Chapter Forty-One Raine
Chapter Forty-One
Raine
Ken’s black Mercedes was parked behind my SUV. My stomach knotted. What was he doing here?
I slowed my pace as I approached the porch. Ken leaned against the front door, casual and patient, as if prepared for a long wait.
I considered retreating, but he looked up before I could move. His gaze flicked to my muddy boots. “Are you okay?”
Too late to turn back. I walked toward him. “What’re you doing here?”
“I heard police were responding to a death on Hale land.”
How did he know already? Ken’s law enforcement connections ran deep, but this was extreme. I forced my voice to remain steady. “What else do you know?”
He crossed the porch, halting on the top step. “Not much. There’s only a little chatter.” His excellent attention to detail equipped him to fix, reshape, or hide problems.
I climbed the stairs and moved past him. “I don’t know who died.”
“Where’s Molly? I thought you were taking custody today.”
The concern weakened some of my resistance. Some chafed at his protective nature, which I’d once found comforting.
When I didn’t answer, he moved toward me. “Raine, what’s wrong?”
I hated needing Ken’s help. But he was very good at his job. And Molly needed help. “Gabe picked Molly up from school. He’s taken her.”
“Taken her where?” His voice dropped, calm, laser focused.
Relief surged through me—unexpected but undeniable. “I don’t know. He took one of my calls and told me not to worry. He’s removed his ankle monitor.”
Ken’s jaw clicked. “Favorite places. Where would he take Molly? Somewhere familiar.”
“Maria mentioned a rental cabin near Tyler Lake. The family loved it.”
“It’s high season—a lot of those cabins are rented now.”
“This cabin is small. No running water. Solar power. Off-the-grid vacations. Maria said the cabin was cheap and dirty.”
“Isolated?”
“Yes. Hard to reach with a five-year-old.”
“If not the cabin, where else?”
“There’s a small hotel on Route 60 a few miles beyond the park entrance. Maria said he went there when they fought.”
Ken’s full attention was on me now—the same way it had been after the attack. “He’d need a credit card for a hotel room.”
“They’d know him. They’d take his cash.”
“Judson will have a BOLO out on Gabe by now. Matter of time before Gabe is found.”
“He’s not thinking long term,” I said. “And Molly is going to be hungry, and she’ll be tired.”
“I heard he had a girlfriend,” Ken said.
I bristled. “He does—did.”
“Could he be with her?”
“Maybe.”
“What’s her name?” he asked.
“Amy Stocker.”
“She worked for you in high school.”
“She did. Now she’s a local real estate agent.”
He typed on his phone. “Would he hide out with Amy or default to the cabin?”
“A girlfriend would ask questions. Her neighbors would notice a boyfriend and child. He knows the cabin. A crying child wouldn’t be noticed.”
“The cabin it is. I’ll go now.”
I found the rental listing on my phone and texted the contact to him. “I’m coming with you.”
A frown crossed his face as he studied the images of an old cabin ready to fall in on itself. “Okay. I’ll drive.”
I slid into the front passenger seat. Behind the wheel, his broad shoulders and presence filled the space, overwhelming the interior. He’d always been a force. And whenever I wavered, I’d clung to his solidness. He was so sure about what he wanted.
Then I’d realized he’d used my dependence to keep me close, when I wasn’t central to his life.
Ken wasn’t evil. Indulgent and selfish, yes. Our common bonds fractured. No happy endings with Ken.
“Why are you helping me?” After the attack, he’d talked to the doctors, driven me home, left food, offered to stay—left without an argument when I refused more help.
He cut me a look. “I’m not a total dick, Raine.”
Maybe not. But he had an agenda.
So did I. And in this small, narrow band, our lives intersected.
He backed out of the circle, movements crisp and sure. “I hear Gabe’s car is in police impound.” Ken’s connections were his stock and trade.
Judson hadn’t told me. Not a surprise. “Edith’s car wasn’t in her driveway.” I gave him the car’s make and model.
A phone call. “Bingo. It’s parked at Burnt State Park, located twenty miles west of town. Less than a mile from the small cabin Gabe rented.”
My heart leaped.
