Chapter Twenty-Two

Bexley had rushed home around eight a.m., leaving Josiah at the SCU beach house. With this weather, she didn't expect anything more dangerous than the hurricane, and Drew was only minutes away. He could check on him or swing by and pick him up if needed. No point in waking a sleeping bear, and after his stormy mood last night when she'd informed him that he was evacuating with the rest of the SCU team, she knew he needed space.

She understood his desire to remain; it was her desire too.

For the past three hours, she'd worked on hurricane-proofing her home. The windows had been boarded, and she'd filled the bathtub with water. Battery-operated lanterns and other sources of light had been scattered in each room. She'd brought in the garbage can, patio furniture and small gas grill as well as put the generator in place.

Several of her neighbors had already left to go inland, but others were weathering it and making last-ditch efforts at buying groceries and supplies.

A tornado had touched down in Nags Head during the wee hours of the morning, doing a nasty bit of damage but with no fatalities. Storm damage alone in Charleston had felled trees and power lines, leaving widespread power outages in over a hundred thousand buildings.

Now Jodie was coming for them.

Meteorologist Tom Stanley was live on Channel 3 in his rain gear and helmet at the shores of Ocracoke, hollering into a microphone, his image blurred from the rivulets of rainwater running down the video camera lens. The cameraman wiped them, but it did no good.

"Folks, it's a challenge to stand out here. You can see how much strength I'm putting into keeping upright."

"Then use that brain and get out of there, you idiot." Why weather people thought they had to be some kind of storm junkie hero was beyond her. Viewers didn't need him putting his life at risk when all they had to do was look out their windows. "Tom, don't be a hero. Go back to the station," she mumbled, as she rubbed the tension tightening her neck muscles.

The lights blinked.

No. Not yet!

"Even if you've ridden out storms before, this one is different. Don't risk your life on riding out this monster," Tom said. "Heed the evacuation orders, folks. It's not only Hurricane Jodie with deadly winds, but flooding from storm surges you and your families need to consider. You only have two hours before surge floods are going to be too dangerous to cross. That's an estimate. It could be sooner."

With a boom of thunder, the lights flickered once more, and then the house went silent. Her breath caught in her throat. "Great," she muttered. Did she power up the generator now? She only had so much gasoline. No, this was insane. Leaving Ahnah, who wasn't safe, to be safe herself felt wrong on every level, but she was no help to her sister or her son if she was dead.

She had to go too. The window of opportunity was closing. Grabbing her phone, she called Josiah to let him know she would be joining them. All she had left was to pack a bag and she'd be on her way.

His phone went to voice mail. He was either still sleeping or ignoring her.

Great.

Growling and slamming her phone onto the counter, she stomped to her bedroom to pack a bag for evacuation. She opened the door, gasped and stumbled backward.

"You look surprised to see me, Bexley." He was kicked back on her bed dressed to the nines, and his expensive cologne permeated her room. How had he gotten inside? How long had he been inside, and why was he on her bed as if he owned the space?

"What—what are you doing in my house? How did you get in?" How could it be?

"I do whatever I want. I wanted in. I got in." His vile grin pierced her very core.

She backed farther into the hall and glanced toward the front door.

"I wouldn't make a mad dash. I know that's what you're thinking." He lazily swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I've come to get to you. That's why I'm here. It's time."

Bexley clutched her chest. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"See, Bex," he said as he stalked toward her, "that's where you're wrong."

She needed a weapon, but her bat was by her bedside. He followed her gaze and chuckled. "You don't need that. Besides, you're a swing and a miss."

She turned to dart down the hall when his words froze her into place. "I have Josiah, Bexley. If you want him, you'll come with me willingly. Obediently." She pivoted as he stood in the hall by her room. She peered into his eyes, dark, cold and wicked.

"He's with the FBI in their beach house," she said. "I know you couldn't have breached it." He was bluffing and she now regretted assuming Josiah would be okay alone for a few hours. Once again, she might have made a costly choice.

He laid a hand on his chest. "Bex, I didn't have to breach it. He came to me willingly. He trusts me. And why shouldn't he? I've built quite the rapport with him."

She wanted to shout liar! But he wasn't lying. Things clicked into place. He'd pretended to be Abe, and built a friendship with her son. He was the source fueling Josiah's recent hatefulness and rebellion. He'd been filling his impressionable mind with carefully crafted lies. "I don't understand why you're doing any of this."

"You will."

"Do you have Ahnah?"

