Don't Look for Me(82)

I pull Alice close. We are one now, in our fate. And we move as one back to the grate where we can see what’s about to happen.





48


Day seventeen





Nic ran through the lobby of the inn to the back door. Then across the patio to the shed where she took a rock to the padlock, beating it until it opened.

Inside the shed, she found a pair of wire cutters. Then she ran to the fence, straight back like before, though it was harder to navigate with the sun so high in the sky.

Nic was out of breath when she reached the place where the hole had been cut. Nerves, exhaustion—all of it was crashing down.

She’d forgotten about the barbed wire and she didn’t have gloves. She took off one sneaker and put her hand inside it. She pushed the fence to see where it needed to be cut. The wire cutters were strong and they cut through it in seconds.

When she was on the other side, she put her sneaker back on, caught her breath.

She had just one thought now—Reyes knew where her mother was. He’d known the entire time. And he knew she was in a place that she couldn’t leave. That was why he risked waiting to get the reward money. He knew he had the time.

And the reason he wanted the time? It was absurd, this thought, but his behavior, his obsession with her had to go back to Daisy Hollander. Nic and Daisy—that had to be why he waited. He wanted Nic to come back to Hastings. And come back alone.

Be smart now, she told herself. She took out her phone and pulled up the photo she’d taken of the satellite image. The one showing the house and the fence, and the inn. She took her best guess at the direction and she started to walk, through the woods, along a path that was most likely to get her to the house.

Be smart.

Reyes was a con man. He used his position as a cop to extort people. No chance it was just Kurt Kent who’d been on the receiving end.

Through the trees, over the wet brush of dead leaves and soil, the extent of his lies, his planning ran through her mind. Edith Bickman. The truck story. How he pretended not to know her, not to trust her, giving her a string of facts that he could then punch holes through—giving Nic a reason to stay. He knew she would find out about Watkins with his gray truck. And when he couldn’t figure out where Watkins had gone to get the broken light repaired, he created a fake invoice. Framing Watkins—but why? When he finally led Nic to her mother, she would tell them the truth—that Watkins wasn’t involved. And that would prove Edith Bickman was a liar, keep her from getting the money—and Reyes his share. Did he do all of this in the hope that Nic would fall for him? That he could have her as a replacement for Daisy Hollander?

The house wasn’t as far as she thought. Maybe an eighth of a mile from the fence to a clearing where she could see it, and the scene at the front door.

Watkins knocking. His car was parked in the driveway.

She stopped dead in her tracks as she heard him call out—to Reyes.

Reyes was the caretaker of this place. Reyes managed the security cameras at the Gas n’ Go. Reyes was using the gas and electric, living here.

The boarded window with the metal bars holding it in place.

Her mother would know the truth and would tell them Watkins wasn’t involved. Edith never saw her. Maybe there wasn’t even a black truck.

Unless—no—the reward money.

It was one million if they found her alive. But five hundred thousand if they just found her.

That was it. She was already dead. Or about to be.

And now Watkins—not knowing what might be behind that door.

She started to run, calling out to him—“Chief!”

The door opened just as his name left her mouth. There were no more words. Just one shot. And Watkins, hand to his chest, stumbling backward until he reached the steps. Falling, crumbling down to the gravel, where he lay still.





49


Day seventeen





Alice and I watch as Mick stands on the other side of the door. We watch as he draws his gun and steadies himself. He is still weak.

I turn Alice to face me, pull her from the grate. Fear blankets my face. I know what is about to happen.

And I think—I have done it. I have killed another child. The hatred I thought I felt for her was not real. It was anger and frustration. But she is a child. She is a victim of this house and whatever has happened here these past nine years.

“Alice,” I say. “This was my fault and I will tell him that. I will save you,” I promise. I lie. He will surely kill us both.

Her face doesn’t change as I say these words. It is another new face. It is determined.

Alice holds my eyes as she reaches in her pocket. And slowly, very slowly—she pulls out the key. I fold my hand around hers and I gently take the key and turn the lock.

As we push the grate open and walk out into the hallway, to our freedom, we hear the shot.





50


Day seventeen





Reyes saw Nic, heard her call out to Watkins.

Now he called after her as she ran away, back into the woods, back toward the inn.

She ran the way she’d come, watching the ground, her feet taking small, quick steps on patches that were steady. She weaved through the trees, dodging the branches.

Then another shot and a pop against a trunk not five feet from her.