“You’d better not screw me over, Jasper. I’ll kill you.”
“Ma’am,” he says, “I’m going to consider that you’ve been bashed silly and not hold that against you. Hospitality’s a sacred thing, and when I offer it, I mean it. No harm will come to either of you under my roof, and I’ll swear to that.” It’s weird, but I believe him. He’s actually offended that I’d think otherwise. Southern customs. In some ways they’re utterly incomprehensible to me still. But right now I’m just abjectly grateful.
“Mom? I want to come with you,” Lanny says. “I want to find Connor!”
I just shake my head. It’s impossible for me to take my daughter into this fight, and she knows that.
Doesn’t mean she likes it. At all. Doesn’t mean I do either.
I give Jasper a few minutes to clear out; then I call the police and report the home invasion and the abductions—it would be strange if I didn’t. I excuse the delay by telling them I was unconscious. Kezia and Prester burn rubber and arrive together just behind the patrol cars, and their professionalism and kindness shake my hard-won composure. It feels like I’m standing on a thin pane of glass over a hole as deep as the Grand Canyon, and every move I make cracks it a little more. Please, Sam, I pray, in the quiet moments between questions. Please stay alive. Please watch over our son. I know he will, if it’s humanly possible. But the thought of losing one of them, or both of them . . . it destroys me.
Lanny doesn’t say much to any of the officers, and I think she’s going into a deeper state of shock now that there’s nothing for her to do. Vee stays with us—or, more accurately, with Lanny. And I’m glad of that; Lanny needs the support.
Every second this takes feels like sandpaper grinding on my heart.
I’ve taken the phone that the cult’s team leader left for me; it’s burning a hole in the pocket of my jeans. I don’t mention it to the police, not even to Kezia. She insists on having my head wound checked by a paramedic, and I don’t object too fiercely, but I refuse a trip to the hospital. No time.
Within an hour, the state police are involved too. They’re going to issue an Amber Alert for my son. I don’t really want that; I’m desperately afraid that these cultists have nothing to lose in a fight, but the last thing I want to do is rely completely on the word of Jasper Belldene. I’m just worried that like most fanatics, these Assembly kidnappers will believe they’re bound for heaven anyway and run toward the chance to die in glory if they’ve got no other options.
It’s a relief when someone calls on my regular phone. I grab for it, hoping against hope it’s Connor or Sam, but a different name comes up.
It’s Mike Lustig. Sam’s FBI friend. I answer and he says, “Sam’s missing?”
“How did you hear?” I ask him.
“Friend in the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation gave me a heads-up. They got an abduction alert from the Staties; there’s an agent on his way to you now. What do you know?”
I tell him, while the state police officers look at me impatiently; Lustig’s an old friend of Sam’s, fiercely loyal, and with his position in the FBI he might be of immense help right now. Or not. It depends on where he is and what he’s doing. But he takes it all in, and then says, “You think Remy Landry’s disappearance is connected to other similar cases. And a cult.”
“Yeah, I do,” I say.
“Well, we looked into those cases, but we were never able to pull any commonalities together. And we never heard of any cult in connection with it.”
“I’d say it’s a pretty damn solid lead, considering they took my son,” I snap, and immediately regret it; none of this is his fault. I brought this to my own doorstep. “Any way you can help?”
“You got tracking chips in your kids?”
“On their phones.” Lanny’s old one is at the bottom of the lake, but she’s got a brand-new disposable; I make sure my kids are never out of contact. “Can you track Connor’s?”
“Staties will try, they’ve got the ball, but I’ll help any way I can. Even if the phone’s off, we can still expedite the tracking.” He pauses, and his deep voice gets a little deeper. “Gwen. You know the chances they’ve still got that phone with them aren’t very good.”
“I know,” I say. If the cultists have a pattern of abductions, like I believe they do, then they’ve learned to be methodical about covering their tracks. Leaving no trace.
Which is why keeping my agreement with Jasper Belldene is so vitally important right now.
I appreciate what the authorities are trying to do, but I’m desperately impatient to be done with them. I talk to Kezia; I still can’t tell her the whole truth, but she agrees to take Lanny’s amended statement about the incident up on Killing Rock. She’s really not happy about that, and she pushes Lanny hard, but my kid doesn’t waver. That allows Olly Belldene his freedom, or at least a far less dire charge to plead away. I don’t care what happens to Bon; he can rot in jail. He isn’t part of the deal.
As soon as the police—local, state, and Tennessee Bureau of Investigation—finish with us, I tell them I need to get Vee and Lanny somewhere safe and away from here. I admit, I play the posttraumatic shock heavily; it’s not entirely an act either. They agree, on the condition I tell them where I’m going. I lie glibly about a motel in Knoxville, and give them the address when I look it up on the internet. I turn over the house keys. We’re already packed to go, but I make sure I collect every gun in the house, especially the Browning, which was left behind. After I identify it and get J. B. on the phone to verify that it’s a work-issued weapon, they let me keep it.
J. B. asks me what she can do, and I tell her to throw every single resource at finding Carol. I don’t intend to turn her over to the cult, but I want to know where she is. If the Belldenes’ drone stops working, I may need a plan B.
Interestingly, the police don’t seem to trust me as much as they should, considering we’re the victims. The TBI agent tails me to Knoxville and the motel; I register for a night, and we go to the room. I watch from the window until he leaves, then order the girls back into the car.
Jesse Belldene’s been following us too. He’s better at it than the TBI agent; I spotted his muddy, nondescript Jeep tagging along on the road out of Norton, but he was skillful at staying just at the edge of sight, and the TBI agent was so intent on us that he probably never looked behind him. When we get down to our SUV, Jesse’s Jeep is idling next to it. He just nods to us and exchanges a guarded glance with Lanny. I don’t like the look of the man, but he seems polite enough when he says, “Thanks for helping my brother out with the cops. He never wanted y’all hurt, swear to that. Bon got carried away. Olly’s a dumbass, but he ain’t evil.”
Lanny gives him a wary nod. Truce. He winks at Vee. “Want to ride with me, pretty gal?” he asks her. I fully expect Vee to say yes; everything I know about her—including the fact that she’s familiar enough with the Belldenes to go to them for help—tells me she will. But she doesn’t. She just shakes her head and gets in the back seat of the SUV with my daughter. Lanny takes her hand and clings to it desperately. My head still hurts, but the painkillers I’ve taken are doing their job of keeping it to a dull roar.