Chapter 11 #2
She glanced at me with a small smile that didn’t stick. “Sure.”
I was happy she wasn’t ignoring me, but it was likely only to save us all from an incredibly awkward car ride. “Good. I’m glad you came out.”
We settled back into silence while my Fireball-infused brain tried to conjure up something else to say. I was desperate for her to not hate me. At least until I had a chance to explain myself.
But before I could say anything else, Abby screamed.
“Look out!” she shrieked, sitting up straight, her voice laced with sheer panic.
James slammed on the brakes and swerved off to the side of the road. “What? What is it?”
I unbuckled my belt, sliding across the seat to where Abby was practically hyperventilating. “Jesus, Abby. What happened?”
“Y-you didn’t see that? The animal?” she croaked out.
Kate twisted back in her seat. “I didn’t see shit. Are you sure you’re okay?”
Abby raised her hands to her chest and tried to calm her frantic breaths. “I’m so sorry. I must have dozed off. I have these vivid nightmares, and sometimes I think they’re real, and…” Her voice trailed off. “God, I’m sorry.”
I reached out to hold her, but she lifted a hand to stop me. “I’m fine.” Her stare was hard and poignant. “Thanks.”
James put the car back into drive and, soon, we were pulling into Daphne’s driveway. Abby was halfway out the door before we were even stopped.
“Hey, wait,” I called out.
She faltered, catching my gaze before closing the door.
“Do you want me to stay with you? I can crash on the couch again.”
She didn’t even hesitate. “No. I’ll be okay. Daphne’s home tonight.” She glanced at James and Kate, offering them a smile. “Goodnight.”
The door slammed shut, and she was gone.
I sat in my patrol car the following day, nursing a hangover and a headache from hell.
Fucking Fireballs.
Unfortunately, I was on traffic duty, parked in my usual spot on the main drag, sipping coffee and waiting for the inevitable speeder to force me to turn my lights on. I hated sitting in a speed trap all day, but the town had been quiet and there wasn’t much else to do.
After all, Abby’s case was colder than the shoulder she had given me the night before.
I sighed miserably. We couldn’t decipher the sedan’s license plate from the surveillance footage, so the vehicle was a dead end for now.
It was too grainy, too blurry. The phone calls coming in with possible sightings had trickled down to nothing.
There still hadn’t been any hits in the database matching the guy’s fingerprints, either.
It was basically a waiting game until we generated new leads, or until a witness came forward.
I hated waiting.
I glanced over to the opposite side of the road that was practically walking distance to the location where the van had been discovered.
Where Abby had been discovered.
A feeling washed over me, and I decided to revisit the scene. I hadn’t been there since the day the van was taken into evidence and the crime scene had been analyzed. Maybe I just needed to put myself back in that ravine. Maybe I needed to smell the air and feel my shoes sink into the soggy earth.
Wasting no time in pulling out onto the road, I traveled the short distance to the familiar wetlands. I parked along a nearby dirt road and stepped out onto the overgrown grass and weeds, letting the warm air coast across my face, encouraging it to tell me its secrets.
What did it know? What had it seen?
What were we missing?
It didn’t indulge me. It didn’t whisper any answers into my ear.
I traipsed through thickets and brush as the grass blades danced across my pant legs.
My eyes scoured the undergrowth for things the summer air refused to tell me.
I thought about Abby suffering through those two weeks of torture and isolation, and I thought about how far she’d come, how much progress she had made in such a short amount of time.
I thought about how she’d felt pressed up against me as we swayed to a song that would never be far from my mind.
I wasn’t sure what my intentions had been last night, nor what might have happened if Henry hadn’t soured the mood, but there was no doubt I was feeling something for Abigail Stone.
It wasn’t right—I knew I was walking a thin line—but dammit, she was impossible to ignore.
And the increasing feelings that were developing were also impossible to ignore.
I looked up at the sky, begging for answers.
Why her?
Why did The Withered Man choose Abby?
I didn’t believe in fate; I was a science man. I liked things that were tangible and easily proven. Things like divine intervention, destiny, and aligning stars only made me roll my eyes.
But I couldn’t deny that the timing was more than a little coincidental.
When the tattered piece of paper floated along the tops of the sedges, I almost didn’t notice it. Our team had traced the area with a fine-toothed comb. Surely, there was no physical evidence left behind.
But there was something.
As I chased it through the ravine, I realized it was a black-and-white photograph. I finally caught up to it and snatched it from the air, wondering if the sticky breeze had offered me a piece of its puzzle, after all.
Absurd.
I glanced down at the torn-and-faded picture, my breath catching like it did when a case gave me a new direction. A breadcrumb.
A goddamn cookie.
It was a photo of Abby.
It was likely taken from one of her social media accounts. She was smiling, happy, and unaware of the horrors that would soon come her way. Unaware that she was being pursued.
Yes.
Pursued.
This was what I’d been waiting for. This was the lead I’d been desperate to find. I knew now, beyond a shadow of doubt, that this man had intentionally tracked down, followed, and stalked Abigail Stone.
The Withered Man knew her.
This. Was. Personal.