Sins of the Father (Book 2, The Erin Solomon Mysteries)

by Jen Blood

  I didn’t see anything, though. I stayed on my belly on the ground for a few minutes, the smell of earth and greenery strong in my nose. Watching. Waiting. Rainier’s words crept through my head again: Every time I catch you, I get a little more. That’s the game.

  I couldn’t give him that chance.

  A light breeze rustled through the canopy of greenery above. I scanned the area one more time, but there was still nothing. I got up, my eyes on the horizon.

  “Psst. Solomon.”

  When my heart leapt this time, it was for entirely different reasons.

  I peered through the trees until I spotted him: Diggs, sitting in the crotch of an old oak. He slid from his perch, stumbling when he hit the ground. My enthusiasm faded when I saw his face.

  His left eye was swollen shut and his lip was bleeding. A trail of crusted blood ran from his very swollen nose.

  “It looks worse than it is,” he said. He limped toward me.

  We met on the rocks of a riverbed so pristine it seemed man had never set foot there. Three hawks circled overhead. Diggs pulled me into his arms and held on so tight I couldn’t get a breath, then inhaled sharply when I returned the embrace.

  “Careful,” he said. “I think my… Everything, is broken.”

  “What happened?”

  “Rainier happened.” He held me an arm’s length away, studying me closely. “What about you? Are you okay? He told me…”

  He stopped, his eyes tormented in a way I’d never seen before. I knew instantly exactly what Rainier had told him.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “He lied—whatever he said, he was lying to you. It’s all part of the mind fuck. What did you do?”

  “I went a little nuts,” he admitted. He wouldn’t look at me. “They’ve been jamming all this shit in our heads from the start: that picture of Erin Lincoln; you in the crosshairs. The bodies that were found. They’re using all of it to get to us—figuring out which buttons to press. Apparently, they found mine.”

  Words failed me—a rare occurrence. “We should probably keep going,” I said, in lieu of anything remotely adequate considering what he’d been through. What he’d done. “Do you think you can?”

  “No problem,” he said breezily. “I could do this for weeks. Or, you know… At least an hour.” We parted. I watched as he struck on ahead. I thought of that night in the Black Falls motel when we were just starting out on this nightmare, when I’d gone after him for an inadequate thank you that he’d dismissed with a wave of his hand. A furrowed brow. This is what we do.

  I went after him and touched his arm. He turned.

  Before he could say a word, I stood on my toes and kissed him as gently as I could—infusing it with all the words I could never say, all the history we shared. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  He held me there, forehead to forehead. “I won’t lose you,” he said. “No matter what I have to do… If you go, I go. That’s the deal.”

  I kissed him again, fast this time. That strength I’d been feeling since morning took root again. “Neither of us is going anywhere. Unless it’s home.”

  At around noon, we stopped to eat what little food we had left. It was still mercifully cool out, and now overcast—which meant welcome relief from the sun. There was even enough of a breeze to keep the bugs away. We sat on a couple of boulders with our bare feet soaking in the river.

  “We could get some fish, maybe,” I said. “If nobody finds us by tonight—just build a fire and cook something up.”

  “I don’t eat fish. And how are you catching them, exactly?”

  “I don’t think the vegetarians of the world would throw you out of their club if you ate one trout. Especially not given the circumstances. And I’d catch it with my hands. They do it in movies all the time—how hard can it be?”

  “If we make out again, maybe the Capitol will send us some tofu,” he said.

  I laughed. “Maybe.” Things got quiet again. “How are you feeling?”

  “Fine. Really good.” His left eye had turned a deep purple.

  “Maybe you’ll get another night in the Sanctuary,” I suggested. “If we can’t get out of here… You need to put something on those cuts.”

  “I don’t think I’m getting another night in Sanctuary.” I looked at him. His head was bowed, his eyes fixed on the water as he soaked his hands.

  For the first time, I focused on the damage there: swollen knuckles, bloodied cuts. I went a little nuts.

  “What did you do to Rainier, exactly?” I asked.

