Chapter 60
SIXTY
Keswick
Quinn wasn’t sure what had awoken her. The light seeping through the windows was a murky gray, so dawn couldn’t be far off.
She lay very still and listened, suddenly afraid someone might be outside, but the boathouse was silent.
It had rained during the night, and raindrops slid down the windowpanes like silent tears.
The two thick branches of the tree outside moved like the arms of a dancer.
Perhaps what she had heard was the rowboat bumping against the dock as the wind whipped the surface of the lake.
Harmless, ordinary sounds of nature that felt sinister only because of her fears.
Gabe was sprawled on his stomach, his cheek pressed into the pillow.
He looked peaceful, and there was a faint smile on his face.
He must be dreaming about something pleasant, Quinn thought, a little envious, since her own dreams had been dark and unsettling.
It was too early to get up, so she shut her eyes and allowed herself to drift back to sleep.
They had a long drive ahead, and she would need every ounce of patience to manage four restless, bored children who goaded one another and fought constantly.
Quinn woke again just before eight thirty and checked her phone.
No calls or texts from anyone, which was disappointing and reassuring in equal measure.
At least it meant there was no bad news.
She could hear Mia humming softly in the other room.
She often did that when she first woke. Alex and Emma were used to it and barely noticed anymore.
Quinn sat up and glanced outside. The moisture had evaporated, the sky was a washed-out blue, and the branches were still.
As soon as the children were awake, she would make breakfast and pack, and they would get on the road.
She reached for her dressing gown and padded towards the door on bare feet.
As she passed Max’s cot, she saw that it was empty.
Her heart lurched. She hurried to the bathroom, but the door stood open, and Max wasn’t inside.
He wasn’t in the kitchen or the other bedroom.
She checked the closets, then her gaze fell on the front door.
She tried the knob, and let out a cry of anguish when she found it unlocked.
She’d heard Gabe lock it before he went to bed.
“Gabe,” she shrieked. “Oh, Gabe, wake up!”
Gabe exploded out of the bedroom, looking startled. His hair was tousled, and his jaw was covered with thick stubble, some of it ashy gray.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Quinn’s hands were shaking, and her throat had gone dry as blind panic overwhelmed her. “Max is gone,” she croaked.
“Gone?”
“I looked everywhere. And the door was unlocked. Did you lock the door properly last night?” she asked accusingly.
“Of course I did.”
Gabe went to the door and examined the door jamb and the lock, but it was impossible to tell if the lock had been tampered with.
A professional wouldn’t need to force it, only to use the right tool to engage the mechanism.
Gabe tore through the house, searching for Max, while the children stood quietly in the doorway of their bedroom, their faces tense, and their silence almost more unnerving than their more usual endless questions.
“He couldn’t have got far,” Gabe said.
He pushed his feet into a pair of trainers and sprinted outside.
Quinn caught sight of him through the window, racing along the lakeshore and calling for Max, but his voice was met with impenetrable silence.
Terrified and suddenly weak, she slid to the floor and buried her face in her hands.
She couldn’t allow herself to imagine what might be happening to Max. She couldn’t bear it.
Quinn remained like that for a long while, unable to summon the strength to rise.
The children edged closer but stayed silent, likely wanting to voice their fears but afraid of distressing her further.
Hearing Gabe’s voice echo across the still lake, she knew she had to get up.
She had to steady the children, and there were calls to make.
Only when she finally forced herself to stand did she notice the teddy bear. It lay beneath one of the kitchen chairs, and someone had torn out its eyes.