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7

Santa Fe, New Mexico

Chris’s house was dark, though it was too late for him to be working and too early for him to be sleeping. His small Jeep sat in the carport. Riley parked the rental car behind it and turned off the ignition.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she considered what she might find inside. What if he had been exposed?

If they had found Chris, was Thalia also in danger?

Why did she care? Thalia had used her, manipulated her, convinced her to go along with her plan. And when Riley had finally had enough, when she broke, Thalia was furious.

“Without you helping me in Havenwood, more people will die. You’re selfish, Riley. I’m so disappointed in you.”

Selfish. Maybe, but so what? Didn’t she deserve to be free? Or was she still required to pay for the mistakes of her past?

Riley closed her eyes. Chris had always been kind to her, always seemed to understand her when Thalia didn’t. Still, she was scared. Not that Chris would do anything to her, but of what might happen when Thalia found out that Jane was dead. That Thalia might blame her.

And Thalia might be right. After all, Riley had run away. Not only from Havenwood, but from Jane. No matter how many times Riley told herself she was going to France, she was really running from her past.

The memories were there, even when she ignored them. Memories had weight, and they weighed her down. She’d tried to tell Thalia how she felt, but the words were never enough. She had never forgiven herself.

Silence was sometimes a crime.

Ultimately, Riley was Calliope’s daughter, and Thalia hated Calliope. No surprise that the hate bled out to encompass Riley. The sins of the mother...sins of the daughter.

Riley breathed deeply, opened her eyes, and stared at Chris’s house, willing him to open the door and smile at her. She watched for signs of life, found none. She should go in.

She couldn’t move.

Chris understood better than Thalia, as much as the quiet man could. He’d helped her, provided shelter and money and worked with Jesse to establish her new identity. Riley had wanted to stay here, in Chris’s remote, beautiful home in the mountains about Sante Fe, and she thought Chris would have agreed.

Thalia said no.

“Chris is a way station, and I still need to get people out, even without your help. You’re dead, right? If anyone finds out you’re alive, it will jeopardize all of us.”

“Just do it,” Riley mumbled to herself and opened the car door. The cold made her shiver. She pulled her jacket tight, lowered her cap over her ears, and stared. Willed Chris to turn on the lights, open the door, smile his warm, rare smile.

The dark house felt empty. That didn’t mean Chris was in trouble. It just meant he wasn’t home. He could be helping Thalia with another rescue, or taking someone to their new home. Or they heard that Jane was dead and were warning the others.

But Riley couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone she loved was in danger.

She approached the silent house. It wasn’t completely dark, she realized as she neared; night-lights in the kitchen and bedrooms cast faint glows. After walking around the house and determining that all was still, Riley retrieved the key from under a small statue near the kitchen door and let herself in.

The house felt...empty. Unused. Clean and tidy, but a scent of dust that she didn’t expect, and a chill because the heat had been turned low, as if Chris had been gone for some time.

Riley didn’t turn on any lights. Hell, she didn’t even know if she should be here, feeling like she was violating his privacy in the worst way.

Yet, she’d known Chris her entire life. Trusted him even more than Thalia, who was blood. Chris was the calm, cool, reasonable adult whenever she and Thalia had clashed. She hadn’t seen him in three and a half years, but that didn’t matter—she hadn’t seen him in half a decade before she escaped, and it wasn’t weird. He was like the big brother she never had and always wanted.

“Chris,” she tried to call out, but her voice was a whisper. “Chris, it’s Riley.”

Silence. No one was here.

Riley walked to the guest room where there were two double beds. She and Jane had been here for two weeks before they went to Ashland. It had been the first time she’d felt safe since before her grandmother died, but now as she sat on one of the beds and looked around the spare room, she’d never felt more alone—which was saying something. Her plan was dependent on Chris’s help, and Chris wasn’t here. She should wait for him, but time was ticking. She didn’t know when he’d be home. It could be days...weeks. When Thalia said jump, he said how high. It had always been that way. Riley didn’t know why he trusted her so much when she could be such a bitch. But he did.

They knew things they never told her. They had suffered things she hadn’t suffered.

In pain came understanding.

That Riley understood far too well.

She needed a place to sleep, at least for tonight. The last five days, since she learned Jane had been killed, had been a whirlwind. Packing up in France, getting a last-minute ticket that cost a small fortune. Sleeping on planes, in airports, and even in the rental car last night. Riley needed a bed, a good meal, a shower. Maybe Chris would be home in the morning.

She could wait until morning.

Peace in her decision settled over her and Riley realized she was starving. She hadn’t eaten all day, and it had caught up with her.

