Killman Creek

The drawback is, they live outside of Norton, and relatively close to Stillhouse Lake. That beautiful, remote place started out for me as a refuge, a sanctuary, but it turned into a trap, and now I don’t know that I can ever feel safe there again. We certainly can’t go back to our lakeside house; we’d be easy targets.

Javier’s place, though, isn’t at the lake. It’s a remote, fortified cabin, and I intuitively believe that Melvin, and Absalom, would look everywhere but the place we’d just fled.

“Are you leaving us with Sam?” Lanny asks.

“No, because Sam’s coming with me,” I tell her. I haven’t asked him yet, but I know he will; he wants to find Melvin Royal as desperately as I do, for just as personal a reason. “Sam and I are going to find your father and stop him before he hurts anyone else. Before he can even think of hurting you and your brother.” I give her time to think about it, and then I say, “I need you to help me, Lanny. This is the best option we have, other than running and hiding again. I don’t want to do that any more than you do. Please believe that.”

She looks away and, with studied indifference, shrugs. “Sure. Whatever. You still make us do it.” All the running we’ve done before has been necessary. It had been the right thing to do at the time. But I understand how terribly hard it has been on my kids to live in constant vigilance.

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I know,” she finally says, and having made that pronouncement, she gives me a quick, unexpected hug and goes back into the motel room.

I stay out there for a while in the cold, thinking, and then I dial Sam Cade’s phone number and say, “I’m outside.”

It only takes him about a minute to step out on the narrow second-floor walkway beside me; his room is right next to ours. Like me, he is fully dressed. Ready for a fight. He leans on the railing right where Lanny stood and says, “I don’t suppose this is a booty call.”

“Funny,” I say, casting him a sideways look. We aren’t lovers. Not that we aren’t, in some ways, intimate; I think that eventually we might circle around to it, but neither of us seems to be in a hurry to get there. We have baggage, God knows. Ex-wife of a serial killer, constantly under threat from Melvin’s groupies, his allies, the baying hounds of Internet vigilantes.

And Sam? Sam is the brother of one of my ex-husband’s victims. Melvin’s last victim. I can still see that poor young woman’s body strung up by a wire noose. Tortured and murdered for pure, sadistic pleasure.

We’re complicated. When I first met Sam, I’d believed he was a friendly stranger, no connection to my old life. Finding out that he had deliberately tracked me, stalked me, in hopes of finding evidence I’d been complicit in my husband’s crimes . . . that had nearly broken everything.

He knows now that I’m not guilty, and never was, but there are still deep cracks between us, and I don’t know how to fill them, or if I should. Sam likes me. I like Sam. In another life, without the rancid shadow of Melvin Royal between us, I think we could have been happy together.

For now, my vision is limited to surviving and ensuring the survival of my children. Sam is a means to an end.

Which, thankfully, he completely understands. I’m sure he sees me exactly the same way.

“What’s up?” he asks me, and I dig the phone out, pull up the text, and pass it over. “Shit. But Graham’s dead, right?” I hear the same free-fall disorientation in his voice, but he recovers faster. “They’re sending someone else?”

“Maybe more than one,” I tell him. “Prester says Absalom might be some kind of hacker collective. Who knows how many people they have in their network? We need to be even more careful now. I’m dumping this phone and buying a new one. We use cash, we stay off cameras as much as we can.”

“Gwen, I can’t keep doing this. Hiding isn’t—”

“We’re not hiding,” I tell him. “We’re hunting.”

He straightens and turns to face me. Sam’s not a big man, nor overly tall; he’s got a lithe strength, and I know he can handle himself in a fight. Most of all—and this is everything to me now—I know that I can trust him. He isn’t Melvin’s creature, and he never will be. I can’t say that of many people anymore.

“Finally,” he says. “So, the kids?”

“I’ll call Javier. He offered to take them before, and we can trust him.”

Sam’s already nodding. “It’s a risk leaving them behind,” he says, “but not as much as trying to protect them while we’re going after Melvin. Sounds right.” He pauses. “Are you sure about this?” He asks it almost gently. “We could leave it to the cops. The FBI. We probably should.”

“They don’t know Melvin. And they don’t understand Absalom. If it’s a collective, they could hide Melvin indefinitely while they track us down for him. We can’t afford to wait it out, Sam. Hiding doesn’t work.” I take in a sharp breath of the cold air and let it out as a warmed stream of fog. “Besides. I want him. Don’t you?”

“You know I do.” He looks me over impersonally. Assessing a fellow soldier. “You’re sure you don’t need more rest?”

I laugh a little bitterly. “I’ll rest when I’m dead. If we want to get to Melvin before the cops do, we’re going to have to be tougher than him, and faster, and better. And we’re going to need help. Information. You said before you had a friend who might be able to assist?”

He nods. There’s a hard set to his jaw and a glitter in his eyes. Sam’s not usually easy to read, but in this moment I see all his rage and heartbreak. Melvin is free out there, free to stalk and kill more women like Sam’s sister. Melvin will kill again. If I know anything about my ex-husband, I know he will want to go out in a blaze of selfish, murderous, Grand Guignol fury.

The FBI is after him. The police of every state adjoining Kansas are as well. But it’s unlikely that they’ll turn him up quickly in the Midwest, because the first thing Melvin has done, I am certain, is to make his way southeast, toward us.

Absalom tracked us this far, and that means that Melvin won’t be across the country, or across a distant border to a nonextradition country. He might not be here yet, but he’s coming for us. I can smell it in the wind.