He gave me one final look before nodding and turning to head toward the stairs. I followed him out, remembering that I’d left my suitcases outside. When Deputy McDowell reached the bottom stair, he paused, turning back to me.
“Shame about your grandaddy. My deepest condolences, Ms. Taylor.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything.
“Guess we never really know what our loved ones are going through. For him to do something like that …” He trailed off, lowering his gaze and shaking his head.
“Maybe not,” I answered, staring at him.
He tipped his hat with his hand and took a step backward. “You enjoy your evening, ma’am. Welcome to Harlington.”
I waited until the deputy pulled out of the driveway to pick up my suitcases and retreat inside. Shutting the door behind me, I brushed off that annoying encounter and forced myself to make peace with the stillness that resided inside of the house.
Chapter Three
The next morning, I awakened with one hell of a crick in my neck from sleeping in the twin bed that I slept on as a kid. I was up early that morning, ordering a new one. Hell, I might not have been planning on living there for long, but I’d be damned if I was going to wake up every morning sore from poor sleeping accommodations.
With that task completed, I began making a list in my head of what I needed from the grocery store. However, something caught my attention as I rummaged through the cabinets in the kitchen. The green, red, and white tin that my grandmother always used for Christmas cookies was sitting in the cupboards. I paused, remembering that I packed this tin away soon after my grandmother died.
Opening it, I was surprised to see two newspaper articles inside. I went to place it on the counter, and that was when I heard something metal move around the bottom of the holder. Looking inside, I saw a small, silver ring with a heart at the center of it.
“Strange,” I murmured, knowing this piece of jewelry didn’t belong to my grandmother.
I opened the first article and noticed a picture of a teenage girl. The image was circled in red.
The same was true for the second article. There were two images of the same girl. One of them was a full body shot in which her hand had been circled as well. Looking closer, I gasped. On her right ring finger was the same ring that I held in my hand. At least, they looked similar.
I read the headline of the first article and realized this girl had been missing for nearly eighteen months. Amy Cherny, sixteen years old, had gone missing when she never returned to foster home in Abilane , one night. The town was about forty-minutes from Harlington.
I shook my head as I read over both articles, wondering what the hell my grandfather was doing with a missing girl’s ring. That little voice in my head that’d been telling me something was off for weeks now began to grow louder. I thought those whispers from my mind were just the shock of my grief. However, as I read the first article for a second time, the voice began to make sense.
I never believed my grandfather killed himself. I thought it was because I didn’t want to consider it. But my gut was telling me something different. Suicide was a lie. The items in that tin somehow were intertwined with my grandfather’s untimely demise.
Chapter Four
Holding up my left fist, I silently conveyed to my team behind me to halt. I allowed my gaze to scour the scene before me. Thanks to the night vision goggles I donned, I had to continually rotate my head to see everything that lay before me. That included the animals that only lurked in these woods at night, the bats that flew overhead, and in the distance, the three separate, two-person tents that stood in the distance.
I held up one finger, signaling to Manny, on my left, that we’d reached the campsite. Pausing, I looked around, and seeing no movement from the tents or the rundown cabin that wasn’t too far off, I led a countdown with my fingers. When I reached zero, the three of us wordlessly charged ahead, intruding upon the sleeping campers.
“Do you see him?” the new guy questioned, his voice pushing through the earpiece I wore.
I gritted my teeth, wanting to tell him to shut the fuck up, but I held back.
“What’s happening?” a woman’s scared and startled voice questioned, awakening the other campers.
“Help!” someone yelped, and I immediately recognized that male voice. “They’re taking me,” he squealed.
Glancing around, I moved to the tent where Manny had the man we were looking for in his hands. The young guy was trying to break free of the headlock hold Manny had on him, but it was pointless.
I pulled out a syringe filled with a substance that would make this guy go to sleep in a few minutes. Quickly, I inserted the solution into his veins, and then nodded at Manny.
“New guy, let’s go,” Manny demanded as he dragged our unwilling victim away from the campsite.
“They’re taking New Eagle,” a woman shouted.
I moved in between the woman and Manny as the New Guy, as we referred to him, passed me. Pulling out my Glock, I pointed it at the woman. Despite the darkness, she stopped in her tracks when I cocked the gun. The three other people who’d been trying to assist paused as well.
“Take your asses back to those tents, climb in, and go to sleep like none of this ever happened.” My voice was barely above a whisper, but my seriousness carried in every word I spoke. Though they hesitated, the four cult members soon tucked tail and turned, heading to their makeshift home, without so much as a peep.