  “Not enough.” He shrugged wearily. “I couldn’t help it—not after what he said he’d done. I would have killed him if I could.”

  The admission didn’t come easily for him. We finished the rest of our food in silence.

  We kept on. Half a dozen times, we were sure we heard someone behind us or ahead, off to the side or up in the trees. Every time, we ran—always aware that if it really was Rainier or J., there was nothing we could do to stop them from doing whatever the hell they wanted to us. That sense of power I’d felt earlier drained away. We’d stopped talking and slowed down considerably when I first heard whistling again through the trees: The Battle Hymn of the Republic again, just one verse. Over and over again. Closer and closer. We ran.

  No matter how far we went this time, no matter how fast, we couldn’t outrun it. Eventually, after I’d been running so long that my lungs were ready to burst and my legs felt like so much dry tinder, ready to split if I took another step, I felt someone grab the back of my shirt. I screamed. Diggs pulled me back, a hand clamped over my mouth.

  “It’s me,” he whispered in my ear. “Ssh—Listen.”

  I stopped running, and listened.

  Beneath the thundering of my own heart, I heard birds and the rustling of wind through the trees, water rushing and frogs talking.

  But no Battle Hymn.

  We both stood there for a few seconds, gasping for breath. Adrenaline crashed through my veins; I felt like I’d been mainlining it for days now. I closed my eyes.

  “I think we must have been near some campers,” Diggs said. “He was doing what he did on the road that night—herding us as far from them as possible, so we wouldn’t get help.”

  I couldn’t speak. Rage and grief and exhaustion and terror vied for the top spot on my emotional Richter scale.

  In that moment, I wanted them to die.

  Rainier and J.—both of them, for what they’d done to me. What they’d done to Diggs, and the long list of victims who came before us. I wanted them to die, and I didn’t care whether it was me who put them down or someone else. I just wanted them gone. Diggs squeezed my shoulder, eying me with concern. We didn’t speak as we slowly made our way back to the river, and what I saw as our only hope of salvation.

  We’d been there maybe two minutes before I knew Rainier was there.

  There was a moment—a split second, barely detectable to the human mind—when the air changed around us. When everything hung suspended at the end of a pinpoint, ready to tip one way or the other. We would live, or we would die.

  Diggs must have felt it too, because his head came up at the same time mine did. There was no time to run. After the race we’d just finished, I doubt either of us would have gotten very far, anyway. I’d just gotten my shoes off to soak my feet, now bleeding and raw, when we heard movement to our left. I scrambled for my shoes, but Diggs grabbed me and pushed me toward the forest without them.

  “Just run!”

  Rainier went straight past Diggs and lunged for me instead. He caught me by the ankle and I fell face first into the river, catching myself on my hands. My head went under. Then, I felt a huge, meaty hand in my hair, pushing me down farther. I fought to get free, swallowing half the river while my lungs screamed for air. Just when I was sure I’d pass out, Rainier yanked me up. Diggs went for him, but before he got close Rainier brandished a knife.

  “Back up, you fucker,” he hissed at Diggs. For the first time, I saw his face: His
nose was broken. A lot. Both eyes were bruised and swollen, and it looked like he was missing his front teeth. If Diggs looked like he’d gone three rounds with a champ, Rainier looked like he’d gone ten. He jabbed the knife into my side, holding me still with an iron grip on my hair. Diggs stopped moving, his hands up.

  “Okay, take it easy,” he said quietly.

  “You take it easy.” He had a lisp thanks to the teeth Diggs had knocked out. If he hadn’t been jabbing my kidneys with a ten-inch blade, it might have been a little funny. I saw no humor in it at that moment, however. “Who do you think is gonna pay for that stunt you pulled back at the truck?” He pressed the blade in harder, slicing my skin. I tried to get away, but he jerked my head back.

