Tatro had an assault knife, exactly like the one in New York. Wendy didn’t know which was worse, looking at the knife or at his eyes. “Where’s Ham?” she asked.
“See that barn?” Tatro pointed with the tip of his knife. “Your new pal is locked inside. He’s tied up. Gagged. He has no food and no water. If you want him to live, little girl, you’ll bring me to my emeralds.”
Wendy felt herself going very still inside. These men wanted the emeralds in Ham Carhill’s maroon suede bag. She knew where they were.
That was her leverage, she thought.
She remembered her note, her locked bedroom door, Teddy’s ashes—and knew she’d been away too long. Matt hadn’t lied. Her family was looking for her.
All she had to do was stay alive until someone found her.
Twenty
Joshua nearly ran over a damn pumpkin when he pulled into the driveway. He couldn’t see straight. He had no business being behind the wheel of his cruiser, but he’d turned down another trooper’s offer to drive him. When he’d asked her what his daughter could possibly have been thinking to sneak out through the attic, she’d just smiled. “Thinking? She’s seventeen, Trooper Josh. I’ve heard stories about you at seventeen.”
When he’d left the house that morning, he thought Wendy was asleep in her room. It had never occurred to him she’d taken off. He’d stopped back at his place, checked on Barry, who’d rolled off his couch at some point and was out on the porch having coffee as if it were summer. Joshua had headed out to the barracks to get an update on Tatro’s escape and the search for him.
Joshua scratched Spaceshot’s head. “Where’s your girl Wendy, hmm?” With one foot, he shoved the pumpkin out of the middle of the driveway. “Quiet around here.”
He saw that Brooker’s rented car was still in the driveway. He didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign—or no sign at all. His sister’s problems had infected the rest of the family, that was for sure. If his head knew not to blame her, his emotions didn’t.
But Joshua tried to get control of his thinking, as well as his feelings. Wendy loved her grandparents’ place and felt safe there, and she’d always been one to take off on her own. She’d led a sheltered life, at least until this past week.
Sam joined him out on the driveway. “I checked the apple orchard,” he said, not bothering with any preamble since Joshua knew his brother meant Wendy. “No sign of her. Matt Kelleher’s gone to look for her. Juliet and that guy, Brooker, are out looking. Rest of the gang’s on the way here.”
“I’m sorry,” Joshua said tightly.
“What for? You didn’t climb out the window. Wendy’s got a lot on her mind. Juliet showing up yesterday asking more questions didn’t help. Then Brooker turning up in the middle of the night.” Sam obviously didn’t like any of the recent developments. “Anything on Tatro?”
“Nothing new.”
“The marshals must have her place in New York staked out, but you’d think he wouldn’t be dumb enough to show up there. Or here.”
Paul drove up in his town police car and jumped out. “I just got a call from Eddie Sherman.” Eddie ran a popular local outfitters that catered to tourists. “He said a skinny guy asked about the lake, said he heard it was up near Longstreet Landscaping. He made small talk about Juliet.”
“Not Tatro—”
“He rented a kayak and gave the name of Ham Carhill.”
“Carhill?”
“He’s from Texas. He was at breakfast this morning. He’s damn skinny, Eddie’s got that right. He looked like death warmed over.”
Joshua felt a stab of pure, primal fear. “If Wendy’s on the lake—”
Paul looked at his oldest brother. “Want to take my car out to the lake or yours? We need to find this guy.”
“Go,” Sam said. “I’ll fill in the gang when they get here.”
Not trusting himself behind the wheel, Joshua climbed into his brother’s cruiser. Paul glanced at him but said nothing, just backed out and headed for the lake.
Fifteen emeralds in all.
Juliet had dumped them out of their little suede bag onto the table and liberated one of them from its bubble wrap.
Although she knew nothing about precious gems, the polished stone she held in her palm was stunning.
She’d pulled over when she saw the broken window in her neighbors’ door. The wet, muddy footprints on the steps told her the breakin was recent, and she’d slipped inside to check it out, following more prints into the kitchen. The hip-pack definitely looked out of place on the kitchen table, and she’d unceremoniously dumped out its contents. Granola bars, protein bars, matches, a free Vermont guidebook, a local map.
And emeralds.
No wallet, no passport—but she found a checkout receipt from a local motel in the name of Ham Carhill.
Ethan’s friend, Mia O’Farrell’s covert agent, Bobby Tatro’s former kidnap victim.
George O’Hara’s Texan and purported traitor.