on and off switch, you know that. A simple mechanism that allows us to shut out everything but the case we’re working.”