Michael slid his phone in his pocket and studied the battered Ford pickup that’d pulled to the side of the road. The truck had been passing by, hit the brakes as the driver glanced at Michael, and then jerked the wheel to pull over. Through the back window of the truck’s cab, Michael could see an adult male and the top of a black-haired head of a child in the second-row seat.
Chris. And Brian.
Michael stood frozen, staring at the window.
Maybe Jamie was with them.
There wasn’t a third head visible, but his heart fervently made the wish. The adult turned to speak to the child, and then the driver’s door swung open. A long, lean man slid out. He was wearing fatigue-print cargo shorts and a black T-shirt. Attire similar to Michael’s everyday wardrobe. From twenty feet away, Michael stared at the scarred profile, pocked with large, pale scars down one side of his cheek and neck. Chris had clearly been battered at one point in his life. He turned and locked gazes with Michael, his crooked nose and jaw coming into view, and Michael felt a chill punctuate his spine. His ears started to ring.
Michael focused on the hazel eyes and the bearing of the head and shoulders. Cautious. Protective. Feet apart, hands and arms ready to defend his child. A man who had spent his life looking over his shoulder and preparing for the worst. He stood motionless, assessing Michael.
Michael rubbed a hand over his eyes. And looked again. Chris still hadn’t moved. Michael took two steps and halted, scanning the man from head to toe. Movement from the truck pulled his attention, and he looked at the small, chubby face studying him through the back window of the cab. Everything in his peripheral vision vanished. He saw Brian as if looking through a tube.
He looks like Daniel. Daniel as a child. Coloring is wrong…but…
“Michael,” said the man.
Not Chris Jacobs.
The man’s hair was buzzed short, Marine length.
“Make them look like Marines,” said The Senator to the barber.
Michael’s mental picture of his hefty younger brother morphed into the lean man standing before him. He blinked.
Daniel.
“Michael,” he said again. “I know—”
Michael knew that voice. It belonged to The Senator but was coming out of this man’s mouth. He focused on the young man. “Holy shit!”
Daniel. His brother was standing in front of him. Joy and relief washed over him, and his knees shook. He took a stuttering step toward his brother, unable to take his gaze from that face.
Why didn’t he let us know he was alive?
Michael froze.
“What the f*ck, Daniel? Why the hell—why haven’t you—God damn it!” Michael’s mind spun into a swirling mass of joy and anger. He didn’t know what to feel. He strode forward, a red haze tunneling his vision. “Why in the hell did you let us think you were dead?” he spit out. He stopped three feet from Daniel, his gaze drinking him in. He didn’t know whether to hit him or hug him.
Daniel subtly shifted into a defensive posture. “I can explain.”
“No, you can’t explain! There is no f*cking reason to explain away twenty years of us wondering about you!” Michael expanded his lungs, searching for oxygen. His ears were still ringing. “Thank God, you’re okay!”
“I’m sorry, but—”
Michael made a cutting motion with his hands. “Save it! You have no idea—”
“You have no idea what my life—” Daniel leaned forward, voice rising.
“God damn you! Do you know what you’ve done to our parents? Couldn’t you have called? You forget which family you belonged to?”
“No, I’ve known—”
“Does Chris Jacobs even exist? Are both of you out here? Hiding from your families?”
“Chris didn’t make—”
“Does Jamie know you’re not Chris?”
Daniel’s shoulders slumped. “She thinks I’m Chris. I am Chris. To her. And everyone else.”
Pain shot up Michael’s spine. “Shit! I can’t find Jamie!” How could he have forgotten her for even two seconds? “I think he’s grabbed her. He’s been trying to get to you!”
Daniel straightened, his brows coming together. “What? When? I just saw you two on a news broadcast. Are you talking about the Ghostman? Who grabbed her?”
“The Ghostman? The tattooed freak?”
“Yeah, that’s him. We always called him the Ghostman because he was so f*cking white.”
“Jesus Christ. We?”
“Us kids.”
Michael pulled out his cell phone. “You have a f*cking lot of explaining to do, but right now we need the police.”
He punched Spencer’s contact and held his phone to his ear, staring at Daniel.
Daniel?
His hand touched wetness on his cheeks. He brushed at it and looked blankly at the evidence of tears on his hand. A lot of tears.
What the hell just happened?
I didn’t handle that well at all.
Chris watched Michael talk on his phone. He didn’t know what to do. When he’d seen Michael on the sidewalk as he drove through town, he’d simply reacted. He’d known he had to reveal himself to Michael and Jamie. That’s why he’d come back to town. Once he’d seen on TV that Jamie was safe, and that she’d linked up with his brother, he knew he had to make contact.
He was sick of hiding. And running.
Did the Ghostman have Jamie?
He closed his eyes. All the stress that had vanished after seeing her alive on TV came roaring back. One of his worst nightmares had just been confirmed by his brother. His brother. Chris mouthed the words. For two decades, he hadn’t let himself think or say the phrase. He’d insisted in his brain that he no longer had a brother. It was the only way he’d been able to stay sane and function in Jamie’s family. He’d had to believe he was no longer a Brody to protect them.
The Ghostman had said he’d kill Michael and his parents if they ever found out that Daniel was still alive. During his captivity, the threats had been daily. Every day in that metal hole in the ground, the Ghostman had regaled Daniel and Chris with stories about what he would do to Daniel’s family.
Daniel never understood the focus on his family. Why the obsession with his family? Why not threaten Chris’s?
When Daniel managed to escape, he took on Chris’s identity. It wasn’t hard. After two years with Chris, he knew everything about him. The only activity to do in the bunker was talk and tell stories of their families and lives. And they were both walking skeletons by the time it was over. Their eye color was similar. His hair was lighter, but hair changes color. If Chris’s parents had ever doubted that Daniel wasn’t their son, they never said a word. Sometimes you overlook inconsistencies if you want something bad enough.
He was Chris Jacobs now. He’d been Chris for almost twice as long as he’d been Daniel.
