“No,” she whispered. “My whole life . . . it was a lie.”
“Your life wasn’t. Just everyone’s around you. You are the same person you were fifteen minutes ago, Susannah. A good person who persevered despite everything to care about other people. You think you became a prosecutor just to erase the stigma of being Arthur Vartanian’s daughter? You didn’t. You did it because you want for others what no one cared enough to give you. Yet still you persevere.”
She swallowed hard. “I hated him, Luke. Now I know why he hated me.”
“Arthur Vartanian was a cruel man, Susannah. But he’s gone and you’re still here. You deserve the life you work to give people you represent every day.”
“I always dreamed that Arthur wasn’t really my father, that I’d been stolen from gypsies or something . . . But I’m not sure Frank Loomis was much better.”
“He died trying to save Daniel. And when Bailey and Monica escaped, he could have turned them over to Granville to save himself, but he helped them. He wasn’t all bad.”
“Daniel needs to know. That Frank falsified the Fulmore evidence has torn him up.”
“I think he’ll feel better knowing it tore Frank up, too,” Luke said, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s go back to Atlanta and you can get some rest.”
“What will you do?”
“Find out where Bobby is hiding. Angie gave us biographical information we didn’t have before.” His cell buzzed as he stood. “Papadopoulos.”
His back stiffened. “Where is she?” He ran around the car and slid behind the wheel, his eyes narrowing as he listened. When he hung up, he was smiling fiercely. “Guess what a family on a houseboat pulled out of the water downriver?”
“Bobby?”
“No, maybe better. A seventeen-year-old named Ashley Csorka.”
“The girl from the bunker. The one who scratched her name on her cot.”
He did a U-turn in Dutton’s Main Street and sped out of town. “One and the same. She said she escaped from where they’re holding the girls.”
Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 4:30 a.m.
From his bedroom window, Charles watched Luke and Susannah drive away, then hit speed dial three on his phone. “Well? What did you tell them?”
“The truth,” Angie said. “Just like you told me to.”
“Good.”
Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 4:45 a.m.
L
uke found Jock’s Raw Bar in Arcadia with no trouble—its neon sign lit the way from the main road. Watching Ashley being loaded into the ambulance was Sheriff Corchran.
“How is she?” Luke asked him.
“In shock. Based on her core temp, the medics think she was in the water about twenty-five minutes. Jock over there heard a thump against his houseboat. He fished her out and called me. I recognized her name from the Amber alert you folks put out earlier tonight. She’s pretty lucid. She fought hard to escape.”
“Thanks.” Luke climbed into the back of the ambulance. “Ashley, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” she managed, although her teeth were chattering.
“My name is Agent Papadopoulos. Are the others still alive?”
“I don’t know. I think so.”
“Where are they?”
“House. An old house. Boarded windows.”
“Did it have a dock?”
“No.”
“We need to get her to the hospital,” one of the medics said. “Either ride or get out.”
“Where are you taking her?” Susannah asked. She was standing in the open doors.
“Mansfield Community Hospital. It’s closest,” the medic answered.
“Luke, you stay with her and I’ll meet you there,” Susannah said. “I’ll drive your car.”
Luke tossed her his keys, then looked at Corchran, who stood behind her. “She’s been shot at twice today. Stay behind her.”
Susannah stepped back as the ambulance drove away. She looked up at Corchran, her brain humming. “Do you have a computer model of the river currents?”
“I’ve already given the River Patrol the coordinates. If she was in the water twenty-five minutes she might have floated a half mile. They’ve marked off a section of river about a mile long and they’re already searching.”
“Sheriff, can you spare someone to drive me to the hospital?”
He looked surprised at the request. “You can’t drive?”
“I can, but I need to do some title searches on my computer. I may be able to find where they are. Time is of the essence.”
“Larkin,” he called. “The lady needs a lift. Let’s go.”
Inside the ambulance, Luke bent over Ashley’s cold face. “Can you see the house from the road?”
“No. I had to run. A long way. Through the woods.”
“Her feet are lacerated,” the medic said.
“Describe the house for me, honey.”
“Really old. Dark inside. Old doorknobs.” For some reason this made her smile.
“What about the outside, Ashley?”
“Just a house. Nothing special.”
“How did you get there?”
“First by the river, on a boat. I got sick in the boat. Then a trailer.”
“Like a tractor trailer?”
“No. Horse trailer. Had hay.”
Luke frowned. “Did the horse trailer look different? Unique?”
“All white. Pulled by a pickup truck. White, too. Sorry.”
Luke smiled at her. “Don’t be sorry. You got out alive. We’ll find the others.”
“Where’s my dad? He’s going to be so worried.”
“He’s here. We found your name scratched in the cot.”
She shuddered, tears filling her eyes. “I was so scared.”
“But you did so well, Ashley. How did they get you?”
“So stupid. I . . . I met a boy. Online.” Her lips twisted as her teeth chattered. “Jason.”
