Chapter 5
Chapter Five
I hurry through the driving rain to my truck, my boots splashing through the mud. Once inside the cab, I slip off my coat and hat and stow the bags of Micah’s clothes behind the seat. Then I take a last glance at Keo’s handsome house before I pull the trailer around and bounce down her driveway.
It stirred something inside me. Something tender and if I’m being honest, a little bit scary.
Pictures of her twin kids filled every one of those frames on her mantel.
Keo was in a few of them too. Lily has serious brown eyes and her mom’s curly hair and full lips.
Micah is tall and lanky, his eyes playful and warm.
There was a shot of the three of them on a ski lift, their cheeks pink from the cold and their smiles bright, one of Micah soaring above a snowy half pipe, his face slack in concentration and a pale blue sky behind him, and one of Lily in a chef’s uniform, her hair tied back in a tight bun.
She was laughing at something, her face lit up.
What Keo said earlier flickers into focus. When my kids were launched... Not when our kids were launched. It’s a subtle difference, but the meaning is clear. She raised her kids alone.
Is what I picked up on, a hint of bitterness that the kids’ father wasn’t more involved?
I can understand that one. My resentment toward Eliza has softened with time, but back in the thick of solo parenting three children, I was overwhelmed more often than not.
Or is Keo still adjusting to life without her children, especially in such a big house and a brand-new community?
As an artist, does the quiet help her creative flow? Or does she miss the rich and complex color and texture of family life?
Staring up at that painting while she talked, I wanted answers to those questions.
So why did my defenses rise up the moment she looked ready to forgive me for not calling her when I said I would?
What is it about her that makes my tongue feel too loose?
The entire time I was inside her house, the staticky heat between us kept building, like the summer storm in that painting of hers.
My skin felt too tight, like the beginning of a rash.
Or maybe it’s an unfamiliar itch, one that’s getting harder to ignore.
But wouldn’t pursuing Keo only end with me letting her down?
The reasons I didn’t call her after that film festival haven’t changed.
At some point, I’m going to be late for a date, or miss it completely thanks to my job.
Especially right now when our case against Sons of Eden is finally building momentum.
There’s also my family, who will always be my priority.
And right now, with Linnea home and adjusting to her new position, this feels even more true.
What woman wants to be relegated to last place? It’s exactly what happened with Eliza, and there’s no reason to expect a different outcome with someone new.
But now our lives are tangled with a young boy’s escape from a toxic cult.
Based on Keo’s frosty goodbye, she seemed ready to wash her hands of me. I don’t blame her, and maybe, that’s for the best.
I’m just finishing up grooming Tupelo in his stall when my phone chimes. It’s Special Agent Luke Ballard.
I squint at the timestamp across the top of my screen as I answer—it’s nearly nine. “Hey, Luke. Don’t tell me you’re still working?”
For the past year, Luke’s been on loan to the regional Crimes Against Children unit based out of the Boise Field Office, a move he’s trying to make permanent so he can be closer to his family in Maple Canyon.
“So are you, am I right?”
I laugh, but when I squat down to pick up the bucket of grooming tools, my already throbbing hip screams, making me hiss a breath.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” The doctor said the only way to fix it is a full hip replacement, but there’s no way I can take that much time off work right now. And even if I could, a surgery like that scares the shit out of me. What if they screw it up and I never walk again? My family and my job need me.
“Are you calling with good news?” I limp into the tack room and store my supplies.
“We’re getting our task force.”
I brace against the counter, letting this sink in. “It’s about fucking time.”
Sheriff Everett Rumsey has wanted to create a task force between several agencies so we can formally work together to bring down Sons of Eden, but it’s been tough to build momentum with so little evidence of foul play.
We’ve been sharing intel and updates when we can but our efforts will be ten times more powerful as a fully organized task force.
“Do we have a meeting set up yet?” Outside, the rain has turned to big, wet snowflakes.
“That’s why I called so late. Could you make Thursday morning work?”
We’ve been circling this idea for months, and now there’s suddenly a rush? “Has something happened?”
“The team caught a new missing children’s case.”
“What missing children?” Squinting into the blowing sleet, I hobble up the path toward the house.
“McKenzie and Gweneth Travers. They left Sons of Eden with their mother about six months ago. Moved to Maple Canyon to start over. Last Friday, the girls didn’t get off the school bus. Looks like someone from inside the cult either coerced them to come back or abducted them.”
Anger flares behind my breastbone. “How old are the girls?” Inside the house, Bruneau’s waiting, tail wagging. I do my best to greet him without squatting down in case I can’t get back up.
“McKenzie’s six, Gweneth is eight.”
I wince. Linnea was ten when Eliza walked out.
She had night terrors for months, and then it was stomachaches and problems in school related to anxiety that, later, spurred an apocalyptic, borderline OCD mindset tied to climate change.
Not that Sofie and Jesse survived unscathed.
But losing a parent at ten years old, or six, or eight, is especially devastating for a child’s developing mind.