  “Come on,” he said to both of us, though his mouth was at my ear. “It usually takes a while before subjects get to this stage. You’re special, though. J. wants to meet you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Juarez

  Juarez met Jamie in the woods at eight o’clock that morning. Red Grivois was still missing; he hadn’t been seen or heard from since Juarez had questioned him last. Police were searching his house in Black Falls, and Juarez had an entire team going through his background with a fine-tooth comb, in the hope that they might find some record of real estate holdings in the area. There was a cabin somewhere near Eagle Lake, but so far no one seemed to know where that cabin was.

  When he arrived on the scene, Jamie handed him an orange vest and a bottle of water.

  “Did you get some rest?” she asked.

  He nodded absently.

  She smiled. “Yeah, I thought not. We missed you at dinner last night—you should’ve come out.” He didn’t respond, already scanning the horizon. “All right,” she said. “Let’s get on with it. You ready to go find your girl?”

  “More than ready,” he said.

  They worked with two dogs this time, the pit bull and one of the German shepherds. The other dogs were with the boy and two of the heavily tattooed, pierced women on Jamie’s team. Jamie walked alongside Juarez, keeping up a steady pace, her head up and her attention focused on the dogs and the forest around them. He got the sense that she missed very little.

  “So, you figured out who the bad guy is in all this?” she asked.

  “I hope so.” It was cooler than it had been since they’d arrived in Black Falls. That was good; Erin didn’t like the heat. She called Juarez a desert flower.

  She’d been missing nearly thirty-six hours now.

  It had been a very long thirty-six hours.

  “You really think it’s Red Grivois?” Jamie asked, to his great surprise. He looked at her. “I’ve lived out here a good part of my life—know all the cops, retired and otherwise. They tend to talk.”

  “They shouldn’t have said anything about that.”

  “Relax,” she said. “It was just Nate—the sheriff, talking things through. No one else was around.”

  They walked on in silence for a bit longer.

  “So,” he finally said, when he could refrain no longer. “Do you think it could have been Red Grivois?”

  “Not a chance in hell,” she said without hesitation. Juarez’s heart sank. She squeezed his shoulder. “Sorry—you asked. But I can’t tell you how many searches I’ve been on with Red over the years; he feels for these girls. Bleeds for them. It’s just about killed him. There’s no way he’s part of it. And all these years, he’s tried his damnedest to turn Will into something other than the sadistic creep he is. He’ll be ruined, once he hears it was Rainier behind this whole thing.”

  Juarez didn’t know what to say. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe they would find Red Grivois and the whole thing would fall into place… Erin would be waiting for him, safe and sound.

  Maybe.

  Jamie tried to pull him into conversation a few times after that, but gave up eventually. They traveled over rough terrain for hours in relative silence, stopping frequently to rest the dogs. The movement felt good—Juarez never felt like he was honestly accomplishing something when he was behind a desk. But when he was out covering ground, his muscles aching, his mind occupied, then he could believe he was really doing everything in his power to bring Erin home.

  During a water break around hour five, Jamie looked him up and down with clear approval. “You’re holding up pretty well for a suit.”

  “I’m not really a suit,” he said.

  “Yeah, I kind of got that.” When he looked up, she was watching him. He was struck again by just how attractive she was—even with the pierced nose and the tattoo. She was younger than she acted, Juarez suspected. Mid to late twenties, but no more. He thought she and the boy, Bear, must be siblings. “So,” she said. “Tell me about Erin.”

  He was thrown. “What do you mean? You have the description, don’t you?”

  “Yeah. I have the description, Jack.” She rolled her eyes. “I mean: Tell me about her. Why are you out here, turning yourself inside out? I like knowing about the people we find.”

  It was surprisingly difficult to articulate why he was out here; what it was about Erin that kept drawing him back in.

  “She’s funny,” he said. They struck back out along the pre-established search route. The dogs—Phantom was the shepherd, Casper the pit bull—hadn’t picked up a scent in some time. They kept moving regardless.

  Jamie looked at him sideways. “She’s funny. That’s why you’re out here… Because she’s funny? I’ve seen pictures of this girl—offhand, I’d say you’re probably in it for more than just a good belly laugh.”