The Ghostman wasn’t out to kill Chris’s family. Daniel had planned to just pretend to be Chris until he felt like it was safe. But after he’d received the Twinkies in the hospital…
No one was safe.
It was best if he just kept his mouth shut and kept his eyes down. Everyone was safer that way. And it worked. There were a few moments when he thought he was about to blow it, but nothing ever came of it.
Jamie became his little sister. Her parents became his parents, and he grew to love them. He missed his real parents, but from what he could see in the newspapers, they were getting on with their lives. Cecilia still ran her hospital, and the senator still ran politics. And they had Michael. At least they hadn’t lost all their children.
He’d followed Michael for years. Once the Internet blossomed, he read every article under Michael’s byline. The Internet had been his savior, allowing him to keep an eye of sorts on the people he cared about. Cecilia and the senator were often in the news.
When Brian was born, Chris had wanted to tell everyone. But he couldn’t. Jamie and his parents would have wanted to see the boy. He’d have to return home, exposing himself to anyone and everyone. He never knew if the Ghostman was simply waiting for him to make an appearance. The Ghostman might have decided that it was time to eliminate the final witness. And what if the Ghostman saw he had a son?
He couldn’t let his son get onto the Ghostman’s radar.
He knew what the Ghostman did to boys. He relived it most nights.
The nightmares were less frequent now. Although they’d escalated since the bodies of the children were found. He doubted he’d had more than four hours of sleep any night since the children had been found. The nightmares were made up of old scenes and new. The new scenes were the worst because he wasn’t the boy in the Ghostman’s grip; the boy was Brian.
Eight months ago, he’d read about a ten-year-old boy who’d been attacked in a fast-food restroom. It was a single restroom where the main door locks. The father had tried to beat the door down when he heard his son screaming inside. A manager had to unlock the door. The boy went to the hospital, needing surgery for his stab wounds. The attacker had been a sexual predator, released early from prison for previous sexual crimes.
Chris had thrown up. And never let his son enter a public bathroom without a look-see first.
The attacked boy’s physical wounds would heal; the emotional wounds would last forever.
How was he going to make Michael understand?
Michael glanced at him as he talked on his cell phone. Over and over. Chris was doing the same. Studying the face, the bone structure, the hair, the mannerisms. The way his brother tipped his head, and his gaze darted about. Exactly like Brian does.
He went over to his truck, the driver’s door still opened. Brian had scooted over behind the steering wheel and was solemnly watching the two men.
“Who’s that?”
“That’s Michael.”
Brian tipped his head, studying the reporter. “Do you know him?”
Chris took a deep breath. “I do. But I haven’t seen him in a long time. Michael is my brother.”
Brian’s gaze darted to his father’s, eyes searching. “I thought you only had a sister.”
Why did I ever lie to my son?
Chris took both of Brian’s hands and squeezed them, holding that serious gaze. “I should’ve told you I had a brother, too.”
“Is he angry?”
Chris nodded. “He is. There were some things I didn’t tell him. Like I didn’t tell you. It wasn’t the right thing for me to do, and now he’s angry at me. He’s not mad at you.”
“Did he know about me?”
Chris closed his eyes. The plaintive tone in Brian’s voice ripped at his heart. He’d been so wrong to keep Brian from his family. “No. You’re a surprise. A good surprise. And as soon as he’s done being mad at me, he’ll be thrilled that he has a nephew.”
“He’s my uncle.” Brian tried out the word, and looked at Michael over Chris’s shoulder. “I think he’s done being mad.”
Chris gripped Brian’s upper arms and helped him jump down out of the truck. He took the boy’s hand and turned to face Michael. Michael had finished his call and was brushing at his eyes. The anger had vanished from his demeanor; his shoulders slumped.
Chris raised his chin. “This is Brian. Your nephew.”
A slow smile crossed Michael’s face as he looked at the boy. “Hey, Brian. How’s it goin’? Did you know you look just like your dad did when he was your age?”
Brian shook his head. “Nice to meet you, Uncle Michael,” he said in his best-manners voice that Chris had taught him.
Michael froze, and his jaw dropped the slightest bit. “Aw, darn it,” he whispered as fresh tears spilled from his eyes. He reached out and roughly pulled Chris to him in a bear hug. After a few brotherly slaps on Chris’s back, he reached out and ruffled Brian’s hair.
Chris wiped at the wetness on his own face.
Michael sat on the wooden steps to Chuck’s bed-and-breakfast, waiting for Sheriff Spencer, his mind still spinning over the events of the last thirty minutes. He was ready to jump out of his skin with worry for Jamie. Spencer had told him to stay put until he got there, so he was. Didn’t mean he had to like it. His brain was running wild with images of Jamie in the hands of a killer. Daniel…Chris sat beside him, and Brian was trying a balancing act on the low rail around the deck. Michael was trying to wrap his head around calling his brother Chris.
“Brian’s only heard me called Chris. I’ve called myself Chris in my head for almost twenty years.”
“Mom and Dad might struggle with that a bit,” Michael replied. Chris paled a bit at the thought of their parents and asked Michael to hold off on notifying them just yet.
Right now they had a much bigger issue. “We need to find Jamie.” Michael rubbed at the back of his neck. “Where would he take her?”
Chris shook his head. “I don’t know. I’d hoped the Ghostman was dead, but—”
“What’s his real name?”
Chris shrugged with one shoulder, and the familiar movement triggered a dagger of pain in Michael’s memory. How many times in the past had he seen Daniel make that move? Chris, not Daniel.
“I don’t know. He made us call him ‘sir.’ When he wasn’t around, we called him the Ghost or Ghostman.”
“There’s got to be something you remember—”
“I remember everything,” Chris said forcefully as he leaned toward Michael, gazes locked. “I’ve relived every memory a thousand times, searching for something to zero in on this guy. Something to identify him so I could sneak in his house and murder him in his bed. If he was dead, then I could get my real family back. I’ve had this goal since I was thirteen. Do you know what it’s like to want the same thing year after year? I wanted him dead and all you guys safe. I have worried about you, Jamie, your parents, and Brian every day of my life.” Chris looked away, across the street. “But he’s a f*cking ghost, impossible to pin down. And he turned me into one, too.
