by Jen Blood
Diggs was snoring by the time I finished eating. I started the shower, took care of business, and then stripped out of my filthy clothes—with the exception of bra and underpants, so I wouldn’t be completely vulnerable if Rainier decided now was a good time to go Psycho on me. I opened the bathroom door and kept the shower curtain partially open so I could keep an eye on Diggs. I didn’t want to get out and find him murdered in bed while I’d been in the bathroom sucking up all the hot water.
The shower was one of those natural-type deals they have on HGTV a lot, with a drain in the floor and two square showerheads overhead meant to mimic rainfall. I stood beneath the spray and considered our situation. As far as I could tell so far, there wasn’t a chance in hell of escape; that’s one of the drawbacks of being imprisoned inside a mountain. I thought of Erin Lincoln’s journal; the J carved in her chest when she died; all the other girls who’d been imprisoned and hunted. Dr. Laurent had said those girls had been bound, starved, and confined to a small area. Was that what Diggs and I had to look forward to, once these ‘matches’ referred to in the rules began?
I thought of Rainier again. From what I’d seen, he didn’t have the intelligence, patience, or vision for this kind of lunacy. He couldn’t be the one behind it all. But if it wasn’t him, I honestly didn’t have a clue who it was. I closed my eyes and leaned against the rock wall, letting the water wash over me. The pain in my wrist had migrated up my arm and down to my fingers. I couldn’t tell where the hurt ended anymore. Quebec City seemed light years away now. I winced at the memory of that fateful fucking decision that brought Diggs and me here instead of some little motel in Montreal. If we survived this, Juarez would probably never speak to me again. I imagined him out there somewhere, trying to find us. Tracking down leads. Beating in doors. Had he learned something we hadn’t?
I drifted, standing there as exhaustion moved through me. When I opened my eyes, Diggs stood at the bathroom door, watching me. He didn’t look away when our eyes met. When I made no move to cover myself, he stepped into the room.
“I don’t know how much hot water there is,” I said. I took a breath. Thought of the rules: No surveillance. And Rainier’s words: I’ll come for you... Be ready. How did you get ready for something like this? Diggs was still watching me. His eyes were dark, filled with a kind of hunger I’d almost forgotten he possessed. “There’s room for you, if you want.” I couldn’t look at him when I said it.
He nodded silently. I watched him strip to his boxers, taking in the battle scars—both old and new. He has a scar over his heart that he’d always refused to tell me about—a burn about the size of a silver dollar; a razor-thin scar along his jawline from a night in Tijuana that I’d missed; a cigarette burn on the inside of his right elbow from that summer in Portland that I only wished I’d missed. Celtic tattoos on both arms. He stepped into the shower without touching me and raised his face to the spray. Between the two of us, the concrete shower floor was filthy as all the blood and the mud and the…whatever the hell else we’d carried in with us, magically washed away. When Diggs finally made contact, it was to nudge my shoulder so that I’d turn away from him.
He took shampoo from a shower caddy in the corner and wordlessly poured some into his hand, then gently tipped my head back.
“You got burned today,” he said. I looked from my vantage; Diggs upside down. Inside out. His finger skimmed my forehead.
“I didn’t have the kit with me to put any sunblock on. It’s not so bad, though—we were in the woods most of the time. More bites than burns.”
He put the shampoo in my hair and massaged it in until my knees had gone soft. “Close your eyes,” he instructed. I did, and kept them that way while he rinsed the soap out. He turned me around. We faced off once more.
“What do you think happens tomorrow?” I asked.
“Nothing good.”
“That was my thought.”
I watched the water run down his chest, drip off his shoulders. He’s a big guy—broad and well-built, something easily forgotten when he’s sitting in an office in jeans and concert t-shirts. He’d gotten a little soft in recent months, though—his arms not quite so big as I remembered them, his stomach almost paunchy. I thought of Andie, back in Littlehope waiting for him to come home. I stepped away.
