‘I’ll interview witnesses, then. Deacon and Scarlett are on their way to assist.’
‘Get Mallory’s statement first,’ Trip said, his brow creased in worry. ‘She’s . . . fragile. This was her first day out after all that shit that went down last summer.’
When she’d been freed from a monster who’d abused her for six years, forcing her into online child pornography by threatening to abuse her younger sister, Macy. Macy was safe now, living with a loving foster family, but Adam knew that Mallory still lived in fear. ‘What happened today would rattle anyone.’
Trip hesitated. ‘She still has nightmares about a cop who participated in the rapes.’
‘The cop we couldn’t track down,’ Adam said grimly. No one doubted Mallory had been telling them the truth – as she knew it, anyway. She’d said the cop had shown up to investigate her captor, but had raped her in exchange for his silence. They’d investigated, of course, but there hadn’t been any evidence that the police had even been called. No record of a visit. Internal Affairs had gotten involved, but concluded whoever had raped Mallory had been pretending to be a cop. Which had been no comfort to Mallory.
‘She was nervous about leaving the house today, afraid someone would recognize her from the porn. But she wanted to sign up for classes so she forced herself to leave. I just can’t believe this happened today. Poor kid. She’s never going to want to leave again.’
Adam figured that Trip had probably heard about Mallory’s fears from Kendra, who seemed to spend her spare time helping Wendi at Mariposa House. He himself had heard from his cousin Deacon, who’d heard it from his fiancée, Faith, who was Meredith’s partner.
Adam swallowed a sigh because it always seemed to circle back to Meredith, the linchpin of their circle of friends. ‘I’ll get Mallory’s statement so she can get back to Mariposa House. I’m sure that Wendi and Colby are in the hotel by now.’
‘Good.’ Another hesitation. ‘Look, Adam . . . I was there the day she told what had happened to her, when she was in the hospital.’ Because her captor had tried to kill her to silence her. ‘I filmed her statement that day. She was so scared, but she told her story anyway. She was defiant. Full of rage. But today . . . she looked numb. Like nobody was home. Be careful with her. Not that you’d be harsh, but . . . Just be careful with her.’
‘I will.’ Adam took no offense because the big behemoth was clearly concerned. ‘You find out who made that bomb. I hear you’re the bomb wunderkind.’
Trip’s smile was almost shy. ‘Yeah. That’s me.’
‘How’d you get to be that way considering you’re barely out of diapers?’
Trip snorted at that. ‘Damn you guys. You’re not old men. And I’m not that young.’ He faked a preen. ‘I just moisturize.’
‘And then you buff to a shine.’ And on that note, they went their separate ways, Trip back to the lab and Adam to find Mallory Martin.
Five
Anderson Township, Ohio,
Saturday 19 December, 5.10 P.M.
He grunted when the needle pierced his skin. ‘Careful.’ His uncle had been the one person he’d trusted to call when Linnea had raced off in his own damn SUV. Mike had arrived in his pickup truck with his first aid kit and now sat in the back seat prepping him for stitches. ‘Dammit, Mike, that hurts. Be careful.’
His uncle gave him a disgusted look, jabbing the hypo needle harder as he pressed the plunger. ‘You mean careful like you shoulda been? What were you thinking? Letting a girl get the drop on you? And then letting her get away? What the ever-lovin’ fuck, boy?’
He opened his mouth to protest, then realized anything he said would only be an excuse. Mike was right. He’d fucked up royally.
Linnea had fled. Now she was out there. And she knows my goddamn face. He closed his mouth with an audible snap.
‘Yeah, I thought so.’ Mike put the hypo aside. ‘This is gonna take at least ten stitches. I hope the Lidocaine numbs it long enough for me to finish. That was all I had left.’
He gritted his teeth. ‘I’ll be fine. Just get it done.’ He’d endured worse, after all.
Mike stitched a while in silence, then asked, ‘Where is the SUV?’
‘By now, on its way to the garage.’
Mike glanced up. ‘Which one?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘Your house?’
‘Shit no,’ he snapped. ‘I’m not that stupid.’
‘Dunno,’ Mike muttered. ‘You let a girl—’
‘Shut the fuck up about the girl,’ he exploded, then hissed in pain when Mike yanked the sterile thread much harder than was necessary.
‘You watch your tone, boy,’ Mike warned. ‘You’re the one who fucked up. Not me.’
It was true. He knew that. And it pissed him off to high heaven. ‘Butch tracked the SUV and picked it up.’ His assistant for over a decade, Butch never would have given him grief about losing the girl that way. Unfortunately, Butch didn’t have skill with a needle and Mike did. ‘He took it to the garage in Batavia.’ One of three Mike owned, doing enough legit business that nobody noticed a few late-night repairs here and there. ‘It’s gonna need new seats. She bled all over them.’
Mike’s scowl faded. ‘So you cut her too? At least you gave as good as you got.’
Except that he hadn’t and he’d have to fess up to that too, because Mike would find out and would never let him hear the end of it. ‘Fuck it, Mike,’ he hissed again, because the Lidocaine hadn’t fully numbed his arm and each stitch hurt like a bitch. ‘I didn’t do anything to her. Butch did.’ He thought about the driver’s seat, covered in blood. ‘He didn’t cut her, though. Just banged her pretty good last night.’
Mike grunted. ‘At least he had the right idea.’
He shuddered. ‘No way I’m dippin’ my wick in that cesspool. Nasty.’
‘That’s why condoms were invented.’
He rolled his eyes. The gaggle of ‘college’ hookers was one of his most profitable endeavors, but besides being way too old for his liking, they were for business. Not pleasure. And not one of them had seen his face. Until Linnea. Shit.
Mike knotted the last stitch, cut the thread, then sat back. ‘Done. Let me do the other arm. It’s not as deep. I can get by with a few butterfly bandages.’
He did as his uncle instructed, wincing when Mike cleaned it with peroxide. ‘The SUV is on its way to the Batavia garage now,’ Mike said. ‘Where was it before?’
‘The girl abandoned it at a restaurant near the Beechmont exit off 275. Place called Clyde’s.’
Mike growled. ‘She could have found transportation to anywhere from there.’
‘Yeah. I know. Butch picked up the SUV himself. Took Jolee with him. Figured Linnea might trust her if they found her.’ Jolee Cusack was the face of his college hooker business. All of the girls thought she was the boss, but Jolee knew the truth.
And now so does Linnea, goddammit.
‘So she’s still out there, somewhere.’ Mike applied a bandage. ‘She hasn’t called the cops yet. Why not?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Maybe she’s dead. She was bleeding a lot.’ He hoped that was the case, but deep down he knew it wasn’t. ‘Maybe she’s getting out of town.’
‘You’d better pray that’s true,’ Mike spat. ‘She can bring you down and you are not taking me with you.’
He gave his uncle a cold look. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
Mike moved from the back seat to the front, then looked over his shoulder with a scowl. ‘Get your ass up here. I’m not your fucking chauffeur.’
‘Never said you were,’ he muttered as he obeyed. Like a five-year-old. Except he’d never been a five-year-old. He was pretty sure he’d gone from two to twelve. Mostly because he’d blocked out the ten years in between. He buckled up. ‘I’m ready, Uncle.’
Mike huffed. ‘You’re a fucking asshole.’
‘Had a good teacher,’ he shot back.
Mike smiled at that. ‘And don’t you forget it. Where do you want to go?’
‘To the Fairfield shop. They have an SUV that’s almost identical to the one the bitch bled all over.’