Kyle gazed at the man, feeling the paternal instinct naturally flowing from him, understanding fully now what Henry had told him about his father and why he thought he could never live up to the man.
“We’re going to settle this thing, Mr. Vine,” Trotter said, his eyes once again hardening, no longer watery. “And you go back to living your life.” He then stood up and extended his hand.
Kyle accepted it, and wanted to tell Jim Trotter he wasn’t at fault either. Tragedies happened. Life happened. But Jim Trotter was a step ahead as his steely eyes bore into Kyle while shaking his hand.
“We all can do better, Mr. Vine,” Trotter said. “It’s what makes us human. But you didn’t do anything wrong here, son. And don’t you forget that.”
The weight of the words resonated with Kyle unlike any before. No matter how many times he’d heard the same thing from others, hearing it from Henry Trotter’s father was different.
The man who was seeking peace of mind had provided it to another.
As Jim Trotter left Kyle alone in the conference room, an electronic tune began to crackle through the air. Kyle slipped out his phone.
It was Sheila.
Before he could even say hello, his frantic ex-wife brought his worst fears to life in two simple words.
“She’s gone.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
He wasn’t dead. Not yet.
He rolled his neck and tried to clear his groggy head, having just woken from the chloroform-soaked rag used to smother his nose after being slammed to the ground. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but given the state he was in, as well as how much he’d been sleeping lately without being drugged, he assumed it had been for quite a while.
He was seated in a chair, his hands tied behind his back. The room he was in had a Star Wars pinball machine against the wall to his right, a very large flat screen on the far wall and four extremely comfortable looking theater chairs in the middle. In front of the theater chairs were a few video game consoles sitting atop a glass coffee table. The lack of windows and natural light told him he was in a basement, but given the smallish size of the room it was either the basement to a small home or maybe a townhouse.
His bound limbs prevented any severe trembling and shaking, but they still felt weak, and his mind was still a haze. But not much worse than it had been earlier.
The sound of a door opening above drew his attention. He heard footsteps coming down what he thought was an enclosed stairway to his right. The door opened and he saw a man enter. He didn’t know the man, but the man knew him.
“So, Mr. Hillier,” the man said, walking to the center of the room. “I guess it doesn’t work on me.”
It was the first thing Hillier realized as well when the man drew within reach. There was no connection. He wasn’t a match.
But Hillier said nothing.
“Guess you’re not the chatty type,” the man shrugged. “That’s fine. I brought this along just in case I’m wrong.” He held up his right hand. A gun was nestled inside. “I figure I’ll be able to put a bullet through your head before you’ll be able to make mine explode.”
“Why am I here?” Hillier asked.
“I’m pretty sure you know the answer to that question,” the man said.
“I don’t. Enlighten me.”
The man walked over to a closet and pulled out a folding chair. “How about you start answering some of my questions, first,” the man said as he unfolded the chair and took a seat. “Like telling me what the hell you do?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t? You have no idea what I’m talking about?”
“No idea.”
“So you were just out for a stroll last night, is that it?”
“Yes.”
“And what about the fact that you weren’t even able to walk a straight line as you wobbled down the sidewalk, looking like a drunk who could’ve been knocked over by a stiff wind? What about that?” The man picked up a remote and turned on the TV. “Let’s take a look at this,” he said as he rewound a saved program from his DVR. It was the perfect game. The speedy images stopped at an interview Hillier had given beforehand. Hillier heard the strength in his voice, saw the sharp focus in his eyes and watched as he calmly sat there without any fidgeting at all. His present condition didn’t even come close to resembling the man on TV. “This wasn’t even weeks ago,” the man said, “and now look at you.”
Hillier remained quiet.
“So you’re willing to just stay here and wait while whatever the hell’s happening to you gets worse?” The man paused, waiting for an answer. But Hillier didn’t utter a sound. “Fine by me,” the man said, leaning back. “But I figure the reason you went out early, rather than wait for the next start, is because things are getting pretty bad. Much worse than they were. But maybe I’m wrong about that,” the man said, walking over to the stairs. “I guess anything’s possible.”
Hillier stared at the man, seeing his eyes comfortably settle in.
He was right, but who was he and what did he want?
And how on Earth did he know what Hillier could do?
CHAPTER FORTY
A myriad of options raced through Kyle’s mind, which he tried as best he could to keep focused to avoid the emotional landmines littering his thoughts.
Bree and Adrea were missing. They never returned after going to get manicures earlier in the morning and weren’t answering their phones. Sheila said they’d been missing for a little over three hours. Adrea’s family had already called the police, suspecting that they were abducted, maybe even being held for ransom given the family’s wealth.
Sheila didn’t know what to think. But Kyle knew. He knew exactly what was happening.
