Chapter 6 #4
The truck accelerates, eating up the miles between us and the sighting. I stare out the window, watching the landscape shift from forest to scattered farmland.
"He's running," I say, more to myself than anyone. "But he took Charlie with him."
"Why keep her?" Trenton asks, his voice low. "If he's killed before…"
I don't want to think about it, but I force myself to follow the logic. "He needs her. Or he thinks he does."
"Hostage?" Greyson suggests.
I shake my head. "Something else. He's a single father. He's raised her alone."
"What are you saying?" Matthew asks.
"I'm saying Charlie is part of his life. His routine." The realization hits me with sudden clarity. "He won't leave her behind because she's part of his… his collection."
The word tastes foul in my mouth, but I can't deny the truth of it. Evan Harris doesn't see Charlie as a person; she's a possession, like the women he killed.
"We need to find them before he realizes we're close," I say. "If he feels cornered…"
I don't finish the sentence. We all know what could happen.
Greyson's phone rings, the sound cutting through the tension. He answers, listening for a moment before passing the phone to me.
"Morgan." Techy's voice comes through the speaker. "I found something."
"What is it?"
"Harris's ex-wife. Died three years ago in a car accident. But before that, she filed a restraining order."
My pulse jumps. "For stalking?"
"Worse," Techy says. "Domestic violence. Multiple hospital visits. The police reports mention a pattern of controlling behavior, isolation."
The pieces are falling into place. "What did she look like?"
There's a pause, then the sound of typing. "Dark hair. Blue eyes. About your height."
The confirmation hits me like a physical blow. "He's been killing his wife over and over again."
"What?" Trenton asks, looking at me.
"It makes sense," I say, the pattern becoming clearer. "He loses control of his wife, so he kills her. Then he finds women who look like her, women he can control. When they disappoint him, when they try to leave…"
"He kills them too," Matthew finishes.
"And Charlie?" I ask, dreading the answer.
Techy is quiet for a moment. "I found birth records for Charlie showing only Harris listed as the parent. No mother's name."
My blood goes cold. "What does that mean?"
"Either the mother wasn't listed, or…" Techy hesitates. "Or Charlie isn't biologically his."
The implications hit me in waves. "You think he took her? From one of the victims?"
"It's possible," Techy admits. "We're checking now."
I hand the phone back to Greyson, my mind reeling. If Charlie isn't Evan's biological daughter, if he took her from one of his victims…
"We need to find her," I say, my voice tight with urgency. "Now."
The truck speeds down the highway, the landscape blurring outside the window. I think of Charlie, of her shoes, of the way she'd looked at her father when she thought no one was watching.
She knows, I realize. She's always known.
Ahead of us, police lights flash in the distance. Greyson slows the truck as we approach a roadblock with two patrol cars angled across the highway, officers checking vehicles.
"That's our exit," Greyson says, gesturing to a side road. "The gas station sighting was just up there."
We pull off the highway, following a narrow road that winds through increasingly rural terrain. Small farmhouses dot the landscape, separated by wide fields and patches of forest.
"He could be anywhere," Matthew says, frustration evident in his voice.
"Not anywhere," I correct him, studying the map on my phone. "He needs supplies. A place to hide."
"Like a motel," Trenton suggests.
I shake my head. "Too public. He's been doing this for years. He has a plan."
We pass the gas station where Evan was last spotted, a small building with flickering neon signs. Police tape marks off the area, officers moving with purpose.
Greyson pulls over, and we approach the scene. Ethan is already there, speaking with a uniformed officer.
"Anything?" I ask when he notices us.
Ethan nods. "Security camera caught him filling up. Paid in cash, left heading south."
"With Charlie?" I need to know she's still with him.
"Yes. She looked… tired, but unharmed."
Relief washes through me, quickly followed by a fresh bout of anxiety. "Where would he go from here?"
Ethan gestures to a map spread across the hood of his car. "There's a small community about five miles south. A few farms, a general store. Beyond that, mostly wilderness."
I study the map, tracing the roads with my finger. I feel like I'm missing something.
"The women," I say suddenly. "The ones who disappeared. Where were they last seen?"
Ethan points to several locations on the map. "Two at the community center. One at the general store. Two more at a local diner."
My finger stops on a spot just outside the small community. "What's here?"
"State land," Ethan says. "Mostly forest, some abandoned cabins from the logging days."
