Page 54 of Last Seen

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Knocking brings Halley to the surface again. She is alone in the bedroom, and the sun has begun its journey into the horizon. Her head is splitting. The cottage door opens, and two male voices start talking. It’s Noah and Cameron. The sheriff must have brought her meds.

She wants the pills but stops at the door when she realizes they are arguing, craning to overhear their words.

“This has gone too far. Does Dad know what’s happening?”

“He does, and he is livid. You have to get her out of here. She’s a danger to us all.”

“I think that’s a little—”

“Noah. Do not get attached.”

“I’m not.”

A smothered, unamused laugh. “Don’t lie to me, little brother. You’ve been mooning over her since she walked into the restaurant.”

“Hey, it wasn’t me that slashed her tires and disabled her Jeep. She would have been gone, and all this mess with her, if not for that.”

“Well, we’re dealing with it. The car will be ready in an hour. So do what you need to, but we need to get her out of here.”

“She’s flat on her back in there with a migraine. Needs her meds. They’re in her bag. When she’s functioning again, I’ll get her out of here. I suggested she go to Nashville. She’s stubborn, though. Asked about the little boy she saw.”

“I don’t know who the hell that could have been. Do you?”

“Of course not. I’m sure it was just some kid from town playing.”

“Let’s hope so. We can’t have a repeat of what happened last time. Here’s her bag. Give her the medicine and send her packing. Now, Noah. Dad’s orders.”

“I will. I promise.”

Their conversation moves to Tammy’s murder, and Halley backs away from the door, panic and pain filling her.

What in the world? These men are giving her whiplash.

“ You can’t leave; you have to leave. ” What is the deal?

She is more than happy to leave. It wouldn’t take much convincing at all.

But every time she tries to go, someone gets in her way.

And now it’s too late. She can’t drive in this state.

She is half tempted to confront them, but the other half, the one with the prehensile tail that recognizes danger deep in the recesses of the brain, says not to. For once, she listens.

She scans the room, looking for what, she doesn’t know. And she sees it. Noah’s phone. He left his phone by the bed.

She snatches it up and hurries into the bathroom, closing the door as silently as possible.

Screens are the worst for a migraine, but there’s something she wants to see again.

She saw the pattern of the code he used when he opened it yesterday, but in a stroke of luck, it’s still unlocked.

He must have been reading on his phone, watching over her, when Cameron came to the door.

Maybe they’re letting her leave so she doesn’t bother reaching out to anyone else?

They want her gone because ... Why? What happened last time?

Is that the other writer who went missing?

Are Cameron and Noah trying to keep her safe by making her go?

Does something dark stalk the streets of Brockville, and they think by sending her away they are saving her?

Or do they think if she leaves, the darkness will follow?

This place is too confusing; these men are bewildering. And her curious brain wants to know the why behind it all. She feels the blackness surging; waves of pain building to the point that she thinks her head will burst like a balloon too full of air, then releasing, only to rise again.

“Run, Halley Bear. Run!”

She ignores that voice urging her to leave. It is her mother’s; that she knows. She can distinguish now between the two voices, the one that told her to run and the one that told her to be still. To play dead. Why? Why, and who?

She opens the Photos app. She wants to look at that family picture again.

This is a horrible invasion of privacy, and if he finds out, she’s pretty much guaranteed that he will disappear from her life. She doesn’t know if that outcome is enough of a deterrent. Noah is cool, but he’s deeply tied into this horror show.

A moment of weakness shouldn’t define the rest of their lives, either of them.

She wouldn’t hold him to anything. She can’t imagine he would, either.

It was just a kiss. Heightened emotions driven by a horrible situation and her own circumstances of a broken marriage, a sad garden long unwatered, do not equal lifetime commitments.

Just because she needed the finality of finding succor from another doesn’t mean there’s anything more here.

Guilt is starting to creep in.

Do not think about Theo right now, you idiot. Hold it together.

Her head is swimming, making it hard to focus.

Noah’s phone is full of impressively high-quality photos of food, not a shock.

There are a few selfies with kitchen staff, pictures of the Brockville restaurants full to the brim.

Paris. London. Luxembourg. Monaco. A stunning redhead with full lips and adoring eyes, wearing a skimpy white bikini.

Several photos of her, and recent ones, too.

So he does have someone. Halley is surprised to feel a spike of jealousy.

