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Finley drew in a breath. “Can you confirm your identity?”
“Give me a break,” Cagle griped. “You expect him to whip out his driver’s license? Who else would he be?”
Finley ignored this too. The man ... his skin was almost tanned. His hair looked neatly trimmed. He was clean shaven. If he had beendown here all this time, wouldn’t he be pale and maybe disheveled? Ian Johnson would be what? Thirty-six now. If he’d been locked away for thirteen years, he should look thin and frail.
But he didn’t. He looked healthy and fit, even a little muscular.
“What have you been feeding him?” This whole thing was off the rails. Finley still felt stunned.
“Not much since you sent me off to the hospital,” her neighbor said, with more snark than a woman in such ill health should be able to muster.
Jesus Christ. “Are you hungry?” Finley asked the man.
He shook his head. “There was enough until yesterday. But ...” He moved closer to the bars. “You need to understand—”
“Think,” Bart warned, speaking to the man behind the bars, “before you—”
“Dad,” Finley cautioned, “do not dig that hole you’re in any deeper.” She wanted to shake him. Her father, of all people, had to know just how bad this situation was—for all of them.
Ian grabbed the bars with both hands and leaned closer.
Finley resisted the impulse to step back.
“This is not his fault,” Ian urged.
“Unlock that door,” she ordered, looking to Cagle. “Let him out.”
“In the cabinet,” Cagle said wearily, her strength obviously waning. “The key is in the cabinet.”
Finley crossed to the wall of cabinets and started opening doors. There was bottled water and all manner of snacks. Vitamins. Ready-to-eat meals. Toilet paper. This was insane. Finley glanced back to the cell. Sure enough, there was a toilet and a sink. Even a narrow shower.
She picked up the key and glared at her neighbor. “How on earth did you do all this?”
“The storm shelter was in the garage when I bought the house. I had the rest added.” She dragged in a rattling breath. “There are plenty of contractors who will do unpermitted work for the right price. I knewthem all from past research. It was easy to hire them under an alias. All that mattered was the money.”
Shaking her head, Finley turned back to the cabinet. She grabbed a bottle of water and a bag of chips, walked back to the cell, passed them through the bars, then unlocked the door and opened it. Ian eyed her speculatively as he stepped past her and settled on the same bench with Cagle. He placed the chips and water Finley had given him on the bench next to himself as if they were the furthest things from his mind.
“You okay?” he asked her.
Finley was startled by the genuine concern in his voice. How was that possible?
“I’ll probably live,” Cagle muttered, meeting his gaze briefly.
Finley turned on her father then. He’d explained how he came to be a part of this and the final decision he and Downey had made. Still, the whole situation was unbelievable. How would she explain this to her mother? To Matt? She put a hand over her mouth, felt sick. How would she protect her father?
When he reached for her, she drew back. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Good God, you are one overbearing child,” Cagle growled. “He only did what I told him. He allowed his emotions to override his good sense. Something I believe you’re familiar with.”
Finley glared at her before turning back to her father.
“If I had gone to Louise in the beginning,” her father said, “like I should have, Lucy might be alive today.”
Cagle looked away, swiped at her eyes before squaring her shoulders and facing them once more. Her eyes were red rimmed, and her lips trembled. Evidently she did still have a heart. Shocking, considering what the woman had done. Finley refused to feel sympathy for her father or for her neighbor at this point.
That was Finley’s anger talking ... deep down, part of her understood. Like Cagle said, Finley had acted on emotion plenty of times.
“When I heard the news that Lucy had been murdered,” her father went on, “I was so stunned. I rushed to the car wash to find Ian. I thought if he was there that perhaps I was wrong. But Ian wasn’t there. It was his brother, Ray. He was already working on having the place torn down. Ray realized I knew something. He’d listened to the voice mails I’d left on Lucy’s phone, and with me showing up ... he put it all together.”