He just didn’t know what the hell to do about it as he stood outside the mediator’s office hailing a taxi. Who could help? Who could he trust? Slattery? Someone else on the force? Eddie? He didn’t even know where he was going as his phone rang just as a taxi pulled over to the curb. He looked at the display.
Bree.
At first a quick sigh of relief engulfed him, but then he realized which phone number it was.
It was her old iPhone, the one stolen at camp. The one they never found. The one Kyle made sure wasn’t disconnected.
“Where is she?” Kyle yelled as he stepped into the taxi.
“We warned you, didn’t we? Were we not clear enough?”
“I didn’t say anything to anyone,” Kyle shouted. “I swear to God I didn’t say a damn word about this to anyone.”
“You didn’t stop.”
Kyle shook his head. “You’re wrong. You’re a hundred percent wrong. I haven’t done anything. Not since we spoke. I swear.”
“Then where is he?”
“Where’s who?”
“Don’t play games with me, Mr. Vine,” the man’s anger shot through the phone. “I can very easily make what you saw last time real. She and her friend are in the other room. Don’t make me kill the other one first just to get you to quit playing games. Now what did you do to him? Where is he?”
Kyle felt as if his head was about to burst as he ignored the taxi driver asking where he wanted to go and struggled with how to answer, images of the bloodied girl in the woods flooding his thoughts.
“The man I’ve been looking for?” Kyle asked, trying to cooperate, trying to give the man an answer that wouldn’t appear defiant. “That’s who you want to know about, right? He’s missing? Is it Evan Hillier? Is he missing?”
“I said no more fucking games!” the man yelled.
“I’m not playing games. I don’t have any idea who you’re talking about. I swear to God. You have to believe me.”
There was silence on the other end, then the phone went dead.
Kyle frantically tried to call back, but it just kept going to voicemail.
The driver yelled at him again, wanting to know where he was headed.
“Just drive s
outh,” Kyle said in a panic, still paralyzed by disbelief and indecision. As the taxi pulled away from the curb he dialed Slattery. Even though he’d been directed not to call the police, he needed someone’s help. Besides, Adrea’s parents had already gotten the police involved. But Slattery didn’t answer. His voicemail picked up instead. Kyle hung up and dialed Sheila’s number, but was interrupted by the sound of a text coming through. The blood drained from his face as he clicked on the message, then the video attached to it. He saw a young girl with long, pin-straight blond locks falling over her face sitting in a chair, not moving. Her white tank was stained with blood. A hand from behind lifted her slumped head and the camera zoomed in on her neck … and the huge slit from side to side.
Adrea.
“A half hour, Mr. Vine,” the voice on the video said. “I will call back in a half hour and you will tell me where he is or it will be your daughter next.”
“Jesus Christ,” Kyle said, his eyes locked on Adrea’s lifeless body.
And then the video froze, right on the bloody gash.
He had a half hour to make sure Bree wouldn’t be next.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Kyle knew who he had to locate.
Liam.
Although he didn’t have Liam’s home address, he had the one for the comic book shop on Rivington Street, the heart of the Lower East Side. Kyle told the driver to rush there while dialing Liam’s number.
Liam had to have been the one who kidnapped Hillier. There was no one else. And the fact that he didn’t answer his phone only convinced Kyle of that fact even more. Liam always answered his phone. Especially when Kyle called.
It simply had to be him.
The midday traffic wasn’t horrendous, but it wasn’t smooth sailing either. There were a ton of lights to deal with, and even with the driver weaving in and out of lanes and darting up and down side streets, the anxiety-ridden, nail-biting minutes seemed like an eternity. Kyle tried Liam a few more times, but his cell phone just kept going to voicemail. He also tried Eddie and Slattery again, but those calls also went straight to voicemail. He thought about calling Adrea’s family to get the names of the detectives they were dealing with, or calling 911, but he knew there’d be nothing they could do in the limited time. It would take him hours just to get them to understand his story, let alone believe it.
When the taxi finally pulled onto Rivington Street, Kyle was so anxious to get out that he simply tossed the driver thirty dollars and leapt out before the car even stopped, stumbling like a drunk as inertia fought against momentum. When he regained his balance, he ran into the store, knowing he had less than seven minutes until the deadline. The place had a few stragglers sifting through comics. He didn’t see Liam anywhere, so he ran up to the counter and approached the tall, rail thin man ringing up a customer’s purchase.
“Where’s Liam?”
The man didn’t look up and kept keying in prices. “He’s not here right now,” the man said in a low, nasal voice.
“Where is he?” Kyle sharply repeated.
The thin man looked up, his greasy face riddled with piercings over his left eye, right nostril, and lower lip. His eyes traced Kyle’s panicked face, then looked down at his neatly pressed polo and slacks. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Kyle grabbed the edge of the counter and leaned over, his eyes fraught with urgency, his knuckles white from the tight grip. “You can tell me where he is and when he’ll be back.”