“The ever-popular Jason,” Luke murmured. “You weren’t the only one, Ashley.”
Her eyes were haunted. “They took five of us. Then . . . shot the others.”
“I know. We found them. Ashley, did you see your captors?”
“Two women, young. One was thirty, one twenty. Maybe. And the man. Creepy.”
“There was a man? Describe him.”
“Old. Creepy. Tanner.”
“His skin was dark?”
“No, his name. Tanner.” She was drifting. “And a guard. I think he’s dead.”
“Ashley, wake up,” Luke said, and she struggled to obey. “What about the guard?”
“Young. Big. White.” Again she smiled, but faintly. “I hope I killed him.”
“Ashley, don’t go to sleep,” Luke said sharply. “How far away is the house?”
She blinked, her eyelids heavy. “Don’t know. I swam hard. But the water was cold.”
He brushed a hand over her battered scalp. “Ashley, what did they do to your hair?”
“
I
did it,” she said, clenching her chattering teeth.
“Why?”
“Haynes. He likes blondes. I didn’t want to go with him. So I did it.”
Haynes
. They had a customer. Customers tended to roll on the distributors, at least in the Internet child porn business. It was how they’d been able to unravel Web sites in the past.
Follow the money
. It was as old as time.
“So Haynes didn’t want you?”
“Never saw me,” she murmured, so softly he had to bend closer to her lips. “Bobby threw me in the hole. I got out. Chipped the bricks until . . . I . . .”
She said no more. Luke looked up at the medic.
“Unconscious. Her body took a real beating in that cold water. If she hadn’t been in such good shape, her heart might have stopped.”
Dutton, Sunday, February 4, 5:20 a.m.
Susannah was pacing impatiently when Luke emerged from the ER.
“They say she’ll be all right,” he said. “I’m going to wait for her father to get here.”
She tugged his arm. “The doctors can talk to him. Come on, let’s go.”
“Where?”
“I found Terri Styveson’s marriage license in the public record. Her maiden name was Petrie. This address is a house that belonged to her mother.”
“Bobby’s grandmother.”
“The court filed an executed will fifteen years ago when the Styvesons were found murdered in their home in Arkansas. The authorities ruled it a robbery gone bad. Barbara Jean’s grandmother was found dead in her sleep a few months later. Barbara Jean inherited the house. It’s an old one, built in 1905. It’s called Ridgefield House.”
He stared at her. “I was only away from you for thirty minutes.”
She smiled, triumph in her eyes. “Chase is sending a team. Corchran’s closest, so he’s probably there already. Well?” she asked. “You waiting for an engraved invitation?”
He put his arm around her shoulders and they ran to his car, his heart pounding like a sledgehammer. “Have I told you that you’re amazing?”
“No. I don’t believe you have.”
He laughed, hopeful for the first time in days. “You’re amazing. Get in.”
She was grinning as they pulled out of the parking lot. “I like this. I think I might like it better than the courtroom. It’s damn exciting.”
“Only when you’re not too late,” he said, sobering.
She sobered as well. “Corchran had search parties with dogs searching a mile from where she was pulled from the water, but this house is another mile past that. I don’t know how she managed to get so far downstream.”
“She’s a swimmer,” Luke said. “Her father showed Talia her ribbons.”
“Then she just swam the race of her life,” Susannah murmured.
“Let’s hope we’re as fast.”
They were ten minutes out when Luke’s cell buzzed. “Papadopoulos.”
“It’s Corchran. They were definitely here, but now they’re gone.”
“Fuck,” Luke snarled.
Too late. You were too late.
“What do you see?”
“It’s an old house. They set it on fire before they left, but we got here in time to keep it from destroying the whole house. Oh, and there’s a dead guard around the back.”
“Ashley really killed him?” Luke asked, his mind racing.
Too late. Too late
.
“Not unless she had a rifle. He’s missing a good part of his gut. He has a shallow stab wound in his shoulder and one hell of a goose egg on his head. We found a bloody marble doorknob near his body.”
He thought of Ashley’s small smile. “Ashley must have hit him with it and knocked him out, then Bobby shot him rather than leave him behind alive. She’s nothing if not consistent. Do you see the white pickup and a horse trailer?” He’d called in the BOLO from the back of the ambulance.
“Negative. We found a minivan registered to Garth Davis and a Volvo registered to his sister Kate. And a black LTD.”
“Registered to Darcy Williams,” Luke said, his jaw taut. “DRC119.”
“Yep,” Corchran said. “The plates were under the front seat. But no horse trailer.”
“Let’s get every available unit out searching.”
“We’re already on it.”
Luke snapped his phone shut. “Goddammit. I’m tired of being too damn late.”
Susannah said nothing for a full minute. “Where would they go?” she finally asked. “If this was their base of operations, where would they go?”
“She had to have put her kids somewhere,” Luke said. “Maybe she went there.”