There are thousands of photos. She has no real idea what she’s looking for here, and time is running out. Noah seems like an organized guy. She looks at the albums. There is one labeled The Farm ; the main photo is the sign to the farm in Glaston, here in Brockville.

These pictures are similar to the others, high-quality portraits of various vegetables and crops.

She hastily scrolls, sees nothing of note.

Backs out to the folders list. Clicks Search.

There are several options on the screen, groupings, classifications.

Moments , People , Places . She taps on Faces , slides through the photos, most of unfamiliar people.

And then, at the end, unlabeled, she sees him. The stranger.

Is her mind playing tricks on her? She breathes, willing the migraine to ease, then clicks on the face.

There is no doubt this is him. The same pooling darkness in his eyes, the same cock to his head, an inquisitorial crow.

There are twenty photos. It looks like they’re all from the Farm.

All from some sort of event. A harvest? Halloween maybe; there are jack-o’-lanterns and pumpkins.

She opens one and looks at the date. She’s right. October 31, 2010. Seven years ago.

She looks at each photo carefully. The stranger is in two.

One is the candid; he’s looking at the camera but unaware a photo is being taken.

He looks angry, staring at something over the photographer’s shoulder.

In the second, he is standing with a blond woman, her body mostly in profile. The outline of a pregnancy is clear.

Halley zooms in on the woman’s face.

There is no way. This is impossible.

She swipes quickly now, looking for anything to confirm her suspicions. And there, at the end of the photo stream, a shot of the woman again. She is heavily pregnant. She is not smiling.

She is Catriona Handon.

Halley’s first thought—well, second, after the unbelievable What the hell? that crosses through—is to send the photo to herself. But Noah and Cameron are out in the other room, with her phone. She doesn’t need the text to ding and one of them to see this.

So she sends it to Theo, with a text message.

Save this to your phone. I’m going to delete this text.

He writes back, the ding audible. Halley curses under her breath, turns the volume down.

What is this? Who is this?

It’s Halley. This is my sister and the man who’s killing everyone. Run him. Run facial recognition. Hurry. I have to delete this now. Not my phone.

R u ok?

Do it. Hurry!

Done.

Thank you. I will have my phone back in a few minutes. Be careful what you send. I’m leaving Brockville and going to Nashville. I will be in touch.

She deletes the message. Hauls in a deep breath. Opens the bathroom door.

Noah Brockton stands there.

She puts her hand with his phone behind her back, the other on her heart. Forces a smile. Her head throbs with the effort.

“Oh, wow, you startled me.”

“I was about to knock. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Feeling ill.”

She hopes he doesn’t notice there was no water running, the shower is dry, the towels undisturbed.

“I have your bag. Are these the pills?”

“Yes.”

He pushes the tab out of the blister and she accepts it, shoves it in her mouth. “I need more water.”

“Of course.”

He grabs her glass and heads to the kitchen. She follows, stopping to set his phone back on the bedside table. She’s pulled it off.

Her mind is spinning. She can feel the tablet melting, wills herself to hold it together for a few more minutes. The ergotamine works fast.

Cat. Cat and the stranger. Cat pregnant in 2010. Unmistakably Cat.

The little boy she saw. Could that possibly be Cat’s child?

Now you’re reaching, her mind says. That has to be a coincidence. He’s younger than seven, isn’t he?

Noah returns with her glass. “Wow, are you okay? You’re white. Here, lie down.”

She gives in but doesn’t go horizontal. Instead, she sits and puts her head in her hands, praying it doesn’t explode.

“Sorry. Really bad headache.”

“Well, here’s some good news. Eddie was able to fix your Jeep sooner than expected. It will be ready for you in an hour. We can go to Nashville, or back to Marchburg. Whatever you want.”

“We?”

“I told your sheriff I’d keep an eye on you. I intend to honor that promise.”

“Thanks.”

God, is she going to throw up? Work, medicine. Please.

She hears a small ding. Her phone, in the living room. Theo is texting. She needs to get her hands on that phone.

She breathes, in and out, the pain hitting a remarkable, blinding crescendo, then easing just a touch. She recognizes the sensation; she has crested the wave. She doesn’t move. Slowly, so slowly, the pain lessens. She sits up. Still killing her, throbbing, but the medicine is kicking in.

“Is there caffeine?” she manages.