The man slid the comics into a brown bag and said, “I’m not sure exactly when he’ll be back. You wanna leave a message?”
Kyle spied the clock on the wall. He had about five minutes. “Just tell me where he is,” he said, raising his voice. “I need to know.”
“Went out for a bike ride,” the man said. “About a half hour ago. He didn’t say when he’d be back.”
“How long do his rides usually last?”
“There is no usual amount of time,” the man shrugged. “He just bought the thing. He said a friend of his recently got him into it.”
“Where does he live?”
“Here,” the man said, nudging his head over to the backdoor. “He’s got a room in the back of the shop.”
Kyle stormed over to the back of the store, ignoring the skinny man’s protests and swinging open the unlocked door. The sight surprised him.
There was an unmade bed against the wall, a kitchenette consisting of a cube-sized fridge, a microwave and toaster oven. A large new flat screen stood out against the dingy surroundings of the room. There was a small table with two chairs and an open MacBook sitting on it. Kyle went over to the laptop and saw a myriad of Batman insignias as the screen’s wallpaper. He looked at his watch. He only had a few minutes left.
“What’s going on?”
Kyle turned around and saw a very sweaty Liam in the doorway, his portly body stuffed into yellow spandex bicycle gear, his stomach pushing the material to its limits.
Kyle jumped up from the table. “Where is he, Liam?”
Liam looked confused. “Where’s who? What are you talking about?”
“Jesus, I don’t have time for this bullshit. They’re going to kill her. Where the hell is he?”
“Kill who?”
“Bree, goddammit.”
“Your daughter?”
Kyle pursed his lips in frustration. “What did you do with Evan?” he begged. “Where is he?”
“Evan? Evan Hillier?”
“Yes. He’s missing and they won’t let Bree go until they get him back.”
Kyle’s frantic eyes shot down to look at his watch. He didn’t have time to explain everything. And Liam’s expression couldn’t have screamed confusion any louder. He didn’t have Hillier, and that meant Kyle didn’t have the answers they were looking for.
His phone rang on cue.
Kyle drew a deep breath and answered, knowing what he’d have to do as he listened to the terse question meeting him as he held the phone to his ear.
“Where is he?”
“No,” Kyle said. “It doesn’t work like that. I tell you where he is, what security do I have that you won’t kill Bree?”
“The same security you have now if you don’t tell us. None.”
Kyle looked at a completely perplexed Liam. “I do nothing unless I see Bree.”
“Give us his location, and we’ll let you know where you can find your daughter. But if he’s not there, don’t expect to find her alive.”
“No. I want to see her first.”
“Not going to happen.”
Kyle tried to remain calm, tried to keep his focus. “Then I’ll need more time. I can’t give you his location right now.”
“Why not?”
“He’s being transported,” Kyle lied.
“To where?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Then you have one hour to find out.”
“I’ll need more time than that.”
But there was no response. The man had already hung up.
“What’s going on?” Liam asked, his narrow eyes wide and fixed on a frantic Kyle.
Kyle looked up from the phone and turned to him.
“They’re going to kill my daughter.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Kyle raced through everything to bring Liam up to speed, telling him about the video from Bree’s phone at camp, about Adrea and Bree being kidnapped, even his suspicions about Liam himself.
Of course it was the latter Liam focused upon when Kyle finished.
“Me?” he asked. “You thought I was somehow involved with this?”
“Eddie did,” Kyle said, having no time to massage the man’s feelings. “He and I discussed it when we were staking out Hillier’s place. But it never really made sense to me.”
“Eddie thought I was involved?”
“Yes.”
Liam’s chin sunk, the news that Eddie was the one who had initiated the suspicion somehow causing him even more concern.
/>
“So that’s why he kept calling,” Liam said. “He didn’t care about what I thought, he wanted to know if I was involved.”
Kyle turned. “What are you talking about? Eddie? Eddie’s been calling you?”
“Lots of times.”
“When?”
“Almost every day since the stakeout. First he wanted to know everything I knew about energy transfers, how they worked and what they could do. Then he focused on who else might be killing these people if it wasn’t Hillier.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t he tell me?”
“You said you didn’t want to be involved anymore.”
He’d said that to Liam, but he hadn’t said it to Eddie. They’d just stopped talking about it.
“The other day,” Kyle said, pacing around the room, “when you came to Hunter, you said you knew who the killer was. Does Eddie know who it is?”
“Of course.”
“Does he know you tried to tell me?”
“Sure. I told him after I left you.”
Kyle shook his head as he continued to pace. It didn’t make sense. Why would Eddie be calling Liam? Why did he care so much? And why hadn’t Eddie said anything to him? He slipped out his phone and dialed Eddie’s work number. The receptionist said he was at a meeting. He tried his cell again. Straight to voicemail. He left a message and then sent a text. Then he tried Dana’s cell. No answer. So he called the house phone down at the shore, expecting to leave another message.
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