“I feel like I don’t exist. I live a made-up life and pretend everything is hunky-dory so my son won’t see my stress and worry.”
“Brian has to see it. He has to pick up on it. Maybe it’s subconscious, but Brian is aware on some level that your life isn’t right.” Michael watched Chris’s gaze sweep the landscape, noting every rock and tree. The man was on high alert. How did he keep it up 24/7?
Michael was struggling with a similar level of mental stress. With Jamie out of sight and his hands currently tied, he had the energy to run a marathon boiling under the surface. He struggled to focus on his brother.
“He asks sometimes about other kids to play with. There’re hardly any kids in town, and I homeschool him. Juan’s dog…” Chris rubbed at his face. “Juan’s dog was probably his best friend. Shit. Do you know what happened to the dog?”
Michael shook his head. “I didn’t see a dog around.”
“Juan lets him wander. Not the smartest thing to do…sometimes he’s gone for a day or two. I’ll check for him later.”
“How come…” Michael looked Chris up and down for the millionth time. “How’d they not see that you weren’t Chris?”
“They? My parents?”
“Yeah. I can plainly see Daniel in you now. I don’t see Daniel the kid…but I can see that you’re Daniel as an adult.”
Chris shook his head. “I was a mess when I came back. I looked like I’d survived a concentration camp. My face and skull had been beat to hell. I think they saw what they wanted to see. Our hair and eye color were close. I said I was Chris, and they accepted it.
“Do you remember the story a few years ago about the two teenage girls? I think they were in a car accident. One died and the other was severely injured and in a coma for a week or two. Anyway, they misidentified the one who’d died. When the other girl came out of the coma, it wasn’t her parents pacing her hospital room. It was the dead girl’s. Parents see what they want to see. I was in a hospital for months, my head covered in bandages, multiple surgeries on my face. My parents were simply thankful I was alive.”
“I’ve got to tell our parents. We can’t put it off any longer. They’ve been living in hell for two decades.”
Chris shook his head. “Not yet. We don’t have the time to give them the attention this kind of news will take. Another day or two won’t matter. We’ve got to find Jamie and take care of the Ghostman. Then we can tell them together.”
Michael looked at his watch for the millionth time. Jamie was getting farther away every minute, and he was sitting here on his ass. “Damn it! Spencer is taking forever. He said he was done at the Buells’.”
“Buells’?” Chris’s focus jerked back to Michael. “What happened at the Buells’?”
Michael brought him up to date.
“They think it’s my gun? I have one like that back at the house…or I had one. F*ck!”
Chris pushed off the stairs and paced to the end of the walkway and back, lips silently swearing. Brian abruptly stopped his balancing practice long enough to watch his father. Michael glanced at Brian, gave him a wink, and after a pause, the boy resumed concentrating on his foot placement.
Brian knows more than Chris realizes. He watches out for his father probably as much as his father watches out for him. Not healthy.
“No one can live like something’s gonna jump out of the bushes every minute,” Michael said.
Chris stopped pacing and planted himself in front of Michael. “Then I have to eliminate the threat.”
“Eliminate the Ghostman. That’s already on my to-do list. And every cop in the state of Oregon. I think you’ve got some support going on.”
Chris took a deep breath. “Why our family? Why did the Ghost want to destroy our family? He never talked about…Jamie’s family the way he did ours. It was like he had a mission to mess us up.” He glanced at Brian, but the boy had found a bug on the far side of the wraparound porch to poke at.
“What are you saying?” Michael said slowly. Was the kidnapping aimed to hurt The Senator?
Frustration crossed Chris’s face. “He never threatened the other kids’ families. Just mine. And I always felt like his focus was on me…I mean…like the other kids were there accidentally.”
“The kidnapping was because of you? To get at The Senator? Or Mom?”
Chris scowled. “But he never said that. I inferred it, I think. The real Chris and I talked about it over and over. Why was the focus on me?”
Michael’s stomach coiled. “F*ck. You didn’t say what happened to Jamie’s brother,” he whispered. “It’s not good, is it?”
Chris shut his eyes. “No. It’s not.”
“Come on, Chris! Move it!” Daniel begged. “We can’t stop now.”
Chris looked like he couldn’t take another step. Daniel had been almost carrying him for several hours. He’d hooked Chris’s arm about his neck and simply dragged. They hadn’t seen water since they’d left the hellhole. And that was yesterday morning. Daniel looked up, trying to judge the time, but he couldn’t see the sun. The forest was too dense.
They would never find a way out of the woods.
Daniel didn’t care. He’d rather die in the woods than spend another minute with the Ghostman. The boys had made an agreement. Death was preferable to the life they’d been living, and they would do it together. It’d been Chris who’d figured out how to keep the bunker lid from fully latching when the Ghostman left. They’d tried for years to get it open. Blocking the latch had taken coordinated timing and distraction during a visit. One boy to distract and the other to slip the small piece of wood into the latch’s socket. From the Ghost’s perspective, the lid had fully locked as he left.
Before they escaped, Chris had been struggling with a fever for a few weeks. The Ghostman had given him some medicine, and Chris had seemed better, but then he was suddenly sicker than he’d been to start with. The last three days he’d had a cough that’d shook his whole body. Today, he’d spit blood when he coughed. Last night had been so cold…Daniel didn’t want to think about sleeping in the dirt again.
He’d covered up Chris with dirt and leaves, trying to get him warm, then slept with his arms around him for body heat. Had he even slept? It felt like he’d woken up every ten minutes to strange sounds in the woods. He’d expected the Ghostman to leap out from behind every tree. Chris’s bony body didn’t offer much in the way of body heat. He swore both of them had shivered all night, but at least it hadn’t rained.
