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“You’ve got it,” Griffin promises.
“And if you find her…” He goes silent for a moment, and I can practically feel his conflicting emotions. “Just bring her back, okay? We’ll deal with what happens after that when the time comes.”
Griffin promises we will before ending the call and turning to me, wearing a smirk while I start the truck’s engine. “See? Piece of cake.”
“Pardon me if I don’t applaud.” Still, I can at least admit to myself that he handled the situation efficiently.
Now, if I could only put a finger on why it seems to matter so damn much that he comes along with me. They didn’t have anything going on between them, did they? I would’ve seen it, for sure.
But would I have? It isn’t like I spend all my time at the hotel—the way they do. They are together all the time. They’re both young, both healthy, normal people. It wouldn’t be too far a stretch for them to fumble their way into a physical situation.
And here I am, old enough to be her father. The gray running through my hair and the lines at the corners of my eyes catch my attention in my reflection when I check out the rearview mirror. It’s not Griffin’s fault he’s closer to her age than I am.
I can’t hold that against him any more than I can hold her poor taste against
her—a smart girl like her could do a hell of a lot better.
She could also do a hell of a lot better than me.
“You’re sure about this?”Griffin looks behind us, side to side, before staring at the structure indicated by the coordinates Natalie provided.
I see why he’s got his doubts. The cute little craftsman set far back behind a neatly trimmed lawn looks nearly identical to the homes up and down the block. “She’d want to blend in.”
He snorts, then side-eyes me. “Who are you talking about? Beverly or Natalie?”
That’s the thing. I don’t know.
By the time night falls, we’ve sat and watched the house for more than an hour. The absence of a vehicle in the driveway doesn’t mean anything. Someone could be lying in wait.
Yet even though I’ve stared at the windows and the curtains behind them until my eyes begin to burn, there hasn’t been a shift of the thin, white fabric to tell me someone moved behind it.
“Looks empty,” I decide after another hour of tense silence. “Watch for motion sensors.”
“Anything else I need to know?” He checks his Glock, shaking his head. “It’s amazing I’ve lived a day without your advice.”
Once we secure Natalie, I can teach this child some manners. For now, we exit the truck silently and approach the dark house. At this point, I doubt we’ll find anything inside but dust, but it might take us one step closer to understanding why Natalie ran. If there’s evidence of Beverly being here, I might believe this was a list of locations where Natalie thought she could find her mother rather than a list of safe houses for Natalie to hide out in. Does that mean she fled to Beverly for help?
Or was she only trying to track down the woman she thought she’d buried years ago?
We exchange a glance when the front door opens easily. Is it a trap? Something meant to get our guard down? There’s a small planter on the porch with nothing but dead weeds inside. I place it on the threshold and kick it across the front room in case anyone had any ideas about motion sensors or tripwires. The only thing that results is a mess when the planter tips over and spills its contents across a worn hardwood floor.
“Wow. That was fun.” Griffin slides past me into the house, testing the light switch by the door. I’m surprised when the lights go on—the fact that there’s power running to the house tells me it might have been inhabited recently.
It’s sparsely furnished the way a safe house would typically be. No need to waste time with the bells and whistles and comforts of home when you don’t expect to be around for long. My gaze moves over a simple sofa and chair, a TV that must be at least ten years old, and a few magazines scattered on the coffee table.
“Six months old,” Griffin murmurs, looking down at the covers.
A clue? A hint? I was here, and you had no idea. “Beverly?” I suggest, continuing my search.
Beyond the front room is a dining room with nothing but a table, then a large, open kitchen that leads into what might have been a family room in better days. A large fireplace sits against the back wall and features a long, deep mantle, which holds a single framed photo. It’s the only decoration I’ve seen so far and naturally grabs my attention.
I’m still halfway across the room when I recognize one of the faces beaming behind the glass. “Look at this.” I wave Griffin over so he can get a look at Natalie back in her teenage years. She still had braces, and what are now faint freckles scatteredacross the bridge of her nose were more abundant back then. Beverly stands behind her, and aside from the lighter shade of her hair, the resemblance is breathtaking. They could be twins born decades apart.
“Tell me you’re as creeped out as I am.” Griffin leans in to examine the damage done to the photo. Aside from Beverly and Natalie, there are three men. One of them I recognize, and the recognition strikes at the core of me. He was a good-looking kid, full of confidence.
“Jonathan,” I murmur.
“Mason’s brother.” Griffin touches a finger to the glass, dumbfounded by the scratched-out faces of the other two men who must be Mason and his father. It’s like something out of a horror movie, creepy enough to send a chill down my spine.