The refrigerator was nearly empty, confirming her theory that Chris was on a rescue or relocation trip with Thalia. Fortunately, the pantry and freezer were well stocked. She cooked up rotini pasta and added frozen broccoli halfway through, drained everything, and tossed it with olive oil and seasonings. The process of cooking calmed her.

She ate in the dark, the small bulb above the stove providing the only light. Then she cleaned the dishes and put everything away.

Her stomach was still unsettled.

Something was wrong. She had sensed it the minute she arrived, but had avoided looking for answers, holding on to false hope that Chris’s return was imminent.

At midnight, she couldn’t avoid it anymore.

One of the rules Riley lived by—everyone who escaped Havenwood lived by—was no social media. She had a smartphone with full privacy settings, which didn’t mean much because if someone was determined, they could find a way in. But even with all the protections, she was doubly careful. No social media. No internet searches. A work email she used only on her museum computer. No email on her phone, but she could log in to her account with a private web browser. Every single time, she would change her password and log out.

But Chris wasn’t here, and that was unusual, so Riley logged into his computer as a guest and searched news sites. Immediately, her blood ran cold at an article posted this morning.

Monday, March 31

Body found by hikers off the Atalaya Trail identified as local teacher Chris Crossman

Chris couldn’t be dead. Not Chris. She read on.

Friday morning, three students from St. John’s College were hiking on the Atalaya Trail when they spotted the remains of thirty-two-year-old Chris Crossman, identified today by the Office of the Medical Investigator.

Santa Fe police are working with the county sheriff’s office to investigate Crossman’s death, which has been ruled a homicide. The OMI said cause of death was a fatal knife wound to his throat, though time of death is indeterminate.

Crossman, a substitute high school math teacher, has been a resident of Santa Fe, New Mexico, for ten years. He hadn’t been reported missing and had no scheduled classes this week. The last time anyone saw him was Friday afternoon, a week before his body was discovered, when he finished a two-week teaching assignment at the main high school.

Respected by his colleagues and students, Crossman was described as studious and reserved. The principal, Meredith Anderson, said he was a model teacher who also tutored low-achieving students free of charge. She said he enjoyed hiking the Atalaya Mountain anytime the weather permitted.

Riley ran to the bathroom and vomited violently, until everything she’d eaten was gone. She drank water from the faucet and threw up again. Now the tears came, tears and sobs she couldn’t stop. She wanted to scream, but her throat still burned from getting sick.

When she was certain there was nothing left in her stomach, Riley lay on the cool tile floor and waited until the room stopped spinning. Waited until she could stand without falling.

Thirty minutes later, she was steady enough to return to the computer and read everything she could find on Chris’s murder.

But there was little else except that Chris was killed in the same way as Jane.

That was no coincidence.

Riley couldn’t stay here. Would the police connect the two murders? Eventually. Had the police already searched Chris’s house? His body had only been identified this morning, but they’d come here soon, looking for evidence, wouldn’t they?

Like Jane, someone had lured Chris out of his house, into the woods, and killed him.

If the police had searched the place, they hadn’t made a mess. What would they think of Chris? Of his simple life? Would they even care about his death?

They’d never solve it. Even if Riley told them what she thought happened, who she thought had killed him, she had no proof, no evidence.

She knew next to nothing about how the police did anything. They had no television, no access to news in Havenwood. Everything she knew she’d learned in the last three years—or from years of her mother telling her that the police and everyone else in authority “Outside,” meaning beyond Havenwood, weren’t to be trusted.

But if she couldn’t stay here, where could she go? She needed to find Thalia, tell her what was happening.

She froze as a terrifying thought hit her.

Her mother had found Jane and Chris. Did her mother also know that Riley was alive?

Riley had an overwhelming urge to run, go back to France, hide for the rest of her life.

But if she was right and her mother was responsible for Jane’s and Chris’s murders, that meant others were in danger. Could she leave when everyone she had rescued was in jeopardy?

The only way to stop Calliope was to expose Havenwood. But if she exposed Havenwood, innocent people would die. It was a no-win situation and Riley wanted to scream.

She could warn those who she and Thalia had already rescued, but she had to first find Thalia.

She hadn’t spoken to her aunt in three and a half years.

Riley stared at the computer screen, willing answers to come to her.

To find Thalia meant reaching out to someone who hated her.

But Andrew owed her his life. He would help her because he was honorable.

Honor trumped hate.

She cleaned up her mess, cleared the browser history, then filled her backpack with necessities. She knew where Chris kept cash, so she grabbed a couple thousand dollars.

Riley took one long, final look around Chris’s house, remembering his life, trying to honor him and all that he’d done to help the people of Havenwood. Fruitlessly, she wished he were alive, that he would walk through the door and say it had all been a misunderstanding, tell her this entire nightmare was in her head.

But he didn’t and it wasn’t. So she left.