“I came across another teenage boy runaway today,” I tell Luke while following Bruneau to the laundry room so I can measure out his dinner. “It’s why I’m getting home so late. He showed up at a private residence. The woman thought it was a bear ransacking her feed room.”
“Is the kid okay?”
“Undernourished, scared, and probably exhausted, but under the circumstances, yeah. I convinced him to go with Zach, so at least he’s safe.” I’ll stop at the group home next time I’m in town to drop off the clothes Keo wanted Colton to have.
“On that note, what’s the story with the Clearwater County Sheriff? He’s being cagey as hell.”
“You didn’t get the memo? “I say in disgust. “He’s corrupt.”
“I was afraid of that.”
Because my conservation district overlaps sections of Clearwater County’s, I’ve had a few run-ins with the former border patrol peon turned sheriff.
He’s arrogant and about as smart as a box of rocks.
He’s also in cahoots with Jerome Wakefield, Sons of Eden’s newest leader.
It’s a problem, but there’s very little we can do about it at this stage.
Only county commissioners can remove a sheriff from office, and I suspect they’re on Wakefield’s payroll too.
The second option is to prove malfeasance, which requires a landslide of evidence and buy-in from the state attorney’s office.
“What’s the latest on your end?” Luke asks as I limp back into the kitchen. Linnea’s staying at Maryanne’s again, but she spent the day here and thawed some minestrone from my freezer stockpile for me before she left.
While I get the soup warming, I update Luke on the illegal logging and the elk poaching I’m convinced is connected to cult members.
“Textbook narcissism.” Luke releases a heavy sigh. “And a sign things are escalating.”
I’m sure he’s right, but all I really care about is nailing these fuckers. “I got a few pictures but it was pissing down rain and they were pretty far away.” Just two blurry blobs in rain slickers. I might be able to track down the brand-new Polaris snowmachine though.
“There’s a chance the state forensics lab will pull traceable evidence from the chain saw or thermos,” Luke says. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and find a match.”
I’ll drive the items to the lab myself tomorrow to expedite the results. “We could certainly use a break like that.” I reach into the cabinet for a glass and the bottle of ibuprofen. “You going to be able to make the meeting in person Thursday?”
“Yeah. I was going to be in town already to help the assistant D.A. working Salazar’s case, and…” He gives a soft laugh. “…to spend time with Annette.”
I haven’t met the Crimes Against Children task force leader Luke has been dating since they worked a case together last year.
Luke’s confided in me that he’s crazy about her, but their jobs are a problem.
Luke’s profiling work means he’s called to work cases all over the US, often at a moment’s notice.
“Maybe you could make the Crimes Against Children Task Force your permanent gig?”
“The only way I could is to become a field agent, and...” A door shuts in the background. “That’s not in the cards.”
Aw, hell. I hadn’t meant to open that old wound. Luke still suffers from PTSD thanks to a rescue mission that went horribly wrong back when he was a special forces operative. A mission he doesn’t talk about. “Maybe Annette could transfer to D.C?”
“I might be moving home to Maple Canyon.”
“No shit?” I pinch the phone against my shoulder so I can shake out a clump of pills and fill the glass at the tap.
“If I’ve learned anything, it’s that life is too fucking short.”
He’s right, but giving up his career is a big move. Things must be serious. So why the nervous laugh earlier?
“When’s that new kid starting?” Ballard asks like he didn’t just drop this bomb.
“Thursday. He’s got orientation and all that, so I’ll head up there after our task force meeting.”
“Maybe he’ll bring fresh eyes to this investigation.”
“More likely he’ll be a giant pain in my ass.” I gulp down the pills and chase it with a long drink of water.
Ballard laughs, but I’m not at all amused by the idea of having a shadow, especially when I’m in the middle of a high-stakes case.
My current boss, a paper-pusher half my age with almost no field experience, reminded me that I don’t have to like it.
Since you’ve continually refused to put in for a promotion, consider this an alternative way to share the gift of your experience.
It’s a bunch of horseshit, but what else is new.
“Linnea get in okay?” Ballard asks.
“She did, thanks.”
“Are you spending some time together before she starts her new job next week?”
“We’re going skiing this weekend.” Thank god for ibuprofen. “And Sofie’s planning a family dinner on Sunday.”
“Those grandkids are probably getting big, yeah?”
“Growing like weeds,” I reply with a laugh.
We end the call with the promise of our task force meetup on Thursday as I limp down the hall, passing my grown kids’ empty bedrooms but pausing at Linnea’s.
Though she’s at Maryanne’s again tonight, the neatly made floor bed she insists helps her sleep when she’s transitioning from field work, her partially unpacked duffel, and her headlamp set on her stack of books are comforting reminders that she’s close.
It’s not a big house, but it feels ten times bigger when I’m the only human in it.
My unsettled thoughts from my visit with Keo wash through my mind like waves on a forgotten beach. There were times I craved more quiet, more privacy, less noise, less clutter. If only I’d known then how badly I’d miss it.