48. Ryder

48

"Fuck. Bear."

That was Emmy, fifty yards to Ryder's left. He was back in his comfort zone now, wildlife excepted, skulking through the forest with guns, smoke grenades, and his team beside him. They'd found the address in the early hours. Despite Emmy's best efforts, the county recorder insisted she had to go to her daughter's piano recital, so the Choir had sent Spider, who got into the office faster than most normal people could with a key. What took the time was working out the filing system, which was organised by year and address rather than by name. Julia Strand's maternal grandfather, Reginald Cantley, had bought the House in the Woods—that was its official name—in 1947, so the search had taken a while. Ryder, Tulsa, Emmy, Spider, Dan, Knox, and Dice had all been in there, flipping through dusty file cabinets and thanking their lucky stars that the security guard at the county administration building was more interested in reruns of Suits than in doing his job. Priest had kept an eye on him from a shadowy corner of the parking lot.

They'd come up with a plan on the fly, quite literally. Concerned that an approach by road could alert the suspect, Storm had arrived with one helicopter and Dusk had begged, borrowed, or stolen another—Ryder wasn't sure which—and they'd fast-roped into the forest several miles to the west of the target property. Storm's helicopter was the quietest Ryder had ever heard, but they couldn't risk getting any closer, not with Luna's safety at stake. After a brief schlep through the trees, they were almost there.

Dan snorted. "So go around it."

"I'm hardly gonna go through the sodding thing, am I?" Emmy hissed.

In Glacier National Park, Emmy and Slater had gotten lucky with the satellite, but that luck had run out. There wouldn't be a satellite overhead in Utah for another hour and a half, which meant they had to do things the old-fashioned way. But it was nine against one. Ryder liked those odds, even though there was a chance Hebert knew they were coming. Slater had stayed behind in Berkeley to monitor Carole-Ann Murray, and late last night, after he'd built a rocking chair, a dining set, two bookcases, a sideboard, and a Lego spaceship, Carole-Ann had excused herself to go to the bathroom. When Slater listened at the door, he'd heard her leaving a voicemail for Hebert, warning him that people were asking questions. No call appeared on the cell phone company's record—Echo was monitoring that—so they figured she was using WhatsApp or similar.

Priest's voice came over the radio. "Fence ahead."

"Cameras?"

After what they'd found at the apartment, they were expecting at least one or two. Perhaps not at the fence line, but certainly around the property itself.

"Not in this sector."

"Over or through?" Emmy asked.

"Over."

The fence was six feet of chain link, designed to keep wildlife out, but not necessarily intruders. Guess Hebert thought the terrain was enough for that. This place was in the ass end of nowhere. What wealthy person would choose to live like this? Out in the sticks with no human habitation for miles?

"Game camera on the north trail," Knox said.

And there were more cameras on the outside of the home itself, which was a sprawling place modelled on an oversized log cabin. Overgrown pastures to the rear suggested someone had once kept stock or horses, as did the barn to the south. The barn was connected to the main building by a short covered walkway, perfect for a person who didn't want to get exposed to the elements while checking on the animals. A four-stall garage was connected to the giant cabin on the other side. Back in the day, this would have been the perfect hideaway for those cold winter months if moving somewhere warmer was out of the question.

But maintenance had slipped. Whoever installed the security system hadn't been a pro, and there were gaps in the coverage that allowed the team to sneak right up to the building complex.

"The barn," Emmy said, and Ryder had to concur. Even if a person could have climbed up to the high, narrow windows, they wouldn't have been able to fit through them. Solid walls, a heavy wooden plank slotted into place to secure the livestock doors… It was a perfect prison.

There was no movement. No sound. No signs of life whatsoever, and that little ember of hope that had ignited when they found the address flickered.

"One of the garage doors is open," Tulsa said. "No vehicles inside."

Fuck.

Had Hebert left? Had he received Carole-Ann's warning and fled? The flame of hope fizzled out. Now the big question was whether or not he'd taken Luna with him. And if he'd left her, then what state?—

Ryder's path took him to the front door, which looked pretty solid. He had shaped charges that would blow the hinges, but on impulse, he reached out and twisted the handle. The door creaked open an inch.

"Front door is unlocked."

"Back door wasn't, but it is now," Spider announced.

Emmy made the decision. "Go."

