The Quiet Bones Page 13

  He scribbled out a note to her. Wren, Sorry about the screen in your window. If you get back here and you’re okay, call me. I’m a little worried. -Hawk

  He climbed back out the window in her bedroom.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Wren couldn’t move.

  Everything was pain.

  She’d scraped herself up bad. The whole side of her body where she’d landed was one big scrape. And probably a bruise too. A bad bruise. She lay on the side of the road in a heap, and everything hurt.

  She willed herself to move.

  Get up, she told herself.

  After all, Oliver had pulled the car to a stop, just up the road.

  She groaned.

  Oliver was getting out of the car.

  She managed to push herself to her hands and knees, her body screaming at her at the effort. She blinked at tears in her eyes. She let out harsh, wheezing breaths. You had to throw yourself out of a car without thinking about it, didn’t you? What the fuck, Delacroix?

  But she got to her feet, and she started to move. The more she moved, the easier it was.

  Right, right. Walk it off, she told herself.

  She started for the woods. They were out at the edge of the compound, and the woods behind here was all owned by the FCL. It was acres and acres of undeveloped land. She could hide there.

  “Wren!” yelled Oliver.

  She picked up speed, half-limping, half-jogging towards the woods.

  Oliver was coming after her.

  Yeah, this isn’t going to work, she thought. She reached into her pocket for her phone, worried it had been crushed when she threw herself from the car.

  It wasn’t there.

  What the hell?

  She pushed herself to go faster, the tree line looming ahead of her. If she could get there, maybe it would help, but she’d feel better if she could call for help. Had Oliver taken her phone?

  She looked over her shoulder at him.

  He was gaining on her. He was going so much faster than she was.

  She pushed herself to go even faster, but her body was badly hurt, and she cried out in pain as her bruised muscles were forced to work harder.

  No, I left my phone in my carry-on, she remembered. In the wake of the news of her father, she hadn’t been thinking about her damned phone, which she normally would have transferred to her pocket or purse before going anywhere. But she hadn’t been thinking. She’d been so thrown.

  “Wren!” bellowed Oliver. He was really running now.

  She tried to push herself for more speed.

  But a rock on the ground jutted up suddenly, and she didn’t see it until too late, and then she was falling—face-first on the ground.

  * * *

  “…don’t really let people just come in here,” came the voice of Maliah, drifting down the hallway.

  Reilly was in his office at headquarters. He got up out of his desk and went out to see what was going on.

  “I’m only wondering about Wren,” said Hawk Marner to Maliah. He was standing at the end of the hallway, looking as flanneled and scruffy as ever. How did the guy manage to have that perpetual amount of stubble of his face? Did he set a beard trimmer to trim it close instead of shaving or something?

  Reilly strode down to confront Hawk. “Hey, you heard the lady.”

  Hawk noticed Reilly and looked relieved. “Detective Reilly. Have you seen Wren? Is she here?”

  “No,” said Reilly. “She was getting back from her dad’s wedding today. I thought you went with her.”

  “I came back a little early. She was supposed to come find me, but she didn’t, and she’s not at home.”

  “Well, she’s not here.” Reilly spread his hands.

  Hawk scratched the side of his jaw. “Okay.” He turned to leave. Then he stopped. He looked back at Reilly. “She locked her door.”

  “Okay,” said Reilly slowly. “And?”

  “Well, she never does that. She doesn’t lock her door. I don’t know why she did that.”

  “Maybe she’s getting a little concerned about her safety,” said Reilly. “We do track down murderers on a daily basis. That tends to mess with your head a little.”

  “She didn’t take her phone,” said Hawk.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I tried to call her. I heard it ringing.”

  “Huh,” said Reilly.

  “I’m sorry, I just…” Hawk shook his head. “I’m probably paranoid. It’s the fucking Fellowship. Screws with your head sometimes.” He put a finger to his temple and twisted it like a drill. “I’ll go. I’m sure she’ll turn up.”

