As Rath drove the Scout onto the pavement from Forgotten Gorge Road, a flurry of texts and voice messages sprang up on his phone.
All of them from Rachel or Felix. All of them urgent, some confusing and cryptic. What alarmed him most was the photo with the text Do u know him? Boyd Pratt.
Rath yanked the Scout to the side of the road and phoned Rachel. He got no answer, not even voice mail. He called Felix’s number. Felix picked up first ring.
“What’s going on?” Rath said. “Why isn’t Rachel picking up, why—”
“She’s here. With me. She’s OK. Well, not OK. Shaken. And—”
“What are you talking about? Let me talk to her.”
“She can’t. Her voice. Her throat is too sore, weak.”
“What the hell happened? Tell me.”
Rath’s blood drained as Felix explained.
“Stay put,” Rath said. “I’ll be there as soon—”
“No,” Felix said. “We’re borrowing a friend’s car. She wants to come home.”
Rath let out a long breath. “OK. OK. Good. Good. But first, you need to get the police there. Call nine one one and—”
“We did. An hour ago. We spoke to them, they got all the information. They got the woman, they got the crazy lunatic. She was right where Rachel left her. Rachel trounced her.”
Rath wanted this news to bring him comfort, or a warped sense of pride. But it didn’t.
“Rachel needs to see a doctor,” he said.
“The EMTs checked her out good. Her throat looks really, really bad. And it’s raw and sore. But they found no internal damage.”
“She needs to see a real doctor.”
“Tomorrow. She promises. She just wants to go home.”
“See you there.”
He called Test. Voice mail. He texted her: PULL OVER AND PICK UP.
He called again. She picked up first ring.
“Listen,” Rath said, and filled her in.
“Where’s Rachel now?” Test said.
“Coming home.”
“I should have never sent her the files,” Test said. “I should never have caved, even if she had every right to—”
“That has nothing to do with what happened.”
“Still.”
“Go home. See your kids.”
“God knows, I want to. I need to do one more thing.”