It's One of Us(59)

In the Jeep, she moves on instinct. Start, Reverse, Drive, steer, brake. She aims the car toward her house. This is her refuge and her punishment, this life she’s chosen. She will not think about the hurt in Perry’s eyes, she will not think about the cramps in her belly, she will not think of Beverly Cooke’s dead body, bloated and peeling skin. She will not think about the police, about this new missing woman. She will not think about the children, real and wished for. She will not think about the gap-toothed smile of a little blond stranger. She will go home, she will confront her husband, she will find them a path through this.

She might not be able to bear him a child, but she sure as hell can be his rock right now. She chose Park back then. She should choose Park now. Perry might be a part of her past, but Park is her future. Park is her husband, for better or worse. She’s always taken their vows seriously, thinks he does, too. He might be a liar, but together, they can weather the storm. Together, they can fight for their marriage, their lives, their very souls. She will be righteous, and virtuous. He will be apologetic, and gallant. He will want to fix things between them; he always does, he always has. She will be rewarded for her loyalty in some way, she knows.

This is what Perry’s attentions have always done to her. Her guilt drives her right back to Park like a snapping rubber band.

She blocks Perry’s soft gray eyes, hurt and confused, from her mind. She cannot allow him to wreck everything she’s built. Not now. Not when things are at their most tenuous.

The setting sun is bright and reflective, and a glance at the rear view shows a van following her, too close. A moment of panic—is that him? The van from this morning? Griffin White?

She slows, thinking he’ll go past, and doesn’t see the deer until it is too late. The buck darts in front of the Jeep, and she only has time to swerve before the sickening crunch of impact. The airbags explode, cushioning her, but the windshield cracks wide, the huge antlers breaking through the glass with such force that one branch impales her shoulder, pinning her to the seat. The deer is not dead, it is thrashing and screaming, and the pain is too much, and she feels the faint coming on and fights to stay awake, stay focused. The crash hasn’t hurt her badly, but the convulsing deer will, she knows this instinctively, even through the fog of shock and pain. She must get unpinned.

Glass smashes near her ear, and hands reach in to help. She can’t turn her head to see this angel who has stopped to save her, but listens to the faraway voice patter, lets it soothe and calm.

“Stay steady, stay relaxed, it’s okay, I’m going to free you.”

A wrenching pain in her shoulder, then an overwhelming sense of freedom. She takes a breath and cries out at the pain. The buck runs off the side of the road, streaming blood—her blood, she realizes; the damn thing seems to be unhurt despite barreling through her windshield antlers first.

A piece of antler protrudes from her body like a narwhal’s horn. There is warmth, and wet, and her right arm tingles. She’s fading, shock setting in, overpowering the adrenaline. The voice, it is a man’s voice, familiar in an unfamiliar way, speaks again, urgent and calm.

“I’m calling an ambulance. Hold tight. You’re going to be okay, Olivia. I’m so sorry you’re hurt. You’re so beautiful. Oh, my darling. You don’t deserve this.”

And she is gone.



28


THE DETECTIVES

Walking back to her car from court, running testimony through her head as she always does, Joey gets a text from Osley.

You ain’t gonna believe it.
She calls him immediately, crossing the downtown street, jaywalking.

“What am I not going to believe?”

“We just got another tip on the Cooke case. About Kemp this time. You gotta get back here, stat.”

She starts to jog, thankful for the boots she’s wearing. Her car is in the courthouse parking lot. It will take her ten to get back to the office.

“What is it?”

“Not over the phone.”

This case is about to break wide open, Joey can feel it. They just need to find Jillian Kemp before she gets killed.

Osley is waiting at Joey’s desk. He’s been chewing cinnamon gum; the scent is overpowering.

“Joey Joey Jo Jo. It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?”

“Why are you looking so cheerful? There is another woman missing.”

“Am I cheerful? Hmm. I was thinking more...international man of mystery.”

He strikes a pose, hands together holding a pretend gun, and she smiles despite herself.

“What’s the tip, Will?”

“We got a call from a woman who moderates a private Facebook group. It’s a support group for families who have used sperm donation. We already know Jillian Kemp used a sperm donor to father her kid.”

“And... Come on, Will. Spit it out.”

“Beverly Cooke was a part of the Facebook group, too. She also used a donor to get pregnant. It’s very hush-hush. She didn’t tell her husband.”

“My God. So someone is targeting this group? Do they all have the same donor? Are they all Bender’s?”

“No. It’s a wide-ranging group, variety of ages, multiple donors.”

“Too much to hope for. Tell me you checked on who Beverly Cooke’s donor was. If that’s our tie...if her kid is Bender’s—”