Chapter 2
P olly plugged the phone into the charger, then drummed her fingers on her kitchen counter.
She was nervous. Why was she nervous? It was just a phone. An old phone mysteriously hidden in a floorboard.
That was suspicious.
Her drumming grew louder.
Seven days had passed since finding the cell.
If it were up to her, she’d have charged it the second she got home.
But she didn’t have the right charger. Bart from River Cell Solutions had to special order one and, well, that had taken a week.
He’d dropped it off early this morning. Perks of being in a small town.
Her gaze flickered to the time. Crap. She had to be at work in fifteen minutes. She could wait until her shift finished to check it out.
Ha. That wasn’t happening.
She studied the hard outer case. According to Bart, the phone was about a decade old and likely a burner.
Who had put it there? The person who’d rented the building before her? Back then it had been a bookstore. But who was the old shop owner? She had no idea.
Her own cell vibrated with a text.
Mom: Hi, darling. Do you want to come over and have dim sum with me and Jonah tonight?
Dim sum? Random.
Polly: I have some bookkeeping to do for the shop tonight. Sorry, Mom. Maybe another time.
Mom: Okay.
Three dots popped up, then disappeared. Then they appeared again.
Mom: Have you been seeing much of those SAR boys at Bloom?
Polly: Why?
Mom: Oh, you know, because they’re young and fit, and Maureen says that with the exception of Ethan, they’re all single.
Oh brother.
Polly: You’re getting your gossip from our town psychic?
Mom: Maureen’s never wrong. Do you know that she predicted I was going to meet a tall, handsome man who would ignite a whirlwind romance? Then a week later, I met Jonah.
Polly scoffed—a loud, very unladylike scoff that absolutely no one heard but her. That was not a psychic prediction from Maureen. That was just a local, noticing a pattern of events and correctly assuming the pattern would continue.
The burner’s screen lit up, and Polly dropped her own phone and lifted the old cell.
No password required. Good. One less hurdle.
She clicked into the photo album to see a few dozen photos. But not of people or places. The first three were old newspaper clippings. Really old clippings.
The first article was about a missing woman named Lila Wren. She’d been a tourist who’d disappeared in the forest about fifteen years ago.
Polly gasped at the second…
Opal Sinclair. Maggie’s mother.
She’d died when Maggie was ten and had been found in the river. Her death had been declared an accidental drowning. But just recently, Maggie had learned there’d been drugs in her mother’s system, something that had never been explained.
Polly flicked to the last article. Francie Collins—David Collins’s wife. Her disappearance dated back twenty-five years.
Why the three articles? Did the owner of the phone believe they were connected?
She flicked to the next photos. These were of the forest. The river.
Polly frowned when she reached the last image. It was of the old Connoway mansion, which had been abandoned ages ago. Like, over thirty years ago. There were actually rumors that it was haunted, but she didn’t believe in that stuff.
She clicked out of the photos and opened the message conversations to see just one text thread. She scrolled up to the start.
Phone owner: I know what you’re doing. I know you’re drugging these women with Rohypnol then drowning them.
Air froze in Polly’s lungs, but she forced herself to continue reading.
Unknown Number: Who is this?
Phone owner: I know who you are and what you’re doing. And I’m going to prove it.
There was a small break in the texts, then the other person wrote back about two weeks later.
Unknown number: I’ve been doing some digging of my own. I know who you are, Eileen. And you’re going to regret sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.
An alarm dinged and she jumped.
Get your ass to work . The alarm flashed on her screen.
Shit. She had to go. She grabbed her bag and was about to leave, but at the last second, slipped the burner into her jeans pocket before grabbing her cell and keys and flying out the door.
The entire drive, the text thread flickered in her head. Someone had been looking into Maggie’s mother’s death. And linked her death to two others. How had the owner of this phone connected them when the bodies had never been found? And who was Eileen?
Her heart was still racing as she arrived at work. It had just hit twelve past nine, and two of her workers were already behind the counter, one at the coffee machine, the other taking croissants out of the display cabinet.
