Aftershocks (32 page)

“Thank you. That helps.” Zoe chanced a glance through the narrow glass pane, but the jetway was empty. She forced a smile for the helpful lady. “I guess I’d better go get a train ticket.”

The woman laughed and waddled back to the gate desk, and Zoe hurried toward security. She’d memorized where she needed to go and what she needed to buy, and luckily the line at that particular counter was short and, even more shocking, the clerk efficient.

There was one moment of heart-stopping fear, however, when the clerk frowned at the screen and said, “Did you just buy a ticket to Florida?”

“Yes.” Her throat rasped, and she swallowed. “My…”
Keep it simple
. “My plans changed. Family emergency.”

“Okay.” Her careful wariness eased into concern, and she tapped away on the keyboard again. “Let’s get you moving, then, shall we?”

“Thank you.” If this was real, she’d be grateful for this woman’s compassion. She
was
grateful, and it made her feel guilty. Guiltier than she already was, lying to Kell and ditching Grant after all they’d done for her.

She couldn’t think about that. She had to focus on what to do next, and fast, before…

A shout sounded somewhere off to her left, and her heart bounced into her throat. She looked with everyone else and saw a man chasing a toddler down the walkway. The child’s giggle echoed to them, and Zoe fought to react normally, not sagging against the counter or closing her eyes against the well of nausea.

Jesus, she couldn’t even handle this little bit of subterfuge. How was she going to carry off anything else?

Planning would help
. But that could wait. She wasn’t out of the danger zone yet.

Grant didn’t show up as she went through security again with her new ticket. Nor did he appear on her concourse, or at her gate, or racing down the jetway onto her plane. She kept a wary eye on every body that turned into the plane, going through a mini tense-release rhythm for each passenger. But she didn’t know any of them. Finally, the door closed, the plane backed away from the gate, and she eased into her seat, forcing herself to relax before she fell to pieces. A faint hiss preceded the captain’s announcement, and she half listened until his final words made her stomach cramp harder than ever.

“And we hope you enjoy your flight to Columbus.”

* * *

“You
what?!
”

Kell couldn’t process what his mother had just said to him. “With who?”

“With…” Her mouth formed the word whom but she didn’t seem to be able to bring herself to correct his grammar. “With my sister and her family. They’re traveling on a random itinerary.”

He didn’t get it. It was the middle of the school year. Why a random itinerary, and why was that the first bit of information she shared? Had there been a threat? Had someone updated his parents about the Rhomney situation?

“For how long?”

“As long as necessary. Please, Kellen, come into the house.” She held out a hand, the giant anniversary emerald on her hand winking in the light through the glass panels next to the door. “I’ll have Genovese get us some drinks.”

Her hand shook right before he took it, and he realized she was pale. He should have noticed sooner, but he was exhausted after several sleepless nights and overwhelmed with worry about Zoe—whom he couldn’t reach—and even Grant—whom he also couldn’t reach. There’d been so many ugly scenarios running through his head, he hadn’t been paying attention to anything else.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Dealing.”

That was not how his mother typically described things. What the hell was going on? But as soon as she settled him on a settee she swept out of the room, no doubt to ask Genovese, the household manager, to get the drink Kell didn’t want.

The antique mantle clock ticked loudly in the silent parlor. A few dust motes floated lazily in the sunbeam angled at the floor in front of Kell. His nose twitched against the scent of lavender, his mother’s favorite. He sat back, then immediately lunged forward again, checked his watch, and tried not to bounce his knee, because his mother hated that.

Waiting was intolerable. He pulled out his phone and dialed Zoe’s number again. Voice mail, of course. For the sixth time. He disconnected and dialed Grant’s cell. This time, the man answered, sounding every bit as frustrated as Kell felt.

“What the hell is going on?” Kell asked without greeting. “Where’s Zoe? She’s not answering her phone.”

Grant hesitated only a moment. “She played us. Jumped our plane too late for me to get off. Your sister okay? My guys told me she flew somewhere with your aunt and uncle, but they weren’t able to determine where.”

“I have no fucking idea.” Alarm jumped through the phone connection, and he hurriedly corrected himself. “Yes. I think so. My mother sent her to Europe. Something’s wrong here, but she hasn’t told me what yet. I think she went to collect herself or something.” God forbid she show any emotion to her son. “Where’s Zoe?” Because for damned sure by now Grant would have tracked her. “And why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t call you because your sister is your priority.” There was no judgment in his tone, but Kell felt his face redden with shame nonetheless. “She’s in Ohio.”

“Fuck!” He’d never said that word so often in so short a time. “What the—” He didn’t need to finish the question. After seeing Carling’s photo, there was only one thing she could be doing. “She’s offering herself up for us.”

“I talked to Henricksen. He told me about Carling.” Grant’s voice was measured, unaccusing, but Kell knew the guy had to be as much a roiling mess inside as he was. He was just more practiced at hiding it.

“Zoe didn’t tell you? She was supposed to be texting you from security.”

“She did, to tell me she was going back to Boston with you. Didn’t mention Carling.”

Kell cursed again. How had she played them both so smoothly?

Grant went on. “Henricksen said there was a note with the picture. Did you see it?”

“I saw the picture. Carling, injured, trussed. No words. I assumed it was meant as a message.”

“It was a message, all right. But he spelled it out for her. It said ‘Which of your boy toys is next?’ ”

The roiling mess in his gut hardened and sank heavily. “And she took it to mean us.”

“Who else?”

Kell paced, fuming, holding up a finger to his mother, who’d come back into the room with a tea tray. “So she’s trying to protect us. But how? She doesn’t have the totems.” The realization hit him before Grant said it. Pat and Freddie had the totems already. The message they sent hadn’t been about the damned gold statues.

It had been about her.

