Alone in the Wild (Rockton #5)(100)

“Put the gun down,” Dalton says to Petra. “Everything’s fine.”

“Everything is not fine,” she says. “These two tricked—”

“No one tricked anyone,” Dalton says. “I found Sidra. I was freeing her when Baptiste showed up, and he misinterpreted. Sidra, did I kidnap you?”

She shakes her head. “He was helping me, Baptiste.”

“Did Baptiste kidnap you?” I ask.

Her eyes round. “Of course not. I … I don’t know who did it. Someone grabbed me at the camp and put something over my eyes.”

“Then how do you know it wasn’t Baptiste?” Petra asks.

Sidra’s eyes flash. “I do not need to see my husband to know him. It was a man. I’m sure of that. He spoke to me, but his voice was distorted. We were walking but we kept stopping, and he’d tie me up. Then he’d leave and come back. He’d left me again when this man found me and said he was from Rockton and he was with you, Baptiste.”

“He is,” I say. “Your husband just panicked.” I turn to Baptiste. “Have you ever lent Lane your shotgun?”

His face screws up, as if he’s misheard.

“Lane from the Second—”

“Yes, I know Lane,” he says impatiently. “He is my friend, and yes, I have loaned him our shotgun, but I don’t understand—”

“That’s the gun that was used to kill Ellen.” I don’t know that for certain, of course, but they’ll never realize that. “Someone—”

“No!” Sidra says, and she wheels, and I think she’s spinning on me to deny it, but instead, she faces the forest and shouts, “Lane!”

“That … That’s…” Baptiste blinks, looking lost. “Lane wouldn’t…” He trails off, unable to finish. Then he looks at me. “This gun? This gun was used…”

“To kill Ellen,” Sidra says, and tears glisten in her eyes as she looks at me. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? Ellen is dead, and Lane killed her. Killed her and came for me. Killed her and stole … stole…”

She spins to face the forest again, and when she screams “Lane!” it’s a raw and horrible sound, and the force of it buckles her knees. Baptiste catches her, his face still blank with shock. I see his face, and I see hers, and the missing piece falls into place.

Motivation.

Felicity said four kids from the two settlements hung out together. Tomas said Lane lost his best friend last year. That connection had clicked earlier. Lane knew Sidra and Baptiste, and Baptiste was his supposedly dead friend. I hadn’t confirmed that because it seemed nothing more than a tragic collision of circumstance.

Lane knows Ellen. Lane also knows Baptiste and Sidra. A hostile steals their baby, and Ellen steals her back, and Lane sees her and shoots her because she’s having an affair with his aunt. He has no idea she’s clutching a baby under her parka. And the fact that that baby belongs to his old friends? Tragic, tragic coincidence.

That makes sense, right? And if the gun that murdered Ellen belongs to Baptiste, then that must mean Baptiste or Sidra actually shot her. The young couple have been trading their game with Lane, who’s been passing it off as his own arrow-shot kills. Then, when we accuse Lane of shooting Ellen with that same gun, he realizes who actually did it and quickly spins a story to protect his friends.

That must be the answer, right?

Unless Cherise sees Sidra with a young man she presumes is Baptiste, while my gut says Baptiste didn’t lie to us and his wife is missing. Who else could Cherise mistake for Baptiste? Another young dark-haired man of similar build.

Lane.

Before this moment, I could only guess at why Lane kidnapped Sidra. Maybe he confessed to her, and she hadn’t forgiven him. Or maybe he took her hostage as a bargaining chip against his punishment for killing Ellen.

Neither scenario had satisfied me. Now, in Sidra’s scream of rage and frustration, I hear the echoes of other women, and I see the answer.

“Lane…” Baptiste says, looking at me as he holds Sidra, who vibrates with fury. “You think Lane…”

“He confessed to killing Ellen,” I say. “He didn’t seem to know she was holding Summer when she died.”

“H-holding…” Sidra says.

“Summer is safe,” Baptiste says quickly. “This woman— Casey—found her, and she’s fine. Ellen had rescued her and she—she died holding her, but they found Summer before—before anything could…”

“Lane murdered Ellen.” Sidra stares at me. “While she was holding my baby. He left … he left her…”

“He didn’t seem to know,” I say.

Her face contorts in an inhuman snarl. “Oh, he knew. He knew.” She turns and screams. “Lane! Show yourself, you coward! You want me so badly, come and face me!”

“Want…” Baptiste looks sick. “No … Yes, at first, yes … but he said he was over you. He said he was happy for us.”

“He lied,” Sidra spits, face contorting again. “He lied to you. Not to me, though. Never to me. It didn’t matter what I said. It didn’t matter what I did.”

“He … he kept…?” Baptiste sways, face green. “He kept bothering you, and you never told me.”