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When I got out of prison, I didn’t run into Folsom until after about six months of being out.
From there, when I was working cases, I started getting anonymous tips that would help me solve a case or give me that little clue that I needed to make pieces in my case click into place.
Eventually, her best friend Morrigan started dating one of my club members, and finally, my anonymous case helper was brought to light.
That’s when I realized that Folsom knew a hell of a lot more about me than she probably should.
As in, there was no way in hell she knew all the stuff she did about me by getting that information from the rest of the MC and their wives. I just wasn’t that sharing of a person.
Eventually, I realized that Folsom had no sense of decency and couldn’t care less whose life she invaded. Once I realized that, it became a lot easier to deal with her invasion. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, and helped me solve cases. Some of which I didn’t even need help with.
“What are you doing?”
I looked over to find Sam staring at me, lost in thought.
“Thinking,” I admitted. “Looking at her work.”
“She’s the one?” Sam asked.
Despite his overt worry for his granddaughter, he was still a great person. Caring and interested in the people he thought of as his.
“I’m…” I hesitated. “I don’t think so.”
He rolled his eyes. “The fact that you have to convince yourself of it and that you hesitated to answer means that you’re likely confused. And you wouldn’t be confused if she didn’t mean something to you.”
He had a point.
“Aha!” I heard our person of interest crow. “Look at this.”
Bayou, the child’s father, came over from where he was comforting his wife, Phoebe. Phoebe had two other kids stuck to her sides, so she chose not to come over. But we held every single bit of her attention.
Sam and I walked over, arriving at the same time as Bayou.
We all looked over Folsom’s shoulder.
“What am I looking at?” I asked.
“This is the inside camera of the car he’s driving,” she explained. “The car they’re in is a Grand Wagoneer. It has one of those kid cams where you can see the back seat. Like a dome-like view, give or take.”
She pointed at a blob in the back seat.
Bayou and Phoebe’s youngest son, the one that was stolen, lay in a pile of blankets.
He was three, so old enough not to suffocate where he was, face down.
“Is he breathing?” Sam asked, sounding horrified.
“Yeah, look.” She pointed. “This was a few seconds ago. He turned his face to the other side.”
I watched him do just that.
“Where are they?” I asked.
I’d done the legwork to get us to this point. I’d found a few police reports of abandoned cars and pinpointed where he’d started and left based on cars reported missing in the area.
Eventually, it’d led us to a brand-new car being stolen out of a mother’s driveway.
A mom car.