Before I got very far, his hand skimmed my side, and he pulled me back to him. His eyes were still on mine. I could tell that the same old battle was waging again: should I stay or should I go now…
I steadied myself with my good hand at his side and raised myself up on my toes, our bodies pressed close. I could feel him against me now, hard where I was soft, warm and solid. We remained that way for a few seconds, the water washing over both of us, our gazes locked. When he finally lowered his mouth to mine, all the air left the room.
The last time we’d kissed had been in his kitchen last spring. That night, I could feel him fighting it, never really giving in. That night, it had been over before it began.
This time, he didn’t try to fight. One kiss and my blood caught fire. He tugged at my bottom lip with his teeth and I opened to him, his tongue pressing past my lips. His hand spanned the small of my back, pulling me closer until there was nothing left between us. I moved against him. Twisted my fingers in his hair. He pushed me back against the wall, and I remembered what it had always been like between us, that loss of reason when he wrapped his body around mine and his mouth found all the right spots and nothing mattered but touch and taste, sky-blue eyes and the way my name sounded on his lips.
Eventually, however, reality set in.
“I think we’re out of hot water,” I said from between chattering teeth. We’d both miraculously managed to keep our underpants on, but my bra had washed away in the storm. Diggs was shivering too, his lips blue.
“I think you’re right.” He kissed me again. “We should probably…” He nodded toward the other room.
“Probably,” I agreed. I didn’t move. He kissed the tip of my nose, his hands moving over my body in an almost absent-minded way, like he didn’t even know he was doing it. “Did you want me to carry you? Because I got shanked earlier—I’m not in the best shape of my life here.”
“I think I’m okay.”
He stepped out first. While he didn’t say it was because he wasn’t sure what might happen when we got out, I knew that’s what I’d been thinking. Nothing hideous was waiting for us, though: no Will Rainier wielding a ten-inch blade, no mutant honeybees. Diggs toweled himself off quickly, but he took more care drying me—starting with my feet and working his way up, never quite meeting my eye. We’d both gotten quiet again.
There were thin cotton pajamas in the dresser that were just our sizes. We put them on without speaking. Diggs re-splinted my wrist; I washed out the gashes in his legs, noting that they both looked better after the shower. And still, we didn’t talk. We held hands a lot, but we didn’t kiss again. At just past ten o’clock, we turned off the lights and got into bed. Diggs curled his body around mine, holding me close.
“Sleep, Solomon,” he whispered in my ear.
I could feel myself drifting, even though I didn’t want to. I held onto the arm wrapped around my middle. “Don’t let go tonight, okay?” I whispered back. “Not until you have to.”
“I won’t,” he agreed. He tightened his arms around me. “I’ll never let go, Sol.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Juarez was headed back to the station after his conversation with Dr. Laurent when he passed Erin’s mother on the highway, traveling in the opposite direction. He turned around when she was well down the road, keeping two or three cars behind as he followed her south on Route 1. He wasn’t that surprised when she turned onto the dirt road leading to the Sauciers.
Instead of parking behind the last crime-scene van still on site and walking in from there, however, she drove past. Juarez knew the road dead ended before long, so he parked and got out. He changed into sneakers, then loped after her in his shirt
sleeves and dirty slacks, wondering all the while how he’d ended up here: in an ill-fitting suit, doing paperwork and appeasing bureaucrats rather than trying to find the woman he may or may not be dating, who—he was fairly certain—was actually in love with another man.
Within minutes, Kat stopped her car, leashed Einstein, and set out on a trail Juarez suspected few even knew about. He stayed far back. He already knew where she was going, or at least who she was going to, he just didn’t want to spook her before she got there.
During one of their late-night phone calls over the past few months, Erin told him once about a fight she’d had with her mother as a teenager: She cracked the phone on my forehead. Left me concussed and took off with some sailor for three days. It wasn’t a big deal, really. Mothers and daughters, right?
He didn’t know about that. Having no memory of his own parents, he supposed he could have lived through the very same kind of scenario himself as a child. Somehow, he didn’t think that was true, though. He wouldn’t have been quite so horrified if that had been standard protocol in his own life, would he?
