Stranded

Gwen laid her hand on top of Maggie’s and she said, “Thank you for taking care of R.J.”

“Otis saved us. And a great deal of it was because of you.”

“Me?”

“You were kind to him. You reminded him of the only person who had loved him unconditionally.”

“I guess we all should be grateful to Miss Helen.” Then almost as an afterthought, Gwen asked, “Do you think Otis was lying when he said Jack had more dump sites?”

Maggie shrugged. She didn’t want to think about that. Right now she needed to concentrate on the survivors, and not just Tully.

Gwen’s phone rang. She checked the caller ID and Maggie saw something pass over her face—dread, anxiety, fear—she couldn’t tell for sure, and Gwen, aware that Maggie was watching her, quickly gave her a tight smile.

“I have to take this.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m sure it is. I just didn’t expect this call on a Sunday night. Excuse me.”

Gwen hurried away too quickly, as if she were ru

She watched Gwen disappear down the hallway and then she saw Ryder Creed walk into the room. They noticed each other at the same time. The short distance between the door and her chair seemed to take Maggie’s breath away, and she wasn’t the one walking.

He had changed clothes, showered, and washed away all the blood and dirt. He smelled like fresh cotton pulled right out of the dryer. His hair was still damp and tousled, and without warning all the intensity she had felt in that Manhattan, Kansas, hotel room came swirling back as he sat down next to her. He looked straight ahead and when she glanced over at him, she realized he felt it, too.

“How’s Tully?” he asked, avoiding her eyes.

“Still in surgery.” She hated how good it felt to see him, to have him here. And suddenly she found herself telling him, “Thanks for being here.”

“I’m not here for you. I’m here for Tully.”

She could see him smile and remembered she had used that exact line on him while they waited during Grace’s surgery.

“How’s Bolo?”

“He’s actually doing good. Surface wound.”

Creed looked tired. The cuts and bruises on his face looked raw.

“Maybe you can come see him before you leave town. Grace, too.” Finally he looked at her and this time held her eyes.

Before she could respond, Gwen was back. Her face was pale, her eyes dazed. She sat down on the other side of Maggie without a word. She didn’t even seem to notice Creed. She had the phone still gripped in her hand.

Maggie put a hand on Gwen’s arm.

“What is it? Are you okay?”

“No, I guess I’m not,” Gwen said. “I have breast cancer.”

TUESDAY, MARCH 26

CHAPTER 75

MANHATTAN, KANSAS

This time Maggie had called Noah Waters from the airport. His father had almost hung up on her but stopped when she said, “The man who attacked Noah is dead.” But before she drove to her meeting with Noah, she called Sheriff Uniss in Sioux City, Iowa.

He answered with a lecture, telling her that he had been leaving messages for her for two days. Maggie’s and Tully’s cell phones still hadn’t been recovered after Jack tossed them into the forest. The sheriff wanted her to know they had found “Lily the lot lizard”—that’s exactly how he referred to her now. He told Maggie that somehow Lily had made it back to the farmhouse but she was still in serious condition now at the regional medical center. When she told him about Howard Elliott, the sheriff was stu

“Howard Elliott’s been a fine businessman in these parts for over ten years. He’s an independent contractor. Has his own truck. Folks say he took real good care of Helen Paxton after her husband disappeared.”

Disappeared?

Something about that reminded Maggie of Jack’s claim that he had killed his own father when he was a boy. Was it possible he had done the same to his foster father years later?

As soon as Maggie ended her call with Sheriff Uniss, she texted Agent Alonzo:

Skull found at Iowa farm—

check to see if it’s William Paxton.

Noah insisted on another walk. Maggie understood he wanted to get out of the house and somewhere that his parents couldn’t listen. It had been a week since the attack. He walked more confidently and wore regular shoes. His feet were healing. The cuts on his face were no longer red and swollen. And that wild-eyed panic that Maggie had seen in his eyes was finally gone. But Maggie knew—and she knew this all too well from experience—the real scars would never disappear.

“How do you know for sure it was him?”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the laminated card the Florida crime scene technicians had found in the back of John Howard Elliott’s panel truck. He had built the truck into a custom workshop for his business. As a skilled craftsman, Elliott worked on construction projects across the country. But his vehicle also included the tricks of his hobby.

There were magnetic signs for the outside of the truck that provided significant disguise. Signs that read: ST. VINCENT’S FOR THE HOMELESS, COMMUNITY RESCUE UNIT, and even FEMA. The disguises also included a variety of items Maggie realized would help him look vulnerable and add to his claim of being a nice guy who was “stranded.” There was an arm sling, crutches, a neck brace, and even a dog collar and leash.

And then there was the box of “souvenirs,” an old fish and tackle case. This one didn’t surprise Maggie, though it was the most difficult to go through. None of the items were particularly shocking, but they were deeply personal. Among the dozens of items they found inside were a Harley-Davidson belt buckle, a gold tooth, a shamrock pin, a book of poetry, a Saint Christopher’s medal, a lock of hair, and the card Maggie now handed Noah.

“My driver’s license,” he whispered.

Still not convinced, he asked, “How do you know he’s dead?”

“Because I was there, Noah. He gave me a chance to run just like he did with you.”

They’d stopped in the shade of a huge tree. Its roots had broken into the sidewalk. Noah was quiet. His head stayed down as he stared at the card that he held pinched tightly between thumb and index finger as if he still couldn’t believe it.

“It’s over, Noah,” Maggie said, her tone gentle. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore.”

“But I left Ethan behind.”

And now she could hear him trying to choke back a sob.

Maggie didn’t have an answer for him. She knew human instinct, had studied it, saw it at its worst, and took faith when she saw glimmers of it at its best. She’d never be able to explain to Noah why he had run and she didn’t. Why he had left Ethan and she couldn’t leave Tully. Why she wouldn’t let John Howard Elliott win. She had many more years and more experience fighting evil than Noah. Maybe that was the only difference.

Fight or flight. Good or evil. Rarely was life that black and white. Most people learned to live in the gray areas. Maybe Noah would, too, and hopefully he would learn to forgive himself for simply following his instinct.

“He would have killed you both,” Maggie finally said. “You chose to survive, Noah. You can’t keep beating yourself up because a madman tried to kill you and you didn’t let him. That’s what you need to remember. You survived, Noah.”

She waited for him to look at her, really look at her. “We survived.”