  Reilly furrowed his brow. “Okay, sure.”

  Hawk nodded. He turned to go.

  “Hey, Hawk, if you hear from her, can you let me know?” said Reilly. “Let me give you my phone number.”

  * * *

  Kimora Allen was in the middle of a debate with her daughter about watching more TV. She was maintaining it was time for bed, but her daughter wasn’t having any of it.

  Kimora was pretty sure that this kind of intense arguing wasn’t supposed to start until the teenage years. It was her bad luck to have gotten the kid who was developmentally advanced and could twist the argumentative knife with her brilliant points.

  “You go to sleep watching TV, Mommy,” said her daughter. “Why can’t I go to sleep that way too?”

  “It’s not good for you, sweetie.”

  “But if I try to go to sleep on my own, I just think and think. If the TV’s on, I can relax.”

  Someone was knocking on the door.

  Kimora sighed. She held up her finger. “One minute. This conversation is not over. And do not turn the TV on.” She went to the door and opened it. It was Hawk Marner.

  “Sorry to bother you, Kimora,” he said.

  “You all right?” she said. She had to admit that sometimes Hawk Marner gave her a touch of the creeps. It was probably because of his association with Major Hill, who also made her feel weird chills up and down her spine every time she saw him. When she’d found out that Major was the killer of those little girls, it all made sense. Hawk was creepy too, but only by association, she supposed. Still, she wasn’t about to invite him into her house. She had one of those awful moments that she had sometimes, where she felt her own vulnerability. She was a woman alone with three small children. If something threatened her, she had no recourse.

  Maybe she should get a gun.

  But no, because she’d read about how it was a zillion times more likely that the gun would be used accidentally against a friend or family member than against a burglar or criminal. She didn’t want to risk that, even in the face of possible stranger danger.

  Of course, hell, Hawk was not a stranger.

  “I’m just looking for Wren,” he said. “I know you and her are friends.”

  “Oh, um, we haven’t really been talking much,” said Kimora. “She’s busy with the task force.”

  “She’s not here?”

  “No,” said Kimora.

  Hawk looked at her, deep into her eyes. “Listen, if she’s here, avoiding me, just tell me she’s okay. I promise I’ll leave, and I won’t bother her or you. I just… I’m worried.”

  Kimora knitted her brows together. “She’s not here. What’s going on? Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know,” said Hawk, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been all over. I can’t find her. Wherever she went, she left her car and her phone behind.”

  “Sometimes, she walks down to the coffee shop,” said Kimora. “Or Billy’s. That’s right across from the coffee shop. Have you checked Billy’s?”

  Hawk looked visibly relieved. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. That’s got to be where she is. Thanks, Kimora.” He gave her a little wave and left.

  * * *

  Wren scrambled to her feet, but Oliver was on top of her now.

  She lurched towards the woods, trying to get away from him.

  He wa
s crying freely, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m really sorry,” he was saying. “I can’t… I have to…”

  “You don’t,” said Wren. “You really don’t.”

  He grabbed her arm and tugged her against his body.

  She balled up a fist and punched him in the face.

  It hurt.

  She backed away, cradling her hand, moaning.

  He stumbled backwards too, hand to his nose. It was gushing blood. “Fuck!” he screamed. He looked up at her, eyes murderous, blood streaming down over his lips and chin. “You fucking bitch.”

  She ran.

  He ran after her.

  She made it maybe five feet. Maybe ten.

  He tackled her.

  She went down, and he landed on top of her.

  She twisted, turning beneath him, trying to get her legs free to kick him. She tried to remember training. She had been in the FBI Academy, and she had some classes on hand-to-hand fighting, but it had all been on mats in a room with a professor explaining things and all the moves had been drilled and practiced, and now she wasn’t sure what to do.

  He straddled her, sitting on her thighs.

  She raked her nails over his face.