He knew it was summer. He didn’t know the month, but he did know the year. This was the second summer since he’d been taken. To him, summer meant the hole was slightly less cold. And the Ghostman would wear shorts.
He breathed deep. The air smelled so rich and clean. The hole had stunk. It’d stunk after the first week. If only the clean air was enough to give Chris the energy to keep moving.
Just before full dark last night, he’d seen a light. A moving light far off in the woods, and he’d known HE was looking for them. At least he didn’t have anyone to help him. He’d told them hundreds of times that the hellhole was his special secret that he’d shared with no one. Daniel didn’t think he’d reveal his secret now.
Chris’s legs stopped moving completely. Before, he’d at least helped balance or propel himself as Daniel dragged him along.
“I can’t. I can’t go any further. Just let me rest for a little bit. Then I’ll walk.”
Chris’s cracked lips alarmed Daniel. And he was so hot. It was like a fire was burning him from the inside out. His skin seemed lightly scorched everywhere. Almost scaly.
Daniel feared stopping. He didn’t believe he’d be able to get Chris going again. But he stopped and eased Chris down next to an ancient fallen tree. Chris sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the bark.
“I’ll just rest for a bit.”
Daniel studied his best friend. Chris’s bones stuck out everywhere, but so did Daniel’s. But Chris’s skin looked stretched so tight over the elbow when he bent his arm. The arm that he could bend. The other arm had been broken months ago and never healed right. Chris barely ever used it. The Ghostman had fashioned him a sling that he wore nonstop. He said his arm hurt whenever he took it off.
Daniel sat down next to his friend. Hot tears leaked out of his eyes, and he swiped at them angrily. Crying wasn’t going to get them out of the woods.
“Daniel?” It was a whisper.
“Yes?” Daniel wiped at his eyes again.
“I don’t think I’m going to get back up.”
Daniel’s heart froze. “You just need a rest. Take a short nap, and you’ll be ready to go again.”
“No, Daniel. Really—”
“Shut up, Chris! Just shut up! You’re going to be fine!” His voice cracked.
Chris opened his eyes and looked straight at his friend. Daniel could see the defeat in his eyes. “We both know I’m not going any further. I can’t feel my feet, Daniel.”
Daniel flung his arms around his friend and squeezed him tight to his chest, throwing Chris into a coughing fit. Daniel didn’t let go. “No, Chris,” he whispered. “I can’t do this alone. It’s supposed to be you and me. Both of us till the end.”
Chris laid his head on Daniel’s shoulder. It felt as light as a kitten. “I know. But if something happens to me, promise you’ll keep going.”
Daniel bit back a sob. Why was Chris talking like this?
“If you were in my shoes, you’d be saying the same thing,” Chris said. “You’re my best friend. And one of us has to get out of here.”
Daniel watched his friend’s knobby chest slowly rise and fall. As long as he stuck with Chris, they’d both be okay. Chris just needed a break. Daniel closed his own eyes. He might as well rest, too. He’d just take a short nap.
Daniel startled awake. It was lighter than it’d been when he drifted off to sleep. And a little warmer. Probably closer to the middle of the day. At least he hadn’t slept the whole day away. He and Chris should get moving again. He shook Chris’s shoulder. The boys had lain completely down as they slept. Chris was curled up on his side as close to Daniel as possible to stay warm.
“Chris?” He shook him again.
The boy didn’t move. Daniel felt his empty stomach clench tight. He ran his hand across Chris’s forehead. It was cool.
“Oh God!” Daniel scooted away from the dead boy, his hands and feet scrambling on the dirt floor of the woods. He collapsed, staring at what had been his best friend. Tears flooded his eyes. He slowly crept back, keeping his gaze locked on Chris’s face. “Chris?” he whispered.
Chris didn’t answer.
Daniel touched Chris’s face with a shaking hand, pushing the hair off his cheek. His friend’s fever was gone. The stress in his face had relaxed. He actually looked restful, peaceful. Envy flashed through Daniel’s mind and vanished. He wanted that peace, too, but not like this. Daniel sat beside his friend and leaned back against the old log, and placed his friend’s head on his lap, stroking his hair.
“I left him there by the log. I couldn’t do anything else. I covered him with some brush and stuff. Then I got up and started to walk. I’m not sure how many more days went by before I stumbled into civilization. Three? Maybe four? It’s all a blur.
“After I left home for good, I went back to try to find his body. It took three different trips and a lot of camping in the forest before I located that log. I started at the farmhouse where they found me and worked my way back, taking the path of easiest resistance each time. When I finally found him, half the bones were gone. Scattered by scavengers.
“I buried what was left. And marked the site and coordinates. He was my other brother.”
“Did you look for the bunker?” Michael asked.
“God, no. I didn’t ever want to go back there. You know, before I escaped, I thought the other kids had been released. That’s what he told us he was doing.”
Michael shook his head. “He didn’t.”
“The recent news reports didn’t say how the other kids died.”
Michael thought for a second. “You’re right. I know there weren’t any bullet holes in skulls of the children at the recovery site. I don’t know if they could tell how they died.”
“We never heard any gunshots. It’s driven me crazy for years wondering what exactly happened to them. Once I was told they’d never returned, I knew he’d killed them. I’ve had nightmares where I see him doing…things to them. Sometimes not knowing is the worst part. Your brain makes up its own details.”
Tell me about it. Michael understood too well.
“Hang on. I think I know who could answer that question.” Michael dialed his phone.
“Michael? Where are you?” Lacey Campbell’s voice spoke in his ear.
“Eastern Oregon still. You following what’s been going on out here?”
“Yes. I’ve spoken with Detective Lusco. Is everything all right?”
Michael rubbed at his eyes. “No. Jamie is missing. We’ve got every cop in Oregon looking out for our tattooed man, because we think he managed to nab her. Maybe tricked her to leave our hotel room somehow. I’m going crazy not being able to do anything.”
“God damn it! When are they going to stop him?”
“Lacey, I wanted to ask you if the ME’s office figured out how all the kids were killed.”
