A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(95)

“Well . . . I didn’t see the glass. It’s very clean. And that thing just hissed.” Carver glanced around the room, taking in the other vivaria with the tarantula, the chameleon, and the crickets. “It’s a zoo. You have a zoo in your home.”

“It’s not a zoo. This is my son’s room. The bathroom’s the second door to the left. Did you want to shoot the snake?”

“That thing hissed at me,” Carver said again. “I don’t like snakes. And that aquarium is really clean. I didn’t see the glass.”

“It’s a vivarium. My son does like it clean.”

“Okay. So . . . second door to the left, yeah?”

“That’s right.”

“Are there bats there or something?”

“No, but take a look before you use the toilet, because sometimes we keep piranhas in it.”

Carver blinked, as if for a second he thought she was serious. “You’re hilarious,” he said dryly.

Abby returned to the kitchen, decided to get two more beers, one for herself and one for Carver. He came back from the bathroom, his cool demeanor still shaken.

“So . . . all those things are your son’s pets?”

“Well, the snake’s new; I told you about it. And the crickets are food for the tarantula; they’re not actual pets.” She held out the beer for him.

“Aren’t these creatures poisonous?” He took the beer, their fingers brushing. He opened the can and took a long swig.

“They’re definitely not poisonous. If anything, they’re venomous,” Abby said. “And in any case they’re not dangerous to people. A bite from the tarantula or the snake would just sting.”

“I used to have nightmares about snakes as a kid after watching that Indiana Jones movie.”

“Oh, the Well of Souls scene,” Abby said. “Do you know some of the snakes there are actually legless lizards?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Snakes don’t have earholes. Ben used to watch the scene repeatedly and point out different things in it. The different types of pythons, the fake snakes. He loves the cobra.”

“Are you into snakes too?”

“Not so much,” Abby admitted. “To be honest, I hate them. And spiders. And even the crickets. I guess the chameleon is okay.”

“You’re an amazing mom for letting him keep those things.”

“Tell that to my daughter.”

“If you told me back at the academy that one day you would have two kids, and that you’d be the kind of mom that lets her son have a pet snake, I’d have said you were delirious.”

Abby frowned. “Is that a compliment?”

“I think so.” Carver smiled at her and took a long sip from his beer.

“What did you think I’d be, back in the academy?”

“I don’t know.” Carver stared at the table. “I guess I thought . . . I mean, I hoped . . .” The sentence evaporated into silence.

“What did you hope?”

“I was disappointed to meet Steve at that barbecue when we graduated.” Carver shrugged. “I was thinking of asking you out for a drink.”

Silence settled between them. Abby drank her beer, telling herself that her head was spinning because of the alcohol.

Her phone rang, Gabrielle Fletcher’s name appearing on-screen.

“Hello?”

“Lieutenant Mullen?” Gabrielle’s voice was strained, close to tears. “I . . . I just got an email. From the kidnappers.”

“An email? What does it say?” She caught Carver’s eye.

“It says Nathan is sick,” Gabrielle sobbed. “That his time is running out. They also sent a picture. He looks bad.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m sending someone to check your computer,” Abby said. “The image could contain a virus.”

“Why would they send me a virus?” Gabrielle sniffled.

To take over her computer and web camera. To listen in on whatever was going on in their home. “It’s just a precaution,” Abby said. “Can you forward the email to me?”

“O . . . okay. But what should I do? Should I answer the email?”

“Let me see the email first. Send it over now.” Abby gave Gabrielle her email address.

While Gabrielle did this, Abby retrieved her laptop. It was routinely maintained by the IT department at the police academy, and she was confident the antivirus installed would alert her if a virus was attached to the email.

“Okay, sent,” Gabrielle said.

Abby waited for a few seconds, then refreshed her inbox. There. An email from a temporary email address—a random sequence of letters and numbers. She opened it and read the short text, Carver looking over her shoulder.

This is taking too long, and your brother doesn’t have a lot of time. He’s sick, and we’re losing our patience. If he dies IT’S ON YOU!!!!

Nathan’s image definitely looked bad. The kid was pale, one of his eyelids half open, his face scratched and dirty.

Gabrielle cleared her throat. “Do you think he’s already . . . already . . . ?”

“He’s alive,” Abby said, hoping she was right. “They wouldn’t send us this image if he wasn’t.”