"Why do you ask questions you already know the answer to?" He held out his hand. "Put your hand in mine and come of your own accord."

If she ran, he'd catch her. If he didn't, he'd kill Josiah and Ahnah. But if she went with him, she was as good as dead too.

Why couldn't any of her choices be easy or clear?

She stared at his perfectly manicured hands, shock thrumming along her nerves, and placed her trembling hand into his.

"Look, I know the situation's grim and no one wants to stop the investigation," Asa said, "but it's dangerous. As soon as it passes, we'll fly back and pick up where we left off. But I'm saying it's time to go. Period. End of story."

Ty threw his head back and silently screamed at the direct order. His gaze bounced from Vi to Owen, both wearing sympathetic expressions.

"Why's it so quiet on that end?" Asa asked.

"Asa," Ty said, through a half groan, half sigh. "I can't leave, and it's not because I'm bent on finding this killer."

Violet twirled her index finger for him to get on with it and reveal the truth he'd been keeping from his SAC.

"Then what is it?"

"Bexley's son..."

"He's yours?" Asa asked reverently.

"Yes. I can't leave without him. Bexley won't go, but she is allowing me to take him. However, he's not making it easy, and if she doesn't change her mind, I can't leave her."

Asa blew out a long breath. "Team can't stay. Anyone going with us needs to be ready within the hour. Do what you gotta do. But don't do anything stupid, Tiberius. I mean it."

"I'll call her now. I'll make it happen. Have all of us together and ready on time." Even if he had to hogtie her.

"Be careful, Tiberius," Fiona said, from the other end of the line.

"I can stay," Violet said. "I'm not afraid."

"Well, John will be," Ty said. "You aren't only thinking about yourself anymore. He has a little girl—you have a little girl now. Go before it grows any worse." He turned to Owen and met his steely dark eyes.

Owen tapped his chest with his fist twice. "Ride-or-die, bruh. I'm staying. We can all drive out together."

"Call when you're safe," Asa said, and ended the connection.

"You should go with Violet. If it hits faster than expected, you'll be out of the danger zone."

Owen didn't budge. "What, no Top Gun song to hum?"

"Now is not the time, O. You need to vacate the premises."

Owen stared him down. "I'm not going anywhere."

Violet left them in their standoff, and he called Bexley's phone to inform her that he was on his way with Josiah to pick her up.

Her phone went straight to voice mail. Where would she be that she couldn't answer her phone? He went downstairs and knocked on the room Josiah had been staying in. "Sorry to wake you, dude, but we have to go."

No answer. Bexley had mentioned he slept like the dead. Ty opened the door, but Josiah was gone. His gaming system was on his bed and the covers thrown off and crumpled on the floor. Didn't appear to be a struggle.

He clicked on Bexley's icon on his phone's location-sharing app, but it said Unable to show location. His heart went into arrhythmia as he raced back to the second floor.

"What is it?" Violet asked, wearing a black raincoat and pulling her rolling suitcase behind her.

"Bexley isn't answering her phone. I can't see her location." Where would she be? Why would her phone be off? "Josiah is gone. Did you see him leave? Did anyone see him leave?"

"No. But he's on ground level. We haven't been gone that long."

"Well, he's gone so it doesn't matter how long it's been!" he bellowed. He sighed. "I'm sorry."

No signs of anything broken. Windows were boarded. Josiah must have walked right out the door of his own volition. But with whom and to where?

"I understand. You want me to stay? I will," she said.

He shook his head. "We got this. Get out of Dodge." His phone rang. Selah. He answered. "What do you have?" He put her on Speaker.

"I narrowed down the Grangers who would be in their midfifties now. I have three names but only one fits. Gabriel Granger. Nothing on him until he turned seventeen—which would be after he left the Family of Glory. He got into some misdemeanor trouble until his thirties. That's when things turned serious. He's currently in prison for abducting a woman in Greensboro and holding her for three days. It's ugly. Torture. Sexual assault. My guess is that wasn't his first victim, just the one that got him caught. She escaped from a cellar and found a car driving down a lone highway. Flagged it down. I'm sending over a file with news articles and his photo. He looks like you—like your father. But he's not our guy. He's been in prison all this time."

"Thanks, Selah." He hung up. "How is my entire family insane and I'm not?"

"Your sanity is debatable." Violet smirked and Owen chuckled.

"Real funny. Time's running out. Get to steppin'." Ty all but shoved her to the door. When she'd left, he turned to Owen. "Let's go. Maybe Josiah went home and her phone died. Power's out all over. No point worrying until there's something to worry about, right?"

