A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(107)

“Karl would never do something without Otis’s approval.” David looked away. “I’m done talking about this.”

He shut his eyes and prayed silently. Abby sighed.

“If Nathan is held somewhere, you should tell us,” Carver said. “Do you want him to starve to death?”

David kept praying.

Carver leaned forward. “You know, this precious friend of yours, the guy you know better than anyone else? He screwed your wife. While you two were still married. He even videoed it—for posterity. Do you want to see?”

David’s eyes snapped open, the prayer dying on his lips.

“That got your attention, huh?” Carver said.

David smiled thinly, contempt etched on his face. “You think I don’t know about that? I gave them both my blessing.”

Abby blinked, surprised.

“You talk as if I owned her. This is the type of patriarchal constructs we were fighting against. Sex is not wrong. It’s not a sin. If both Eden and Otis wanted to have sex for Eden’s spiritual growth, who am I to stop them?”

Otis had managed to harness gender equality as a reason for having sex with any woman he chose. How did he explain the discrepancy with the Ten Commandments? Probably by preaching about the meaning of the words adultery and covet. It didn’t matter. His community members would believe anything Otis told them. It didn’t have to make perfect sense.

David began praying again. After trying to ask more questions and getting no response, Abby and Carver stepped out.

“Who’s Luther?” Carver asked.

“Let’s find out,” Abby said. “He probably has a confession video here somewhere.”

She opened the laptop and reviewed the files. “There’s no Luther here.”

“How about Lou?”

“Nope.” She saw seven files for Leonor and wished she could just delete them.

“Do you think David made that up to throw us off?”

“It didn’t seem that way. And it’s a pretty dumb way to throw us off.” She sipped from her coffee. “Ugh, it’s completely cold.”

“Here, let me see.” Carver looked at the screen over her shoulder. He was so close to her that their cheeks nearly touched.

“It’s not there,” she murmured.

“Yeah.” He pulled away. “Let’s call Barnes; I think he’s still there, interrogating the members.”

He made the call while Abby went to the bathroom. She nearly nodded off on the toilet seat.

When she returned, Carver was frowning at his phone. “No Luther among the people at the compound either.”

“We’ll keep asking tomorrow,” Abby said tiredly. “Maybe Leonor knows who this guy is.”

Carver perched on the desk next to the laptop. “What do you think David was about to say when I asked him where they intended to put Nathan?”

“He started saying the other . . . something.” Abby thought about it. “The other farm? The other compound?”

“Is there another farm?”

“Not that I know of. But it’s worth checking. There might be paperwork in the compound’s office.”

“Yeah.”

Carver’s eyes were bloodshot, and she was sure hers looked even worse. An evening that had seemed so promising at first was ending with only more questions. Nathan was still missing. Abby just hoped he was alive.





CHAPTER 72


Nathan was in the swimming pool, learning to swim again. He didn’t like it, but his mom kept insisting that he should learn how to swim. And as long as he stayed in the shallow end of the pool, it wasn’t too bad. He could go through the motions. And his mom would buy him ice cream later.

He even began to get it; he was floating. And Gabrielle cheered him on. He smiled at her, and she made a funny face at him, so he laughed, but that was when he swallowed some water. He coughed and sputtered, and he was glad he was in the shallow end of the pool because he could just step out—except his feet wouldn’t touch the bottom.

Gabrielle was still cheering, but her voice was farther and farther away, and he thrashed in the water now, swallowing more, every breath a gurgle, and the man who’d stopped the car for him also coughed and sputtered by his side, his blood seeping into the pool, turning the water red.

He tried to get away from the bleeding man, and hands were grabbing him from below; they wanted to take him with them down down down, so he kept paddling at the water, crying, but Gabrielle didn’t notice—she didn’t see any of it; she just kept cheering. And the water was cold now, so cold; he was trembling, his body convulsing, and his throat was so dry, which was terrible, because even though he’d swallowed all that water, he was thirsty. But he didn’t want the water in the pool, water that was now crimson with blood. He wanted water. Just a cup of water.

He whispered for water, but no one was there to hear him in the bed in his room. No, not in his room, in the other room, the strange mirror room. He’d been swallowed by a room that looked like his room but wasn’t, and he kept whispering for water, but no one came. Not even Gabrielle, who kept clapping and cheering because she thought he was swimming so well.

And maybe he was, because he was floating again, floating away from his body, leaving it behind, which was probably better because his body hurt all over and was so cold.