Page 113 of The Catalyst

“Misdirection,” I mutter before looking at Nigel’s confused gaze.

“What?”

“It’s a kind of reverse psychology. The point is to make your opponent look in the opposite direction of your destination. If she was going from Point A—Hempstead—to Point B—Grove Hill—why would she start going north instead of heading south? It sets her off course by hours. If someone were to track where she rented the car?—“

“They’d think she was going north or to the airport.”

“Exactly.” I let out a ragged breath as it all seems to click for Nigel.

“She’s on the run.” His skin pales as the seriousness of the situation registers. Is it the cops after her, or is someone trying to find her and she doesn’t want to be found?

CHAPTER 42

BETH

Irap my knuckles against the hotel room door and wait for a sign of life. For all I know, Aimee could’ve abandoned her car and started hitchhiking to throw us off. Another instance of misdirection. She could be a pro at that.

It took a lot of convincing for Nigel to stay in the truck and let me do this. She might be more open to talking to me than to him. Plus, I got a small recorder tucked in my back pocket so I can record whatever she says and he can hear it for himself.

Then, I hear a small voice.

“Wrong room,” the voice calls from within, and my shoulders relax. The voice could easily be Aimee, but maybe she doesn’t think we would track her down.

“Aimee, my name is Beth. We met at your brother’s house earlier.”

The silence in the room lasts for half a second before there’s movement and her voice.

“Is my brother with you?” Even though the volume of her voice is louder, the tone is much softer, like a scared little girl.

“Yes, and he really wants to see you. He has missed you a lot. Nigel talks about you all the time, but he can be a little more patient if that’s what you need. We just want to make sure you’re okay and that you’re not in any danger. Please, can I come in?”

I pray that she opens the door as I reach into my back pocket and show Nigel the recording device I have already turned on.

As I hear the lock turn, I push the recorder back into my pocket and adjust my shirt to cover the bulge. The door cracks open, but not enough to see her.

“Come in,” she whispers from the darkened room, and I cautiously slip inside before closing the door behind me. Aimee’s silhouette is nearly masked by the cloak of shadows behind the door, and I can hear her sniffling.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” she whispers.

I reach for the light switch, but she snatches my arm, stopping me.

“Please, don’t. I don’t want you to see me.” Her words come out a near sob, and my gut says I need to see it–whatever she is hiding from me.

“Aimee.” I wrap my fingers around hers before taking a breath to calm myself. “I need to see that you’re okay, and I can’t see you in the dark.”

A small cry falls from her lips, but I catch her head nodding. “Okay.” Her digits uncurl from my arm, and I move to the switch on the wall, flipping it on.

The room bathes in the soft glow of the light, and it shadows across Aimee in her black sports bra and navy blue gym shorts.

No, it’s not the light causing those shadows on her skin. Those are…bruises.

I gasp as my eyes take in the imperfections going up her ankles, over her knees, across her thighs, and even higher.

“What happened to you?” I ask as I find my voice. Even with the abuse I was subjected to from my mother, I never looked likethis. It was always a little something here or there.

Her bottom lip trembles as she lifts her eyes to meet mine. “Isn’t it obvious?”

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