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Havenwood

Matt dozed on and off through the night, unsettled by the complete silence. He’d been camping before, mostly when he was younger, but it wasn’t a regular occurrence in the Costa household. They usually spent their vacations—rare as they were—at the beach or going fishing before his dad died. The ocean was never silent, and the stillness here was eerie. He heard the occasional coyote, and before dawn he heard the squawk of birds closer to the village. But mostly, nothing. There was not even a wind to rattle the windows or trees.

Someone unlocked his door at 5:45 a.m., according to his watch—the one thing they didn’t take from him. It was Anton.

“Breakfast.”

He stood in the doorway, filling the narrow frame with his bulk.

Matt used the washroom, splashed water on his face, and put on his shoes and jacket, since he’d slept in his clothes. Anton just stared at him.

Matt’s head pounded from the concussion he was certain he had, but his vision had cleared and the lump on the back of his skull had gone down by half. But it was still tender to the touch. He felt cuts on his face, and one that bled onto the pillow kept opening up.

Anton led Matt downstairs to where Calliope sat at a large dining room table. Anton was one of four men in the room and Matt wondered if they were all Calliope’s partners. Matt recognized Garrett, and the other two he had seen last night, Evan and Marcus. The table was full of food that smelled just as amazing as the dinner before.

Evan looked like he hadn’t slept for days. He seemed ill.

“Sit, Mathias,” Calliope said and motioned to the seat next to her. “Today is a big day. My daughter is coming home.” She smiled and waited for him to sit.

He didn’t.

Anton pushed him into the seat when Calliope scowled.

“It’s going to be a long day. I suggest you eat, because this is the only food you’re going to get.”

He ate. He needed to be prepared for whenever his team acted—and he was certain they had a plan. He wished he had some idea what they were going to do, but he didn’t have the information they had. Had they found Havenwood? Were they coming here? Or were they going to wait for the exchange and try to mitigate casualties?

“Marcus, is Riley’s room ready for her?”

“Yes, just the way she likes it. Aired out and clean, and I put fresh flowers from the greenhouse.”

“Thank you, darling.” Calliope beamed. “You can thank Marcus for the meal, Mathias. He’s an amazing cook. The ham is from our own stock, the eggs from our chickens, the bread made at our bakery—don’t look so surprised, we have one house dedicated to baking. Everything we serve is fresh. Even in the winter when we’re snowed in for months, we have fresh vegetables, meat, water. Havenwood is paradise.”

Matt glanced at Marcus. He was missing his pinky finger. Just like the woman Matt saw last night.

Coincidence? Maybe. But it was creepy.

He was still trying to gauge the relationships and what was really going on here—because this was a woman who ordered the murder of several people. He would find it hard to believe that Anton and the others were killing without her knowledge.

“So, Calliope,” he said conversationally, “what happens when the FBI refuses to cooperate?”

“It won’t matter. Riley will return of her own free will.”

“Riley knows that you had her best friend killed.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know Jane is dead.”

When Matt said it, he saw Evan flinch. Interesting. Evan... Timmy’s uncle. Timmy was the boy who was mauled by a mountain lion, and Jane’s boyfriend. The boy in the picture in her box.

He wondered if Evan was angry or guilty about Jane’s murder. He looked like he was struggling.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Calliope said. “Jane was a sweet girl, and the world outside Havenwood is a violent place.”

“And she knows you had Robert, one of her fathers, killed.”

“Robert has been dead for eleven years,” she said with an undercurrent of venom. “At least to me.”

Her jaw had tightened and she was getting angry. Because the FBI had figured out the connection? Because she was just now realizing she wasn’t going to get away with murder? He didn’t know.

“If you think—” Matt began, and Calliope cut him off.

“Anton, get him out of here. Back to prison.”

Matt was pulled roughly to his feet.

“Don’t kill him, not yet,” Calliope said. “But make sure he can’t get out.”