“Yes.” Because his gut was telling him that Eileen was dead. He kissed Daisy’s forehead. “I know this is hard, but try not to visualize what happened.”
She huffed bitterly, not sure how not to visualize it. “I’m trying. But . . .” She closed her eyes. “She died all alone. Scared and in pain and all alone.”
“I know.” He gathered her closer. “Visualize him behind bars. Scared and alone.”
She pressed her ear to his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart. Trying to let it calm her. But her anger was a live thing. She wasn’t practiced at handling it. Her skin bristled from it. “And in pain?”
“Yes. If that’s what you need to do. It’s how I survived after I found Mercy. Pictured the man who’d hurt her in great pain.”
She wiped at her eyes, sore from crying. “Were you inflicting the pain?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, very quietly. Very earnestly.
She nodded then, picturing exactly that. It helped a little, but it still hurt. So much, Trish. But she was also so very angry. Use it. Channel it. And when you find him, end him.
Visualizing him behind bars? To hell with that. When she got the chance, she was going to kill the bastard. She drew a breath, finding a measure of peace in her resolution. “All right. Let’s get breakfast and go to the bus station.”
He drew back, studying her face, wiping her cheeks with gentle fingers. His frown was troubled. “Daisy?”
She met his gaze head-on, lifting her chin. “Yes?”
“I don’t want to lose you. Don’t do anything that puts you in his sights. Please.”
“I’m already in his sights. Look, I won’t take any unnecessary chances. How’s that?”
He sighed wearily. “That’s the best I’m going to get, isn’t it?”
“Probably.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Short of locking me away for my own protection, anyway.”
His surprise was genuine. As was the hurt in his eyes that she would suggest it. “I would never do that to you. We both know what it means to be confined.”
Her heart eased, just a little. Just enough for her to breathe. “Thank you.”
He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I had other plans for this morning, but it’s getting late. The bus station opens at nine.”
REDDING, CALIFORNIA
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 9:00 A.M.
Daisy gripped Gideon’s hand when his step faltered in front of the Redding Greyhound bus station. “Come on,” she urged softly. “You need to know.”
“I know. But I keep thinking, what if they never saw her?”
His tension was so palpable that Brutus whimpered inside her bag. Daisy gave her a pet with one hand while tightening her hold on Gideon with the other. “Then we’ll try towns within a hundred-mile radius of Mt. Shasta. But first we’ll show them the photos of the other escapees. You and Mercy might be the only ones to have made it to this bus station, Gideon. But there are other stations and other ways out of the area. The FBI will keep looking. You’ll keep looking. We’ll keep looking. I promise.”
“I know. But thank you.” He squeezed her hand. “Really.”
She smiled up at him, encouragingly, she hoped. “You’re welcome.”
He let go of her hand and slid his arm around her waist, tugging her close. “Let’s do this.”
An older man sat behind the Plexiglas ticket counter, reading a paperback novel. He looked up as they approached, then straightened his spine, his eyes growing sharper.
Because Gideon walked like exactly what he was—a career cop. Didn’t really matter which badge he carried. “Excuse me, sir. We’d like to ask you some questions.”
We. That felt . . . nice.
The man pushed his glasses up his nose. “You can ask.” His tone clearly said that he might choose not to answer.
“I’m Special Agent Gideon Reynolds,” Gideon said, pulling out his badge.
“With the FBI,” the man said mildly. “Ask your questions, Special Agent Reynolds.”
Gideon slid a copy of the aged photo of Eileen through the slot in the Plexiglas. “I’m looking for this woman. She’s missing.”
The man tilted his head, squinting now at the photo while Daisy held her breath.
After what seemed like an eternity, the man slowly nodded. “Yes. I think so. She didn’t look exactly like this, but . . . the eyes. Same eyes.” He slid the photo back to Gideon. “Would have recognized her sooner if you’d added bruises on her face and a black eye.” He tapped his right eye. “This one.”
Gideon flinched. “She was bruised?” he asked, his voice harsh and hurt.
The man nodded, again slowly. “You might also add on the necklace she was wearing.”