  He punched her. Drove his fist into her jaw.

  She shrieked. She’d never been punched in the face before.

  He shook out his hand. It had hurt him to punch her too.

  Her face was alight in pain. Everything hurt. Maybe if she hadn’t tossed herself from a moving car, maybe then she would be a better match for him. She grabbed at his face again, digging her fingers into his eye sockets.

  He tore her hand away and pinned it above her head. He seethed over her. His blood dripped onto her face.

  She drove her free hand into his chest.

  He huffed, grunting. But he seized that hand too and brought it up with her other hand. His hands were bigger than hers. He pinned both of her wrists there with one hand. And then he started shrugging out of his jacket.

  Panic in her throat. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Shut up,” he said, gasping for breath.

  “I’m your sister. Your sister. Don’t… please don’t—”

  “Shh.”

  She shuddered, her whole body alight in revulsion. “Oh, God, Oliver, keep your fucking clothes on.”

  “I’m not going to…” He glared at her, horrified. “I’m just… you need to pass out.” And then he was balling up his jacket and shoving into her mouth, covering her nose with it.

  He had to use both his hands, so he let go of her arms and she fought and struggled and tore at him as best she could.

  But he didn’t stop, he only swore at her.

  And she couldn’t breathe, and the world was going dark at the edges.

  “Shh,” said Oliver again, his voice tearful. “Just go to sleep, Wren. Just go to sleep.”

  She tried to rage against it. She tried. But the dark climbed into her brain and wrapped its tendrils around her and tugged her down, down, down. And then the darkness was everything.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Reilly stepped into the coffee shop to see that Hawk Marner was in there, leaning over the counter, talking to Angela, the barista. He strode over to them. “You still looking for Wren?”

  Hawk turned to him. “Yeah. I thought she’d be at Billy’s, but she’s not there. She’s not here either.”

  “Hey, Caius,” said Angela, “I’m really trying to close up. If you want something simple, I could do something with the cold brew, but I already cleaned up the espresso machine. I just forgot to lock the doors and he came in.”

  “It’s fine,” said Reilly. “Uh, I don’t need anything.”

  “I’m leaving,” said Hawk to Angela. “Sorry to barge in on you.”

  “No problem,” said Angela. “My fault for not locking the door.”

  Reilly eyed Hawk.

  Hawk eyed Reilly.

  Silently, they both seemed to decide to walk out at the same time, so they walked out together.

  Angela followed them and locked the door behind them, calling, “I hope you find Wren!”

  Reilly climbed down the steps and looked across the street at Billy’s.

  Hawk turned in a circle, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “You’re really worried about her,” said Reilly.

  Hawk looked up at the other man. “Maybe I shouldn’t be. She and I, we argued, so she’s probably just trying to stay clear of me.”

  Reilly felt cheered by the thought of Wren and Hawk arguing. But that was stupid. He shouldn’t feel that. Why didn’t he like Hawk Marner? He felt as though he’d hated the other man on sight, and Reilly wasn’t usually that way. “Sorry you had a fight.”

  “There are people around here who don’t like her very much, on account of Vivian, you know,” said Hawk. “People in Cardinal Falls can get a little biblical, and not just the members of the Fellowship. Visiting the sins of the father on the child, or the sins the mother, well…”

  Reilly stiffened. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “Well, I did.”

  “Can we put together a list of people who might have been angry with her?”

  “Be a hell of a list,” said Hawk. “Lots of people had ties to Vivian’s victims. Ten people were murdered at the Walker massacre. You have any idea what kind of ripple effect that can have?”

  “Shit,” muttered Reilly.

  “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Wait, she’s got a friend. Uh, Kimora?”

  “Talked to her,” said Hawk. “Wren’s not there.”

  “Maybe she’s at Billy’s?”

  “She’s not,” said Hawk. “I’ve been everywhere.”

