Chapter 21 #2
I had a feeling you two would hit it off. Have an extra for me.
Three wiggling dots emerged, indicating that she was typing. They disappeared and reappeared a few times before her message came through.
Abby
I miss you.
I smiled, studying those three words for far longer than I needed to.
ME
I miss you, too.
With a final glance at her text, I slipped my phone in my pocket and turned off the engine, noting it was almost ten-thirty.
I stepped out of the cruiser and made my way up the steps to the front door before ringing the bell.
It sang an indulgent tune that lasted forever and echoed obnoxiously loud.
I hated fancy shit.
All I had was a rusty door knocker.
Ryan opened the door a minute later, standing before me in a dress shirt, emerald tie, and gray slacks. Even his shoes were shined. He was the epitome of old money. “Officer,” he greeted. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
I nodded as I entered. “Ryan Stone?”
“Yes.” We shook hands. “McAllister, right?”
“Correct.”
I eyed the young man, noting he had the same blue eyes as Abby. Haunted eyes. His hair was a dark dirty blond, mussed with gel, and a rich cologne emanated off of him. He was clean-shaven and lean. All business.
“Here, we can talk in the sitting room.” Ryan led us toward one of the many living areas filled with furniture that looked like it had never been used. Everything about the house was tidy and meticulous.
I took a seat on the sofa as Ryan sat across from me on a stiff armchair with a gaudy print.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Ryan asked.
When he moved to stand, I stopped him. “No thanks. All I’m interested in is answers.”
Ryan’s shoulders slackened as his eyes lowered to the shag rug.
Both elbows were propped up on his knees, his folded hands dangling between his legs.
He sighed before proceeding. “I stumbled upon a piece of mail from my grandmother after selling the property. I went over there to retrieve the stack of bills and advertisements I’d accumulated over the past few months and discovered something strange stuffed in the pile… a note.”
“A note?”
Ryan bobbed his head, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wrinkled piece of paper.
“I think it must have been dropped off before my sister’s abduction.
There was no return address or anything.
” Ryan tapped his foot against the floor.
“I didn’t want to get involved, but I guess I am now, whether I like it or not.
I figured you’d need this for evidence, so I wanted to give it to you in person. ”
He unfolded the piece of paper and glanced at the message before handing it to me.
I skimmed the chicken scratch with a furrowed brow.
“Avenge not yourselves, but rather give place for wrath: for it is written, Vengeance is mine; I will repay. Abigail Stone will pay.”
“It’s a Bible quote,” Ryan explained. “Romans 12:19. I Googled it.”
I bit down on my cheek, my mind racing. “Do you know who wrote this?”
“No. I was hoping you might know. I haven’t spoken to Abigail in over a decade—I have no clue how many bridges she’s burned in that time.”
While the note was foreboding, it didn’t give me much to go on. I had the man’s handwriting now, I supposed, but I also had his fingerprints, DNA, and a mental image of his goddamn face. And yet, all of that had yielded nothing.
However, this did give us an official motive: vengeance.
“I’ve interviewed Abby multiple times, and she doesn’t know anyone who would want to harm her,” I finally said. “I called you because your sister mentioned you had gotten into drugs. Is it possible that your drug connections may have played a role in her abduction?”
“Drugs?” Ryan snorted, looking mildly offended but mostly amused. “That’s a fabrication. I work in finance. I have a wife, a Yorkie, and quite literally a white picket fence.”
I frowned, confused. “You’re not a heroin addict?”
“Jesus, no.” Ryan stood from the couch, his hackles rising.
“That was a lie my grandmother created to protect the only person who seemed to matter to her. My defamation of character was just a tool to further the web of bullshit. I was a pawn. Abigail was always the king in this game—protect her at all costs. At any cost.”
Well.
Now we were on to something.
“What web? What game?” I hedged.
Ryan froze, his fingers linked behind his head. Turning toward me, he backpedaled. “Nothing. It’s personal. Nothing to do with your case.”
I blinked slowly, my attention fixed on the jittery man in front of me.
There was definitely something. “While we’re on the subject of Cecily Stone, I went through her bank statements and noticed a sum of ten-thousand dollars being withdrawn every month for years.
” I watched as Ryan’s mouth twitched. “Do you know anything about that?”
“No.”
He was lying. I pressed on.
“I can’t help but wonder…why did you cut off contact with Abby for all these years? She said you were close. You knew about her abduction, but you still didn’t reach out?”
Ryan sat back down, carving two frazzled hands through his hair and leaning forward on his knees. “I drove up there when I heard she’d been found. I tried. I sat outside the damn hospital for three hours before I turned back around and came home. I couldn’t face her.”
I studied him.
Observing him closely, I noticed the rhythmic twirl of his wedding ring, his gaze on the rug beneath his feet.
Although my intuition told me that Ryan wasn’t directly involved in Abby’s abduction, an unsettling feeling lingered.
There was an unspoken depth to his silence, a trail of breadcrumbs I was starving for.
I was about to continue the line of questioning when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Reaching for it, I saw Walker’s name light up the face and a sharp pang of anxiety swept through me. I answered quickly. “McAllister. Is Abby okay?”
“She’s fine,” James replied. “Sorry to bother you, but Kravitz was just involved in a hit-and-run.”
I went still. “What?”
“I know you’re out of town, but I wanted to keep you informed,” James said. “Kravitz pulled this guy over in Ashland for speeding, but before he could issue the ticket, the dude sped off, side-swiping Lyle as he drove away. We’re down a man, so we’ll need you back here sooner than expected.”
“Jesus.” I scratched my head and exhaled a long breath. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s okay. Bruised up pretty bad and a few cracked ribs.”
“Shit. Thanks for letting me know.”
“One more thing,” James continued. “It might be nothing, but the car was a Kia Optima. Name was Christopher Larkin. I got the plate, too, but I haven’t been able to do much investigating yet. Reynolds is working on it.”
My interest was piqued. It was a common car—surely, it was only a coincidence. Probably nothing. Before I could reply, Ryan interrupted the conversation.
“Wait, what name did he just say?”
I glanced up. “What was that?”
“That name.” Ryan sprung from his seat and started pacing around the coffee table. “No, no, it couldn’t be.”
“I’ll call you back, Walker. Gotta go.” I clicked off the call and pinned my full attention on Ryan, my heartbeats hammering. “Christopher Larkin. You recognize that name?”
Ryan turned ghostlike. He wrung his hands together as he continued pacing. “There can’t be a connection. It’s impossible. It’s been too long.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Frustration pitched inside my chest, demanding answers. “How do you know that name?”
Ryan stopped pacing. He stalled his feet and buried his face in both hands, inhaling deeply. “The accident,” he muttered, his voice sounding weak and far away. “It was the accident.”
“What accident?” I repeated, not getting an explanation fast enough. I stepped toward Ryan. “Your parents’ car accident?”
He nodded slowly.
“How is that related to this case? I saw the accident report. They hit a tree. They were DOA,” I said.
“Fuck.” Ryan resumed his pacing, pulling at his hair. “You saw the accident report my grandmother wanted you to see.”
I froze.
My blood ran cold.
My eyes glazed over.
“What are you saying?” I murmured.
Ryan paused, turned to face me. “My sister was there,” he said, and then something about him changed.
He became lighter.
Secrets carried a heavy burden. A heavy weight.
And Ryan Stone had been holding on to his for twelve long years.
“Abby was driving.”