by Mary Stone
The man’s grief was genuine. But the thought that a defenseless child could be murdered in cold blood and left to rot in a grave alone, his parents not even questioning his disappearance? She couldn’t forgive the man for that, indoctrination or not. It cut too close to her own wounds.
“Why are you willing to cooperate now, when you wouldn’t even see us last week?” Winter asked.
Darin smiled for the first time. It was almost beatific, the way it lit his entire being. “I’m dying,” he said simply. “Late-stage prostate cancer.”
“So, this is like a deathbed confession?” Noah asked. Winter could hear the skepticism in his voice that he couldn’t fully hide.
Darin shook his head in the negative. He must have heard it too, but he wasn’t offended.
“Not at all. My sins are between me and God. I still believe in Him, even though I faced up to what Wesley Archer was years ago. Patrick didn’t fit into Wesley’s plans, but Patrick fit into God’s plans.”
Darin leaned forward, the smile falling from his face.
“When I saw on the news last night that those bones had been found, I knew there was only one thing that could make everything right. Bring Patrick home. I want him buried between me and Joanna, and hopefully, we’ll all find each other in Heaven.
His glittering gray eyes fixed on Winter. Something about them looked transparent. Ethereal. Like he already had one foot in the hereafter and couldn’t wait to finish the plunge.
“Please,” he said, ignoring Noah and Aiden. “Please. Bring my son home to me.”
“I found it.”
Winter’s voice was weary, but triumphant.
She’d been quieter, much more subdued than normal, since they’d left Darin Bowman’s house. Aiden had watched her in odd moments, as they met with the Harrisonburg police chief. Later, when they’d set up a kind of command center in one of the conference rooms.
She hadn’t touched the pizza they’d ordered in to feed everyone who was working on digging into Scott Kennedy’s background. Instead, she’d just kept her head down, her focus laser sharp, her fingers tapping at the keys of her laptop. The rest of the people in the room might as well have not existed.
Now, it was past midnight, but her eyes were bright with renewed determination. A loose lock of black hair contoured her pale cheek in a silken curve. Aiden had to stifle the jolt of pure need that went through him at the sight.
“Found what, darlin’?”
The jolt died as suddenly as it had hit him. Dalton was looking at Winter, too, in the same way he was. And Dalton, always grinning idiotically, as irritating as Aiden found his country-fried brand of charm, was better for Winter than he could ever be.
Darkness needed light to balance it. Not more darkness.
“They’re here.” She turned her laptop around so everyone else at the table could see it. On it was a close-up satellite image of a rundown old home. Four columns held up a sagging portico. Large, arched windows lined the front of the house, and thick woods crowded against the rear.
“It looks like a plantation house,” Noah said. “Where is that? How do you know that’s where they are?”
Winter glanced around the table. Three officers and the chief were watching them with hopeful curiosity, waiting for her answer.
“I had a hunch,” she finally admitted. “This is the original home farm of the Abbots. Helen Abbott was Scott Kennedy’s mother. Her family built it in the early 1800s. According to property records, it’s never been bought or sold in all those years. It must still be part of the Kennedy estate.” She looked at Aiden directly, and then Noah. “It’s in North Carolina. Literally just over the border. About three and a half hours from here.”
“You guys going to go check it out?” Chief Miller sounded hopeful. Aiden knew they were shorthanded. The few officers seated at the table showed as much, and Benton wasn’t due back for at least a week.
“We’ll head out in the morning,” he agreed, speaking for the three of them.
30
It was a gorgeous afternoon. The sun shone through the trees, dappling the leaf-covered ground. The temperature had climbed to nearly sixty degrees, with only a slight breeze that hardly disturbed the air. Birds chirped in the oaks overhead as Aiden secured the straps on his Kevlar vest.
After studying terrain maps of the area, they’d chosen a spot on a little used dirt service road that ran directly behind the Abbot house. From there, they’d cut through the quarter-mile stretch of forest to come up on the back of the property undetected.