Chapter Fifteen

Zoe hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

As soon as she crossed through security, there he was. She didn’t remember his name, couldn’t recall the names of any of Pat and Freddie’s followers, but he’d guarded her enough that the years and hard living didn’t make him unrecognizable. She had a brief flashback to a smelly, stuffy room, the rasp of a rope around her ankle, and a stoic, unmoving presence in the corner.

He spotted her as she walked past the scanners and strode over to her, twitching and fidgeting as if he didn’t know what to do without a cigarette in his hand. His jeans bagged between his knees, and he hitched them up over his butt as he stopped in front of her, a grin showing two missing teeth among the yellow ones that remained.

“He was right.” He giggled. “He’s always right.”

Zoe clenched her teeth, not trusting herself not to say something stupid. Stupider than what she was doing.

“Well, come on then. You don’t have any checked baggage, I’m thinkin’. Too bad if you do.” He giggled again and turned to walk beside her, grabbing her left arm above the elbow hard enough to create another flashback. She flinched, startled at both the memory of violence she didn’t think had happened and her brain’s automatic suppression of it. Had she forced so much of her experience into a locked box that there were things she actually didn’t remember? A cold, hard rock rolled in her stomach, and for a moment she thought she’d be sick.

The moment passed when Kell’s face popped into her head, reminding her why she was doing this. She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat and asked, “Where are we going?”

He glanced askance at her and shook his head. “You better not be dumb enough to be wearin’ a wire. Pat said you weren’t that dumb.”

“I’m not.” Not exactly. She faced forward so he couldn’t read anything in her expression and didn’t press the subject. “What’s your name?”

He worked his mouth around a little as he maneuvered her through the door to the outside, then finally said, “Stew,” as if he wasn’t sure he could trust her with it.

“I’m Zoe,” she told him, thinking that trying to humanize herself to him, make him think twice about whatever they were going to do to her, wouldn’t work. It was pointless, since she’d willingly gone to them, was about to walk right into their lair. She shuddered and clenched her hand around the strap of her bag to keep from touching the inner jacket pocket her phone was in.

“I know who you are.” He chuckled. “We’re gonna be
good
friends. Not like last time.” He leered. Unable to help herself, Zoe shot him a glare. He cleared his throat and looked away to check traffic, then hustled her across the street to the parking area.

Her mind raced with ways she could get away, a fruitless exercise since that would defeat her purpose.
Just hold on. Shaun will come through
. She repeated it, imagining the FBI swooping in shortly after she arrived in…wherever they took her. God, she hoped this worked.

Pat had made a big mistake when he took Will Carling. Before that, he hadn’t done anything the FBI or anyone else could do anything about. Maybe parole violation, but they couldn’t prove that, especially if he was already back here. They couldn’t officially trace the threats, or the assault on Ozzie, or the theft of the totems to Pat or Freddy.

But if she got to the shack—she knew they weren’t going to the original shack, it didn’t even exist anymore, but she couldn’t get that image out of her head—and could stall Pat long enough for Henricksen to track the location and connect him to Will’s abduction…then it could all be over.

That was all that kept her feet moving forward.

Stew stopped next to a squatting, rusting hulk of a car, something she guessed was from the seventies or maybe early eighties. The back door opened and he shoved her toward it. She slid in, squinting in the dim light at the person next to her. This one, she didn’t recognize. He was younger, probably even younger than her, and cleaner than Stew. He had all his teeth, and they’d definitely had orthodontics at some point. His clothes were good quality, his haircut a deliberately shaggy style, and his smile reminded her of some of the young people at the Stones’ country club. She wondered what the hell made people like this kid follow someone like Patron Rhomney.

“Well hell-o, Miss Ardmore.” He eyed her up and down and even stroked his hand down her arm. “Pat didn’t tell us how lovely you are. This is going to be much more fun than I expected.”

Zoe couldn’t hide her disgust. “Can’t get it up for a willing woman, huh?”

The cocky grin snapped off his face like it had been snatched away. “Drive, Stew. They’re waiting for her.”

Stew didn’t move. “Fergettin’ somethin’.”

Pretty-Boy grimaced and lifted his hip to pull a bandanna out of his back pocket. He wrapped it around Zoe’s eyes, tightening it just a bit more than necessary. She put her hand up to touch it, and he slapped it away.

“Don’t make me tie you up.”

Relieved, she let her hands settle into her lap. They wouldn’t bother blindfolding her if they were going to kill her. Of course, she didn’t think they planned to kill her, at least not yet. And there were worse things than death. But their attempt to keep their location secret from her meant they expected her to somehow have a way to relay that information to someone, and that made her feel better.

They drove for a long time, and being blind made her unable to gauge distance. Everything felt longer than it probably was. The men didn’t talk, so she didn’t get Pretty-Boy’s name, and she decided silence, at least for now, was best.

Finally the car bumped—a lot—down what was probably a rutted dirt road or trail. Zoe was glad they hadn’t bound her, because she needed her hands to brace herself on the door and seats to avoid injury. PB dragged her out of the car and across several yards to a few wooden steps, where she stumbled and had to catch herself. The planks felt dry and both flaky and splintery against her palms, like weathered painted wood. Just like the shack she’d been in sixteen years ago. Her heart thundered and she lay sprawled against the steps, frozen, unable to make herself rise and go inside.

The door opened and mingled scents of unwashed bodies, pot, dirty dishes, and stale beer wafted out. Zoe squeezed her eyes shut and breathed through her mouth, focusing, thinking of Olivia and Kell and Grant and Jordie and her parents.

You can do this
. Her breathing echoed harshly in her ears, and she realized Pat would hear it and know she was afraid. She snapped her mouth closed and pushed to her feet. She was
not
a child anymore. She was a strong, brave adult, and she would
not
allow Pat to control her. Not like that.