Luther spun toward the bloodcurdling sound, dropping his fork on the floor. A stunned man stood in the diner’s entryway. In his early thirties, he was about six feet tall, medium build, with short, dark brown hair just beginning to curl. He looked almost as exhausted as Luther felt, and he was in need of a shave. The man’s eyes locked on Rachel, who was screaming her ever-loving head off. Then his gaze swung to Luther as he rose from his stool. Luther was certain he’d never seen the man before, but he was equally certain the man recognized him, not just his uniform.
The man blinked, then turned and ran out the door.
Luther followed. He still felt the aches from the previous day’s chase and knew he didn’t have a chance in hell of catching the man, but by God he was going to try. The door shut just before Luther reached it, and he fumbled to open the damn thing. He finally slammed his weight against it, falling awkwardly through, and paused outside the diner. Where the hell is he? Small businesses stretched on either side of the restaurant, but there were plenty of buffering trees and parking lots between them.
Otto burst out the door behind Luther. “Where —”
“I don’t know,” Luther said, as a blur of movement down the street caught his eye. “There!”
The two men sprinted down the sidewalk. Short distances had always been Luther’s strength, and he’d tied his boots more tightly today. It didn’t matter—they reached the next corner in time to see a sedan peel out of a closed used car lot. “You get the license?” Luther panted.
“Just a partial,” Otto said. “One C-K. I didn’t catch the rest.”
Luther couldn’t get his breath to save his life. He might have to take the old Sheriff’s advice and get back on the running regimen. “Yeah, that’s all I got too.”
There was no point in pursuit. By the time Luther made it back to his vehicle, the car would be long gone. It was already out of sight. “You have any idea who that was?”
“Never seen him before,” Otto said.
There was a low hum of disturbed conversation when they entered the diner, louder than it had been five minutes ago, but not a mob scene. Nina had been working the tables there for forty years, and she had a gift for getting people to settle down and act their ages. Rachel sat between Evie and JJ, and JJ had her arms around the girl. Rachel’s face was so pale, it reminded Luther of the last time he’d seen her in JJ’s arms, when JJ carried her down off the mountain. The image was so sudden and tangible, he paused to steady himself against the counter.
As soon as she saw her father, Rachel tore herself from JJ and tackled Otto, disappearing in the huge man’s embrace. “Shh, baby, you’re okay. You’re okay now.”
Luther knelt next to the frightened girl. He didn’t want to startle her by touching her, so he waited for her to look at him. “Rachel, sweetie, your daddy’s right. You’re safe now. But I need to know, can you tell me who that man was?”
Rachel looked at him, at Otto, at JJ, and at every other adult in the restaurant as if they were all the biggest idiots she’d ever seen. Finally she said, “That’s the man who took me.”
“Rachel,” Agent D’Antonio said, sitting next to the Sheriff behind his desk, “you never mentioned before that two men took you.”
And you never mentioned before that you’re a complete asshole, but somehow I figured it out, Luther thought. He straightened from his lean against the filing cabinets and began, “Sir —”, but Grant raised his hand to give Rachel an opportunity to answer.
“I don’t remember everything. And I didn’t remember the younger man until I saw him this morning,” Rachel said, squeezing Otto’s hand tightly.
“Rachel,” Grant said, “I have a couple of pictures I’d like you to look at and tell me if you recognize the people. Can you do that?”
She nodded, and Grant slid a photograph across his desk. Luther stiffened. The first picture was of his brother, Leslie.
“Of course I know him,” she said simply. “He lives here.”
Grant paused, and Luther could tell he was struggling to find the right words, ones that wouldn’t suggest an answer to his question. Impatient, Luther blurted out, “Did he ever hurt you?”
Luther avoided Grant’s gaze and found D’Antonio glaring at him instead. Rachel just looked confused. “No,” she said. “He stinks sometimes, like at the trunk-or-treat, but I guess he’s okay.”
Grant flipped the photo over and slid another one across the desk, this time of Virgil. Instead of picking it up, Rachel stood from her chair and stared down at it. She said, in a small voice, “That’s the man who chased me through the woods when I tried to get away.”
“And what about the other man? The one you saw today?” Grant asked.
“The other man is the one who grabbed me on our road. Down from Evie’s driveway.”
Grant slid the photo away and tucked it in a folder, then set the folder out of sight. “The last time we talked, you couldn’t remember anything about when he took you. How about now?”
Rachel sat back down and looked at her father. It seemed to Luther that she desperately wanted to crawl in Otto’s lap and disappear. “Not exactly. A lot of the time I was sick and I couldn’t breathe.”
“Do you remember anything about the car you were in?” Grant continued.
She looked up toward the ceiling. “Not from the beginning. But later, I think there was a van. A white van.”
“Rachel,” D’Antonio said, “did you ever see the two men together at the same time? The man in the picture who chased you and the man from the diner this morning?”
“No.” She glanced at Otto before continuing in a whisper. “But I think I heard them talking to each other. When I was dying.”
Otto tensed, and Grant looked away. Only D’Antonio appeared unmoved. “Do you know what they were saying?” he asked.
She shook her head. “But Adam might know.”
The agent’s breath caught; if Luther hadn’t been watching him, he’d have missed it. “What do you mean Adam might know? Adam Rutledge? Was he with them?”
Rachel looked to Otto. “I don’t want to get him in trouble,” she whispered.
“You’re not going to get him in trouble,” D’Antonio said, but Rachel wasn’t stupid. And now the man was eager.
“Dad, I’m going to be late for school,” Rachel said. Luther’s heart went out to her. The poor child must be desperate if she was begging to go to school.
“Okay, sweetie,” Otto said, before turning to D’Antonio. “We’re done here.”
“Rachel, why would Adam know? Was he with those men, too? Are they his friends?” D’Antonio asked.
“I said, we’re done here.” Otto placed his free hand—the one that wasn’t occupied with his daughter—palm down on the desk. Luther bet Otto could flip the heavy piece of furniture with just one of those massive hands.
Rachel answered anyway. “No, they’re not his friends. And he wasn’t ever with them. He was with me. In my head, before he found me and Evie’s mom took me down the mountain. That’s how he heard them, too.”
Grant said, “I’m sorry, Otto, but if I could just ask Rachel one more thing. Do you have any idea where the man who took you lives? Or where he’s going?”
“He doesn’t live here,” she said. “But I think he came to the trunk-or-treat. That’s why I felt sick.”
“You can call us about speaking with her again later.” Otto wrapped an arm around his daughter and led her toward the reception area where JJ and Evie were waiting for them.
Rachel hesitated at the door. “I think he’s going home.”
“You think who’s going home?” Grant asked.
“The man who took me.”
“Why is that?” Grant asked.
Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know. I just do.”
“What I meant was, why does he want to go home?” Grant clarified.
“Because it’s the only place he feels safe.”