The Boy from the Woods(23)

This was where Wilde had to fight off his instincts and let his training take over. Instinct told him to run toward his godson’s cry. That would be the natural reaction. But Wilde had braced for this moment. The scream, coming from behind Gray Hair and up the hill toward the house, made all heads turn. That, too, was natural and expected. If you hadn’t known that the scream was a possibility, you couldn’t help but react.

Thor looked in the direction of Matthew’s scream too.

And away from Wilde.

That was all the opening Wilde needed. The rest took a second, no more. Spinning with his left elbow at the ready, Wilde struck Thor in the side of his head. At the same time, before Thor could stumble back, Wilde’s right hand dove into the opening of the jacket. His fingers found the butt of the gun in the holster under Thor’s arm.

By the time Matthew yelled “Help!” for a second time, Thor was on the ground, and Wilde had the gun up and aimed, moving the muzzle between Gray Hair and the other two men.

Wilde said, “Breathe wrong and I’ll shoot you dead.”

From the ground, Thor groaned and lunged toward him. Wilde kicked him in the head. The slapping of feet on driveway drew closer. For a second, they all waited. Matthew turned the corner, sprinting seemingly for his life, two other boys not far behind him.

Matthew pulled up, a look of confusion crossing his face. The two other boys did the same.

“Go through the gate,” Wilde told Matthew. “Get in the car.”

“But—”

“Do it.”

One of the boys said, “We were just playing, is all. Tell him, Matthew. Tell him we were just playing.”

Keeping his hands in the air, Gray Hair slid in front of the boy speaking. “Stay behind me, Crash.”

“It’s just a game,” Crash said.

“A game,” Wilde repeated.

“Yeah, it’s called Midnight Skull.” He pointed to the smile-skull ring on his hand. “It’s like night tag. Tell him, Matthew.”

Matthew didn’t move. His eyes were glassy with near tears. In the distance, Wilde heard a car engine start. Reinforcements.

“Matthew, car now!”

Matthew snapped out of it and hurried toward the gate. Walking backward so as to keep the gun aimed at them, Wilde did the same. He kept his eyes on Gray Hair. He was the leader. The others wouldn’t make a move without him. Gray Hair nodded as if to say, It’s okay, get out of here, we won’t stop you.

Ten seconds later, Wilde sped away with Matthew in the seat next to him.





CHAPTER

NINE



Hester was back in her limo when she saw the calls coming in.

She’d expected that. You can’t just drop a bomb like this one about a missing girl and not expect something to explode. It was, in fact, her hope—that someone would come forward or act or make a mistake or do something so that they’d know what really happened. Right now, when you added all the pros and cons, the options and possibilities, Hester figured that the girl had run off and was perhaps contemplating suicide. Not to be too cold and analytical, but if the awful task were already completed, well, there was nothing anyone could do. But if Naomi had taken pills, for example, or slit her wrists, or maybe she was just off someplace, standing on the edge of a high-rise or bridge, then this was the best chance to save her.

Then again—because you have to see every side—maybe Hester’s pushing would do the opposite. Maybe it would make the girl panic and act or, if she were being held, maybe it would make the kidnappers react with violence. Hester understood the risks. But she was not a woman who took stock in inaction.

The first call she took had a caller ID that read CHIEF WESTVILLE POLICE. That would be Oren, she thought.

“That was fast,” Hester said.

“Huh?”

“I mean, I’m flattered, Oren, but next time, wait a few days. It makes you look a little desperate.”

“Uh, I am a little desperate. What the hell was that report, Hester?”

“You saw it? Thanks for being a fan.”

“Do I sound like I’m in the mood?”

“Something isn’t right with Naomi’s disappearance,” Hester said.

“Then you should come to me.”

“I did, remember?”

“I do. So what changed?”

“Her father said Naomi was with the mother. The mother said she’s not with her. Her teacher—”

“Wait, you talked to her teacher.”

“Art teacher or guidance counselor or something, I don’t remember. Ava something.”

“When did you have time to talk to her?”

This part would not go so smoothly. “I didn’t. Wilde did.”

Silence.

“Oren?”

“Wilde? You got Wilde involved in this?”

“Look, Oren, I probably should have given you a heads-up before I went on the air—”

“Probably?”

“—but I have a really bad feeling. You need to put some resources into this.”

Silence.

“Oren?”

“Matthew put you onto this,” Oren said. “Why?”

Now it was her turn to be silent.

“Whatever your grandson is hiding, he has to come clean now. You know this.”