I pulled the blinds shut and left the two of them there, on the ground in their basement. Upstairs, Grace Elizabeth was fussing, and I scooped her up. Smelled her, held her close. “Everything’s all right now, sugar. Daddy made a mistake, letting you go, but I won’t ever do that again,” I whispered. She wrapped her hand around my finger and I kissed her forehead. Relieved but also aware that I needed to move. There was nowhere to go but forward now.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Finch and me climb the rickety ladder from the root cellar, the light from the windows bright and blinding after being in the dark. Marie is seated at the table, hands folded in her lap.
“Give us a minute, would you, Finch? Take your book to the back room.”
She opens her mouth to argue but then looks at Marie, must see the tears, must see the look on her face, because she snatches the flyer from the table and darts to the back room, lips pressed tight, like she does when we’re hunting, the words held in.
“Marie.” I reach out and place a hand on her shoulder and she flinches.
“Don’t.” She shakes her head. “Don’t touch me.”
“I understand how it must look.”
“You understand? I just lied. To officers of the law.”
“I’m sorry about the lying. But if you hadn’t left the gate open—”
She stands and looks me in the eye, her face close to mine. “Let’s get this straight, Cooper. A girl is missing. The police are out there doing their job. You’re hiding in the root cellar. Not just hiding, but you and Finch have a code word. You vanish in less than thirty seconds, like you’ve practiced it a thousand times. And you have the audacity to make this about me.”
“I was just saying—”
She takes a deep, shaky breath. “Those pictures Finch drew. It’s her, isn’t it? The girl with red hair. Finch said—she said she didn’t imagine her. She said she visits her sometimes.”
“It’s not how it seems.”
She nods, faintly, then begins backing away from me.
At this point, I understand how things must appear from her point of view, and I realize, too, that if she went on home and decided to try and track me down by my old name, she might find some information that makes it look like something is wrong with me, something twisted and cruel. Six weeks after Finch and me came to the woods, thanks to Scotland’s newspapers, I knew all the things Judge and Mrs. Judge and all the papers said about me. How they chose to spin things. How they could take something true and bend it just a tiny bit, word it just so, and I end up looking like a first-rate monster. And let’s say Marie goes home and starts searching around and piecing things together. It might look something like this:
1.?Kenny Morrison was a thriving Army Ranger who served three tours in Afghanistan, but when he came home, he was all screwed up in the head.
2.?Eight years ago, Kenny Morrison kidnapped a little girl named Grace Elizabeth and disappeared. He kidnapped two other people, assaulted the woman with a deadly weapon, and tied both of them up in their basement.
3.?Just this week, another girl disappeared, right where Kenny Morrison lives.
“We did see her,” I say. “One time, that’s all. But she has nothing to do with us, I promise.”
Marie twists her skirt in her palms, wrings it tight. “I want to know. I want to know why you’re really here. Why the two of you have to hide. Why you’ve changed your name. Why you have money but nowhere else to go. You didn’t say that, but it’s true. You’re not just getting your footing like my brother said. I could tell by the look on your face, that first night when I mentioned selling the place. I want to know all of it. If you lie to me, Cooper, if you lie—” Her mouth twitches, lips red, cheeks flushed. “Swear to me you’ll tell me the truth. Swear to me on my brother’s grave. Everything. The whole truth.”
I shake my head. The more she knows, the more trouble she’s in. Aiding and abetting, harboring a fugitive. Who knows what way they might spin things, what kind of monster they might make her out to be, should all of this go south. Because they might. She could go to prison. Jake had gotten dragged into my mess, but I could convince myself he stepped into it of his own volition. But not her. Marie, school librarian, lover of dark chocolates with sea salt and caramel, drinker of tea. Marie, Jake’s baby sister, making a simple delivery of supplies. No.
“I can’t do that.” I reach for her hand, but she pulls away. “I’ve put you in a predicament here, and I’m sorry for that. But I can keep you from getting wound up in it tighter. I can protect you from that. There are things you’re better off not knowing about. I need you to leave it at that.”