“What kind of necklace?” Daisy asked.
The man gave her a long measuring look, almost as if gauging her trustworthiness. “A locket,” he finally said.
Daisy released the breath she’d been holding. “Did you notice the chain?”
“Hard not to. It was thick. Like those rappers wear.”
“Heavy, like a security chain? On a door?” Daisy asked.
“Yeah. About.”
Beside her, Gideon tensed. “Do you remember where she went?”
The man gave Gideon the same appraising look. “Why do you want to know?”
Gideon swallowed. “Because she’s missing and I’m afraid she’s met with foul play. You can make a copy of my badge if you like. My boss will confirm I’m who I say I am.”
“I think I will.”
“Ask for Special Agent in Charge Tara Molina. I know she’s in because I talked to her earlier this morning.”
They stood there waiting while the man behind the Plexiglas made his call, inquiring about Gideon to his boss, his head bobbing occasionally as he talked. Finally, he hung up and inclined his head to Gideon.
“She speaks well of you. Says I can be confident that you’ll handle whatever I tell you with ‘integrity and discretion.’” He folded his hands. “She bought a ticket to Portland. One way. This was about three months ago.”
“Oh.” Gideon grasped Daisy’s hand. “Portland.”
“Was she alone, sir?” Daisy asked.
“No. She was with a fella from . . .” He scratched his head. “You got a few minutes?”
“We have as long as you need,” Daisy said firmly.
They waited again as the man searched his computer. It took him ten minutes to find what he was looking for, mainly because he had to break twice to sell actual tickets to actual customers.
“Got it,” he announced. He printed something up, then slid it under the Plexiglas to Gideon. “This is the guy that purchased her ticket. His credit card, anyway.”
“Gale Danton,” Gideon read. “How do you remember him so clearly?”
One side of the man’s mouth lifted. “The card belongs to a man who lives outside Macdoel, which is barely a dot on the map.”
Daisy found Macdoel on her map app. “Northwest of here, on Highway 97.” She glanced up at Gideon. “Within view of Mt. Shasta.”
Gideon’s chest rose and fell, the only indication he’d felt the impact of her words. “And you remember this man, why?” he asked.
“Because he bought her a ticket with his credit card and she was arguing with him. Said he’d already been too nice, giving her a ride. That she didn’t want to owe him money.”
Gideon nodded, as if this made perfect sense. “She wouldn’t want to borrow from anyone. Why did he? Give her a ride and buy her a ticket?”
“I think he was just a genuinely nice guy,” the old man said. “He was worried about her. Gave her his phone number and some cash. Told her to take her time paying it back. And if she was forced to do anything she didn’t want to do, that she should call him and he’d help her.”
Gideon frowned. “How old was he?”
“My age.” He sighed. “I was worried, too. Like maybe he was setting her up to meet a pimp or something. I shut down my register and took a break. Just happened to sit behind them, so’s I could hear what they said. The guy told her that his daughter had run away once and a stranger had helped her get home. He was paying it forward.”
Gideon was holding the paper with the man’s credit card information in a white-knuckled grip. “Did she get on the bus for Portland?”
“She did. She almost went south to Sacramento, but she got heads.”
Gideon had gone silent, so Daisy asked, “Tails would have been Sac?”
“Exactly. I never saw her again.”
His emphasis on “her” was startling. “Did the nice man come back? Mr. Danton?”
“No. Not him.”
Daisy had a terrible sense of dread. “Was it a man with an eyepatch?”
The old man nodded. Just once.
Daisy felt Gideon tense once again. She put her arm around his waist and leaned into him, more to hold him up. “Did you tell him where she went?” she asked.
“No. I got a bad vibe. He was . . . menacing. I remembered the girl’s bruises and thought maybe he’d been the one to put them there.”
“He was,” Gideon said grimly. “You did the right thing. Thank you.”
“Thank you so very much,” Daisy echoed.
“I hope you find her,” the man said.
“Us too,” Daisy said, but she didn’t have much hope. Neither did Gideon, not after seeing what Trish’s killer had done to her.