Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
“Looks empty,” I decide after another hour of tense silence. “Watch for motion sensors.”
“Anything else I need to know?” He checks his Glock, shaking his head. “It’s amazing I’ve lived a day without your advice.”
Once we secure Natalie, I can teach this child some manners. For now, we exit the truck silently and approach the dark house. At this point, I doubt we’ll find anything inside but dust, but it might take us one step closer to understanding why Natalie ran. If there’s evidence of Beverly being here, I might believe this was a list of locations where Natalie thought she could find her mother rather than a list of safe houses for Natalie to hide out in. Does that mean she fled to Beverly for help?
Or was she only trying to track down the woman she thought she’d buried years ago?
We exchange a glance when the front door opens easily. Is it a trap? Something meant to get our guard down? There’s a small planter on the porch with nothing but dead weeds inside. I place it on the threshold and kick it across the front room in case anyone had any ideas about motion sensors or tripwires. The only thing that results is a mess when the planter tips over and spills its contents across a worn hardwood floor.
“Wow. That was fun.” Griffin slides past me into the house, testing the light switch by the door. I’m surprised when the lights go on—the fact that there’s power running to the house tells me it might have been inhabited recently.
It’s sparsely furnished the way a safe house would typically be. No need to waste time with the bells and whistles and comforts of home when you don’t expect to be around for long. My gaze moves over a simple sofa and chair, a TV that must be at least ten years old, and a few magazines scattered on the coffee table.
“Six months old,” Griffin murmurs, looking down at the covers.
A clue? A hint? I was here, and you had no idea. “Beverly?” I suggest, continuing my search.
Beyond the front room is a dining room with nothing but a table, then a large, open kitchen that leads into what might have been a family room in better days. A large fireplace sits against the back wall and features a long, deep mantle, which holds a single framed photo. It’s the only decoration I’ve seen so far and naturally grabs my attention.
I’m still halfway across the room when I recognize one of the faces beaming behind the glass. “Look at this.” I wave Griffin over so he can get a look at Natalie back in her teenage years. She still had braces, and what are now faint freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose were more abundant back then. Beverly stands behind her, and aside from the lighter shade of her hair, the resemblance is breathtaking. They could be twins born decades apart.
“Tell me you’re as creeped out as I am.” Griffin leans in to examine the damage done to the photo. Aside from Beverly and Natalie, there are three men. One of them I recognize, and the recognition strikes at the core of me. He was a good-looking kid, full of confidence.
“Jonathan,” I murmur.
“Mason’s brother.” Griffin touches a finger to the glass, dumbfounded by the scratched-out faces of the other two men who must be Mason and his father. It’s like something out of a horror movie, creepy enough to send a chill down my spine.
Now there’s no doubt in my mind. “This must be Beverly. She must have been hiding out here.”
“And she left this behind to make sure somebody would know.” Our gazes meet and there’s no need to ask what he’s thinking. Natalie would have found this if she ended up here the way we have. I hate to think what seeing it might have done to her.
“I think we can tell Mason about this,” I decide. “And he deserves to know.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Griffin pulls out his phone and sends a text while I do one more sweep of the house. Once I’m confident we haven’t missed anything, we retreat to the truck. One location down, many more to go.
I don’t know about Griffin, but I have no intention of giving up until we find our target.
No matter how long it takes.
3
GRIFFIN
One thought keeps running through my head every time I lift my foot to take another treacherous step: she better fucking be here.
Recent satellite footage shows smoke coming from the chimney of this cabin, yet another one of the locations from that little notebook. The damn notebook. We’ve been on a wild fucking goose chase for days, and it’s a miracle Dallas and I haven’t killed each other yet. I’m not sure how much longer that will be the case, either.