Beneath his plate was a map marred with red lines and circles. “What’s this?”
He set the plate on the table beside ours, shifting his mug out of the way too. Then he spun the map my direction, pointing to a red X beside a curved blue line. The river.
The point of attack.
From that X, he’d drawn what looked like a bike wheel, each spoke converging at the central point. Two of the segments he’d shaded in with more red.
“I’ve ruled out these areas. This one with the highway.” He pointed to a shaded section. “And this one that surrounds Quincy. Cormac wouldn’t venture that close to heavily populated areas unless he was desperate.”
“What makes you think he’s not desperate?”
“He’s got food. Water. Everything he needs to survive in the wilderness. The only reason I’d expect him near a town or people would be for medical supplies. You didn’t notice him injured, did you?”
“No. Not that I could tell.”
“My plan is to start here.” He pointed at the map again, this time to the area that led straight north from that red X. “It’s the roughest terrain. If he’s hiding his scent, it would be easiest here where the mountains are dense and steep.”
“So section by section, you’ll search for him.”
Vance nodded. “Exactly.”
“Do you really think he’s out there?”
“I don’t know. But if there’s a chance he is, I won’t stop looking.”
Not just for my sake. But his. “Who is he? What did he do?”
Vance turned his face toward the window, staring out through the glass. For a moment, I didn’t think he’d answer me. “He murdered his wife. And his daughters.”
I gasped so loudly that the couple having coffee three tables away glanced our direction. “Oh my God. Why?”
“I don’t know,” Vance said, lowering his voice. “No one does.”
Was that why Vance was here? Was this a quest to get answers?
He stiffened, those broad shoulders curling inward as he leaned his elbows on the table. His focus stayed firmly on the map, like he was attempting to conjure Cormac out of the paper.
“From the outside, they were the perfect, loving family. He was a model husband and father. Took his wife out on a date every Wednesday. Coached his oldest daughter’s softball team. When it first happened, there were a lot of people who refused to believe he was the killer.”
“I guess you never really know what happens behind closed doors.”
“No. I guess not,” he murmured.
“How, um . . . how did he kill them?” Did I really want to know?
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “He lived on the lake. Had a dock. Boat. He drove his three daughters to the middle of the lake during a thunderstorm and threw them in the water. They drowned.”
I slapped a hand over my mouth to cover my gasp this time. What kind of father would do that? Those poor girls. “And his wife?”
Vance dropped his gaze to my neck.
Strangled.
He’d strangled his wife.
My hand drifted from my mouth to the cloth covering my throat. It burned, not from what Cormac had done, but the threat of tears.
“Why did he let me go?” I’d asked that question so many times it was beginning to crawl beneath my skin. “It makes no sense.”
“Agreed,” Vance muttered, rubbing at his jaw, like his beard was new and he was still testing out the feel of it beneath his palm.
“It’s all blurry,” I said. “I’ve thought about that day so many times I feel like I can’t tell what was real and what I’ve made up in my head at this point. But I feel like there was this moment when he looked . . . scared? Sad?”
Vance’s gaze shifted to the window again, letting it sink in. “I’m sorry, Lyla.”
There was so much behind that apology. “It’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it?”
The pain in his voice, the guilt, sent me deeper into my seat. He really felt responsible, didn’t he? That because Cormac had escaped years ago, it was his fault that I’d been attacked.
“How did he get away?” I asked.
Vance lifted a shoulder.
I waited, hoping he’d explain, but that shrug was all the answer he’d give. So I stood and collected his dishes. But before I left his table, I paused and took in his profile.
That granite jaw was clenched. He looked lost in an anger four years in the making as he stared through the glass.
“What will you do when you find him?” Not if, when.
“Whatever I need to do.” The menace, the hatred, in his voice was unsettling.
A chill spread through my veins as I carried his dishes to the kitchen.
When I returned to the counter, Vance’s chair was empty.
CHAPTER SIX
VANCE
My boot splattered a puddle as I stepped out of my truck. The water sloshed onto the already drenched hem of my jeans. The wet denim hung heavy on my legs, and my coat, just as soggy, sagged on my shoulders. I’d have to wring out my beanie in the hotel’s bathroom sink and hang it to dry.
Though it would just get damp again tomorrow. But this wasn’t the first time I’d spent my days getting soaked while I slogged through mountains. Given the rainy forecast for tomorrow, it wouldn’t be the last.
I snagged my pack from the back seat, then slammed the truck’s door closed, shoving the keys into my pocket as I walked toward the hotel.
My stomach growled. Lyla’s coffee shop was like a golden beacon glowing bright on a gloomy, gray day. I could practically smell the sweet, rich scents. A sandwich, a cup of hot coffee, a few of her pastries would go a long way toward improving my mood.
But I kept moving forward, away from Eden Coffee, as I strode for the hotel.
It had been two days since I’d told Lyla about Cormac’s murders. What I’d shared was just a tip of that iceberg, but even sharing part of the story had been difficult. Every time I spoke about Cormac, about what he’d done, it left me feeling shaken. Frayed.
Four years had passed, and I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. What had happened that night? What had caused Cormac to snap? Was there something I could have done to stop him?
If Lyla knew the whole story, she’d ask the same questions.
So I’d avoided her and that charming coffee shop entirely. I was afraid she’d see through me. I was afraid she’d demand the details I’d omitted, and I wasn’t sure I had the strength to tell her no.
Except if she knew the truth, it would shatter her illusion. That blind faith she had in me would fade.
Her confidence in me was startling. Addictive.
No one believed in me, not like that. Not my captain. Not the other deputies in the department. Not my family. Not Tiff.
These days, people seemed to expect my failure. Or maybe I was just used to disappointing myself.
But Lyla . . .
She looked at me like I was her salvation.
The reality was, I’d likely disappoint her too. And that sat like a rock in my empty gut.
I’d spent two days combing the mountains for any sign of Cormac. Each day I drove back to Quincy, it was with empty hands.
Still, I wasn’t going to quit. Day by day, I was eliminating possible places where he could have built a shelter. Another day, maybe two, I’d have a section of my map to cross out.
My process wasn’t foolproof, but it was how I’d been taught to search for fugitives. And the man who’d taught me was the best.
His education was either going to bite me in the ass, or maybe, for once in my damn life, I’d get lucky. Though the rain wasn’t helping. With every drop, Cormac’s trail was being washed away.
A steady drizzle had greeted me this morning when I’d headed into the mountains. It had finally stopped raining about an hour ago, just as the sunlight had begun to fade, a signal that my day of hiking had come to an end.
Now it was time to dry out and prepare for tomorrow.
My boots squeaked on the floor as I walked inside The Eloise Inn. There was a couple at the desk, checking in. Suitcases crowded their feet as they spoke to a smiling Eloise Vale. Sitting stoically at her side was her husband, Jasper.
I hadn’t actually been introduced to Eloise or Jasper. A different desk clerk had checked me in when I’d arrived. And last night, when I’d come down to extend my reservation by two weeks, there’d been yet a different person stationed at the reception desk.
But I knew Jasper and Eloise from Quincy’s local paper. From the article about the shooting from this summer.
Was that why Eloise and Jasper were always together? The times I’d seen them, they were never far apart. My guess was that Jasper stuck close to his wife’s side—the man had taken a bullet for her.
I respected that devotion. In another life, I would have made it a point to introduce myself. To shake his hand.