Page 90 of All Along The Watchtower

“Sutter’s Ferry Middle School.”

“This is Ford Donoghue. I’m calling about my daughter, Peyton Walsh.”

“Oh yes, of course.” The secretary’s tone warmed with recognition. News traveled fast on Hatterwick. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just…” God, this felt ridiculous. “Could you check that she’s in class? I don’t need to speak to her. Just want to make sure she’s where she’s supposed to be.”

“Certainly, Mr. Donoghue. We can send someone to check.” A pause. “Would you like us to call you back?”

Too late, it occurred to me how this must sound—like I thought my kid was skipping or getting into trouble. Which wasn’t it at all. But explaining my paranoia about shadowy corporate threats would probably make me sound certifiable.

“That’d be great, thanks.” I rattled off my cell number, already planning my retreat to Ed’s room. “I appreciate it.”

“Not at all. We’ll call you right back.”

I hung up, feeling both relieved and slightly foolish. Peyton was fine. She was exactly where she was supposed to be, probably bored out of her mind in whatever class she had this period. And here I was, acting like one of those helicopter parents I’d always secretly judged.

But Ed’s words kept echoing in my head. Keep her safe.

Shaking it off, I headed for the elevator. Time to get back to Bree and see if Ed had woken up again with any more cryptic warnings.

But he was still sleeping when I made it back.

Bree rose and joined me in the hall, sliding her arms around me. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. I’m being ridiculously paranoid.”

“Understandably.”

“I called the school to check on her.” I winced. “Is that terrible?”

“Under the circumstances, no. What did they say?”

“They’re checking to see she’s properly in class and supposed to call me back.”

It took a lot longer for the call to come than I expected. A full twenty minutes had passed, and I was wondering if I ought to call back, when my phone finally began to vibrate.

“Hello.”

The voice on the other end sucked in a breath, and in that moment of silence, I knew the news wasn’t good.

“Mr. Donoghue. This is Principal Carpenter. Your daughter isn’t in class. Neither is her friend Madison Daniels. They haven’t responded to hails over the intercom, and no one has seen them. Is there any viable reason for her absence? Does she have a history of skipping at her old school?”

I had no idea. But everything in me shouted that something was wrong, wrong, wrong. “No. Call the police. I’m on my way.”

CHAPTER 41

BREE

The ferry couldn’t move fast enough. I paced the deck despite the whipping wind, scanning the choppy waters as if I could somehow make us reach Hatterwick faster through sheer force of will. The cold spray stung my face, but I barely noticed, too focused on the distant shoreline that seemed to taunt us with how slowly it grew larger.

Ford stood at the railing, knuckles white where he gripped the metal. It was the only thing keeping him from crawling out of his skin. The set of his jaw spoke volumes about the terror he was holding back. I knew that feeling. The helplessness. The what-ifs crowding out rational thought.

He’d made call after call as we’d rushed from the hospital. To Sawyer. To his moms. To Chief Carson. Carson had for sure given him grief about where he’d gotten the information about the guys he believed had taken Peyton. Ford had insisted it didn’t matter, that everyone simply needed to be on the lookout. And based on all the reports that kept popping up on my phone, they were. Hatterwick was out in force, despite the dark clouds looming on the horizon. The whole island had mobilized. Even the tourists were joining the search parties. After Gwen, no one wanted to take chances with missing kids.

The thought of Peyton out there somewhere, maybe hurt or scared, made me want to scream until my throat was raw. She wasn’t even my daughter, but these past weeks… God, when had she burrowed so deep into my heart? When had I started thinking of her as part of my weird little family?

The ferry horn blasted, long and mournful, signaling our approach to the dock. Ford’s shoulders tensed further as the island’s outline emerged through the gathering gloom, a dark smudge against darker clouds. Red and blue lights flashed near the pier—police coordinating the search efforts. I spotted Coast Guard vessels out beyond the marina, their white hulls stark against the churning gray water. A helicopter buzzed overhead, following the coastline.

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