  Reilly passed a hand over the top of his head. “Okay, okay. Let’s not get out of shape here. We’re going to find her. She’s going to be fine. We’re worrying for nothing.”

  His phone rang.

  Reilly answered it. “Reilly here.”

  “Reilly, it’s Lopez,” said the voice on the other end. “I got bad news.”

  “Okay,” said Reilly, feeling his body going tense.

  “It’s about Colt Baldwin,” said Lopez.

  Reilly gripped the phone harder. The last time he’d seen Colt Baldwin, the man had been swearing to Reilly that he would get personal and lasting revenge against the detective for putting him away in prison for life. Colt had been part of an armed robbery gone wrong. Three people had died, and Colt was responsible. He wasn’t ever supposed to get out of prison. “If you tell me that bastard’s getting parole—”

  “He escaped.”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Afraid I am, and it gets worse.”

  “How can it get worse?”

  “He’s been on the loose for a week now, and no one bothered to let us know. He was in the prison up in Cumberland, and he’s had ample time to work his way back over to this neck of the woods. I’ve already called in a protective detail on your ex-wife and son, but you may want to let her know what’s going on.”

  Reilly squeezed his eyes shut and held onto the phone for dear life.

  “Reilly?”

  “Yeah, I hear you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “He could have come before this. I never would have known—”

  “I know,” said Lopez. “It’s shit. I complained. They apologized, but what’s that going to do, really?”

  “I gotta go.”

  “Yeah, I figured. You can probably beat the detail out to her place if you’re close.”

  “Thanks for whatever you did, Lopez.”

  “Of course. Hope it’s enough.”

  They hung up.

  Reilly turned on Hawk. “I got shit raining down on me out of nowhere. I have to go. My kid could be in danger.”

  “Sure,” said Hawk. “Of course.”

  * * *

  But by the time Reilly arrived at Janessa’s place, two cop cars were already parked in the drivewa
y, and Janessa was out there, arguing with one of the uniforms. Reilly parked and hurried over to intervene.

  “What the hell, Caius?” Janessa greeted him with. “What are these guys doing here?”

  He put a hand on her shoulder and tried to guide her away from the officer.

  She shook him off. “I don’t think so. Keep your hands to yourself. I’m engaged to another man.”

  Reilly rolled his eyes.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “You remember Colt Baldwin?” he said.

  She shook her head.

  “I know I told you about this guy. He robbed a store, armed robbery. He got spooked. He shot a bunch of people. He’s… unstable.”

  “You arrested him?”

  “He escaped from jail,” said Reilly. “And he’s got a little grudge against me.”

  Janessa’s lips parted.

  “I’m sorry,” said Reilly. “Lopez sent over the detail. I’m going to stay outside the house all night—”

  “Like fuck you are.”

  He stepped back, surprised by the force of her response, by her use of the word fuck. She didn’t swear like that unless she was really pissed off.

  “I’m taking Timmy and we’re going to Garth’s,” she said.

  “How is that a good idea?” said Reilly. “No offense to Garth, but I don’t see him fighting off—”

  “This Colt guy? He knows where you used to live?” She pointed at her house. “But he doesn’t about Garth. He doesn’t know where Garth lives. It’ll be safer. And I don’t want you around. If I think you’re skulking around while I sleep, I won’t be able to sleep, and I need my rest right now.” She put her hand to her belly.

  Reilly winced involuntarily. He didn’t mean to be viscerally affected by his ex-wife’s pregnancy. It was nothing to do with him. But it was all his failures shoved in his face. When he’d knocked her up, they’d made Timmy, and trying to raise Timmy had destroyed their love for each other.

  He loved his son. He didn’t resent him at all.

  It was himself that he didn’t much like. He wished he’d been better at all of it. A better father. A better husband. A better man, capable of dealing with life’s curve balls. Instead, he’d turned his life into a mess. When the going got hard, he ran into another woman’s arms.

  “You stay away.” Janessa put her finger in his face. “Promise me.”