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The Hunter paused. “I think the family must have a property nearby—one under the radar and isolated. I’ve been searching, but I haven’t found it yet.”
Before he could say anything else, his phone chimed loudly in his pocket. He glanced at it and revved the engine on his motorcycle. “I’ve got to go,” he said, and tore out of the parking lot without giving me a chance to respond.
“Wait!” I hollered after him. “I have more questions.” But he was already roaring down the street. I couldn’t tell if he’d even heard me.
He’d told me nothing at all about Garrison. He didn’t have any more idea about where the Maliks might be hiding him than I did.
Actually, that wasn’t totally true. I pushed down my hopelessness as everything he’d said sank in. We hadn’t found any other properties the family owned, but the Hunter was sure they had another one—one in the area. All I had to do was figure out where.
But the only people who’d know were my birth family, and they hadn’t mentioned anything about it so far. If it was where they murdered children and stashed kidnapping victims, it wasn’t likely that they’d tell me in a casual conversation.
They were my family, though. They’d been talking about bringing me into the legacy, about me being one of them. Was there some way I could use that?
As I hurried back to the house in the hill, my mind whirled, and my thoughts centered on Garrison in a different way. He was the one in the group who got information out of people rather than computers. I didn’t have him to guide me, so I had to figure this out myself. How would he have convinced someone to cough up an address? I’d watched him in action before.
He’d get people talking. He’d catch them off-guard and set them up to reveal more than they meant to before they even realized how much they were spilling. He might act like he knew all about what he was fishing for already to put them at ease with confirming or correcting his suggestions.
What if I could do the same? If I wanted to save Garrison, I’d have to become him for one phone call.
I took out my phone and scanned through the limited numbers. Who would be the most likely to fall for this kind of gambit? Someone who didn’t already have decades of experience pretending not to be a mass murderer, presumably. But someone who was familiar with the family’s “rituals.”
After a moment’s debate, I tapped my brother’s number and raised the phone to my ear.
Carter answered after just a couple of rings, nothing in his tone giving any indication that he knew I had a reason to be upset. “Hey, Rachel. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” He sounded mildly surprised but not concerned or shifty. Maybe he wasn’t in on this particular part of our parents’ plans. Or maybe he was a very good actor.
I’d just have to be better.
“Hey,” I said in a brisk but warm tone. “Dad wanted me to meet him out at the country house so he could show me around. I’m excited to find out more about everything the family’s involved in, but I seem to have misplaced the address. Can you remind me where I’m going?”
Calling Malik “dad” sent shivers down my spine, but I held up the ruse through my whole spiel.
Carter answered automatically, just as I hoped. “It’s just off Eckleberry Lane, if you’ve made it that—” He caught himself, and his tone turned abruptly wary. “Dad wanted you to meet him there? What did he say he wanted to show you?”
“Don’t worry about that,” I said. “You’ve told me enough.”
I hung up the phone and dashed back to the crew with the street name on my lips.
