Her eyes flutter and she swallows. She looks at the ground and shakes her head. “No. I wish I did. But there’s nothing.”
I can’t move. Can’t focus. What the hell am I going to do?
Liz issues a soft sob and wipes her nose. The nostrils are pink. “Can you help me up, please? I can’t stand with these things on.”
It takes me a second to understand what she means, and then I realize she’s talking about the zip ties binding her wrists.
“Of course,” I say, bending to help her to her feet. “Are you good to walk? I have a car right over here.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Where?” she asks without moving.
“What you said earlier is right. We need to find the police.”
Chapter 13
GRANT
I find an old Leatherman in the Yukon’s glove box and snip the zip ties off Liz’s wrists. Then we drive out of the quarry the same way I came in, up the hill and past the wall of boulders where I last saw Holston taking cover. The rocks are bare, like they’ve grown a mouth and swallowed him. Gunn is gone, too, nowhere to be seen.
Because they played you.
The thought is a firebrand pressed deep into the meat of my brain. But if they played me, why would they have left me with a car full of their fingerprints and DNA? Surely they know I’ll take this thing to the cops. It doesn’t add up. But nothing’s added up since Avery was abducted this morning, so why should this?
A dull pounding comes from the base of my skull as I descend the road and ease back toward the quarry gate. I can’t think, my thoughts congealing into a slippery bowl of spaghetti.
Did they really play me? Really? Why would Gunn do that? Why would Holston?
For the same reason as the men in the van—they wanted the money.
Which I gave them.
So where is my wife? Where is Avery?
It’s the only question that matters because Avery is the only thingthat matters. Losing every penny I have to these men, whoever they are, stings. But I can recover. I can start over. What I can’t replace is Avery. If I lose her—if I lose my child—I loseeverything.Her face burns to life behind my eyes, her words whispering into my ear.I love you …
“Who’s that?” Liz asks, pointing up the road.
“I’m not sure,” I say, squinting at the silver sedan idling beyond the gate. Alarm bells clang in my head and I bring the Yukon to a stop. The sedan is an older car much like the van, scuffed and dented in spots. But unlike the van, it doesn’t contain any masked men. Instead, there’s a guy wearing a polo standing next to it, holding a yellow manila envelope. He gives us a lazy wave, like there’s nothing out of the ordinary going on. Like hanging out at the quarry to greet us after what just happened is the most normal thing in the world. There’s no hint of threat in his posture, no menace, only boredom. That’s what strikes me the most. The guy looks bored.
“I don’t think we should go any closer,” Liz says, her eyes wide. “What if he’s dangerous?”
“He doesn’t look dangerous,” I say. “And we don’t have a choice. You need to see a doctor and we both need to talk to the cops.”
The real cops,I think angrily as I put the Yukon in gear and pull forward.
“Please don’t get out,” Liz says worriedly as I park near the gate.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her. “Just wait here.” And then I’m out of the car and striding toward the man, devouring the distance between us in ten quick steps.
“What do you want?” I demand.
“Are you Grant Wilson?”
The way my name rolls off his lips—his tone light and conversational—like he has no idea who I am or what I’ve been through today gives me pause. My anger ebbs. “Yeah. Why?”