When Polly reached the office, she dropped her bag onto the desk, the bright walls in complete contrast with her mood. Maggie and Ethan had helped her repaint using a different shade of yellow. She liked the new color. But right now, she felt far from sunny.
She opened the second drawer of the desk and dropped the burner in before returning to the front. She needed to speak to someone about this. Usually it would be the sheriff, but he was useless.
She’d just stopped at the counter when Jenna, possibly her most regular customer, stepped into the shop.
Polly grabbed the prepared to-go cup from the top of the coffee machine and smiled at the other woman. “Good morning, Jenna.”
Jenna came in every day at exactly nine fifteen for her double shot cappuccino before heading to the pharmacy. She was in her mid-forties and always wore a smile.
She grinned from the other side of the counter, pulling a smaller purse out of her oversized bag. “Morning, Polly. Having a good start to your day?”
Did finding a ten-year-old text thread about unsolved murders count as a good start to her day? “It’s been…interesting. You?”
“Unless you count changing my toothpaste from peppermint to spearmint, my morning has been anything but interesting.”
“Sounds interesting to me.”
Jenna pushed her brown bangs aside and grinned wider. “Then it’s been a hoot. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be here.”
Over the next hour, Bloom filled up. Mayor Joe Ferris came in. Anika and Mark took a corner table and, by their intimate body language, were getting along today. Deputy Eli Cox ordered a coffee. And then Maureen entered.
The psychic stepped up to the counter after Cox, tulip in hand. “Good morning, Polly.”
“Hi, Maureen. Your usual?”
“Yes, please, with a slice of apple pie.”
“You got it.”
Maureen paid but didn’t step away. “Are you okay?”
Did Polly look as affected by those texts as she felt?
She nibbled her bottom lip. Maureen was actually a long-time local. If anyone knew this Eileen woman, surely it would be her. “Actually…I found something.”
Maureen’s brows lifted. “What kind of something?”
“A phone. I think it belonged to someone named Eileen.”
The change in Maureen was immediate. Any hint of a smile disappeared and her eyes darkened.
“Do you know her?” Polly asked, a bit quieter now.
“Knew. She went missing about ten years ago.”
Ho…ly…shit. Missing. Ten years ago. Right when she’d sent those texts.
Had the same person who’d killed those women also killed this Eileen?
Oh God, she was going to be sick.
She turned, about to talk to Deputy Cox, but her barista had already handed him his coffee, and he was walking out of the café.
Maureen leaned in. “Dear, if I can give you any advice, it’s to hand that phone over to Sheriff Ward and forget you ever found it. You don’t want to stir up old ghosts.”
The scent of wet earth and pine hung in the air as Joel’s feet hit the ground in fast, even steps.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running, maybe twenty minutes, maybe an hour.
He wasn’t tired. But that was what being a SEAL had done for him.
It had forced him to reach a level of fitness that most wouldn’t ever come close to.
And just like his team, Joel made sure to maintain that fitness.
They ran in a loose formation now, none of them breathing hard.
Branches snapped beneath feet and a light thrum of rain hit their shoulders.
Nothing beat this feeling. The adrenaline that cut through exhaustion. The high that only came from pushing the body to the limit.
He leapt over a root, then veered around a tree.
They weren’t running on any path or flat surface. They were cutting straight through the trees with the rush of the river close by.
He needed to learn this forest. He needed the maze to feel like a map in his head. Every ridge. Every fallen cedar and curve of the river. So when the next call for help came, he knew exactly where to go.
Ryan, their team lead, sped up his pace, and they all matched him stride for stride.
Eventually, that burn started to ignite Joel’s lungs, and he fucking loved it. Craved it.
Back when he’d been a kid, he’d lived for this feeling of taking his body to the edge. But that came from feeling like you were trapped. And he had been trapped. In a family that didn’t understand him. In a house that was too big, and a life that didn’t feel his.
His fists tightened and his feet pounded deeper into the earth.
But he was out. He was carving his own life now. And sooner or later, his parents would stop calling and accept that.
