Page 89 of Hidden Truths

“No. This is photoshopped.” I toss it on the couch and head for the door, waiting for Harrison. But when I turn to tell him to hurry the fuck up, he’s sitting on the couch with his head between his legs. “Let’s go, Harrison!”

He doesn’t move, and I go to him, pulling on his arm, but he doesn’t budge. “Give me the coordinates then, and I’ll go alone!”

Harrison stands. “No. I’ll go collect her. You stay with your daughter. You don’t need to see this.” His eyes are red, and he’s not trying to hide his tears.

“I’m not giving up on her. Let’s go! She needs us. She isn’t dead!” I scream, heading for the door. If he won’t tell me where she is, I’ll look for any and every dirt road off Market Street until I find her.

“Callahan,” Harrison starts.

“No! You can be a coward all you want, but I’m going to find her and bring her home. Alive! You may have given up on her, but I won’t.”

“You think I gave up on her? She’s my daughter!”

“She’s my fucking wife, and Iwillget her back!” I shout, startling everyone. The shock seems to momentarily have dried their tears.

“Your wife?” Mav asks, having recovered the quickest.

“We got married after that party in Vegas. We were going to throw a party when we got home and surprise everyone,” I explain quickly. “Now give me the damn coordinates and let me go get my wife.”

“I think he’s right, Harrison,” Jo says, not having been able to take her eyes off the picture of Harlow. “This blood doesn’t look right.”

Harrison doesn’t even look. He just nods and grabs my arm, pulling me out the door with him. “We’re talking about this after we get Harlow back,” he says sternly.

“Yes, sir.”

thirty-six

HARLOW

I’m crouchedin the corn as close to the house as I could be without anyone seeing me. The mud I caked on myself is starting to dry and get itchy, but the sun is gone, and I feel safely hidden.

The two idiots are pacing in front of the house. One of them had a genius idea to send a picture to the podcast email. Judging from the frustration coming off them in waves, they didn’t get whatever reaction they were looking for. If I wasn’t trying to hide, I would laugh.

It’s been hours since they grabbed me. It was around three in the afternoon when they showed up outside the nail salon. It’s dark now. I don’t know when the sun sets in August in Nebraska, but my best guess is it’s at least eight, maybe closer to nine. Which means my dad and Jo have had at least five hours to find me. And Jo will have been on top of the emails. She definitely saw whatever those two sent.

“Boss is calling. I told you that email was a bad idea,” Man One says, slapping Man Two on the back of the head. “You didn’t send it to that other email first so they can send it around the earth first or whatever.” I recognize Man One as the guy that was in front of the town car. Man Two must have been the one who grabbed me. They both have a similar build and seem tolook alike from where I’m standing. Brothers would be my guess. They’re even dressed the same. Except Man Two has a blue shirt instead of a dirty white one.

“You did not say a damn thing about the email being a bad idea!” Man Two argues, rubbing the spot on his head.

“Hey Boss,” Man One says, answering his phone. “Well, Sal thought sending them a picture would get them to back off,” he pauses. “Of course, we still have the girl. She’s in the storm shelter where you told us to put her,” another pause. “Move her? That wasn’t the deal. The deal was we get the girl and take her here. Then you pay us, and you deal with her after.”

Okay, that’s interesting. These are just paid hands, which I kind of figured out from the rocks in their heads. But I was also toying with the idea of crazed Shattered Halo fans or weird anti-podcast people.

I can almost make out the voice on the other side of the phone with the way they’re screaming. It almost seems familiar, but I’m not willing to get close enough to confirm that.

“Double?” Man One’s eyes go wide and Man Two, or Sal apparently, nods and then frantically shakes his head. “You got it, boss.”

“How the fuck are we going to do that? She’s lost somewhere in the miles of corn!” Sal yells, throwing up his hands.

“We just need to find another redhead and hope she passes.”

“That won’t fucking work, Mikey, and you know it,” Sal argues.

Man One, Mikey, just shrugs. “If we beat her face, it might. Boss won’t know until the swelling goes down and we’ll be in the wind by then.”

Both of their heads suddenly snap, looking up the dirt path and pulling their guns. I follow their line of sight.

No.

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