Lacey was silent for a second. “Why are you asking about that?”
“I need to know. I need to know what he does to them. Were they shot? Stabbed? Can you guys even tell?”
He heard her exhale noisily over the phone. “None of the bones show signs of gunshot or stab wounds. Could there have been those types of wounds and they didn’t touch the bones, yes, but it’s doubtful. Usually the bones tell. Dr. Peres didn’t find a single knife nick from a stabbing on any of the kids or the adults from the pit.”
“So how’d he do it?”
“Two of the bodies from the pit had broken hyoid bones.”
“The bone at the throat?”
“Yes. Sometimes it breaks during strangulation.”
“But none of the kids had that?”
“In children, the bone hasn’t fused. It starts as three pieces and then fuses into one as they age. Usually by age thirty, most people have fully fused hyoids. We just can’t tell on children.”
“How can you tell the difference between a broken bone and one that hasn’t fused? They’re both in pieces. Those bodies in the pit were all in their twenties, right? Maybe they weren’t strangled, maybe their hyoids hadn’t fused yet,” Michael theorized.
“Fractures cause jagged ends on the bones. Unfused bones have smooth ends. The broken adult hyoids were very jagged.”
“Got it. But strangulation wasn’t ruled out on the children.”
“No,” said Lacey. “We couldn’t rule it out. But my gut says that’s what was done.”
“Mine too. Chris says he didn’t hear any gunshots.”
“Chris?” Lacey said sharply. “You found him?”
“Oh God, Lace. I haven’t told you. F*ck. He found me.” Michael rattled off the events of the last thirty minutes.
“It’s Daniel? Are you sure?” Lacey said softly.
“Never been so sure of anything in my life.” Michael stared at his brother as he examined Brian’s bug. The boy was gesturing excitedly as he pointed out the finer parts of the bug to his father.
“Oh, Michael. How wonderful.”
“Wonderful doesn’t begin to describe it. Now I just need Jamie back. I don’t know where to start looking. Christ, Lace. It’s the absolute worst and happiest day of my life! I want to hit something and cheer at the same time.”
“They’ll find her. She’ll be okay.”
“Don’t simply say meaningless words. I need answers.”
Lacey was silent, and Michael felt like shit.
“I’m sorry, Lace. I’m absolutely at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do, and I’ve never felt this way before. I always know what direction to head next.”
“She’s something special,” Lacey stated, but Michael knew it was a question.
“Yes, she is. She’s the one, Lace, I know it, and I can feel it in every cell of my bones. I can’t lose her when I’ve just found her!” Michael’s hands shook. He’d spoken the truth. He hadn’t realized it until that very second. It’d taken his entire life to find the woman who fit him perfectly.
Jamie was his woman. And she’d been snatched away by a killer.
Would he get her back? He closed his eyes. Was she still alive?
Two patrol cars stopped behind Chris’s truck. One Luna County and one OSP.
Finally.
Michael ended his conversation with Lacey. Chris stood next to Michael with Brian peeking out at the cops from behind his father.
Michael mentally shook his head.
A boy should be racing down the walkway to check out the cool police cars, not hiding.
Jamie was in a trunk. An unbearable, cooking-the-bones, hot trunk. At least it was late in the evening. Thank God she wasn’t being driven about with the sun beating directly on the metal above. This heat had to be radiating up from the hot blacktop and out of the underside of the car.
Her mouth was taped shut. Her hands were tied behind her, and her feet were bound together. She pounded on the side of the vehicle with both feet and kicked where she thought the taillight should be. The damned vehicle had a glowing handle above her head, labeled for emergency trunk openings. A safety feature for kids who locked themselves in their parents’ trunks.
It taunted her.
She continued kicking at the taillight area. A faint memory of reading a story about someone locked in a trunk, kicking the light out and signaling other drivers kept running through her brain. Fiction? Nonfiction? Didn’t matter. It was her best damned solution at the moment. The car sounded fast. There hadn’t been any turns or slowdowns since she’d come to consciousness a few minutes ago, so she suspected they were on a highway. Of course, ninety percent of Eastern Oregon’s roads were probably long stretches of empty highways.
She kept kicking. Her legs had saved her before. Kicking at the tattooed man had saved her ass, and maybe they’d save her again. Sweat ran into her eyes and stung like a bitch.
F*ck.
What was Michael thinking? Her eyes watered. When he’d returned to their hotel room, what did he do? Did he panic? Was he angry? He had to know she hadn’t left willingly.
And she wouldn’t ever willingly leave Michael Brody. He made her laugh and see the world in a different way. He’d shown her she didn’t always have to follow the rules. She’d simply done it for so long that she didn’t know how to do anything else. Michael had opened her eyes. And opened her heart. She’d seriously fallen head over heels for the man.
Was she going to get the chance to be with him?
Or was she going to be found in a dirt pit in five years?
I’m sorry I’m putting you through this, Michael.
He must be frantic. He knew exactly why she wasn’t waiting in their room. And that her odds of surviving were very slim.
Mr. Tattoo didn’t leave witnesses.
She rubbed her face into the rough carpet and spit her hair out of her mouth. Her hair was sticking to her neck and face like she’d been swimming. If only she could take a deep breath. Huffing though her nose without panicking took concentration. When she’d first woke, she’d felt like she was suffocating, unable to get the air her body needed. She’d seen stars in her vision in the dark trunk as she fought the panic and slowed her lungs. Thank God she wasn’t claustrophobic. She had enough issues at the moment.
She paused her kicking and concentrated on her breathing again. She was getting a raw spot on her hip from the leg movements and the rough carpet. Her hip hurt, her hands were numb, and she was lying in a pool of sweat. The temperature in the trunk was a hairline from unbearable. Kicking was simply making it worse.
But she was still above ground.
The tattooed man’s other victims were not. That poor old baker. And what about Chris? And Brian? Were they okay?
If he grabbed me, I suspect it’s because he can’t find Chris.
She prayed to God that was true.