Finally, their SAR base came into view. It was an old, repurposed firehouse with only a thin line of trees between it and the river.
It was one of the original buildings in Deep River, from back when the town was founded.
Back then, old-school tanker trucks had been filled directly from the water source for fires.
His breathing was heavy as he stepped into the communal room. At one end was the tech equipment—laptops, the drone, GPS gear. That was Ethan’s domain. In the middle of the room was a table and couches. Then a kitchen at the other end, near the door that led to the parking lot.
Down the hall were the medical room, bathrooms, sleeping quarters, and in the old apparatus bay was their equipment—backpacks, helmets, harnesses and ropes.
Ethan and Zac headed straight for the showers, while Joel stepped into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and a Clif bar.
“We need to refill the snack compartment,” he said as he ripped open the packaging.
Connor opened a drawer at the tech desk. “This is full of granola bars.”
“I’ll be done with those in a day.” Joel laughed, taking a bite of the bar. The team joked that he ate a lot. But hell, he liked to snack.
Ryan grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. “Get whatever you need, Joel.”
“Any luck with Ferris?” Joel asked, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.
Ryan scowled. “No. He’s still saying there isn’t enough evidence to link the old cases to the new ones.”
Joel’s fingers tightened around the bar.
Eight missing or dead women in the last twenty-five years, three of which occurred in the last twelve months. All of them went missing in the woods outside of town, but only three were ever found—all three dead in the water with drugs in their system.
That linked them. And it also showed a recent escalation that the town needed to be aware of.
“At least the town knows about the three most recent women,” Connor said, features grim.
Nikki Bishop. A tourist.
Zoe Ewin. Also a tourist.
And Priya Tan. A local. Body found in the water, drugged, according to blood work.
He only finished half the bar before throwing the rest in the trash. He’d lost his damn appetite. “We don’t have any leads,” Joel said, more to himself than anyone else.
“You’re right,” Ryan confirmed. “This person’s good at covering their tracks.”
“We’ve got a list of victims though,” Connor said, always the optimist in the group. “We’ll find out what links them.”
The question was—when? After another woman went missing? It felt like they were just waiting, always on the back foot.
Joel headed to the bathroom and took a shower. When he was dressed, he started a gear inspection of the ropes and climbing equipment.
His phone rang, and at the sight of his mother’s name, he flipped it face down to silence it.
Several minutes later, a text came through.
He turned the device over, expecting to see it was from his mother again, but the scowl dropped when he read the screen.
Polly: This isn’t me asking for help or anything but…has your team heard about any missing women outside of the three most recent ones? Like women who went missing a decade ago?
The hell?
Joel: Why do you ask?
Polly: Answer my question first.
Polly: Actually, don’t worry about it. Forget I asked.
Like hell he would. His finger hovered over her name to call her, but before he could, his cell rang, his mother’s name on the screen again.
Goddammit .
He hit answer. “Mom. You have to stop calling me.”
“If you answered, I wouldn’t need to keep calling.”
“I don’t answer because there’s no point. You don’t listen to me, and we have the same conversation again and again.”
“I think it’s you who doesn’t listen to me , Joel. Everything’s ready. It’s time for you to come home and fulfill your commitment.”
He almost laughed. How many times did he have to tell his mother that he’d never made a commitment? “I’m hanging up now.”
“Joel Henderson Dawson. Your father and I have done so much for you. It’s time for you to show your appreciation.”
“By giving up my future? That’s what you want in exchange for doing the bare minimum as parents? You just want the rest of my life?”
“You wouldn’t be giving up anything. You’d be gaining an entire life. A privileged life. And we didn’t do the bare minimum. We sent you to the best schools. We paid for you to do every extracurricular activity you wanted. We hired the best nannies money could buy.”
“That’s the thing that you and Dad have never understood though—not everything is about money. I need to go.”
He hung up, suddenly wishing he was outside and running again. But he knew better than anyone that there was no running from Martha and Grant Dawson. They were like parasites. If you gave even an inch, they would take until they had everything.