The Boy from the Woods(38)

“She said she walked into a door.”

“Did you believe her?”

“Of course I didn’t believe her,” he snapped. “But that’s all she would say. You ever try to get a teenager to tell you something? You can’t force it out of them. She said she was fine and went up to her room.”

“Did you check up on her?”

“You don’t have kids, do you, Wilde?”

Wilde took that as a no.

“It’s all connected,” Pine said.

“What is?”

“That game of Challenge, those kids who were picking on her, the fact that she’s gone again. Something isn’t right.” He tilted his head and looked at Wilde as though seeing him for the first time. “Why were you so invested in my daughter?”

Wilde didn’t reply.

“Did you even know Naomi before that night?”

“No.”

“Yet you broke into my house to find her. A girl you didn’t even know. Why would you do that?”

That was when Bernard Pine pulled out a handgun.

Wilde didn’t hesitate. The moment he realized what was happening he was already on the move. No one with a gun expects that. Not at first. One of the two men in this room—Wilde—was highly trained in combat. The other wasn’t. Pine had made the mistake of standing too close. Wilde took a quick step toward him. With one hand, he snatched the gun. With the other, he formed a classic chop and delivered it without much force to Pine’s throat. If you throw that blow too hard, you do permanent damage. Wilde was just aiming for a choke, a gag reflex, a muscle release.

It did the trick.

Pine staggered back, one hand on his neck, the other waving in some sort of surrender. The weapon now in Wilde’s hand felt light. He popped the revolver’s chamber open and checked.

No bullets.

Pine had his voice back. “I was just trying to scare you.”

Idiot, Wilde thought. But he said nothing.

“You get it, right? You break into my house, you start some kind of relationship with my daughter—you, the weirdo who lives alone in the woods. I mean, if you were in my shoes, wouldn’t you wonder?”

“I don’t know where your daughter is.”

“So explain it to me then: Who got you involved in finding her during the Challenge game?”

Wilde wasn’t about to tell him. But when he stepped back and looked at it objectively, Pine did raise an interesting point. Matthew had never really explained it all, had he?

“Give me your phone,” Wilde said.

“What, why?”

Wilde just held out his hand. Pine handed it over. Wilde clicked the message button and found the text from Naomi saying Don’t worry, I’m safe. He skimmed up to see the rest of the conversation. He stopped.

“What?” Pine asked.

There were no other texts between the two of them—between father and daughter.

“What happened to the rest of the messages?”

“What?”

“I assume this wasn’t the first time you and Naomi texted.”

“No, of course not. Wait, what are you doing?”

Wilde checked the call history. Yes, there were phone calls to Naomi. But not many. The last had been more than a month ago.

“Where are the rest of the texts between you two?”

“What, I don’t know. They should be there.”

“They’re not.”

Pine shrugged. “Can someone delete them?”

Someone can. The user of the phone.

“Why would you get rid of your messages with your own daughter?”

“I didn’t. Maybe Naomi cleared them out.”

Not likely.

Wilde started typing.

“What are you doing?” Pine asked.

Wilde ignored him. He typed into the message field:

Hey, Naomi, it’s Wilde.

She may not think it’s really him. She may think it’s her father tricking her.

Aka Boo Radley.



Only she would get that reference.

I’m using your dad’s phone. He’s worried about you. So am I. Let me know you’re okay.



Wilde gave his current burner number and told her she could text or call. Then he tossed the phone back to Pine, but he pocketed the weapon.

It was time to talk to Matthew. He headed for the door.

“Will you help me?” Pine asked.

Wilde didn’t break stride. “I’ll help Naomi.”





CHAPTER

SIXTEEN



As soon as he was out of the Pine house, Wilde checked the burner number he’d texted to Naomi, hoping for a quick response.

Nothing.

If Naomi had just run off, wouldn’t she reply to him right away? He might be deluding himself, but he thought so. There had been some sort of connection between them in that basement, two outcasts who kind of understood one another, but again maybe that was more him projecting than anything substantive.

He texted Matthew:

You home?



The dots danced before the word “Ya” popped up.

Mind if I come by?



Matthew’s reply was a thumbs-up emoji.

As Wilde took to the woods, he called Hester.