“Thanks. Oh, and Ahmed, don’t mention my name when you talk to him. This was all your idea. There’s a sort of pissing contest here, and I don’t want—”

“No worries, Mullen, this call never happened.” He hung up.

She sent him Kelly’s contact, then went back to the room. Will frowned at his laptop’s screen, a perplexed expression on his face.

“What is it?” she asked. “Something wrong?”

“We got an email from Agent Kelly. The feds are saying the picture of Nathan holding the newspaper in his room wasn’t edited in any way.”

She clenched her jaw. She’d had a feeling there was something wrong with the altered-image theory. It made no sense. But then again, how could that photo have been taken in Nathan’s room? Unless Eden had really faked the kidnapping. But that made no sense either because then she wouldn’t have made it so abundantly clear that the kidnapping was fake.

“There’s no way that makes sense,” she finally blurted.

“Yeah,” Will agreed. “There’s something we’re getting wrong.”

Abby looked closer at the image on Will’s screen, trying to figure out what they were missing. But all she could see was Nathan’s frightened gaze.

CHAPTER 39

Pitch dark, as if he’d gone blind. Nathan lay on the cold, hard floor, shivering, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. It had all gone so wrong. For a brief, wonderful minute, he’d thought he was safe. That he was going home.

But there was no home. Only this darkness, and cold, and thirst.

And the memory of that terrible, violent moment. The blade, flashing in the dark, a spray of warm blood hitting his cheek. The wrenching sound of a frantic, wet gurgle. Thrashing. More blood.

A terrible silence that followed.

He had only one shoe, couldn’t remember where the other was. He tried to remove the remaining shoe, but the laces were soaked, the knot impossible to untie for his trembling, weak fingers. Finally he gave up, leaving the shoe in place as he curled in the blanket the man had carelessly tossed over him before shutting the door, locking it.

Leaving him in the dark.

There was skittering around him. At some point, something brushed against his fingers, and he pulled his hand back, screaming. Tossing the blanket over his head to protect himself from whatever lived in this small pitch-black space. It was hard to breathe within the blanket, but it was better than exposing himself to whatever was out there.

His back throbbed.

At some point he’d tried to remove his sweatshirt, but the sudden jolt of agony forced him to stop. The cloth was cemented to the deep scratch that ran down his back, the dried blood trapping the loose fibers. He couldn’t take it off without tearing the wound open.

He couldn’t lie on his back. He couldn’t sit down, leaning with his back against the wall. He could only lie on his stomach, one cheek against the floor. Cocooned in the blanket. Trying to ignore the skittering. Trying to ignore the memory.

That wet, wheezing breath. The thrashing. The blood. The silence.

CHAPTER 40

Abby’s phone blipped with a new email as she was about to leave and drive home. Rubbing her eyes, she tapped at her screen.

“We got an email from forensics about the shoe print,” she said, scanning through the message quickly. Ahmed outlined the footprint’s characteristics, detailing an increased wear pattern on the right side of the print as well as a distinguishable scuff mark on the heel. He pointed out that because of the tread-wear pattern, he would likely be able to match it accurately with the corresponding shoe as long as they found it soon. If they took too long to find the shoe, its wear pattern would change, making a match impossible.

Using the assistance of the bureau’s footwear database, he’d managed to find the manufacturer and the particular model—a Hawkwell men’s steel-toe boot.

“Was Karl Adkins wearing boots when you took him in?” Marshall asked, skimming the email.

“No,” Abby muttered. “He wore tennis shoes.”

“I guess forensics saved us some legwork.” Marshall grinned. “Actually, they saved us some footwork, right?”

Hilarious people they had at Major Case. Abby clicked the link Ahmed had provided, which took her to Hawkwell’s website, displaying a pair of brown boots. Definitely not what Karl had on.

She got up and stepped out of the room, dialing Wong for the third time that evening. To her surprise, the detective answered the phone.

“Hey, Mullen.” Wong sounded exhausted.

“Wong, I thought you forgot about me.”

“How could I forget the person who screwed my evening so thoroughly?” Wong said. “I left the Tillman compound five minutes ago.”

“You searched it?” Abby smiled at Marshall and Barnes as they strode out of the room, their coats on, probably on their way home. They nodded at her.

“No. I didn’t get the search warrant for the entire premises. The judge approved a search warrant only for Karl Adkins’s cabin.”

“What? But—”

“He said there was nothing linking the entire community to the crime. He pointed out that you don’t try to get a search warrant for an entire neighborhood if one resident is suspected in a crime.”