The plan was recognizance. Determine whether Scott Kennedy and Rebekah Archer were using the property as Winter had guessed. Hopefully, they could also get a visual of Samantha and Jenna, and make sure they were both safe and healthy.
Dalton hummed lightly as he tightened the straps on his own vest and tugged on a dark brown windbreaker. Without the bulletproof vest visible, he looked like a guy getting ready to go for a walk in the woods. He wore a long-sleeved dark green shirt and dark jeans, along with a pair of beat-up hiking boots.
Winter, too, was ready. She’d pulled her hair back into a high ponytail. A loose gray zip-up sweatshirt hid her gear and the black tank top she wore beneath. Black leggings and a pair of black boots completed her outfit. She looked young and just a little edgy, like a nature-loving college kid. Not someone you’d shoot for trespassing on your land.
“I’m glad you found something other than a suit to put on,” Dalton commented with a grin. “Didn’t picture you as a camo guy, though.”
Aiden didn’t look up from the map he had spread over the hood of the car. “Always be prepared.”
“Boy Scout?”
He glanced up, ready with a sarcastic response, but Noah wasn’t laughing at him. He had his arm bent at the elbow, holding three fingers in the air, giving the Scout salute.
“Yeah. Eagle.”
“Me too.”
So, maybe they did have something in common, after all.
“Are we going to do this or what?” Winter asked. She was pacing restlessly. “Or do you guys want to plan a campout with s’mores instead?”
Aiden almost asked her if she’d been a Girl Scout, but then he remembered. She hadn’t had a normal childhood. Instead, he folded the map neatly and put it in the glove compartment. “Cell phones off?”
The other two nodded. More than once, an ill-timed ringtone had spelled disaster for a law enforcement official. They left the two-track, naturally falling into a single file line behind Winter as she followed what looked like a deer trail through long grass. Her steps were sure and swift, and she seemed to know exactly where to go.
She’d have done well on the Orienteering merit badge, Aiden thought irreverently.
There was a quick rustle nearby. A startled squirrel chittered at them in irritation and disappeared into the branches of a pine. Aiden didn’t jump, didn’t even react to the noise with anything but a flick of his eyes, but his nerves felt scraped raw, trying to take in everything around them at once.
They moved quietly through the trees for about ten minutes, dodging low-hanging branches and rotted logs. Deep carpets of moss underfoot masked all but the barest crunch of footsteps. Surprisingly, Noah was the lightest on his feet, despite his bulk. The trees grew denser near the back of the property, and black raspberry brambles snagged on his pants every few steps.
Through the underbrush, he could see where the forest ended and gave way to a back lawn, overgrown and scraggly. A child’s high giggle rang out, and a bright red flash moved through the grass. The little girl was playing with a ball. No one else was in sight.
Using hand signals to communicate, the three of them moved beneath the overhanging limbs of a pine tree within sight of the edge of the woodline. The cover was thick enough that their movements wouldn’t attract attention and the dull colors they wore wouldn’t immediately show to anyone who might glance out into the woods. The carpet of pine needles beneath their feet muffled their footsteps as eff
ectively as the moss had.
Aiden scanned the yard again. The old house was a tall, boxy square that left much of the yard in the shade. Winter put a light hand on his arm and pointed. A hammock was slung between two maples. A woman’s leg hung out, her sneaker clad foot on the ground, swinging it gently. It was either Rebekah or Sam. She was hidden in the folds of the canvas material, so it was impossible to tell.
With a hollow, echoing bong, a big red rubber ball bounced off a tree and into the underbrush. It rolled down a small slope, coming to rest against a hollow log about ten yards from where they crouched.
The little girl, unnoticed by the woman in the swing, started picking her way through the undergrowth. She studied the ground in front of her tentatively, her tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. She didn’t see them.
Noah nodded at Winter, jerked his head in the girl’s direction, and then motioned back toward the direction of the service road. He wanted her to take the girl and run.
She shook her head in the negative and pointed back at him, then drilled one finger in her cheek. Dimples? What the hell did those have to do with anything?
