The wine, and whatever was in it, had the room pitching. It’s only freedom if you choose it for yourself.
That earned me a blow across the jaw; I lift my hand to touch the ache. I crawl over to their graves. I want to offer them each something—a flower, an apology, a rescue—though I have nothing left to give. It’s too late for them. But not for me.
That’s when I see the headlights of a car moving up the drive.
You’re back.
I could make my way back to the road, find my way home. But I don’t. I owe us all more than that, more than just an escape where I spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. But one that brings justice for us all.
Now I just have to get there before you do.
I marshal every ounce of strength I have and run.
fifty-one
The bitter taste of failure and loss crawls like reflux up Bailey Kirk’s throat. It’s a taste in his mouth, a pounding in his ears. He holds on to Jax as they exit the car in front of the town house. She has not stopped crying—not at the hospital, not at the police station. Ben rushes out of the town house doors and takes Jax from Bailey, and she falls against him, holds on tight.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. The street is empty; the snow that fell earlier has stopped, some of it collected on branches, the parked cars. The air is frigid.
Ben helps Jax inside and Bailey follows.
Jason sits at the dining room table, and Bailey looks at him, hopeful. But the younger man just shakes his head.
“There’s no way to track the number. I’m sorry. That’s the whole point of Bitcoin. No trail. I thought I could find a way. But—no.”
“What about the internet fixer she hired?”
“Another ghost,” says Jason. “I used her computer, the one she uses to access the dark web. But he’s not responding.”
Despair sits in the room, a ghoul in the corner, sucking up all the air.
“She’s gone. Like all those other girls,” says Jax from the couch. “Just gone. You never found them. How are we going to find her now?”
He doesn’t answer. He can’t. He doesn’t have any answers, just keeps seeing the fear in Sabrina’s eyes. He rode with her in the ambulance, Jax following in his truck. They sat in the waiting room until her parents arrived, Nora on her way. Now, he keeps reading the text his boss just sent:
She’s lost a lot of blood. But she should pull through. This is on you, Bailey.
He needs a drink. He needs to drink until the whole world goes black.
A hard knock on the door startles them all. Both Bailey and Jason rise, Bailey instinctively resting his hand on his gun and heading toward the door. A dark form stands on the stoop, thick and still.
“Who is it?” asks Jason behind him.
Bailey knows him right away, reaches to open the door.
Standing there in the cold is Jones Cooper wearing a parka and a wool cap. He holds a thick envelope under his arm.
“Your boss said you would be here. I think she’s tracking your location.”
That makes sense.
“Probably. The car belongs to the firm.”
“I’ve been going over some old files. I think I found something.”
They gather around him as he sits at the dining room table and spreads out some photographs and old newspaper clippings, a few printouts, what looks like a survey and a property deed.
“On the Carson property, the night of the raid, there were several families there. One who got away that night. This young man was among them.”
He points to a photograph in a newspaper clipping. The boy there is slim, with dark hair and eyes. “His name is Adam Wilson.”
“Adam,” says Jax. “She believed it was his real name.”
“The family stayed off the grid for a number of years. There are no records of any of them—taxes, employment, education. But he pops up a few years later. It looks like he went to MIT on scholarship. He was homeschooled, but took the SAT, making an almost perfect score. He got a full ride.”
He offers the school records, printouts with the school seal.
“Later he started his own company, an internet security firm called Blackbox.”
There’s a document registering the business with the IRS. Another piece of paper, taking them a step closer.
“That company lists this as its registered address.”
Bailey stares. He should have found this piece of information. It strikes him hard that Nora was right. He’d lost his focus; his judgment was off. He’d missed something critical. He’d let an inexperienced colleague almost lose her life.