Riley drove deeper into the countryside, barely noticing the clear sky. On a good day she admired the gently rolling land and the lush green fields. But today, as she traveled into the country toward Bowman’s house, the remoteness reminded her of vulnerability and isolation.
She found twin brick pillars that marked a driveway cut into a stand of old oaks. She made her way under the canopy of thick trees, which opened to a field with an old plantation-style home in the center.
She double-checked her address, trying to reconcile the man with the house. Out of the SUV, she leashed Cooper and he climbed out. They climbed the wide front steps and crossed the ten-foot-deep front porch. To her left and right were stacks of drywall.
When she raised her hand to knock, she heard determined footsteps moving toward the door. He knew she was here, but she knocked anyway. The door snapped open to Bowman. He’d changed out of his suit and now wore a clean white shirt and pants, but no tie.
He studied the dog and then rubbed him behind the ear. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”
“No. GPS did the trick. Kinda off the main road, aren’t you?”
“Never had a chance to put down roots and now that I do, I’m going for it.” He stepped aside so she could enter.
“Looks like you bought some real history. Let’s hope it isn’t a money pit.”
“I think of this as a challenge.”
“Your carpentry skills on par with your tracking skills?”
A massive banister curled at the base of a sweeping staircase. Over the foyer hung a large lantern-style fixture, more quaint than functional. It cast a light onto the hallway that ran through the center of the house separating the two rooms on the east side from the two on the west. The room on her right was set up like an office, but judging by the boxes, he’d done little unpacking.
“Impressive,” she said.
“Go big or go home.”
“Right.”
“Come on back to the kitchen. I’ve coffee and bagels.”
“You’re okay with the dog?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. Coffee sounds great.”
“You don’t eat?”
“Not when I’m wound up.”
Neither spoke as they moved into the kitchen that dated back to the seventies. An inspection of appliances told her this room would also need massive work. But there was the morning light and a tremendous view of rolling green fields.
She walked to a large picture window that offered a stunning view of the river. This alone would be reason enough to buy the house. “How’d you find this place?”
“Out driving one day and saw the ‘For Sale’ sign.”
“I suppose it fits. You strike me as a traditional kind of guy.”
Lines at the corners of his eyes creased when he smiled. “And you’re not traditional?”
“I might have been born into it, but it didn’t take.” Despite her upbringing, she’d never imagined herself living in a house like this one. She reached in her bag and pulled the DVD out. “I’m not sure why I’m trusting you with this.”
“Why are you?” His body was relaxed, but tension hummed behind the words.
“You might be my best chance to solve this.”
She handed him the DVD, which she’d dropped into a zip-top bag. His fingers barely brushed hers as he accepted it.
He hesitated before he touched the disc. “Should I wear gloves?”
“My prints are all over the exterior package, but I put on gloves before I touched the DVD case and disc.”
He put on latex gloves without a word, moved to a DVD player, carefully inserted the video, and hit “Play.” Slowly he stepped back and stood next to Riley.
Instinctively, she tensed, bracing for the image and his reaction. She feared he’d see her as a victim. She feared he’d treat her differently. And she wanted no one’s pity. Especially Bowman’s.
Her image appeared. Behind her were the cream-colored drapes, thick carpet, and a Queen Anne table overlooking a glittering skyline. Music played soft and delicate in the background.
Folding her arms over her chest, Riley forced herself to breathe as she watched Bowman’s jaw clench. He flexed the fingers on his right hand as if he wanted to punch the screen.
He hit “Replay” and watched the recording again.
When the camera moved closer to the chair and focused on her tied hands, Bowman looked away from the screen and studied her reaction. “When did this arrive?”
“Last night.” She nodded. “Watch.”
Old hands reached for the girl’s chin; her dark hair fell back, and looking at the camera was a seventeen-year-old Riley.
He paused the frame and stepped closer to the screen. For a long moment he said nothing.
Riley chewed the inside of her cheek, clamping down the rise of fear and nausea that rushed her each time she saw this. The young girl in the video moaned. She forced herself not to hear. Her throat tightened.
“How did you receive this?” Bowman demanded.
“It was waiting on the front porch of my home.”
“You found it?”
“No, Hanna did yesterday.”
“Did Hanna open the package?”
“No. She left it on the kitchen table for me with a note.”
“You’re sure she didn’t see the video?”
“Yes. The package was undisturbed, and when she came home, she was her normal self. Nothing out of the ordinary for a teenage girl.”
“Do any of your neighbors have security cameras around their houses?”
“Not that kind of neighborhood. Working-class folks don’t have that kind of money. But I made a point to check for cameras along the block this morning when I walked Cooper.”
“Did you talk to your neighbors? Did anyone see anything?”
“No. But I can follow up today.”
“I’ll do that.”
“But these are my neighbors.”
“I’m impartial. Better from me. I’ll find a way to leave you out of it. Any memories of how you landed in that room?”
“I have no idea. I have seven missing days. I was accepting something to drink one minute, and the next I was stumbling off the bus in Richmond a thousand miles away.”
“And you gave the cards to Sharp?”
“Yes. But I took pictures of them.” She scrolled through her phone and showed him the spread.
“A royal flush? There are four possible royal flushes out of 2.6 million possible hands. To say you were lucky would be a huge understatement.”
“I knew it was good. Didn’t know it was that rare.”
He studied the photos she’d taken of the back of the cards. “Just like the ones we found on the victims in New Orleans, except no writing on yours.”
“Like the ones I found in Vicky Gilbert’s backpack.” She tumbled through the facts of the Gilbert case as Bowman viewed the pictures. “Vicky and I share similarities. Runaways, but neither of us had been on the streets long. We do look alike. I didn’t realize how much until I saw the video. I’d forgotten how long my hair used to be.”
“You haven’t changed that much.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “Please don’t say that in public. Looking like a teenager doesn’t help my badass image unless I’m going undercover at the local high school.”
“Understood.”
Energy buzzed in her body, creating a wave of panic. “I thought it was all behind me. But the Shark is circling back, isn’t he?”