A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(72)

“It seems like you’re angry about that.”

“Yeah, of course I’m angry.”

As far as Leonor was concerned, anger wasn’t the burden of God and his emissaries. Not yet, at least.

“Is there anything you miss? From your old life?”

“Detective—” Otis began.

“No,” Leonor said resolutely. “Nothing.”

Otis tensed, and Abby had to mask the sudden spark of joy in her heart. The girl had interrupted Otis. She hadn’t even noticed it. She would pay for it later, no doubt.

Abby had to get her out. Not now, she needed some time to prepare. But she had to have a reason to do it later.

“We think maybe someone’s trying to implicate Karl or someone else in the community,” Abby said. “Any idea who would want to hurt Karl? Or Otis?”

Leonor seemed shocked. “No. We aren’t bothering anyone. We’re just minding our own business.”

“What do you do on the farm?”

“Well, after trying my cooking, they won’t let me near the kitchen again.” Leonor grinned. “I do field work and patrols.”

“Patrols?”

“I walk the perimeter of the fence twice every day. Make sure the fence is intact.”

“Are you armed?”

A glance at Otis. “No.”

“And did you see anything?” Abby made a show of leaning forward, hands on her knees. “Anything suspicious?”

Leonor shrugged. “Not really.”

“You patrol the perimeter twice a day, and you never saw anyone?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t see anyone,” Leonor said, annoyed. “I saw a few people. There’s a field across from the farm. Some guys sometimes work there.”

“Can you describe them?”

“Um . . . three guys. Two of them Latino. One’s bald and white.”

“The white guy,” Abby said quickly, tensing. “The bald one. How many times have you seen him?”

“I think three times? Yeah, definitely three times.”

“Anything else you can tell me about him?”

“He has a tattoo on his neck, but I couldn’t see what it was.”

Abby glanced at Wong, who nodded at her.

“Thanks, Leonor,” Abby said. “Is there any way to get in touch with you?”

“Just talk to Otis,” Leonor said. “He’ll pass on the message.”

“You don’t have a phone?”

“We don’t have phones here,” Leonor said. “They’re a distraction.”

Abby smiled at her. “I bet it was hard giving that up. I have a daughter your age, and she spends every minute with her cell phone.”

Leonor stood up. “I got over it.”





CHAPTER 48


Will knocked on the door, checking his watch. He’d read the lab’s report three times and consulted with a friend who worked in image editing. He was convinced the image of Nathan in his room was either authentic or a masterful photoshopping job that had managed to fool even the FBI’s experts. He needed to know which.

Eden Fletcher let him in and asked him desperately if there was any news.

When Will’s daughter was younger, she’d been hospitalized with life-threatening meningitis. Both Will and his wife had spent four days in the hospital with their daughter, taking her for different tests and to various experts, constantly terrified for her life. And whenever a doctor passed by, Will would lunge at them to ask if they’d gotten the test results or if he had a prognosis. He recalled the helplessness and frustration, begging doctors to tell him if there was any news.

“We have a few promising leads, Ms. Fletcher,” he said. And heard the doctor in his mind tell him they had to run another test, consult another expert, try a different treatment. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have anything definite.”

Her face fell. She said nothing.

“Can I please inspect Nathan’s room? Just to see if there’s something we missed.”

“Sure,” Eden said listlessly. “It’s on the second floor. Can I get you anything to drink? I was making myself a cup of tea.”

“No thanks.”

“I used to drink a lot of coffee, but I stopped,” Eden said. “Don’t need anything else to keep me awake at night. It’s jasmine tea. Are you sure you don’t want any?”

“Uh . . . sure, why not. I’d love a cup,” Will said, more out of politeness than anything else. “Second floor?”

Eden nodded and trudged to the kitchen. Will went up the stairs and looked around. Three doors. He opened one. Gabrielle’s room. The girl lay on the bed tapping on the phone, her jaw clenched.

“Sorry,” Will said. “I thought this was Nathan’s room.”

“You’re that cop,” Gabrielle said, raising her eyes. “You’re the one who asked me for my Instagram password.”

“It’s been very helpful—”

Gabrielle handed him the phone. “I need you to answer these assholes. Tell them the kidnapping is not made up.”

Will blinked in surprise. “What?”

“These guys think that I made the kidnapping up. That I’m using it to get more followers on Instagram.” A sob caught in Gabrielle’s throat. “As if I’d use my brother like that.”