When the phone in her room at the bed-and-breakfast had rung, she’d expected it to be Chuck. Instead, a man had whispered.
“Jamie? Are you okay?”
Jamie had sat up on the bed, phone pressed to her ear, because the voice was so faint. Chris?
“Chris? Is that you?”
“Shhh. I can’t talk here.” His whisper came from far away.
“Are you okay? Is Brian okay? You need to get to the police, Chris. Someone is trying to find you—”
“Shhh, I know. Look, I need you to take the boy for a few days. Can I leave him with you?”
Jamie’s heart leaped. Brian! “Yes, of course. But you really should—”
“I’ll meet you behind the bed-and-breakfast in two minutes. Back by the fence gate. He’ll be safe with you.” He disconnected.
Jamie slid her feet into her flip-flops and dashed out the door.
She hadn’t thought about the obvious question of how Chris had known she was at the little hotel.
In the trunk, Jamie shook her head in the dark. How had she been so foolish? But she’d wanted to see the boy so bad. She’d pulled the B-movie heroine bit. The too-stupid-to-live move. She might as well have gone alone, down into the dark basement, to see if the killer was in there.
Instead, she’d left the room without telling Michael. Or anyone.
At the gate, it’d been quiet. Chuck had a small seating area outside with tables and umbrellas that Jamie had eyed wistfully earlier that day. It was simply too hot to sit outside. The backyard of the house was surrounded by a tall hedge, providing a sense of privacy to the large yard. At the far end, someone had removed a section of hedge and installed a wood gate. As far as Jamie could see from her room’s window, the gate led to an alley that ran behind the row of houses. A one-truck-width alley where people kept their garbage cans.
She had darted out the rear door of the house and jogged the length of the yard to the gate. She’d pushed it open, stepped into the alley, and looked both ways. To her left was a sedan, facing her and blocking the alley, its engine running. She couldn’t see anyone in the driver’s seat. She took two steps in its direction.
That was all she remembered. Looking back, someone must have been to the right of the gate outside the hedge. When she pushed open the gate, she’d hidden him from her view. With the way her head was currently pounding and the painful spot behind her right ear, she had a good idea why she didn’t remember what had happened.
And she knew it wasn’t Chris who’d hit her over the head.
She was in Mr. Tattoo’s trunk. She had no doubt.
The big question was why had he grabbed her?
She didn’t know where Chris was. How would grabbing her help him find Chris?
The sheriff’s description of the tortured baker entered her mind.
Jamie moaned, hiding her wet face in the carpet. No. He can’t do that to me.
Detective Callahan had described some of the Polaroids. Those children…
Chris’s nightmares…What had been done to him?
Was she next? As he fished for information she didn’t have? Chris had always said it was best that she knew nothing.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
She tried to take a slow, deep breath through her nose, and failed. The air felt heavier than it had two minutes ago. She exhaled abruptly, trying to clear her nostrils. Moisture was clogging her nose. Her heart pounded over the sounds of the car. Calm down. She inhaled slowly again, struggling to get air. It wasn’t enough. Lights twinkled around the edge of her vision.
Oh shit.
Not enough oxygen. Sweat dripped from her back and chest as the sounds of the road started to fade in her ears.
Gerald didn’t know where he was going. He’d tried calling his boss with no luck. And that had been over an hour ago. He’d tried four times.
His boss had never missed his calls before, and that was making Gerald’s acid reflux act up. His chest and the center of his back were on fire.
What was going on?
He twisted his hands around the steering wheel. An overwhelming sense of being up shit creek without a paddle was sinking into his brain.
Had his boss let him go?
He picked up his phone and called again. Nothing. He flung the phone on the passenger seat.
Maybe the mess in Eastern Oregon was making his boss uncomfortable. Had he already found out about the baker and teen boy? Had he decided Gerald was expendable?
Was he being left to sink or swim?
Gerald had always known this day was a possibility. And he was not goddamned expendable. If his boss was trying to distance himself from Gerald, he was in for a big surprise. Gerald had recordings. Video recordings and voice recordings of almost every phone call he’d ever had with the man that discussed Chris Jacobs or Daniel Brody. Recordings that would crush him. And destroy everything the man treasured. If his boss was letting him sink, he wasn’t sinking alone.
He dialed the boss’s cell again. Voice mail.
His gut burned.
The passenger in his trunk pounded with her feet. Thank goodness it was dark and there was virtually no traffic on the highway. He’d pull over and check her soon. As long as she kept kicking, it meant she wasn’t dead.
It’d been a fast decision. After seeing Jamie Jacobs on TV and not knowing where to find Chris Jacobs, he figured he’d go back to the woman. At the very least, he had a gorgeous woman at his disposal. At the best, he had a lead to her brother.
When he’d seen Michael Brody stroll out of the bed-and-breakfast and down the street to the diner, he decided he had a few minutes. He circled the block once, spotted the gate in the alley, and searched for the phone number for the bed-and-breakfast. He’d planned to simply pose as her brother and tell her he needed some money. Even if she’d refused to give him money, he guessed she’d at least want to see him in person. It’d been obvious they didn’t see each other. But when she asked about Brian, he’d known he had the perfect bait.
He’d hit her hard with the ax handle.
At first, he’d worried that he’d hit too hard. She’d collapsed instantly at his feet, a limp puddle of woman. But Jamie’s pulse had stayed strong, so he tied her hands and dumped her in the trunk.
He’d done that once. Hit a victim so hard that he hadn’t woken up. That’d been a waste of time and effort. He’d added the body to the hole in the woods along with his other victims. It’d been such a great hiding site.
A few miles out of Demming, he’d stopped and tied Jamie’s feet and taped her mouth. She’d still been unconscious but breathing fine.
Some muffled screams came from the trunk, and he turned up the radio.
He could still feel the vibrations from her kicking in the trunk. It’d been nearly thirty minutes since he’d bound her feet. He shifted in his seat. It had to be hot in the trunk. A corpse in his trunk wasn’t going to do him any good. Maybe he should check the temperature in there. He’d been blasting the air conditioner, but that wasn’t going to stop Jamie from overheating.
