Damn.
I go to dial again but stop when I see a notification from one of my computer scripts.
BREAKING: SUSPICIONS MOUNT IN ALLEGED SUICIDE.
No. Not this soon! I click through the article. An unnamed person in the Helena police department says that they’re hesitant to confirm my identity because of “forensic discrepancies.”
Fuck.
He knows.
I call Jillian again. This time I put my phone on silent and listen.
Across the yard I can hear her phone ringing from inside the house.
Why isn’t she picking up?
I can’t wait any longer.
I rush to her back porch, setting off a motion-sensing light.
When I get to the sliding door, I press my face against the glass and peer inside. I can’t see into the bedrooms, but this part of the house is empty.
I try the door, but it’s locked. I want to knock, but I’m worried that the sound might tip off Clark that I’m here.
I climb over the porch railing and go to the side of her house. The shades are drawn, but I can see light from behind them.
I creep toward her bedroom window and put my ear to the cold glass.
I think I hear her voice.
I raise my hand to tap gently but freeze when something snaps in the woods directly to my right.
Somebody is out there.
I press my body flat against the wall and search the shadows for the source of the sound. All I see is darkness.
If I go out there, he’ll see me. If he has a rifle trained on the house, he’ll drop me before I know what hit me.
I take my phone out of my pocket and crouch down, using my jacket to shield the glow, which kills my night vision.
I try calling Jillian again.
Her phone rings from just a few feet away.
On the third ring she picks up.
“Hello?”
“Jillian! It’s me!”
“Theo!”
I can hear her voice through the window.
“Listen carefully. You’re in danger.”
Something moves behind me. Still blinded by the glow of my phone, all I see is a distant yard light.
“Don’t move,” says a voice in the shadows.
I slide my arm behind me to grab my gun, but a man in a mask runs toward me and fires something.
My chest explodes in pain, and I collapse.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
PROTECTION
There’s a bright light in my eyes, and somebody is talking to me.
“Are you okay, Theo?”
I begin to focus and see a male paramedic peeling back my eyelid and looking at my pupil for dilation.
When I try to move my arms, I can’t. For a moment I think they’re paralyzed, then realize they’re handcuffed behind my back.
“What happened?”
“What do you remember?” the paramedic asks.
“I . . . was checking on Jillian. Jillian! Where is she?”
“She’s in the house.”
“I need to talk to her.”
The paramedic steps back and takes off his gloves. “That’s going to be up to these men.”
Detectives Glenn and Whitmyer are standing off to the side. There’s a third man I don’t recognize.
I remember why I came here. The flashing red lights of the ambulance reflect off the trees in the woods behind it, and I get a knot in my stomach, feeling suddenly exposed. I want to shout out, to warn them, but I’m afraid it’ll only make me look crazier.
My shirt is ripped down to my chest, and there’s a Band-Aid right where I felt the exploding pain. Someone—probably one of the cops standing in the street wearing camouflage—shot me with a stun gun. I guess I should be happy it wasn’t a real gun, but I still feel sore all over.
They must have been waiting for me. And that means they probably never bought my faked death, or didn’t take long to see through it.
A man I don’t know takes a seat on the porch deck next to me. He’s wearing a black windbreaker and has a real clean-cut face. If I had to guess, he’s some kind of federal agent.
“Dr. Cray, do you feel like talking?”
“Is Jillian safe?”
“Yes. She’s inside.”
“What about Gus?”
“He’s inside, too. Care to tell us what you’re doing here? Or, for that matter, why you’re alive?”
My eyes are still on the woods. “The killer. He said he’d hurt them if I talked to you.”
“Did he? When did he tell you this?”
“Two days ago.”
“Was this in person? Did he write you a letter?”
I turn to the man. “Why are you patronizing me?”
“Am I? I’m just trying to figure some things out. Let’s talk about your confession.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Special Agent Seward with the FBI. You came to my attention after you started finding all those bodies. Ones you now say you planted.”
“That was a lie.”
“Really? It was a convincing lie.”
My mind finally focuses. “Seward, listen to me very carefully.” I speak up so Whitmyer and Glenn can hear me. “The man who killed those women. The man who killed Juniper Parsons. I know who he is.”
“Joshua Lee Clark,” says Seward.
“Yes, but that’s not his name now. He left Montana and came back with a new identity.”
“Okay, what is his name now?”
“I don’t know.”
Seward makes a smug little grin and turns to the others. “Well, that’s not very helpful.”
“They know who he is,” I say. “They’ve probably talked to him dozens of times.”
“Gentlemen?” Seward says sarcastically. “Have anything you need to tell me?”
Whitmyer rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but Glenn is listening intently. “Who is he?” he asks me.
I ignore Seward and speak directly to Glenn. “He knew Juniper was stranded. He drove past Chelsea and the others. He knew when someone was from out of town and didn’t have any connections.”
“And how is this?” asks Seward, trying to take control of the conversation.
I stare at him, unflinching. “Because he’s the fucking tow-truck driver. He’s the first person you call when you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere with a flat tire or your car runs out of gas. He’s the one you tell your whole story to when you sit in the cab.” I look up to Whitmyer. “Did you ever find Chelsea’s car?”
“No . . .”
“No. But we found her body. Somebody hauled her car away.”
Seward stands up and walks over to Whitmyer and Glenn to talk. I can tell this has hit him by surprise. From his dismissive attitude, I got the sense that he believed my confession but not my death. He wasn’t really expecting me to name someone.
Glenn is nodding his head. Whitmyer is shaking his. They have a name in mind. They know who I’m talking about. They just don’t want to accept it.
“Who is he? What’s his name?” I shout.
Seward turns and glares at me. “Just wait.”
“Wait? My family isn’t safe. Nobody is safe!” I’m frantic. “Let me talk to Jillian. Jillian!”
There are footsteps behind me. I turn and see her standing at the door.
“Theo!” She puts a hand to her mouth when she sees the handcuffs.
“Go back inside!” shouts Seward.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“He’s coming for you and me and Gus and anyone else,” I yell.
“Who?”
“The tow truck guy. Whoever has this area and Filmount.”
“Joe Vik?” she says, then looks at the gathered cops. “Is this true?”
“We don’t know anything about that,” says Whitmyer. “We’re going to send someone to go talk to Joe.”
“You’re on a first-name basis with him?” I ask incredulously.
“Shut up, Dr. Cray,” snaps Whitmyer, “or we’ll have you tased again.”
“You don’t understand.”
Whitmyer pushes past Seward and crouches down in front of me. He shoves a finger in my face. “I’m sick and tired of your bullshit. Keep your mouth shut!”
“You don’t know what you’re messing with,” I say under my breath.
“Oh, really? What are you going to do?”
“Not me, dumb ass. Him! This Joe Vik. He’s a killer!”
“I’ve known him for twenty years. You’ve been here what, two weeks? I have a pretty good idea what I’m dealing with here.”