Page 13 of The Wild Charge

Frustrated, he pushed upright and went to take a hot shower. If he bit the back of his hand while he stroked himself to completion, choking back Reese’s name, that was no one’s business but his own.

Four

“Have you looked at the chat room yet?” Eden asked her laptop at six-ten the next morning.

Michelle sat cross-legged on her sofa in the sanctuary on the other end of the Skype call, dressed in pajamas and a huge flannel shirt that must have been Candy’s, hair sleep-tousled, and face lined with fatigue, but her eyes bright and alert. She wasn’t sleeping much lately, she’d explained, so close to her due date.

“Just a few minutes ago,” she said, eagerly, and pulled a spiral notebook into her lap. “Remember the woman who I said started posting about two weeks ago? The one who’s calling herself Deb?”

“She said her daughter was missing, right?”

“Right.”

To Eden’s left, Fox stirred a little, the sheets rustling. A quick check revealed he still lay on his side, facing away from her.

She had her earbuds plugged into the laptop, but made a note to lower her voice another notch; she took hold of the microphone on the cord and held it closer to her mouth.

“She posted late last night: the time stamp says ten ‘til midnight,” Michelle continued, consulting her notebook. “She said that she went to the police station again yesterday, trying to see if they had any new information, and that they, quote, ‘didn’t want to talk to me and were, actually, a little bit threatening. It wasn’t the response I expected to get.’” Michelle lifted her head. “She left several posts, and one of the regulars, CC22, responded, egging her on a little, you know? Asked if she thought the cops knew more than they were telling her, and she said yes. Now, in her latest post, she’s accusing the police of beingin onthe disappearance.”

“Hm. Where’s she located?”

“Alabama. She posted a photo of her daughter – Kaylie. Looks like a cheerleader or a beauty queen.” She offered the screen of her own phone for inspection, a grainy photo of a smiling blonde girl with perfect teeth and red lips. “Fits the type,” Michelle said, not sounding totally convinced.

“Yeah,” Eden agreed, frowning. “But it might not be Abacus.” Only a random, one-off psycho rapist/killer, she thought, miserably. “Send me screenshots?”

“Sure.”

The chat room had been Michelle’s idea. Eden had realized, shortly after she and Axelle returned to Tennessee, that Michelle felt a little removed from most of the action, out in Texas. Eden had worried that Michelle’s depression and sense of helplessness would return – but needn’t have worried, because Michelle had launched a website, and a private chat room that required password access. Younger than Eden, computer savvier, and with her uncle Miles offering advice from all the way across the pond, she’d thrown herself wholeheartedly into the digital aspects of their operation. More and more, Eden was delegating online searches to her, and hadn’t been let down once.

“I’m going to do some more digging,” Michelle said. “See if I can message her directly and get more info. It might just be an overzealous parent thinking everyone’s working against her, or…”

“She’s correct,” Eden said grimly.

“If Jack Waverly –holy shit, I always thought that guy was super creepy-looking – is in on this, who’s to say some local cops haven’t been bought off, too?”

“Exactly.” Eden had led with the news Fox had come home with last night: the list of names Luis had given them, the rich and powerful men and women up to their eyeballs in human trafficking.

“You’re doing good work, Michelle,” Eden offered, before they said their goodbyes, and Michelle flushed with pleasure before she disconnected the call.

“Is she really?” Fox asked.

Eden didn’t startle, but it was a near thing. She pulled out her earbuds and turned her head to see that Fox had – silently – rolled onto his side to face her and propped up on one arm. His expression betrayed that he’d been awake for a while, impassive and assessing in the blue glow of her laptop.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said, coiling the earbud cord up in her palm.

His brows gave a doubtful twitch. “Is she really?” he repeated. “Doing good work, I mean.”

“Are you actually doubting your niece?”

His brows twitched again. “Of course not.”

“Ah.” An ugly thought dawned. “Then you think I’m not giving her anything helpful to do.”

He stared at her a moment. “It is…” Leaned forward to glance at the clock on her computer screen. “Six-twenty in the morning.” He leaned back. “Bit early to be having a domestic, don’t you think?”

Anger flooded her, a sudden, hot rush of it. Then she saw the corner of his mouth twitch in a tiny, withheld smile, and just as quickly it rushed back out.

“Wanker,” she accused.

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