The Boy from the Woods(96)

“It was part of the understanding.”

“We broke up right after that,” Delia said. “Rusty and me.”

Dash said nothing.

“Was that part of the deal, Dash?”

“He is a terrible man. I just wanted you to be safe.”

She glared at him.

“Delia?”

Her voice was pure ice. “Send them the tape, Dash. My son’s life is in jeopardy. Send the goddamn tape right now.”

Wilde waited until Dash clicked the button. After it was done, Dash sat back in his chair, spent. Delia stood next to him. She didn’t move. She didn’t put her hand on his shoulder. She didn’t look at him. Someone had just detonated a bomb in this room, leaving these two people in rubble and ruins that would be impossible to rebuild.

They were shattered and would never be made whole.

No reason to watch it.

Wilde turned and left. They didn’t ask where he was going, or maybe they couldn’t speak. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t reply. Not yet anyway. He’d heard all he needed to hear from them.

He thought that maybe he had the answers now.





CHAPTER

THIRTY-SIX



Rola drove him in the Honda Odyssey. There were three car seats in the back. Five pink sippy cups with screwed-on lids and side handles were on the floor by his feet. Cheerios and Goldfish crackers were scattered everywhere. The cloth seats felt as though they’d been coated in pancake syrup.

Rola smiled. “The mess is freaking you out, right?”

“I’m fine,” Wilde managed.

“Sure you are. Want to tell me where we’re headed?”

“Just keep heading north on 87.”

Wilde had debated driving himself, but he might need someone for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that Wilde wasn’t a very good driver. He could do the local roads, but big interstates loaded with various trucks and cars and merging vehicles were not his forte. He also had the phone in his hand, tracking the two GPS locators, and he didn’t want to do that and handle a busy highway at the same time.

He needed time to sort through his next move.

“Take exit sixteen,” Wilde said.

“The one for Harriman?”

“Yes.”

Rola asked, “Are we going to Woodbury Commons?”

“What?”

“It’s a ginormous mall of outlet stores, right past the toll plaza. Nike, Ralph Lauren, Tory Burch, OshKosh B’gosh, a zillion others. Factory stores. The kids love the Children’s Place. Ever been? Supposed to be huge discounts, but my friend Jane, who knows more about retail shopping than anyone, says, when you add in the travel and the lower quality—”

“No, we’re not going shopping.”

“I know, Wilde. I’m just babbling here. You know when you play the silent mountain man I get chatty.”

“And even when I don’t,” he replied.

“Funny.”

“Make the right. Route 32 North.”

“How long has it been since you called Mom and Dad?”

She meant the Brewers. “I don’t call them that.”

“Do you call me your sister?”

He said nothing.

“The Brewers were good to us, Wilde.”

“Very,” he said.

“They miss you, you know. And I miss you. Of course, sitting here with you now I don’t remember why I miss you. It’s not like I miss this sparkling repartee.”

“You have your gun?”

“I told you before we left. Yes. Where are we going?”

“I think I have a lead on where the boy is being held.”

“You serious?”

“No, I’m kidding, Rola. I always was a terrific kidder.”

She grinned. “That’s more like it, my brother. And I call you that, by the way. My brother.”

“There’s a rest stop a couple of miles up the road. I want you to pull in and park where we can see everything, but no one can see us.”

“Got it.”

Wilde planned out their next moves. They’d park. They’d wait. It wouldn’t be long. Twenty minutes tops. And then…

“Look,” Rola said.

Damn, Wilde thought.

The blue sign read:

REST AREA—1 MILE



…in familiar white lettering. But there, slashing across those words, was a neon-orange sign with black letters:

CLOSED.



Closed? Wilde hadn’t anticipated that.

“Now what?” Rola asked.

“Keep driving. Try to slow down a little, but nothing obvious.”

The rest stop had clearly been shut down for a while. It had temporary fencing with a padlocked gate on the entrance ramp. Weeds sprang through the cracked pavement. The glass windows of the small convenience store were covered in plywood. A flat canopy led from the gas station’s office to three nonworking pumps. There was a two-car mechanic’s garage. A hut-like building on the right had a faded Dunkin’ Donuts sign half falling off the facade.

Wilde looked for vehicles. None were visible.

That made no sense.

“Now what?”

Wilde brought up a standard navigation app and used his fingers to spread it out and see the map. “Take the next exit.”