Aiden interrupted the silent argument, holding up a hand. The child might respond to a female better, but if the woman in the hammock was Samantha Benton, he was going to need Winter. They knew each other, and Winter would need to convince Sam to go.
He gestured for Noah to take the girl. The other man’s eyes hardened. For a moment, he looked like he badly wanted to argue, but he finally nodded.
Jenna had successfully navigated the thicket and spotted the ball. She was toddling toward it, her short, pudgy legs a little unsteady on the rough terrain. The woman in the hammock was now motionless, her foot resting against the ground, not moving. It looked like she’d fallen asleep.
Aiden nodded to Noah.
“Go,” he mouthed.
The resentful look disappeared from Noah’s face as if it had never been there. He moved out from under the tree, and his face softened into a nonthreatening smile.
“Hi, Jenna,” he said, his voice a quiet, friendly rumble. He was good. The sound barely carried, but the little girl looked over at him immediately.
Her blue eyes went wide, and she grinned. “Pretty!” She immediately changed directions, the ball forgotten. “Pretty man!”
Aiden shot a quick look at the sleeping woman, in case the child’s crowing had woken her. Winter shook her head slightly, her eyes trained on the yard. When Aiden looked back, he had to stifle a grin. Dalton looked uncomfortable at being called pretty, but he smiled at the little girl and held his arms wide for a hug.
She went straight to him and jumped into his arms. “Denth,” she lisped solemnly, pointing at his cheek.
“Want to go for an adventure, princess?” he whispered.
She nodded and lowered her voice too. “Walk in the woodth?”
“Yep.”
“Dragonth,” she warned, her eyes wide.
“We’ll move fast,” he promised. “I’ll keep you safe.”
She nodded and latched her arms trustingly around his neck. Dalton threw him a warning look over Jenna’s head that he read loud and clear. Take care of Winter.
Aiden nodded once in acknowledgment.
As Dalton seemed to melt into the woods, only the child’s quiet giggle marked their exit.
By the time he turned around, Winter was already moving, focused on the hammock. They needed to get closer, to see who was in it, but he needed her to work with him. He hissed out a breath and went after her, trying not to make any sound. Despite the effort, a twig cracked underfoot. In his ears, it sounded like a gunshot.
Winter didn’t slow. She’d almost reached the treeline, and he made a furious lunge for her, to stop her from stepping out into the open. He got hold of her sleeve and yanked her backward. She looked at him with a surprised expression, but before he could react, there was the echo of another branch breaking, and he stumbled forward.
And then came another sharp report.
This one was louder, and he felt a punch of impact high on his shoulder. At the same time, he registered a dark stain spattered across the front of Winter’s sweatshirt.
It still wasn’t until his legs crumpled beneath him that he realized he’d been shot.
Winter hadn’t realized Aiden was behind her until she felt the jerk on her sleeve. Samantha was in that hammock, and they had to get to her before Rebekah came looking for Jenna. Her heart was pounding, and her stomach was tight.
Something was going to happen, and they needed to get her out of there. Instinct was telling her to go. Now.
Aiden spun her around, his face furious, his eyes narrowed and jaw set. She knew she should have waited, but she couldn’t ignore her instincts and now wasn’t the time to explain.
In the next instant, a shot cracked in the stillness of the afternoon, sending birds shrieking and scattering from the trees. Aiden lurched forward, like he’d lost his balance. She moved toward him automatically to brace him, and there was another shot. Nearly in slow motion, she felt his body jerk against her, and a ragged hole appeared in his shirt above his right shoulder, just outside of where the Kevlar covered. Blood spattered against her cheek in a fine mist.
She took the brunt of his bodyweight and spun quickly, baring her own back long enough to get him down on the ground.
A scream ripped out from the left of her.
She brought her gun up in the direction from which the shots had been fired.
“Stop screaming, Sam,” said Rebekah Archer, who stood a few yards behind Winter, her porcelain face pale and tight. She was pointing a compact little G45 in Winter’s direction.
“Where’s Jenna?” Rebekah’s voice was cold and calm, but her eyes burned with rage.
