29
Evan had woken up in some sort of shed, one wrist chained to a huge eyebolt anchored in the concrete floor. And that’s where he’d been kept for several days. He’d been given water but no food. A blanket, a thin, foul-smelling pad to lie on, and a bucket were all he had.
The concrete was cold, but no drafts came through the walls. The structure was very solid. Evan had gone over every inch he could reach from his chained position. And he’d worked and worked at the concrete around the eyebolt, trying to chip some away. He’d vomited a few times at first. His brain had been fuzzy, his right temple painful and swollen, and he suspected he had a concussion. He had no idea how long he’d been there.
And he had no idea who had given him the concussion—or why.
Someone had knocked Evan out with a blow to the head right in front of Rowan’s parents’ home. Evan had just arrived at their house after being suspended, his mind and emotions a wreck. He’d gotten out of an Uber and walked over to his truck, intending to go for a long drive to clear his head. As he’d reached for the truck handle, he’d heard someone behind him and turned to see a metal bar swinging at his head.
There’d been pain. Then nothing.
He’d suspected it was the same person who’d killed Rod and taken Sophia, but his and Noelle’s investigation had kept hitting dead ends. They had no primary suspect, no name.
He ached for Rowan, knowing how upset she’d be that he’d vanished.
Will I end up like Rod?
And then the man finally showed his face.
Evan hadn’t recognized him. His hair was long, and he’d grown a beard. Evan had simply looked at the strange man who stood in the doorway, waiting for an explanation. He hadn’t seen the point of demanding answers; this man was currently in full control of Evan’s life.
“You don’t remember me,” the man stated, anger in his tone.
“Sorry, I don’t. Did you always have the beard?” Evan squinted at him. It was bright outside yet dark in the shed.
“You ruined my life. It’s been seven years of hell, and you have no idea who I am !” The man paced in a small circle. “I knew it. You went on your merry way after leaving me to pick up the pieces of my life. You enjoyed your fancy job and got a hot girlfriend and now own two houses. I have shit .”
“I wouldn’t call my job fancy,” muttered Evan.
The toe of the man’s work boot caught Evan’s cheekbone and whipped his head to the side.
He’s nuts! Who is he?
“What did I do to you?” asked Evan, struggling to catch his breath. This time he saw the boot coming but was too slow to get out of the way. Pain radiated from his other cheek. He scrambled back as far as the chain would allow, creating as much space as possible between him and the angry man.
“You’d know me as Dale Forbes.”
Evan stared as memories swamped him. He remembered everything about Dale Forbes’s case seven years ago. But the main thing he recalled was that the man had walked away from a manslaughter charge—even though Evan and Rod had had their doubts.
How did that destroy his life?
“I remember now.” Evan hoped his answer was safe enough that he wouldn’t receive another kick to the face.
“So now you understand.”
No, I don’t.
“You got off,” said Evan. “Didn’t even have a trial.”
“I was tried in the media!”
This was true. The story had the sensationalism the media loved. A jilted husband. A murderous affair.
It must have screwed up his life.
“Yes, you were,” said Evan. “The media can be cruel.”
“It was your fault! You and that asshole, McLeod!”
“Rod was kept in here, wasn’t he?” Evan asked. The boot swung toward his face, and he jerked away but toppled to the ground.
“Dale—”
The boot found a new target in his ribs, and Evan gasped, trying to catch his breath and control the pain.
“I don’t go by that name anymore. It’s a cursed name. Dropped it years ago. But it didn’t help. People still wouldn’t hire me.” The boot crashed into Evan’s ribs again.
“Oooof.” Evan writhed on the cold floor, remembering the bruised body of Rod McLeod.
Is this what happened to Rod?
“I lost my job after I was arrested, and it’s your fault!”
“I was doing my job!” Evan managed to say and then realized his mistake as he was kicked in the thigh. He saw stars and wondered if his femur was cracked.
“Your life went on like normal! I lost my job, my house, and my fucking girlfriend too!”
Maybe you shouldn’t have cheated on her.
Evan caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes. Frenzied and angry.
Dale left and slammed the door.
Evan took shallow breaths, each one painfully expanding his ribs.
He’s going to kill me. Just like Rod.
Evan determined that Dale enjoyed talking and then kicking the shit out of him. He learned not to reply unless asked a direct question. And to think carefully before he answered. Dale did not like to hear the truth.
Still no food, and Evan didn’t dare ask for some. The man brought water. Evan figured that if Dale wanted Evan to have food, he would have given him some, so there was no point in asking. His stomach eventually gave up and stopped aching.
Other parts of him ached nonstop.
Dale liked knives too. He’d cut off Evan’s shirt, tossing it aside. He’d blown up after seeing the expensive brand of the shirt, which Rowan’s sisters had just bought for him. After that, Dale had ranted on about money and the things he’d had to go without. Which of course was Evan’s fault.
Evan didn’t know how many days he’d been there before Dale showed him photos of Sophia. Her face was beat to hell. Evan looked away, knowing he’d failed her somehow.
“She was a fighter,” said Dale, enjoying Evan’s reaction. “Talked back too. Tough little bitch. Too bad she had to end up like her father.”
He killed her.
Evan kept his expression calm.
“I know you found her father’s body,” said Dale, fury growing in his voice. “So you know what I did to her too. Don’t give me that calm cop face .” He dug his knife into Evan’s thigh and twisted it, making him shriek. “That’s better. That’s what I like to see.” Dale pulled out the knife, a grin on his face.
He gets off on my pain. “Why Sophia?” Evan choked out, hoping the oozing gash in his thigh and his screams had satisfied Dale enough to put him in a talkative mood instead of an abusive one.
“Because Rod died before revealing his evidence,” said Dale. “Sophia seemed the most likely person he would have told. But she claimed she didn’t know either.”
“Evidence?” The cut in Evan’s thigh was agonizing, making speech difficult.
If he doesn’t kill me, infection from this filthy place will.
“Sophia said you knew where it was.”
Evan jerked as if Dale had kicked him.
What did Sophia think I knew?
“Knew what?”
This time the kick hit him in the swollen temple. Blessed blackness enveloped him.
Dale was gone when Evan woke.
He’d vomited on the concrete floor at some point. The sour stench was nauseating. He didn’t know how he’d managed to throw up since he hadn’t eaten in days. His head felt as if it were in a vise. Simply moving his eyeballs made lightning bolts of pain shoot through his head. He kept his eyes closed and lay as still as possible on the disgusting pad.
Sophia is dead.
He’d fought hard to find her and failed. And now he was next.
Evidence?
Evan had no idea what Dale had meant, but he inferred that Rod had found something that was bad news for Dale.
Why didn’t Rod tell anybody?
Dale believes Rod told me.
Evan racked his brain, trying to recall his last conversations with Rod, but thinking was difficult. And painful. Instead, he let his mind wander, holding as still as possible and thinking of Rowan.
She has to know I’ll meet the same fate as Rod and Sophia.
The thought hurt worse than any pain Dale had inflicted. Evan didn’t care if he died—well, he cared, but he was more crushed by the pain Rowan and his family would experience when his battered body was discovered. Rod’s death had devastated him.
It was always the worst for those left behind.
Although judging by Rod’s remains, he had truly experienced the worst.
The cuts, the bruises, the missing tongue.
Tears leaked from Evan’s eyes.
I’m scared.