The center console…
Ha! Gerald cheered up. He could access the trunk through the center of the backseat. If he lowered the console in back, that would put some cold air circulation into the trunk. A road sign indicated five miles until a rest stop. He’d find a quiet corner and check on his passenger.
Jamie chose that second to go silent.
The car’s speed crept up to seventy-five. He’d be at the rest stop in a few minutes, and he could—
Red and blue lights flashed in his rearview mirror.
What the f*ck?
Gerald’s brain circuitry hit overtime. They’d found him. They’d seen him grab her. They knew he’d killed the children. They knew he’d killed the Mexican and the teenager.
His brain wouldn’t stop firing off the panic messages. He looked down the deserted highway, and a brief thought of outrunning the cop car dashed through his head. Impossible. Those vehicles have amazing engines.
He studied his mirror. Only one police car. And he had been speeding a minute ago. He slowed and turned on his blinker.
Pull over. Be polite.
He wished he was armed. He’d left the Jacobs gun at the teen boy’s death scene. Usually he carried two handguns, but tonight he had none. If he had to, he could take this officer down once he got out of the car.
Gravel crackled under his tires as he left the pavement and pulled to a stop. For a brief second, he thought the officer was going to pass him. Instead, the navy-blue car stopped close behind him. The ultimate in dorky hats was visible through the windshield. State police. No one else wore those wide-brimmed hats.
His trunk was silent.
What if she’d kicked out a light? Was there a foot hanging out the back of his car? Sweat poured off his temples. Gerald lowered his window and reached over to the glove box for his car-rental agreement. He looked in the rearview mirror. The trooper was still in his seat. Probably running his plates and calling in his location. That was okay. It would come back as a rental. And it didn’t matter if he ran this driver’s license. This identity was clean. He didn’t even have a speeding ticket.
Until now. Hopefully, that was all he was getting.
The trooper was suddenly at his window. “Evening sir. License and registration please.”
Gerald handed over the items. “I was going a little fast back there, wasn’t I? It’s a rental car. Here’re the papers.” He listened hard for any sounds coming from the trunk. It was silent.
Was Jamie passed out? Or dead? He needed to check the trunk. He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his ears.
The trooper looked over his license. “No, Mr. Bennett. I pulled you over for cell phone use. You passed me a few miles back while talking on your cell phone.”
Relief, amusement, anger, and disbelief shot through Gerald. “Seriously? The call didn’t even go through.”
The trooper’s lips twitched. “Well sir, the law doesn’t care if you didn’t get connected or if someone hung up on you. I saw your phone at your ear. I’ll be right back.” He paused, taking a sharper look at Gerald. “You alright, sir?”
Gerald touched his cheekbone where the Mexican had whacked him with the rebar. “Pretty nasty, isn’t it? Dropped my bar and weights on my face while bench-pressing today. That’s the last time I don’t use a spotter.”
Disbelief crossed the trooper’s face. “No spotter? Seriously? What were you thinking?”
Gerald tried to look ashamed. “I know. It was stupid. I figured since the weight wasn’t too bad, I wouldn’t ask anyone, but then my hand slipped.”
The trooper shook his head and went back to his vehicle with Gerald’s ID.
Gerald rested his head against his steering wheel. That could have gone far worse.
And a cell phone violation? He was being pulled over for using his cell phone? He gave a strangled laugh, suddenly lightheaded. Holy f*ck.
If only the trooper knew what he’d left behind in Demming. And what he had in his trunk.
The trooper reappeared at his window and handed back his ID and paperwork. “I’m going to have to issue you a citation for the cell phone use. We’re in the middle of a statewide crackdown because people aren’t taking the law seriously. Get yourself a hands-free unit. Those are currently legal.”
Gerald silently took the paperwork. Don’t say a word. What he wanted to do was cram the ticket in the trooper’s face. But he was getting a free pass. Take the ticket and get to the other side of the state. “I’ll look into it.”
The trooper touched the brim of his hat. “Drive safely, sir.”
Gerald watched the trooper walk back to his car. He put on his blinker and pulled out onto the open highway. How had the trooper seen his phone? The sun had been down for an hour.
Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.
He kept an eye on the rearview mirror. The trooper’s patrol car hadn’t budged. It got smaller and smaller as Gerald increased his speed. Just before he couldn’t see it anymore, it did an abrupt turn and headed in the opposite direction.
He looked at his ticket. One hundred forty-two dollars for talking on a cell phone?
Pissed and steaming about the fine, two miles later, Gerald took the rest stop exit.
Deserted.
He parked as far away as possible from the little bathroom buildings. He sat in the driver’s seat, scanning the rest stop for a few minutes. Even though he’d watched the trooper head in the opposite direction, he half expected him to reappear. And not be alone. After the rest stop stayed quiet, he stepped out of the car and stretched. Every joint hurt. It’d been a hell of a long day.
First, the empty Jacobs house, then the old Mexican, the kid from the gas station, Jamie Jacobs, and then a f*cking traffic ticket.
He stood behind his car, eyeing the trunk. He examined the taillights. Both looked intact. If she’d been kicking at them, it didn’t show. He snorted, remembering his fear of a foot hanging out, visible to the trooper. He bent over the trunk, feeling the heat radiate from the metal against his face, listening.
All silent.
Ax in hand, he pushed the trunk release button on his key fob.
Jamie lay motionless. Her hair and shirt were soaked with sweat. He shoved at her legs with the ax handle, and her eyes opened. Thank God, the bitch is still breathing. She stared at him, her gaze studying his face and taking mental notes. She didn’t move.
“You hot?” he asked.
Her eyebrows narrowed.
Probably a stupid question.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
The eyebrows rose a bit.
“Knock off the goddamned kicking, and I’ll open the center console area. That’ll let some of the air-conditioning into the trunk. Deal?”
Jamie blinked and gave one short nod.