“Safe.” Her mind spun through possible actions she could take. It didn’t take long. She tried not to wonder if Aiden lay dead at her feet. He’d been hit in the shoulder, but where else?
“Sam,” she called out. “You need to get out of here. You’re in danger.”
“Winter.” Sam’s voice shook with rising panic. “You’re wrong. Rebekah’s my friend.”
“No, there’s a lot here going on that you don’t know about.”
“Don’t say another word, Agent Black,” Rebekah bit out, “unless it’s to tell me where the fuck my daughter is.”
“Jenna’s not your daughter. She’s Kayla Bennett’s daughter, a poor dead teenage runaway. What would Jenna think if she knew you killed her real mother? She likes fairy tales, but that’s pretty dark for any child to take in.”
Rebekah’s face flushed red and then went white again. There was anger in her eyes.
There was also uncertainty. “You’re lying. Jenna is mine, and Kayla Bennett isn’t dead. She gave up her baby. She didn’t want to be a teenage mom.”
“Sam, you need to get out of here,” Winter repeated, not taking her eyes off the gun. “Rebekah is not your friend. She used a runaway girl as a guinea pig. Injected her with a fertility drug that did God knows what to her. Kept her in a cage, like an animal. Then she killed her and took her baby. We found her body near the Archer farm.”
It was a risk, pushing so hard. Winter felt sweat slick her palms and her arms trembled with the effort to hold her gun steady. “How’d you get her pregnant, Rebekah? Artificial insemination, like your cattle? Or did you find someone to rape—”
“Shut up!” Rebecca shrieked. “Sam, go in the house. Get Scott. Now. Damn you, Kayla isn’t dead. You’re lying!”
Near her feet, Aiden groaned softly.
“I’m not lying. We found her. She’s been identified.” Winter took a small step toward Rebekah. “Drop the gun,” she ordered quietly.
“Winter, you don’t understand.” Sam spoke quickly, her voice pleading. “You have to be wrong about this. Rebekah is a miracle worker. I’m pregnant, and this time it’s going to be full-term. I have to have this baby.”
Rebekah’s eyes shifted to something
behind Winter at the same time she sensed movement. As she started to turn, a few feet away, Sam pressed one hand to her mouth and the other protectively to her belly. Her eyes were wide in horror.
Winter caught a glimpse of Scott out of the corner of her eye, a grimace pulling his handsome features out of shape, just before something slammed down hard on the side of her head. As she fell, through the gray curtain that dropped over her vision, she thought she saw Sam disappear into the trees.
31
“You need to be careful, Winter.”
Gramma Beth, wearing one of her signature 1950’s-style house dresses, was fixing pancakes. Aside from her tightly curled white hair and softly lined face, she looked young and attractive, the spring green of her dress contrasting prettily with her creamy skin.
Winter was overwhelmed for a moment with emotion. Since she’d graduated from Quantico and taken the job in Richmond, she’d hardly had any time at all to spend with her grandparents. She’d missed them.
“Where’s Grampa Jack?” Winter asked as her grandma expertly flipped one of the pancakes.
“Oh, he’s off somewhere.” She waved one manicured hand absently. “But you’re not listening to me. You need to be careful.”
“When I’m making pancakes?” Winter teased. “I know that. I need to be careful whenever I’m in a kitchen. Things tend to catch on fire.”
Beth nodded sharply and turned again to the griddle. “That’s exactly what I’m saying! Fire is dangerous.”
She reached into the pocket of her gingham-checked apron and pulled out a long lighter, the kind she used to light the gas burners on the stove when they went out. Clicking it, she reached over and held the flame to the dainty white curtain over the kitchen sink. The lace edge smoldered for a moment and then caught.
As the flame greedily licked upward, Beth turned again. Her pretty face was contorted with fear. “See? Be careful!”
An unreal amount of smoke billowed outward from the curtains, filling the kitchen almost instantly and blocking Gramma Beth from her sight. It was thick and choking, and Winter coughed hard, feeling a burn in her chest.