He tried to imagine the woman he was following now flying into that kind of a rage. She walked with a pronounced limp over the uneven terrain, clinging tightly to Einstein’s leash. The dog slowed frequently to look up at her, never going too far ahead. Kat made her careful way down the riverbank, until she reached a spot where she was almost completely hidden from view. Juarez crept forward, hiding low in the underbrush.
He didn’t have to wait long.
Within five minutes, he saw a rustling in the trees to Kat’s right. Einstein whined unhappily, pacing on his leash. Juarez sank down lower. Adam Solomon emerged from the trees.
Einstein barked twice, but Kat silenced him quickly. Juarez watched with great interest as Erin’s parents squared off by the river. He had to strain to hear them over the water.
“Do you know where she is?” Kat demanded immediately. There was something different about the way she held herself here—a vulnerability he hadn’t seen before. Adam shook his head.
“I’ve been looking. They’re on the run somewhere. I don’t know whether he’s gotten to them yet.”
“You need to do more than just look,” she hissed. “More than just wander around in the woods, waiting for him to do this all over again. You know Rainier is out there, too?”
He shook his head, but he didn’t speak. Kat went to him. She touched his face, guiding his gaze to hers in a gesture so intimate that Juarez almost felt he should turn away.
“Your sister wasn’t your fault, Adam. Everything that came after—you couldn’t have changed any of that shit. But this…” Her voice failed her. Adam took her hand and Kat slid into his arms, more easily than Juarez would have imagined for a woman as prickly as her.
They spoke too quietly to be heard for several seconds. Then, Kat pulled away. She looked at him seriously.
“You have to call him, or I will. Tell him what needs to be done. I don’t care what the repercussions will be—that’s on you, not me. My silence is on one condition and one condition only, it always has been: keep Erin safe. I don’t care whether this was their fault or not. They have the power to stop it.”
“Katie—” Adam began.
She shook her head. “No,” she said fiercely. “I’m telling you: either they stop this, or I’ll talk. I’ll tell the world—I don’t care how much power they have. Who they hurt. You call and tell him that. If Erin doesn’t make it out of this because one of their bastard sons has gone off the rails…”
Adam nodded quickly, squeezing her hands in his own. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll call. I’ll tell him.” He pulled her back into his arms. Juarez actually did turn away when they embraced this time, his eyes on the ground when Adam kissed her.
“Now go,” she said firmly. “It’s not safe. Call him, though. Tell him what I said—our agreement was always my silence for Erin’s safety. That still stands.” Adam nodded. “I will. Take care, Katie,” he said. “I’ll write again soon.”
Juarez palmed his Glock. If he was going to make a move, he needed to do it now. He stood, but remained concealed in the brush. The wind shifted, and Einstein whined. The dog gazed into the woods, directly at Juarez. Kat pushed Adam’s chest.
“Go,” she urged. “Before someone catches you.”
He started to walk away. Juarez pointed the Glock and stepped out of the trees. “I need you to stop for me, Adam.”
Adam did as he said, hands raised as he came to a halt. He glanced back toward the trees. Kat stepped in front of him. “Keep going,” she told him. She looked at Juarez. “He won’t stop you, will you, Jack?”
“I need to talk to you,” Juarez said. “I know you’re not the same person who’s been posing as Jeff Lincoln all these years, killing those girls. The fingerprints in the databank don’t belong to you; they belong to him. I can help you prove that.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Adam said. “Forget it. Whether I’m guilty or innocent has never been the issue. All that matters is getting Erin back safely.”
“But I can’t do that if I can’t unravel these final pieces,” Juarez insisted. “The boy who stayed with you that summer: Eliot. Do you know where he is now? What happened to him after Eagle Lake?”
“I don’t know,” Adam said. He was lying—and not well. “He could be anywhere.”
