“Well, all righty then. So, here’s what I was thinking.” Owen leaned forwards and began speaking, Marchant hanging on every word as he spoke for the duration of the movie, during dinner, and well into the night.
***
Owen
Comfortably angled against the doorframe, Owen tipped his head to the side as he stared into the bedroom the kids shared, watching as Kelly eagerly dumped a tangle of the last of his scant articles of clothing into a box. From the moment the decision had become official, things had moved quickly, with Alace helping source a house near—but not too close to—where she lived with Eric. She hadn’t immediately taken to the idea of a third on their team—Owen scoffed far back in his throat because that was putting things mildly—but between her own investigation into Marchant and Owen’s vouching for the man, he’d finally been able to convince her.
She’d even uncovered parts of the man’s past Owen hadn’t been privy to, his own digging focused on what had happened in recent years, while hers had been more of a birth-to-grave process. Marchant had been a doctor in Texas and Oklahoma right out of school, working on his residency in emergency medicine. The man had gotten involved in an investigation surrounding a suspected torture serial killer, one who’d preyed on young adult women. The experience had paved the way for his continued focus on trauma, turning his attention to the youngest victims.
Information Alace found indicated the serial killer had never been officially identified and stopped, but word of mouth put his ending at the hands of an organized motorcycle gang. Their motivation had never been clarified, but based on how quickly Marchant had changed locations after the killer dropped off the grid, Alace had shared her suspicions he’d had something to do with whatever had happened.
There’d been a couple of conference calls with the three of them, during which Alace had disguised her voice. The first had her sounding like a gender-neutral, laid-back California beach bum, and the second had given her a male voice with a broad Boston accent. Marchant hadn’t been fazed by either, shaking his head in clear amusement once the calls ended. He’d known enough to not say anything denigrating Alace’s focus on security, which was good because Owen had seen the nearest tablet wake immediately after the calls terminated. Alace had dropped in to listen to the man’s debrief and had admitted to being impressed when she and Owen touched base later. Marchant had been dialed in on the mission, in this case shifting locations to Colorado where they could work out of a better, more consolidated base. The fact he wasn’t digging for info on her was a solid indicator of where the man’s head was at.
“Last box, buddy?” Kelly looked up and gave him a lifted chin in response, wrestling with the roll of tape to retrieve a long enough piece to secure the top of the box. “Want some help?”
“No.” Kelly panted slightly, arms held wide as he pulled the strip of tape free. “I got it.”
“Where’s Shiloh?” If Kelly hadn’t been available to question, Owen would have looked in only a couple of places, expecting to find the girl in one of the two. She preferred her surroundings to be close and dark and often migrated underneath the bed on the end nearest the wall, or inside the closet, sometimes with the laundry basket turned upside down over her. Marchant said it couldn’t even be considered acting out, because she wasn’t malicious about it. There was no trying to hide or trying to scare Owen; she simply preferred the closeness of those two places. It could be a result of her time in Warrant’s compound or a holdover from the foster family situations she and Kelly had been in.
“In the closet.” Kelly got one end of the tape tacked down and smoothed the rest in place, sealing the box closed. “Everything’s all packed. When are we leaving?”
“Soon as Doc gets here.” Owen had settled on the half-title as a moniker for Marchant. It was a nod to his expertise and less intimate than saying his first name. He ignored why it bothered him, since he called Alace Sweets Ward by her first name all the time. Darren Marchant. See, brain? It ain’t that hard. “We’ll load up these last few things, our suitcases, then you and Shiloh, and we’ll be ready to go.”
Marchant had wanted to keep his vehicle, so they were using it for the drive to Colorado. Owen had made quick work of dealing with the anchors holding him here. He’d sold his junker and booked a moving cube last week, filling it with the household boxes and the furniture he and Doc wanted to take, waving it off on a semi early yesterday. The furniture left in this house would remain, increasing the ability of the landlord to lease the house or give him something to complain about as he tossed it. Owen didn’t care either way. The house Alace had found was fully furnished and ready to move in, and what hadn’t been now was—up to and including a fully stocked pantry. She hadn’t fucked around with anything either, paying cash for the house as well as the empty lots on either side. Owen had been ready to transfer funds to her to cover the cost, but she’d demurred, for now waving him off in a way that made him think she wouldn’t be open to having a conversation with him about it at all.
He smiled and watched Kelly wrestle the box to the door. Reaching for the box, he told the boy, “I’ll get this, you see if you can coax your sister out.” Kelly’s lips pursed as he nodded, hefting the box the last couple of inches up into Owen’s grasp. “Doc’ll be here any minute.” He heard the garage door going up and looked over his shoulder towards the kitchen. “That’s him now. It’s not going to take but a minute to get these few things loaded. I’ve got your and Shiloh’s travel bags packed already. Come on to the garage when you’re ready, and we’ll get going.”
Without waiting to hear Kelly’s response, he’d only made it halfway up the hallway before three sharp raps sounded on the connecting door to the garage. It opened, and Marchant strode through, key fob twirling around one finger.
“Is this all of it?”
Owen nodded as he set the box on top of the short stack next to the door. “This, these, and the kids.” He pointed towards the three bags on the floor nearby. “I’ve got snacks and tablets in the kids’ bags. Toiletries and a change of clothes just in case we decide to stop at a hotel tonight. We’re good to go.”
“I’ll get the boxes and bags.” Marchant lifted two boxes and walked back through the door. “You bring the kiddos.”
Owen turned and saw Kelly standing in the hallway, a look of uncertainty on his face. “Does she not wanna come out?” The boy shook his head. “No worries. Help Doc with the bags. I’ll go talk to her.”
Back in the kids’ bedroom, Owen lowered himself until he was sitting on the floor, back against the wall farthest from the door. He rocked his head back and closed his eyes. There was no sound at all from the closet yet. On to the next maneuver. Clearing his throat, he began to quietly hum “Three Blind Mice.” The musical round had become his go-to when soothing Shiloh back to sleep after nightmares woke her, and he hoped it would draw her out of her hiding spot without him having to go into the closet. He was on the third rendition of the tune when he heard movement and opened his eyes a slit to see an overturned laundry basket creeping towards him. Shiloh could be seen only in broken images underneath. One eye, a swath of hair, then the tips of her fingers against the floor. With a smile, he closed his eyes again and continued.