I got lucky.
JJ knew that if she’d used a little less force, or been half an inch to either side, all she’d have done was piss Marcus off. She also knew she couldn’t count on being lucky the next time. She’d never thought her husband would actually kill her, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Trooper raised his head from the couch at the sound of her shifting the ice pack on her wrist. She should have iced it a couple of hours ago, but she hadn’t wanted to in front of Evie. She didn’t want her daughter to know what had happened, and—so far—it seemed she didn’t. Thank God for small miracles. She told herself that’s also why she hadn’t called it in, but that wasn’t entirely true.
JJ had known Grant since they were kids, but he was a couple of years older, so she hadn’t known him well. Then he’d gone away to college and into law enforcement somewhere else. But even when he’d returned a few years ago, they’d never gotten reacquainted. Not until the incident with Marcus, the one where JJ’s father—already sick with cancer—nearly beat the father of her child to death. Max Tulley might have finished the job, had Grant not arrived to stop him, but she thought he probably wouldn’t have. Grant hadn’t done much in the way of intervening, just been a calm, watchful presence. And then he’d driven Marcus to a hospital in the next county. That’s the way his daddy would have handled it, Max had said. Actually, no. Ulysses probably would have gotten in a few licks of his own.
Grant dropped by a few times after that, just checking in, but stopped visiting when Max got really bad. Near the end, her father had asked people—the ones that knew—not to come by anymore; he didn’t want to see them. Of course, everyone in Cold Springs, and people from places she’d never heard of, showed up for her dad’s funeral, but she’d felt such relief when she saw Grant. He made her feel safe—not physically, but emotionally—in a way that no one else had since Adam left when they were kids.
A few months ago, she’d called the Sheriff’s Department because of a break-in, something her gut wanted to lay at Marcus’s door. She wouldn’t have bothered, but a window had been broken and she’d (wrongly) thought her insurance would cover it. Grant began dropping by again regularly after that, and although they’d never been on a date, they’d gotten into a kind of routine. She didn’t want to jeopardize that, whatever it was. But this had to stop.
She picked up her phone (the landline; the damn cell was still charging). Instead of calling the station, she called Iris’s house. She’d already tried Adam several times, and reassured herself he was even more lax about charging his phone than she was about hers. She let Iris’s phone ring and ring, and eventually the machine picked up, but she didn’t bother leaving a message. Yet.
She wished she’d gone over there before putting Evie down for the night. She was worried about Adam. Instead of getting better, he seemed to have gotten worse—physically and mentally—since being released from the hospital, and he was reluctant to talk about it, or about what had happened on the mountain to land him in intensive care.
She could also use a little support herself right now. Not that she had any doubt about what his advice would be. He’d pushed her to go to Grant from the beginning, as soon as he learned what was happening. He was probably right. In fact, she knew he was right.
Trooper lifted his head again, ears alert. A moment later, JJ heard a vehicle approaching. By the time she’d untangled her legs and jumped down from the couch, she could see flashes of headlights through the trees. She turned off the lamp next to her so the living room was nearly dark.
Shotgun… She’d locked it up again, as she always did when it wasn’t in hand. She scrambled toward the closet, then hesitated. Trooper was alert, but not barking, so she headed toward the locked front door instead. She recognized the headlights now, just as Trooper had recognized the engine sound. It was Grant in one of the Department vehicles. Her heart lifted, then seized nearly as quickly. Decision time.
She turned on her porch light and watched, Trooper standing next to her, as Grant parked the cruiser. Deep breath. He cut the headlights and the engine. Opened his door. It’s time to tell him, she thought, and with that certainty felt a burden lift from her chest.
She smiled at the thought of seeing Grant—she should’ve put hot water or coffee on—but her smile faltered when he didn’t come inside. Instead, Grant walked over to Adam’s car, still parked and waiting for his return (and probably a jump-start). The Sheriff pulled out a flashlight and circled Adam’s hatchback slowly, shining it through the side windows and the back glass to illuminate the interior. Then he examined the ground around the car and felt its hood before finally extinguishing the flashlight and advancing on the front door. JJ turned the doorknob to meet him, but she’d forgotten the door was still locked. She disengaged it as he was lifting one hand to knock, his hat held in the other.
“What’s wrong, Grant?” she asked, because something obviously was. His body was rigid, his lips pressed tightly together.
“Where’s Adam?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? Isn’t that his car in your driveway?” he asked, voice challenging.
JJ’s temper flared in response. “You know damn well it’s his car. Just like you know damn well I gave him a ride to the trunk-or-treat tonight. But I lost track of him and I haven’t seen him since. Now, what the hell is going on?”
“There’s been another kidnapping,” he said. “An eight-year-old boy from the trunk-or-treat.”
JJ gasped. “Dear God, not again.”
Grant continued, “We got an anonymous tip that Adam’s the one who took him.”