Owen nodded. "Right."

But they both knew that was a lie. They had a lot to worry about. Ty grabbed the keys, and they ran into the fierce wind and rain. Roads were already flooding in areas, and the sea churned like a furious leviathan ready to snatch and drown its prey. The car rocked, and he gripped the wheel to steady them on the road. Once they arrived at Bexley's, they parked and raced to the porch. Her phone must have died—her car was here.

Ty knocked but no one answered.

He turned the knob and it opened; hairs rose on his neck. The power was out and the house was eerily quiet. Not even a whisper. Only the howling wind and whipping rain beating the snot out of the roof.

"Bex? Josiah?" he called as he entered the kitchen, smelling the scent of coffee and cinnamon. No one answered, and his pulse quickened. Where were they? Why was the door unlocked?

"I don't like this," Owen said. "You take the east side while I go west. Clear the place."

Ty unholstered his Glock and inched through the dark house. A cold chill bubbled along his skin as he moved to Josiah's room. The door was open. He entered and cleared it, then moved to the bathroom, clearing it as well, then her office.

Ty's phone dinged with a text, but he ignored it.

"Ty," Owen called, and the tone in his voice sent Ty's world to a screeching halt.

A note card had been stuck to Bex's bedroom door with a knife.

I've killed. I've stolen almost everyone you care about. I'm not done. You can't stop me.

Ty read it once, then twice. Ahnah. Cami. Now he had Bexley and Josiah. This freak of nature hadn't left the island and was using the hurricane to his advantage. They never expected anyone but their own desperate selves to be out in this nightmare weather. It had been an oversight. A potentially deadly one. "I can't leave now." How was he going to fight a hurricane and this killer at the same time? He slumped on Bexley's bed and cradled his head in his hands, a temptation to pray entering his thoughts. Because nothing he'd attempted so far had proven successful. He'd believed in no one but himself, and he was spent, stretched as far as one man could be stretched, feeling it in every beat of his heart and in every breath. A deep aching pressure that wouldn't release. Like being enclosed in a tomb alive with little air.

He had no peace.

No hope.

No help.

Panic set in, shivering through his veins until he trembled. A dam of tears burst and he was powerless to stop them. "He has them. He's going to kill them and I'm going to be too late. Josiah will never know I was his father. Never know...never know that I loved him more than myself. How am I supposed to do this? He's won. He's ended my life without killing me."

"No. You're struck down, friend. But not destroyed. You're hard-pressed but not crushed." Owen sat beside him on the edge of Bexley's perfectly made bed. "We're not going to leave. We're going to clear our heads and find them." He tapped his fist to his heart as he said, "Together."

"I can't let you stay. If the hurricane doesn't kill us, he might. You go—"

"Tiberius, stop. If the tables were turned, would you leave me?"

"No," he whispered. "You know I wouldn't."

"Then why are you pushing me to do what your own stubborn self wouldn't do?" He leaned over and gripped the back of Ty's neck, bringing his brow to Owen's. "We are in this together." His grip tightened to deliver his resolute message. Ty might not have a single brother he could trust, but he had Owen. Like some divine blessing—if he believed in those things.

Ty nodded against his brow and then pulled back, wiping his face and standing. "I'm going to check Josiah's room. Maybe the killer left a note there too."

"I'll call Asa, take the heat for us both."

"Thank you," Ty murmured, and tapped his chest as he left the room, knees like twigs about to snap in half.

His phone dinged a second time as a reminder he'd received an earlier text.

He gripped the wall. Ty wasn't ready to see photos, or a video, of his dead son and the woman he'd never gotten over. This would break him. He decided to take a chance. "God, if You're listening..." That was it, the only words he could muster. Right now, he had come to the end of himself. Bexley had been right. He'd been disappointed in his own ineptness. He'd fooled himself, and the reality terrified him.

He hesitated opening the text, his finger hovering over the unknown number, but he bit the bullet and tapped the text.

A sudden wave of relief enveloped him. The text was from the portrait guy from the Inky Octopus in Wilmington. He'd drawn the sketch of Smoothy, who had tattooed the Family's logo secretly on three of the victims.

His relief was short-lived. The hits kept coming regardless of his internal pleas for a reprieve.

He'd known the truth, but had been in denial, hoping shared blood would have meant at the very least civility.

But there was no question. No doubt of who this face belonged to.

Garrick Granger.