Not One of Us(63)

It could be no coincidence he was missing so soon after Jori received threats. Had Strickland’s killer kidnapped Zach? If so, I feared for Zach’s life. The person who’d murdered Strickland had proven he had no qualms in permanently silencing his victims.





Chapter 25


JORI


I sat on the back porch steps, rubbing my arms as I watched the woods, willing with all my heart and mind for Zach to materialize out of nowhere. But I knew better than anyone that any amount of wishing and hoping was useless. It hadn’t brought Deacon back alive, it hadn’t kept my mom from dying of cancer, and it sure as hell wasn’t helping Mimi ward off the ravages of dementia. Each minute, the darkness seeped a degree deeper, extinguishing my hope.

The sound of footsteps trampling on twigs and a low murmur of voices drifted on the wind. Even though I couldn’t see them at the moment, dozens of civilian volunteers along with uniformed cops were in the nearby woods, combing the ground for Zach or any clue of where he might be.

Warmth pressed across my shoulders and back, but I kept my gaze forward, staring at the empty yard.

“You’re shivering,” Tegan said. “Thought you could use this afghan from your sofa.”

My fingers grasped at the blanket edges, pulling it in closer. It was true—my entire body shook uncontrollably. You’d think I was in Antarctica instead of Alabama.

“Any idea what might have driven someone to take Zach?” she asked.

“You agree this is from whoever threatened me last time?”

“We have to take that option seriously. Can you think what might have angered them?”

“Yes. Like I said, this is all my fault. I went to Gulfport a couple days ago and talked to Jackson’s adoptive father.”

“His name?” Tegan already had her phone out, ready to make a note.

“Ardy Ensley.”

“What happened?”

I quickly filled her in on my conversation with Ardy. “It was so stupid of me. It’s like I’ve become obsessed with what happened in the past and why someone doesn’t want me to dig it up.”

“I’ll contact Ensley at once. Maybe he can help.” Tegan jumped off the step, started to walk away, and then turned back. “Just in case . . . do you have a friend you can call to stay with you tonight and keep you company?”

I thought of Dana. That bridge had been burned. “No one,” I admitted.

She nodded and strode away from me, already on the phone with another cop to get in touch with Ardy.

Had Jackson’s father abducted Zach? I saw no reason for him to do so. All he wanted was to forget everything and everybody in Bayou Enigma and concentrate on his current family. But, presumably, I’d made my enemy very nervous.

That’s how I thought of the intruder now. He was an enemy who’d dared harm one of the two people I loved. Guilt slammed into me as I remembered how I’d selfishly worked while Zach had been kidnapped right under my nose. To think I’d been complaining ever since I got home about having to take care of Zach and Mimi. I’d give anything to have my brother back now.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whispered. “I failed you.” The only thing Mom had ever asked of me was to watch out for Zach after her death. I’d done a horrible job of it. I’d run away to Mobile, leaving everything in the hands of my aging grandmother, and had only returned when her health was too precarious to care for Zach anymore.

Where the hell was Zach? I pictured him in a series of disasters, each progressively worse: lost, scared, walking in circles as he tried to find his way home; gulping swamp water as he sank into a pond; being tied and gagged and beaten at the hands of my enemy.

My vision blurred from a film of tears that overflowed and trickled down my face in hot salt tracks that I didn’t bother wiping away. Misery and fear had me locked in a death grip that made it hard to breathe. Each second ticked by like an eternity. A chill that had nothing to do with the lateness of the afternoon seeped into the marrow of my bones.

I stared ahead, unseeing and numb, the world a blur. A shout went up somewhere beyond the tree line of the yard. A voice boomed from the woods.

“Zach! Zach! He’s here!”

Zach? I stumbled to my feet like a drunk emerging from a weekend binge. Excited voices rang out from somewhere in the darkness.

Was he alive? Or . . . I flung the afghan from my shoulders and ran toward the noise. My breath was loud and labored, hope and fear warring within me. Before I got to the edge of the woods, a group of cops ran forward, waving and pointing.

“Over here!”

Zach walked in the middle of the group, his gaze drifting from one person to another, as though trying to understand what all the excitement was about. He clasped the LEGO bucket firmly in his right hand. One of the cops tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at me.

I ran to him where he stood and then wrapped my arms around him. He was alive. I pressed him tight, and he stiffened uncomfortably before wiggling out of my embrace. I had to laugh through my tears. Even though my heart was bursting with love for him and relief that he appeared unharmed, Zach still didn’t want to be hugged. It was just who he was.

“Are you okay?” I asked, rubbing his hands. It was the one gesture of affection Zach allowed.

“Okay,” he repeated, the echolalia automatic and rote. I scanned his body to check for obvious signs of abuse. There were no bruises, blood, or rips in his clothes.