A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(92)

“Is that what they did in the cult you were in?”

“Among other things,” Abby answered. “That’s why she prays whenever you confront her about the cult. She’s shutting you and your negativity out. Don’t get angry at her when it happens. She can’t help it.”

Brian seemed as if he was about to cry. Abby wasn’t sure she could handle a blubbering six-footer.

“Make her feel happy, okay?” she said. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

“Okay.”

“Now I need to talk to your sister.”

“What if she doesn’t listen?”

Abby shrugged. “Then I’ll try again later.”

She returned to her old room, knocked on the door, and opened it. Leonor still sat on the bed, but she wasn’t praying anymore.

“Hey,” Abby said. “Is my mom treating you all right?”

“She’s very nice,” Leonor said.

“Glad to hear it.”

“I want to make a phone call. People in the community are probably worried sick about me.”

“You can do that.” Abby shrugged. “There’s a phone line downstairs; feel free to use it. But if you call, they’ll tell you to come back. You know that, right?”

“So? I should go back.”

“Maybe you should. But I don’t think it’s such a bad idea to stay with your brother for just a day or two. He misses you.”

“He can come visit me at the farm. It’s not prison. People visit all the time.”

Abby sighed. “What are you worried about, Leonor?”

“Why am I here?”

“Why do you think you’re here?”

Leonor stared at her deadpan. “I think you’re trying to convince me to leave the community.”

“Did I say anything to try and convince you so far?”

“No. And it won’t work anyway. You’re wasting your time. And mine.”

“Maybe that’s true,” Abby conceded. “But if you believe so strongly that Tillman’s community is the place for you, then you shouldn’t be worried that I’ll convince you to leave, right?”

Leonor said nothing.

“We let Karl Adkins go yesterday evening,” Abby said.

Leonor’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Really?”

They had. Not because of Leonor’s actions, like Abby let her believe, but because they couldn’t charge him with anything. Abby wished she could charge him for his intention to marry Gabrielle when she’d been twelve. But that was impossible.

“Once you go back, you can tell them everything,” she said. “That you went with me, compelling us to let Karl go, and stayed here while we wasted everyone’s time. Would that be so bad? Do you think anyone will be angry you did that? For Karl?”

“I don’t care what anyone thinks. I’m doing what I think is right.”

“Okay. Good.” Abby opened her bag, took out a folder, and laid it on the dresser. “This is for you.”

“What is it?”

“This is the police file on Otis Tillman,” Abby said. “You can look through it or not. It’s your call.”

“How do I even know it’s real?”

“I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.” Abby smiled. Leonor didn’t smile back.

“One more thing,” Abby said as she turned to leave. “There’s someone here I want you to meet.”

“Who?”

“She’s named Eden. You probably heard of her. She used to be David’s wife.”

The blood drained from Leonor’s face. “She’s here?”

“She’s downstairs with my mother,” Abby said. “You can ask her anything you want. I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”





CHAPTER 63


The kid was shivering in the bed, the bedsheets smudged with sweat and dirt.

He placed the soup on the desk and went over to shake the kid. Gently at first, then more insistent. “Hey. Wake up. I made you soup. It’ll warm you up.”

Did the kid even need warming up? His body was burning hot.

“Hey. Nathan, wake up.”

The boy’s eyelids fluttered, but his eyes rolled up. He convulsed, his body suddenly rigid, jaw clenched shut. A drop of drool ran down his chin.

“Stop that! Wake up!”

Something was wrong with him. It was that ugly scratch. It kept getting worse all the time, swollen and inflamed, seeping pus. That idiot, why had he done that to himself? It was all his fault. His fault—and his sister’s fault for taking her time with the ransom. She should be interviewing twenty times a day, doing road tours, enlisting celebrities for her cause. What was she waiting for? He’d given her the perfect platform for this, like she’d always wanted, and she couldn’t even take the initiative. What the hell was wrong with her?

It was her fault that her brother was sick now. Her damn fault.

He left the room, slammed the door behind him, and grabbed his phone. Was almost about to dial her, but his finger wavered above the screen.

Stupid. So damn stupid. If he dialed now, they’d have his location. The police would be here within half an hour, surrounding the place, game over. All because he’d lost his shit, forgotten the basic rules. The rules they’d all planned together. Only burner phones. Always call from Manhattan, far from the hideaway. Always disguise your voice.