  “She is very pretty,” he agreed. He thought about their first—really, only—night together, back in Littlehope in the spring. And even that had been cut tragically short. “The truth is, I don’t know her that well,” he finally admitted. “We spent some time together last spring. Talked on the phone sporadically since then. E-mailed occasionally.”

  “They must’ve been some e-mails.”

  Before he could respond to that, a call came in on the satellite phone. Juarez stood off to the side of the search party, the oversized SAT phone in hand. The D.C. office had found a charge on Red Grivois’ credit card statement, for a monthly delivery of specialty coffee traced to a general store in Eagle Lake.

  Jamie looked at him.

  “Go,” she said. “I could be wrong. Or if he’s not behind it, maybe you’ll find something you didn’t know before.”

  Juarez ran five miles back to his car, his heart pounding. He followed Route 11 into the tiny town of Eagle Lake, pulling into a small grocery store forty-five minutes after he’d gotten the call.

  The only one working at the store was a pudgy teenage boy with bad acne. The moment Juarez mentioned the coffee delivery, however, the boy nodded knowingly.

  “Yeah—Sure. Every other Tuesday Red comes in and picks up that coffee. Like clockwork, all year long. This is the wrong Tuesday, but he’ll be back in again next week.”

  Juarez showed the boy a picture of Red. He nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. That’s him.”

  “Did you ever see him in here with anyone else? A woman, maybe? Or another man?”

  The boy shook his head without hesitation. “A woman? Jamais. He comes in with Will sometimes, though. They wipe out our booze, then head for the lake.”

  “Where on the lake?”

  The clerk shook his head regretfully. “We don’t have any address—I just always figured it was one of those cabins, you know? Will hauls a boat with him sometimes.”

  “Do you have any idea of the vicinity? Or know someone who might have seen him coming or going?”

  “No. Sorry… I never noticed.” He hesitated at the disappointment on Juarez’s face. “I could call my mom—she works here more than I do. She keeps tabs on everyone.”

  “Please,” Juarez agreed.

  A moment later, the boy was on the phone with his mother. He put his hand over the receiver to address Juarez.

  “She wants to know, do you have a badge you can sho
w me?”

  Juarez got out his badge and showed the boy without argument. He was sure he’d climb out of his skin if someone didn’t come up with something soon. Another moment or two, and the boy hung up.

  “She says Red lives on Big Bear—the mountain. She’s seen him driving out there sometimes. She doesn’t know where, but she said it’s on the north side. That’s where she’s seen him.”

  Juarez thanked the boy and returned to his car, where he called Jamie first thing. Within minutes, the entire search party had relocated to the north side of Big Bear Mountain. Juarez just hoped they weren’t on the wrong track.

  Juarez rejoined the search party at six o’clock that night. The dogs caught a scent not long after Jamie gave them a shirt taken from Red Grivois’ home in Black Falls, and took off running. Juarez hung back, thinking of Jamie’s words. Not a chance in hell. The truth was, he didn’t have a good feeling about this either. He watched Jamie and the boy following the dogs, admiring the way they interacted; the effortless communication that flowed between human and canine. He thought of Einstein and Erin and shook his head. Women and their dogs.

  Juarez stepped up his pace when the dogs got more frenzied and a cabin came into view. A red SUV was parked out front. He signaled everyone back, then pressed his finger to his lips. Without a word, Jamie got Bear and all four dogs back into the woods, out of sight. Sheriff Cyr and his deputy and three wardens from the park service flanked Juarez as he crept toward the sagging front steps. They creaked loudly under his weight. He searched the clearing, gun up, before he turned his attention to the front door.

  “Red Grivois?” he shouted through the door. “This is Agent Juarez, with the FBI. Open up.”

  There was no answer.

  He motioned for two officers to go around the back to make sure no one was escaping that way. Then, he tried the doorknob.

  It turned easily.

  He pushed the door open, gun up, heart pounding.

  His pulse took a nosedive when he took in the scene they’d come upon: