Wait. Mud!
The men’s voices are coming closer, and I know they’ll spot my hair, and if they don’t, my yellow shirt isn’t exactly conspicuous. I whip it over my head and coat it in mud, shivering as I put the cold, muddy fabric on my body.
I wince as I do the same to my hair and skin, doing my best to hide any color that won’t blend into a field of corn. Then I stay in my crouch and wait, listening to the idiots continue to bicker, easily keeping me aware of where they are.
They pass by a few minutes later. I stay still, watching their feet through the stalks. They’re now considering running from whoever their boss is, but they don’t think they’d make it. Interesting.
This is so stupid, I think. So fucking stupid. Not giving myself time to talk myself out of it, I follow them.
thirty-five
CAL
“Four fucking hours and nothing!”I yell, pulling at my hair and pacing the length of the shared space in the suite my dad had booked.
“Harrison just landed, and he’s been working during the entire flight,” Jo says, staying calm every time I have an outburst.
“His tech guy has been tracing the emails. They’re from the same account,” Willa points out. We didn’t find any other emails that were threatening. We didn’t find anything in Ezra’s file either.
We have nothing. Nothing to tell us where Harlow is. Nothing telling us who took her. I’m ready to rip apart this entire state to find her. The only thing stopping me is the little girl asleep in the next room that has been asking for her mama.
Kai and Belle are back at the buses in case she somehow makes it back there, but they’re also contacting anyone they’ve ever known back in our hometown, trying to see if they can confirm Senator Wolfe is still in Maine.
Harrison burst through the door a few minutes later. He doesn’t say hello, he just gets right to work.
“The email bounced around so many IP addresses that my guy is still working on pinpointing its origin,” he says, taking a seat on the ugly floral couch and opening his laptop. “But I’ve been following Harlow’s drug theory.” His swallow is audible as he says his daughter’s name. “I gathered enough information and submitted it to the DEA yesterday.”
I stop pacing and look at Mav. The initial shock of his dad being some drug king pin has worn off in the weeks since Harlow had the theory. He seems more resigned than upset.
“How bad is it?” he asks.
“I won’t lie to you. It’s bad. I don’t have access to a lot of information, but from what I did find, your family either owns a lot of the ports in Maine or somehow has control of them. He’s funneling drugs in through them and using his power to wipe records.”
“Then how did you find anything?” Jo asks.
“He’s panicking. We’re getting close to something. I’m not even sure what anymore, but it made him sloppy. I got security camera footage of him at one of the docks. He was exchanging money for something at two in the morning.”
Harrison’s phone rings. “What did you find?” he asks the person on the other end.
“The email was just used again. It looks like it sent from a cell near you in Nebraska.”
“Where?” everyone asks at the same time.
“Oh. Uh. Hello. Didn’t realize I was on speaker,” the man on the phone says.
“Where is she?” I demand.
“I don’t know if it’s the exact location. I don’t have the content of the email. But it pinged at what looks like an abandoned farmhouse on an unnamed road off Market Street. I’ll send you the coordinates.”
Harrison’s call ends, and he checks the coordinates. He stands like he’s heading for the farmhouse, which is where I will also be going, but he stops.
“What is in the email?” he asks, his voice shaky for the first time since he got here.
Jo pulls it up on her iPad and pales. Willa grabs it from her and gasps. I take it from her hands.
You were warned. She paid with her life. Back off or who knows who will be next?
There’s a picture of Harlow curled in a ball at the bottom of a narrow set of stairs. Blood is pooling underneath her, and her eyes are closed.