"Cabins," I repeat, the word sending a chill down my spine. "That's where he's going."
"You're sure?" Trenton asks.
I look up at him, at Matthew, then at my father who has joined us. "It fits his pattern. Isolated. Familiar. Somewhere he can control the situation."
Ethan is already moving. "I'll get units out there. We can have the area surrounded in an hour."
"Too long," I say, urgency making my voice sharp. "If he thinks we're closing in, he'll panic. He might—"
I can't say it. Can't voice what we all fear.
"We need to move now," Greyson says. "The club can cover more ground than the police."
Ethan hesitates, then nods. "I'll coordinate with the department. But be careful if he's armed…"
"We know what we're doing," Trenton says, already heading back to the truck.
As we prepare to move out, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to find my dad, his face lined with worry.
"Morgan," he says quietly. "You don't have to do this."
I meet his eyes, seeing the fear there, the same fear I've carried since learning the truth. "Yes, I do."
"Let the police handle it," he urges. "Let them find him."
I shake my head. "Charlie might not have that kind of time. And I…" I take a breath. "I need to see this through. For those women. For Charlie."
Dad's jaw tightens, but he nods. "Then I'm coming with you."
The four of us—Trenton, Matthew, my father, and I—climb back into Greyson's truck. Other club members follow in their own vehicles, a convoy of leather and determination heading toward the abandoned cabins.
"We'll find her," Matthew says, his hand finding mine. "We'll find them both."
I nod, but the fear remains, cold and sharp, in my chest. We're running out of time. I can feel it in my bones, in the way the afternoon light is already beginning to fade.
The road narrows as we approach the state land, trees crowding close on either side. We pass a weathered sign marking the boundary, the paint faded and peeling.
"He's here," I say, the certainty settling in my gut. "Somewhere in these woods."
Greyson slows the truck, scanning the overgrown tracks that branch off from the main road. "Which way?"
I close my eyes, trying to think like Evan, to understand the mind of a monster.
"He'd want to see anyone coming," I say finally. "High ground, with a clear view of the approach."
Trenton points to a track that climbs a low ridge. "There."
We follow the track, the truck bouncing over ruts and exposed roots. The forest presses in around us, dark and silent. I scan the trees, looking for any sign of movement, any indication that we're not alone.
"There," Matthew says suddenly, pointing ahead.
Three days of searching turns up nothing. The forest feels endless, swallowing our efforts whole. We've combed every trail, checked every cabin, questioned every hiker. The police have their own grid search underway, but they're running out of leads.
I'm sitting in the passenger seat of Trenton's truck, staring at the map spread across my lap. The red circles marking our search areas blur together.
"Morgan." Matthew's voice is quiet from the back seat. "We should head back. It's getting dark."
I shake my head. "One more section. Please."
Trenton exchanges a look with Matthew in the rearview mirror. They're exhausted, we all are, but they don't protest. Instead, Trenton turns the truck down a narrow dirt road I don't recognize from our previous searches.
"Greyson said the rangers use this path for maintenance," he explains. "Leads to a few cabins that aren't on the main maps."
Hope flickers in my chest. "He would choose somewhere remote. Somewhere no one would think to look."
The road narrows further, branches scraping against the truck's sides. In the fading light, the forest takes on a menacing quality, shadows stretching between the trees like grasping fingers.
"There." Matthew points to a break in the trees. "Looks like a driveway."
Trenton slows, turning the truck down what appears to be little more than a deer path. We bump along for what feels like miles before a small cabin comes into view, a simple structure of weathered wood, barely visible in the encroaching darkness.
"Lights are on," I whisper, noting the soft glow from the windows.
Trenton kills the engine but leaves the headlights on, illuminating the cabin's front door. He reaches for the gun at his hip, his movements precise and controlled.
"Stay here," he tells me, his voice leaving no room for argument.
I watch as they approach the cabin, moving in tandem like they've done this a thousand times before. Matthew goes to the left, Trenton to the right. I count silently in my head, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache.
The front door opens without resistance. I see Trenton disappear inside, his gun raised. Matthew follows, his silhouette framed in the doorway for just a moment before he, too, vanishes into the cabin's interior.
Time stretches. I grip the edge of my seat, every instinct screaming at me to follow them. But I promised I'd stay put, and for once, I keep my promise.