Einstein growled at Juarez, his eyes fixed on the gun in the agent’s hand. Juarez didn’t care for the way the dog was staring. While his attention was momentarily diverted from Adam, Kat crouched and touched the leash clip on Einstein’s collar. The dog continued to growl.
“I don’t think he likes you pointing that thing,” Kat said. “There’s no telling what he might do if he got loose somehow. Dogs are funny that way. Who knows what might set them off.”
Adam eased back into the trees. Juarez kept his gun up despite the fact that the dog was looking at him like a steak after a seven-day fast.
“Keep him back,” he said to Kat.
“What are you gonna do? Shoot Erin’s dog?” She looked at Adam again, more confident now. “Go on. I’ve got this. You know he didn’t do anything, anyway,” she insisted to Juarez. “If you really thought bringing him in would do anything but hurt things, you would have been out here hunting for him yourself all this time.”
She took a step toward Juarez, Einstein by her side. The fur along the dog’s spine stood on end. “Seriously, Jack,” she said reasonably. “You’ve got enough going against you, trying to make any progress at all when Diggs is still in the picture. But I promise: you shoot Erin’s dog, and you’re as good as dead.”
Adam was already nearly out of sight. Juarez side-stepped Kat and the dog and started after him. Kat unclipped Einstein’s leash. The moment he was free, he took off after Juarez. He tackled the agent, knocking him to the ground. Adam disappeared. Kat walked over casually and stood over Juarez while Erin’s dog slobbered all over him.
He was beginning to rethink having anything to do with Erin Solomon at all.
Juarez took Kat back to the police station, following in his own car behind her Prius. She purposely drove fifteen miles under the speed limit the entire way, occasionally slamming on the brakes for no apparent reason. When they reached the station, she bypassed an almost completely empty parking lot to take the space reserved for the sheriff.
It was six-thirty on Monday evening when they walked into the station. It was virtually empty. Juarez had already seen news vans invading Black Falls, but thankfully they seemed otherwise occupied at the moment. He made himself yet another cup of bad coffee, offering one to Kat at the same time. He held the door for her and Einstein—who seemed to hold no grudge after their encounter in the woods—and followed her into the sheriff’s empty office.
Kat walked around to the sheriff’s desk and took his chair immediately, setting her coffee very deliberately on a stack of his papers. Maddening came to mind.
“So, what can I help you with now,
Agent Juarez?” she asked.
“I’d like to know what you and your ex-husband were discussing out at the river.”
“Ah. That’s a tough one. The problem there is that I just don’t remember,” she said, her eyes wide. “If you recall, I had a brain injury last spring. My memory’s just gone to shit since then. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“You told him to call someone,” he persisted. “To take care of things—to protect Erin. Who was he calling?”
“And I say again: ‘I don’t remember.’ Now really, Agent Juarez, I’m tired. I’m going to take the dog and go lie down at the hotel. And as for you… Wouldn’t it be better if you were out there actually, oh I don’t know, looking for my daughter? Instead of trying to stop me from doing the only things that will ultimately bring her home again?” She stood. “Thanks for the coffee, though.”
She walked out.
Juarez didn’t even try to stop her.
◊◊◊◊◊
Sheriff Cyr called when Juarez was back at the hotel, changing out of his by-now essentially ruined work clothes. His news, at least, was welcome. Sort of.
Diggs’ Jeep had been found.
Juarez arrived at the site at eight o’clock that night. The Jeep was in a ravine off a dirt logging road. Someone had camouflaged it with branches and brush. It was upside down. There was blood on the dashboard. Blood on the steering wheel. The windshield was cracked. There was no sign of Diggs or Erin.
After Juarez had spoken with the sheriff and gone to take a look at the surrounding area himself, Jamie Flint met him on the path with her dogs. Her face and clothes were filthy, several angry-looking welts rising on her face and arms.
“Damned horseflies,” she said when she caught him looking. “It’s been a long day out here.”
“And no progress?” he asked.
“We just found a couple of backpacks about ten minutes ago—one inside one of the caves, a smaller one outside.”