He pressed the accelerator. Thirty minutes later, we arrived at the parking lot. Edith’s vehicle was positioned at an odd angle, as if parked and abandoned quickly.
Out of the car, Ken drew a weapon.
“When did you start carrying?”
“In the last year.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer, already checking the car. Inside, Molly’s school backpack lay on the back seat. No sign of the child or Gabe.
“His cabin should be up that trail,” Ken said.
“Why didn’t you and Gabe get along?”
Ken rolled his neck to the side. “The fight was about you. And Maria. He told me to stay clear of you both.”
“Why?”
His eyes darkened. “Ask him.”
Ken had flirted with me in high school, but we never dated. All beers and laughs then. After we’d married, there’d been a dark undertone whenever he brought up Judson.
“You were into Judson in those days,” he said. Jealousy drifted under the words.
“I saw Amy with you once or twice.” I’d been leaving a weeknight game to get home when I’d spotted her walking off into the woods with Ken.
Ken shrugged. “Why not? She was willing.”
And looked a little like me.
Ken tried the car’s doors—locked. “Why bring her up?” He peered at me from the passenger-side window.
“Been thinking about her the last few days.”
“An odd person,” he said.
“My mother confused her with me many times. But she was a big help with Mom.”
“Let’s focus on right now, okay?”
“Right.”
“I’m going to hike to the cabin.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You should stay here. In case someone comes out of the woods.”
“I’m going in case Molly’s there. I don’t want her frightened.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw—he didn’t like my answer. “Pick up the pace.”
“Okay. Okay.”
On the trail, I focused on the path, littered with roots, sticks, and rocks.
Ken’s stride was long and quick. Keeping up was a challenge.
Two steps for each one of his. My breath remained steady, but my ribs still ached.
The distance widened between us. He reached the top of the trail well ahead of me.
By the time I spotted the small wooden cabin, Ken had his weapon drawn. He pounded on the door.
Curtains were drawn over small windows. The only sign of life: muddy boots discarded by the front door.
Ken twisted the doorknob—it was locked. “Gabe! It’s Ken. Open up!”
Silence shrouded the cabin. In the distance an animal scurried through the woods.
Ken stepped back and, in a swift move, kicked the door. The hinges strained against the dry, brittle wood. He kicked again. More wood splintered and cracked. On the third strike, the door slammed open.
I followed Ken.
He held up a hand. “Stay back. Let me search the cabin first. He’s here somewhere.”
Ken angled into the shadowed room. The silence was charged, heavy.
“Ken, what’s inside?” I rushed the front porch and peered inside. Stale, sour air drifted out of the small room.
The long shadows wrapped around Ken, looking down at a body on the floor. My stomach tightened.
“Stay outside,” Ken said.
“Tell me it’s not Molly.”
Ken rose, revealing a larger figure lying on the floor. He stepped toward me, his face an unreadable mask. “It’s Gabe. He’s dead.”
I edged closer to the figure. Even in the dim light, I recognized Gabe’s hand, the black wedding band encircling his ring finger. He lay beside torn-up floorboards.
“He was looking for something,” I said.
“Maybe,” Ken said. “This is a crime scene. We call Judson and wait outside.”
“Where’s Molly?”
“She’s not here. She’s not in the car. He left her somewhere.”
“Why would he take and then abandon her?”
“He’d move faster up to the cabin alone.” Ken reached for his cell and frowned. “No bars. Let’s go back to the lot.”
“We can’t just leave him here.”
“He’s not going anywhere.”
“That’s not funny. That’s Gabe.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“How did he die?”
“No blood. No signs of trauma.”
“Maria was poisoned.”
Anger tightened his expression. “An autopsy will determine it.”
Ken slowed his pace as we moved down the path. I quickened mine. I wasn’t trying to match his stride. I wanted to find Molly.
At the car, Ken called in the find. He advised the dispatch that Gabe Durant was dead, and Molly remained missing.
“Where would he leave her?” I asked. “Now that news of Maria’s death is spreading, few will side with Gabe.”
“The motel is a few miles down the road. Let’s stop there.”
“Sure.”
The odds of finding a missing child diminished beyond the first hour—the golden hour. Our golden hour was slipping fast.