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Fifty-four

“WHAT WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?” Greyson asked, wrapping his arm about her waist as they stepped from the bar.

Riley shook her head. “I have no clue. I think he was just trying to mess with me.” But he’d seemed so sincere, and she saw right through crud, always able to read lies. She’d been well-versed in them. She’d swear Big Max had been telling the truth, but there was no way.

“What are the tunnels he referred to?” Grey asked, resting his hand on her lower back—his stance protective, his gaze firm.

“There’s a tunnel system that stretches the entire underground of the city. Kelly and Jared could be anywhere in the labyrinth, or we could have just been sent on a wild goose chase.”

“You think the lead’s no good?”

“No, I think it’s real, but like I said, we could search for days and never find them.”

“So you don’t want to go there?” he asked as they strolled toward the lobby.

Everything in Riley’s being wanted to be out of this world. Ached for the fresh air she always longed for as a child but never got. Always smoke. Always lights. Always sounds whirling in her ears.

“Oh, we’ll go there, but I want to visit the cult house first.” It had a tie to all of this.

They stepped outside into the warm sunshine, and she gazed up at the blue sky. She’d seen so little of it as a kid—always living in one hotel or another, wherever her parents were performing. Though their illusionist act was simply that—an act, a cover for their criminal activities.

“Uber should be here soon,” Grey said, rubbing her back.

****

An hour later, Greyson held the Uber door open for Riley, and she stepped out into the desert.

They thanked the driver and stood rooted in place as he drove away.

The whistling wind swirled the mesa in sandy waves, giving the sensation of the ground being in motion.

“Let’s go inside,” she said.

“What are we looking for?” he asked, following her up the path nearly buried by the mesa. The cacti were the only sign of life.

“Something that shows us where this all started, and I think it’s here.” She nodded toward the run-down house coming into view.

The wooden door stood ajar, and after they both slipped on gloves, Riley opened it fully with a rasping creak.

Sunlight beamed through the windows of the shadowed interior.

They walked through the house, its furniture still in place—sort of. Chairs tipped over, graffiti smattered across the walls. Beer cans on the floor. Clearly a teen hideout. “Kelly and Jared are tied to Claire,” Riley said, “and she’s tied to Ralph—or Lance or whatever his real name is.”

They cleared the house and found nothing helpful.

With a frustrated sigh, Riley leaned against the paneled wall in the kitchen, then pressed off the wall. “I really thought we’d find—”

“Wait,” he said, a crack in the wall catching his gaze.

“What?”

He stepped forward. “The wall has a crack.”

“It is an older home.”

“Hold on,” he said, moving to lean across the table and run his fingers along the thin edge.

“Here,” she said, behind him. “Let’s move the table out of your way.” They slid the dining set off to the right, giving him full access to the wall.

Slipping his fingers as far as they’d wedge into the crack, he pulled back. “It’s stuck, but I feel cold air. There’s something back there.” His gaze followed the crack down to the floor. “There’s a bar lock on it at the base.” He unlocked it and pulled the wall-door open.

“That’s odd,” she said. “We don’t usually have cellars out here.”

She clicked on her phone’s flashlight and started down the wooden steps. They creaked beneath her feet.

Grey pulled his gun and followed. The steps swayed beneath him, groaning with each movement.

A light pull dangled over Riley’s head as she hit the floor, and she pulled it, illuminating the dank space. “What is this place?” She turned in a circle. Doors lined the perimeter.

She moved to open the door but the knob held firm. “I’m getting into this room,” she said, pulling out her lockpicks. “There’s a secret here to be discovered, and I’m viewing this as public property at this point.”

“I’m with you.” He turned with his back to the door, scanning the space and the stairs, before angling his body to cover their six and their twelve on a pivot.

She popped the lock, and the door squeaked open.

A lone bed with a ratty cover sat against the wall. What looked like a chamber pot stood in the corner.

“You think this could be—”

“Where he held them?” Greyson said.

The door creaked shut, and he moved to open it again but stopped in his tracks.

“What?” she said.

He followed the tracks with his fingers. “There are nail scratches on the back of the door.”

“Oh...” Her hand flew to her stomach.

“Deep breath,” he said, a wave of nausea roiling in his own gut.

“Why hold them prisoner? Cults usually brainwash people, and that’s the vibe I got about Claire. That she bought his lies until one day she didn’t.”

“Maybe he held the ones that didn’t buy in anymore down here instead of letting them go so they could tell people the truth of this place.” Greyson strolled the perimeter of the room.

“There’s got to be more here,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Kimmy said he left in a hurry. There should be more here to tell the story.”

They stepped out of the room and into the next two in turn, finding the same setup. But the third room held a desk, a chair, a locked file cabinet, and a picture on the wall.

Greyson strode toward the desk while Riley headed straight for the picture. She pulled it away from the wall to reveal a safe.

“Always behind the picture,” she said. “I’ll get to work opening it.”

“I’ll go through the desk,” he said, opening the first drawer and moving for the second. He was almost through clearing them when she let out that satisfied yelp.

“I got it,” she said, opening the safe door.

He glanced over to find it empty save for a couple of papers.

She pulled them out and scanned them. “A deed to the land in Lance Winslow’s name and a deed to an adjacent two-hundred-acre property.”

She shoved the papers into her new purse. “I thought there would be more.”

“Maybe there is,” Grey said, holding up a lone key from the final drawer.

“Does it go to the desk?”

He tried it in all the drawer locks. “Nope.”

“So what does it go to?”

“Hang on.” He knelt and scooted under the desk. “Sometimes there are—”

“Hidden slots.”

“Right.” He ran his hand along the bottom of the desk.

“Anything?”

“Nada, except...” He shifted.

“What is it?”

“There’s something under this rug.” He crawled back out from under the desk. “Help me move the desk.”

He took one side while she took the other. Moving the desk fully revealed an artisan rug. They each reached for an end of the rug.

“Okay,” he said, and they flipped it back to discover another safe.

He smiled. “Better get to work.”

She set to it, and in under a minute, she had opened the safe.

He peered over her shoulder.

Four small square wooden boxes were nestled inside.

They looked at each other.

She opened the first three boxes. Nothing. The fourth box held a gold-and-diamond tennis bracelet. She lifted it out so they could both examine it. L. J. was inscribed on the gold charm dangling from it. Underneath the bracelet was a lock of hair held together by a thin rubber band. She looked at him, her face pale. “Do you think...?”

He hated to say it.“It looks like a curated collection to me ... for the ones who didn’t make it.” He’d seen it before on the serial case he worked with Phillip.

Riley stiffened. “A killer’s keepsakes. But why are the other boxes empty?”

“Maybe he hadn’t filled them yet or—”

“He left in a hurry, and these got left behind.”

Either way, Lance had started a collection, and Greyson had a feeling the cult was just the beginning.