Page 11 of The Followers

* * *

Direct Message

From: user87601 To: IhateMollySullivan4Eva

Can u send me ur screenshot of the picture Molly posted w her husband

IhateMollySullivan4Eva To: user87601

Sure, here ya go*!

five

I want to believe the photo is of you, Sam. I’ve been staring at it for the past hour, ever since that woman from the chat forum sent it to me, and I’m about 90 percent convinced.

It’s your eyes. Not just the color or the shape, although those match the photos I have from ten years ago.

No, it’s the guilt I recognize. You looked like that on the night it all happened.

Still, I’m not 100 percent certain it’s you. It seems too coincidental. And too stupid, to be honest. What were you thinking, getting involved with an internet celebrity? Shit. I assumed you were smarter than that. You managed to disappear all those years ago, even with so many people searching for you. In my mind, I’ve built you up into some kind of genius escape artist who evaded not only the brightest minds in law enforcement, but darker minds, too. People like me who have their own reasons for wanting to find you, almost a decade later.

To be honest, I’d given up hope. But you must have gotten complacent. After all this time, you let your guard down.

Not a good decision, my friend.

six

How did I meet my husband? Well, that’s a private story. But I will say it had something to do with a river, a starry night sky, and a conversation I’ll never forget.

—From an interview

on Today.com with Molly Sullivan

Liv stood outside the small business and stared at the name on the door: wander far adventures: white water specialists. It had taken only a few minutes on Google to discover that Molly’s husband was the owner and operator of Durango’s most successful river rafting tour company.

Liv felt stronger this morning, and less emotional, which was ideal. She needed to stay detached and analytical. But she couldn’t help wondering if Scott Wander had named himself after his company or if he’d named his company after himself. Regardless, it grated. He’d created an entire life here, fifteen hundred miles from the scene of his crime.

But Liv needed more than a name. She needed proof it was him.

She was still kicking herself for not screenshotting that photo of him Molly had shared. But Liv hadn’t been thinking straight; she’d been stunned, staring at his face on her coworker’s phone, unable to move for several seconds. He was older than the last time she saw him, more weathered, but she recognized that all-American boy face, that square jaw, and straight nose, the blue eyes and sandy-blond hair.

The more she had stared, the more certain she had become, and the sight dragged her back in time nine years, to the worst day of her life. She’d turned and run into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before vomiting.

She’d told her supervisor she wasn’t feeling well and drove home, where she called the police station in Pittsburgh. But of course, the picture had disappeared by then. Liv supposed she couldn’t blame the detective for being unimpressed, but did he need to be that dismissive? His words still stung: You expect me to open a nine-year-old case because you think you recognized some guy in an Instagram picture?

After some pleading on Liv’s part, he’d agreed to touch base with Kent Rasband, the original detective on Kristina’s case. Rasband had transferred to another department a few years back, but the new detective said he’d reach out to him and get back to Liv with more information. That had seemed promising: Detective Rasband had been partners with Kristina’s dad, Joe Casillas, back when they were both starting out on the force. He’d come to Joe’s funeral, too, after he was killed in a routine traffic stop—a tragedy that had sent Kristina on a downward spiral.

Unfortunately, Liv hadn’t heard anything since. Which was why she’d come to Durango. The only work available for someone with her degree in physical therapy was a summer position at a skilled nursing facility—the kind of job she usually avoided. Not that she disliked elderly people—she loved to see them get better. What she disliked was the feeling she got in nursing homes: too many people who had been discarded, unwanted. It was all too familiar; she’d felt that way most of her life, growing up without a stable family, passed between various relatives. Always on the outside.

But the position would give her the chance to track down Sam Howard. And thanks to Molly Sullivan, Liv had found him. Maybe.

Hand on the doorknob, she told herself not to chicken out. Even if she ran into him right here, he probably wouldn’t recognize her. He’d only met her once, and she’d been a teenager at the time. With a lift of her chin, Liv walked into the Wander Far office.

“Can I help you?” the college-age girl at the main desk asked, flicking her long brown hair over her shoulder. She had the healthy, fit, excessively tan look that seemed to be rampant in Durango.

“I’m looking for Scott,” Liv said. “Is he in?”

The girl shook her head. “He never comes into the office on run days, just heads straight to the river.”

---