What she meant was "go in and check for booby traps" because if Ryder knew a team was hot on his heels, he sure as shit would have left a few surprises for them. But there was nothing. No trip-wires, no carefully balanced objects, no pits of boiling tar. But where were the fucking snakes? They knew Hebert had those. Maybe he'd set them free before he left?

"What the actual…?" That was Emmy's voice. She'd gone in through the back. "Who are you?"

"Michelle Johnson. Who the hell are you?" a voice responded, loud enough for Ryder to hear. It was a woman, but clearly not Luna.

"Is that Anton Hebert?"

"This here is some fruitloop thinks he's Mark Antony."

So he was here? Ryder ran. He ran to the barn, and yeah… What the actual fuck? It was done out like an Egyptian palace, all stone columns and hieroglyphics. A sturdy Black woman was standing beside a couch, hands on her hips. The coffee table beside her held a steaming mug and a paperback, splayed open halfway through. Behind her, through a set of double doors, a man lay spread-eagle on a king-sized bed, his skin pale. That was Hebert?

"You're gonna have to explain what's going on here," Emmy said.

"Where's Luna?" Ryder blurted.

"Are you the cops?"

"I'm her boyfriend."

Mild surprise crossed Michelle's face, and when she moved her arms to a folded position, Ryder spotted the chain around her waist. She was a prisoner. A pissed-off prisoner, but a prisoner nonetheless.

"Well, you took your damn time. She's been telling us for days that you were coming to rescue us."

"Where is she?"

"She left because you didn't get here fast enough."

Emmy nodded toward Hebert. "What happened to him?"

Tulsa and Dice were in the room with him now, and Tulsa was checking for a pulse. Ryder wanted to strangle the man with his bare hands, but finding Luna took priority. Luna always took priority. Had she put Hebert in that position? She'd been known to clonk men over the head with heavy objects when she felt trapped.

"The dog bit him," Michelle said. "He got blood poisoning, and your girlfriend got Stockholm syndrome. I was all for letting nature take its course, but oh no, she wanted to call an ambulance."

"And did she?"

"Who knows?"

"You couldn't call from here?"

"The phone is locked in the snake room, and we couldn't find the key." Michelle shuddered. "I wouldn'ta gone in there anyway."

"Snake room?"

"By the bookshelves in the regular part of the house."

"Where's the dog now?" Ryder asked. He'd been worried about the little fella.

"Luna and Kacie took it with them."

"Kacie? Who's Kacie?"

"Kacie Bachman," Dan supplied from behind him, and that name did ring a bell. "She went missing before Luna. A witness saw her climbing into a silver SUV. So Kacie drove to find help in Hebert's SUV and Luna and Rocky went with her?"

"Kacie don't know how to drive."

Emmy barked out a laugh. "I thought Luna didn't know how to drive either?"

"I gave her two lessons," Ryder said.

"And how did she get on?"

Honestly? Things could have gone better. "She didn't hit anything."

"She was on an airstrip," Tulsa called from the next room. "And she still went off the edge."

"What's the safety rating on a Tahoe?" Emmy asked. "Somebody find out. How long ago did she leave?"

"Couple hours?" Michelle glanced up at a gold clock on the wall. Instead of numbers, it had hieroglyphs. "Three? It was just getting light."

The nearest town was forty minutes away. If Luna had left here two and a half hours ago, she should have reached Paragonah by now. Unless she was lying in a ditch somewhere. Fuck.

"Don't," Emmy warned. "We'll find her. Storm, we need the helos again."

Tulsa walked across to them. "What do you want to do about Hebert? He's still alive, but if we want him to stay that way, he needs to get to a hospital fast."

Emmy gave a long sigh, and Ryder knew what she was thinking. It would be so easy to let Anton Hebert breathe his last. He'd caused untold trauma to three women and led Blackwood and the Choir on a five-state manhunt. But Luna was out there somewhere, trying to save his sorry ass. Go figure.

"Did he hurt Luna? Did he…?" Ryder couldn't even get the words out.

"Was there any sexual assault?" Dan asked.

Michelle stayed silent for a long moment, then finally shook her head. "He's an asshole, but he's not that kinda asshole."

Thank fuck for that. "What state of mind was Luna in when she left?"

"Pissed off. Man wanted a queen, and he got a queen. When he tried to make her take a bath in goat milk, she made him get in instead."

Emmy choked out a laugh, then turned to Ryder and raised an eyebrow. The final call was his.

"Luna already made the decision. If Hebert lives, he can face justice in court."