“Yeah, I didn’t think you were too stupid. You’re no good to me barbecued or roasted.”
She was silent.
He considered giving her some water, but that’d mean taking the tape off her mouth, and he didn’t feel like acting like a nursemaid. She’d be okay without water for a few more hours. The air-conditioning should make a difference.
He poked at the inside of the trunk where the lights connected. All solid and covered up. She wasn’t going to be able to damage them, no matter how hard she kicked.
Gerald slammed the trunk, opened the rear driver-side door, and yanked at the console that was tucked into the backseat. It moved forward. He could feel hot air from the trunk move into the cooler air of the car. He pointed the two wimpy rear vents at the center of the backseat.
He got back in the driver’s seat and headed back to the highway. He hadn’t seen a single vehicle in fifteen minutes. He took a long swallow from his bottle of water, sighed, and wiped at his mouth. He was gonna be driving most of the night.
It was a long drive back to the other side of the Cascade Mountains. Gerald was aiming a little farther south this time. He wasn’t going back to Portland. He was headed toward home. Salem, the state’s capital. Salem was his comfort zone. The bunker had been closer to Salem, and his job was primarily in that city.
He took the highway turnoff toward a mountain range pass. Hopefully, he’d hear from his boss soon. He wasn’t going to try calling while driving this time.
To Michael’s relief, Spencer stepped out of the Luna County car. Nothing against the deputies of Luna County, but Spencer was the one with the brains. The rest seemed to be a bunch of local recruits who stood around a lot. One deputy tailed his boss. Hove opened his cruiser door but sat in the driver’s seat, talking on his cell.
“Whatcha got?” Spencer asked as he strode up the walk. He nodded at Chris. “Jacobs. ’Bout time you turned up. I’ve got a couple of questions for you about Juan’s place.”
“Right now we’ve got to find Jamie. I know the Ghostman grabbed her,” Chris said.
“Who?” Spencer scowled.
“I called him the Ghostman. Same guy who held me captive as a kid. Freaking ghostly, white-skin-colored a*shole.”
“Covered in ink now,” Michael added.
“Mr. Tattoo is the Ghostman. Got it.” Spencer’s expression said he thought both of them were slightly nuts. “Who the f*ck is he really?”
Michael shook his head. “Dunno.”
Hove stepped forward. “According to your Detective Callahan, he’s a former sexual predator known as Gary Hinkes. But the guy has vanished from the face of the earth. There’s no driver’s license, no tax records, nothing. He was arrested in the late eighties for some sex crimes, but no one can find any records. He was also arrested in conjunction with a murder of a Portland woman but went to prison on a lesser charge. There hasn’t been a peep from him since he got out.”
“Where are the records from the trial?” Spencer asked.
“Gone.”
“And from his time in prison?”
“He was there for two months. Any scrap of paper relating to it has vanished.”
Chris looked at Michael. “How does that happen?”
Michael’s stomach thrummed. “Someone knows someone with the right connections.”
“Well, the people who interacted with him shouldn’t have disappeared…I hope. What about the warden from when he was in prison? He remember him?” Spencer crossed his arms on his chest.
Hove shook his head. “Retired. And he was only there two months. No one can tell us shit.”
“How about the judge at his trial? Or his lawyer or prosecutor? Someone has to remember something besides Fielding. It was a f*cking murder trial.”
“The detectives in Portland are looking into that and some other possibilities. They’ll find someone who knows what he’s doing these days. Now, what do you got inside?” asked Hove.
“Absolutely nothing,” Michael answered, but he waved the cops into the bed-and-breakfast. Michael was ready to crawl out of his skin. Standing around and waiting for the police wasn’t how he operated. He liked action. He craved action. He needed to DO something.
But right now he had no f*cking information to move on.
Chuck greeted the group of men and then watched them pound up the stairs. Spencer’s deputy stayed back to question Chuck. Hove and Spencer made a quick survey of the bedroom and bathroom, identical to Michael’s sweep. Hove scanned the backyard.
“Where’s the gate go?” he asked Michael.
“Alley behind the property.”
“Look in the alley?”
“No.” Michael’s mouth dried up. Shit. He started to dash out of the room.
“Hold up. We’ll all go.”
The three men marched through the bed-and-breakfast as Michael fought the urge to sprint ahead. Why hadn’t he checked the alley?
Spencer pointed at the back door to the yard. “That been unlocked all day?” He directed the question to Chuck, who nodded.
If it hadn’t been in the high nineties still, the backyard would have been inviting. The sun had nearly set, but the sky was still very light. Michael focused on the wood gate. It was open slightly into the alley. The hedge on either side had to be close to ten feet tall.
“Sucker is tall,” muttered Hove, eyeing the hedge.
Spencer pushed the gate open, and the three men stepped into the empty alley.
Michael’s heart plummeted. What had he been expecting?
The cops split up, one heading left and one to the right. Michael tailed Spencer. The alley was surprisingly clean. The other properties bordered the alley with wooden fences, hedges, or nothing. A few garbage cans stood in the alley but nothing else. Spencer peeked through a few gates and then turned around to head back to the bed-and-breakfast. Hove was doing the same from the opposite end.
“Pretty clean for an alley,” said Spencer. “Won’t find this in a big city.”
Chris stepped through the gate into the alley. He nodded at Michael and scanned the alley both ways.
“Where’s Brian?” Michael asked as the men regrouped at the gate.
“Got distracted by the bird feeders.” Chris gestured behind him.
“There’s some trash down that way.” Hove gestured behind him. “But nothing else caught my eye.”
“Trash?” Michael frowned. “Our end of the alley was clean enough to eat from.” His legs started moving toward Hove’s end. Up ahead, he could see some plastic cellophane litter next to the hedge. He drew closer and couldn’t help but smile.
Some kid somewhere is gonna be upset.
The packages hadn’t even been opened. At least a dozen Twinkies littered the concrete. He snorted. As a kid, that would have killed him to see all those go to waste. Too bad—
Michael whirled around when Chris violently retched into the hedge.