A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(96)

“Should I answer the email?”

“Yes. But I want to write the reply myself. I’ll send you the text later.” Abby doubted the kidnappers would even check it. The temporary address indicated this wasn’t an email account they intended to use again. “Give me an hour.”

“But what if we don’t get the money in time? Do you think they’ll let Nathan die?”

“We’ll do everything we can to get to him on time, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll call you once I have the reply to the email ready.”

“Please hurry,” Gabrielle whispered and hung up.

“Send me the email,” Carver said. “I’ll talk to the tech guys, see if we can track it back to its source.”

Abby nodded distractedly, already opening a blank document, thinking about the reply to the email.

Carver got up. “I’ll let you know what they say.”

“Okay. Carver?”

“Yeah?”

“The kidnapper doesn’t sound stable in this email. We need to find Nathan fast.”





CHAPTER 65


Abby parked the car in front of her mother’s house at just after nine in the morning. She checked her email again to see if there was any update. Nothing so far. The night before, Carver had called her to tell her they couldn’t trace the email back to the sender. Whoever had sent it knew what they were doing.

Gabrielle had replied to the email using Abby’s text. A calming message with a few open-ended questions that were meant to give the kidnappers a feeling of control over the situation. Hopefully they’d answer the email, supplying the task force with some much-needed information. But Abby suspected the kidnappers wouldn’t even open it. When they wanted a dialogue, they talked on the phone. This was their way of sending a message without engaging.

The image of Nathan lying unconscious left her with a desire to act. But there was nothing to act on. She could only continue doing what she’d done so far. Lean on Leonor, and get answers.

She got out of the car and walked over to the door. She’d barely knocked before Penny flung the door open and pressed a finger to her smiling lips. Abby followed her, doing her best to avoid making any sound as they climbed the wooden steps to the second floor.

The door to Abby’s old room was shut, but beyond it, she heard the sound of a loud conversation. For a second her gut twisted as she heard Brian shouting at his sister, but then Leonor answered, her voice cheerful and giddy.

“It was on your thirteenth birthday, assbutt.” Leonor’s voice was slightly muffled, but Abby managed to piece the words together. “And I didn’t fall on the cake; I was pushed.”

“I’m telling you it was my twelfth birthday; I distinctly remember because Mom made me that cake that was shaped like Dumbledore. It was a beautiful cake—before you managed to smear it all over your shirt.”

“Oh, come on, it didn’t even look like Dumbledore. She got his face all wrong; it looked like a pervy Santa.”

“You think all Santas are pervy.”

And then, a sound that made Abby’s eyes tear up. Leonor laughed. “Well, they are!” she said, still giggling. “I mean, the whole sit-on-my-knees thing?”

Abby and her mom tiptoed down the stairs and went to the kitchen.

“They’ve been like that for the past thirty minutes,” Penny said in a soft voice. “They didn’t even get out of the room yet.”

“That’s great,” Abby said, pacing the kitchen.

“Last night I talked to Brian before going to sleep. He told me that every year after Halloween, he and Leonor would combine their loot and hide in their room, stuffing their faces with chocolate and candy. So this morning I got your old trick or treat bag—you remember it?”

“The pumpkin-shaped one? You still have it? It’s probably full of mold.”

“I cleaned it up. Then I went to the nearby drugstore and filled it up with candy. And I put it in front of their room. I think Leonor woke up first. She got out, found it . . . and they’ve been inside the room ever since.”

Abby hugged her mother, a tear running down her cheek. She’d spent years studying crisis management and cult intervention. But her mother could intuitively figure out what people needed the most.

She resumed pacing the kitchen, thinking about the girl in the room above them. The information she had. She could probably refute Karl’s alibi. Maybe she could testify about the systematic sexual abuse of minors within the cult. She had to have something that could help the police get a foot in the door.

Leonor was on the brink. And they needed that information right now. But if Abby barged in and questioned Leonor, she’d shove the girl right back into the cult’s hands.

Cult intervention never worked under a tight schedule. The subject had to have time to process, to reach the conclusions on their own. Abby knew that, but still she had the urge to push Leonor, to try and convince her. Nathan’s life depended on the information Leonor had.

“How are the kids?” Penny eyed her.

“They’re fine. I talked to Steve this morning. They’re staying at his place until Thursday.”

“Oh, that’s nice of him.”

“Whatever.” It was. He hadn’t even sounded too superior when he’d agreed. Well, maybe a little. But that didn’t prevent Abby from feeling she was the worst mother in the world. And she’d met some pretty atrocious mothers, including the mother of that friend of Ben’s who let him watch four hours of TV every single day. But did that mother abandon her kids for a whole week? No, she did not. Because only Abby was that awful.