“Luke,” Susannah said, straining forward. “Ahead. That vehicle that just merged onto the highway. It could be a trailer.”
She was right. Luke sped up, radioing for any backup units in the area to respond. “They’re speeding up,” he said tensely, driving faster. “Get down.”
Susannah obeyed, ducking her head below the window. “What are they doing?”
“Not slowing down. Just stay down.”
“I’m not stupid, Luke,” she said, aggrieved.
No, she was amazing. “I know.”
“He’s seen us,” Tanner said, his hands clenching the steering wheel. “We never should have come on the interstate. I told you it was too dangerous.”
“Shut up, Tanner. You’re not helping.” Bobby looked in the side mirror. “He’s gaining. We either shoot him or we ditch the trailer and run.”
“He’s too close. We could never get away now. So shoot him. Now.”
Bobby heard the panic in Tanner’s voice, then considered the options, the odds.
They know about the trailer, but they don’t know who I am. I need time.
Time to get away and begin again. Finally Bobby considered the trumping factor—
What would Charles do?
And the plan was decided.
“Tanner, you’re going to pull into that rest area ahead and park diagonally, blocking the road. You and I will get out of the truck and jack a car. By the time they stop to see what’s inside the trailer, we’ll be back on the interstate, ducking into the next exit.”
Tanner nodded. “It could work.”
“Of course it’ll work. Trust me.”
Susannah’s neck was getting cramped. “What are they doing now?”
“Same thing they were doing the last time you asked,” Luke answered from behind clenched teeth. “Not slowing down.”
Staying down, Susannah leaned over the center console and took the small backup revolver from Luke’s ankle holster.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Arming myself. And staying down,” she added before he could say it again.
“What the . . . ?” Luke muttered. “Hold on.” The car careened to the right. “They’re getting off at a rest stop. Whatever happens, you stay down. Promise.”
“I won’t be stupid,” was all she’d say.
He growled a curse, then threw on his brakes. Ahead of them she could hear the squealing of tires as the trailer slid to a stop. He was out of the car before it stopped, shouting, “Police. Everyone down. Everyone down. In the truck,
freeze
.”
Then a gunshot cracked.
Luke
. Tightening her grip on his backup revolver, she threw open her door and slid out, using the door as a shield. Luke was nowhere to be seen. She almost ran after him, but stopped at the trailer.
All that mattered was the girls.
Tires squealed somewhere ahead of the trailer and Susannah heard Luke curse. He ran back, fury in his eyes. “Bobby jumped out and hijacked a car,” he said. “You stay and wait for the backups. Move.”
Susannah jumped out of the way as he drove up on the curb to get around the pickup, which had been parked diagonally across the road. She refocused her attention on the trailer. The pickup’s motor was still running. The back was locked, a chain threaded through the handles. She pulled herself up, standing on the back bumper to see in the dirty window. And the breath she’d been holding came out in a whoosh.
Dear God.
Ashley had said one girl had been sold to a man named Haynes, so Susannah expected to see four girls, three of the five who had gone missing from the bunker plus Monica’s little sister. But before her were more than twice that many, huddled together, tied and gagged. She pounded on the dirty window.
“Are you hurt?” she shouted.
One of the girls looked up, and even through the filth covering the glass, Susannah could see the devastation in her eyes. Slowly she shook her head. Then stopped, changing to an even slower nod as the tears began to stream down her cheeks.
The chain was padlocked, so Susannah ran around to the pickup’s cab and stopped, grimacing at what she saw. “Oh, hell,” she muttered. What was left of a man sat behind the wheel. Most of his head was sprayed over the cab. Grimacing, she pulled his keys from the ignition, then tried all the keys in the padlock until she felt it give.
Feeling triumphant, she yanked the chain from the back of the trailer, hearing it clank-clank-clank as each link hit the bumper, then the pavement. She threw open the doors and exhaled as ten pairs of terrified eyes sought hers. “Hi,” she said, breathless. “I’m Susannah. You’re all safe now.”
Interstate 75, Sunday, February 4, 6:20 a.m.
Luke walked up to the horse trailer in time to see Susannah shaming a man into shutting off his video camera. She stood in front of the unfortunate documentarian, fists on her hips, a petite prizefighter primed for a bout with the champ. Had he not just had his heart knocked down to his knees, he might have smiled.
In the thirty minutes he’d been gone, someone had freed the girls in the trailer. Now officers were gently moving them to waiting ambulances, two at a time.
It was triumph. And it was tragedy. In the thirty minutes he’d been gone Bobby had taken yet another life. And she’d gotten away.
Too late. Too late.
“How could you?” Susannah was saying to the filmmaker as Luke got out of his car. “You’ve got kids in your car—
daughters
,” she went on. “How would you feel if some opportunist wanting to make a buck splashed your daughters’ pictures all over CNN? Give me that tape.
Now
,” she snarled when he would have argued.