Love You More: A Novel

Just like not all people were meant to be trusted.

One-seventeen a.m. I staggered to my feet, made my way back to the truck. I downed two bottles of water and ate two power bars. Right shoulder burned. Tingling in my fingers. A hollow sensation in my gut. A curious numbness to the set of my lips.

Then I was on the road again, shotgun on my lap, bloody hands at the wheel.

Sophie, here I come.





41


It’s Hamilton,” Bobby said, pulling D.D. out of Leoni’s garage and already jogging back to their car.

“Hamilton?” D.D. narrowed her eyes. “As in State Police Lieutenant Colonel?”

“Yep. Has access, has opportunity, and knows all the players involved. Maybe Brian’s gambling problem started the ball rolling, but Hamilton was the brains of the operation—You guys need money? Hey, I happen to know where there’s a huge pot of cash, just sitting there …”

“Between him and Shane …” D.D. murmured. She nodded, feeling the first tinge of excitement A name, a suspect, a target. She climbed into the car and Bobby pulled away from the curb, already racing toward the highway.

“Yep,” he said now. “Easy enough to work out the logistics of setting up a shell company, with Hamilton pulling strings to cover their tracks from the inside. Except, of course, all good things must come to an end.”

“Once the internal investigation kicks into gear …”

“Their days are numbered,” Bobby filled in for her. “They have state investigators sniffing around, plus, thanks to Shane and Brian continuing to gamble excessively, they also have various mobsters wanting a piece of the pie. Hamilton, of course, grows concerned. And Brian and Shane go from being partners in crime to highly expendable liabilities.”

“Hamilton killed Brian, then kidnapped Sophie so Tessa would confess to shooting her own husband and be framed for defrauding the troopers’ union?” D.D. frowned, then added, “Or an enforcer did it. The kind of mobster Brian had already pissed off. The kind of guy willing to do one last piece of wet work in order to get his money back.”

“The kind of guy who’d mail photos of Shane’s family as a warning,” Bobby agreed.

“That’s the thing about the brass,” D.D. said with a shake of her head. “They’re big on ideas, but don’t like to get their own hands dirty during implementation.” She hesitated. “Following that logic, where is Sophie? Would Hamilton risk personally holding a six-year-old girl?”

“Don’t know,” Bobby said. “But I’m betting if we drop on him like a ton of bricks, we can find that out. He should be downtown, at the scene of Lyons’s shooting, hanging out with the colonel and other brass.”

D.D. nodded, then suddenly grabbed Bobby’s arm. “He’s not downtown. Bet you anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because Tessa is on the loose. We know it. He knows it. Furthermore, he would’ve heard by now that Trooper Lyons’s shotgun and M4 rifle are missing. Meaning he knows Tessa is armed, dangerous, and desperate to locate her daughter.”

“He’s on the run,” Bobby filled in, “from his own officer.” But then it was his turn to shake his head. “Nah, not a guy as experienced and wily as Hamilton. Best defense is a good offense, right? He’s going for Sophie. If she’s still alive, he’s gonna get his hands on her. She’s the only bargaining chip he’s got left.”

“So where’s Sophie?” D.D. asked again. “We’ve had a statewide Amber Alert for three days. Her picture is plastered all over the TV, her description on the radio. If the girl’s around, we should’ve gotten a lead by now.”

“Meaning she’s someplace buttoned up tight,” Bobby mused. “Rural, no close neighbors. With someone assigned to keep her under lock and key. So a place that is inaccessible, but well supplied. A location Hamilton trusts not to be compromised.”

“He’d never stash Sophie in his own house,” D.D. said. “Too close to him. Maybe she’s at a friend of a friend? Or a second home? We saw the pictures of him hunting deer. Does he have a hunting lodge, a cabin in the woods?”

Bobby suddenly smiled. “Bingo. Hamilton has a hunting cabin near Mount Greylock in western Mass. Two and half hours away from state headquarters, tucked in the foothills of the Berkshires. Isolated, containable, and distant enough to provide him with plausible deniability—even if he owns it, he can say he hasn’t been there in days or weeks, particularly given all the activity that’s required his attention in Boston.”

“Can you get us there?” D.D. asked immediately.

Bobby hesitated. “I’ve been there a couple of times, but years ago. Sometimes he invites troopers over for hunting weekends, that kind of thing. I can picture the roads …”