Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Was he at the bus depot?" Marlie took the exit off I-25 for Ridley Road. The day she, Evan, and Noah had driven to Wyoming, she hadn't paid that much attention to exit signs, but she remembered the street name.

"No, ma'am," the officer said. "He's not there. Are you sure he's not at home or in school?"

"Yes, I'm sure." During her frantic drive north, she'd already spoken to at least two cops, explaining what was happening and why she thought Noah was in danger. At the end of the exit ramp, she braked at the stop sign, racking her brain to recall whether Evan had turned right or left to get to the first location they'd checked—the one Noah thought was the camp. "Did you talk to the bus driver who drove there from Denver? Did he see a boy with blond hair and green eyes?"

"That bus already departed the station. We're trying to get the driver by phone or on the radio."

She looked both ways, swearing they'd turned left. Fifty-fifty odds . She stepped on the gas and turned left. "Can't you issue an Amber Alert?"

"No, ma'am. You told us Noah booked the bus ticket himself. We have no proof he was abducted."

She drove slowly, not wanting to miss the llamas. "Then call Special Agent Evan McGarry with the FBI." He hadn't taken her call, but hopefully he'd take one from the Cheyenne Police Department. "He works in the Denver office. Like I told you, this is related to a case he's working involving missing children." She pulled over to dig up Evan's number.

"All right, ma'am. I'll call him."

While she understood there was an Amber Alert protocol to be followed, and the circumstances didn't meet the criteria—yet!—Marlie wanted to scream, and if this cop called her "ma'am" one more time, she damned well would.

After giving the cop Evan's number, she pulled back onto the road. "He's headed for a farm somewhere off the Ridley Road exit."

"Can you give me an address?"

"No." Driving slowly, she searched both sides of the road. "Not yet. I just turned left on Ridley Road heading north." In the distance, a dark plume of smoke spiraled into the sky.

"Ma'am, we'll keep looking for the boy. I suggest you call us back when you have an address for the farm you think he's headed to."

She bit back a groan, because the cop was right about the protocol. "Fine." Without waiting for a response, she hung up and dropped her phone in the console. Still crawling at a slow speed, she hadn't gone more than a quarter mile from the I-25 exit ramp. Behind her, sirens screamed. She looked in the rearview mirror as two unmarked SUVs with flashing red-and-blue lights blasted north on the highway.

Up ahead on the left was a fence adjacent to the road where several llamas nibbled on grass. Shortly after passing the llamas, a road appeared on the right. Painted Sky Road. "Yes!"

Driving even slower now, she turned Tish's Toyota Prius onto the unpaved road. With any luck, she wouldn't bottom out and owe Tish for repairs. Minutes later, she saw the gate with the callbox. A pickup truck fitted with wood rails was parked on the other side of the gate. The truck fit Noah's description of the one Frank Manello drove him in to the farmers market.

Two people sat in the truck. As she neared the other vehicle, she could see it was a man and a woman. Behind them, in a rack covering the truck's rear window, sat a long gun. A rifle or a shotgun. From this distance, she couldn't be sure which it was. Not that it mattered. They both fired bullets that could kill people.

The Prius dipped sharply, and she grimaced as the undercarriage hit the uneven surface with a sickening screech. When she parked in front of the gate, the man and woman got out of the truck. They matched her recollection of John and Margaret.

Before getting out of the Prius, she tried calling Evan one last time. "C'mon, Evan. Answer!" Again, her call went to voicemail. Next, she tried calling the same Cheyenne officer she'd been talking to, and who'd given her his cell number.

There was nothing nefarious about the couple's appearance. The woman, in fact, waved to her, which did nothing to put Marlie at ease. Assuming this really was the camp, and this couple was John and Margaret, these were dangerous people.

Her plan was to stall for time and wait for backup. Either Evan or the Cheyenne PD, whoever got there first.

The cop's phone also went to voicemail. "This is Officer—"

Marlie hung up and shoved the phone in her suit pocket. She stepped out of the Prius. In the time it had taken to drive up here, the sky had darkened. Wind buffeted the car door, bringing with it a few flakes of snow. The temperature had to be twenty degrees colder than where she'd been in Denver not two hours ago, and she shivered. In all the panic, she'd completely forgotten to grab a coat.

Hesitantly, she walked closer to the gate. Have courage . She'd once let her son down in the worst way possible. She would not let Noah down.

"Are you Marlie?" the woman asked.

The question stopped her in her tracks. How did they know her name? Her belly knotted with enough suspicion to fill a swimming pool.

The only ways they could possibly know who she was were either from Noah's hospital discharge papers or because they knew where she lived, and they had been the ones to break into her apartment and plant the note in Noah's mitt.

She swallowed and started backing away.

"Wait!" The woman punched in a code on the gate's lock box and stepped through, closer to the Prius. "You are Marlie, aren't you?"

Marlie stopped, narrowing her eyes. "How do you know my name?"

"It is you. Oh, thank goodness." The woman clapped a hand over her heart. "Noah is here, and he's hurt. He fell down an embankment. He's been calling your name."

" What? How badly is he hurt?" Had they pushed him down an embankment? Marlie clenched her hands, tamping down the urge to launch at the woman. If these people were responsible for hurting Noah, she'd annihilate them.

"Please," the woman said with a sense of urgency in her voice. She pushed the gate open wider. "We think he'll be okay, but he might need a doctor. We'll take you to him. Follow us."

Into the lion's den.

Marlie swallowed, sweeping her gaze from the woman to the man who still stood by the truck and hadn't uttered a word. Common sense dictated she wait for backup before going anywhere with these people.

This could very well be a trap.

Aiden's face as he'd looked up at her for the last time flashed before her eyes. She didn't automatically believe this woman, but if Noah really was hurt and she didn't go to him, she would never be able to live with herself.

Pulling on that courage she sorely hoped was inside her, she gave the woman a curt nod, then got back into the Prius. After driving through the gate, she stopped behind the truck, which still blocked the road. Behind her, the woman closed the gate and reengaged the lock before returning to the truck.

As Marlie started to follow, the suspicion that had been gradually drilling holes in her decision to go with these people spun faster, and she gripped the wheel tighter.

Hurt or no, if Noah was really here, there was no way they'd let him go again. And they wouldn't want her to have communication with anyone outside. It stood to reason that, eventually, they'd take her phone away whether she resisted or not. She pulled it from her pocket. No messages and no returned calls.

This might be the smartest thing she ever did or the absolute stupidest. She cued up the recent calls and tapped Evan's name. The moment the call went through, she dropped the phone out the window into the tall grass bordering the road. He might not be able to prove she or Noah were inside the camp, but he could track her phone. It stood to reason that if her phone was on the property, so was she.

Marlie continued following the truck, and as the gate got smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, she sent out a silent prayer. Evan, please find us .

For now, she was on her own.

A hundred yards or so later, the terrain dipped, and they descended into a valley that hadn't been visible from the gate. Tall conifers rose on either side of the road, like guarding centurions. A minute later, a dozen simple houses—all the same size and shape, and all painted white—came into view.

Every house had a small porch with rocking chairs and a swing. Some had large flower pots flanking the stairs. None had driveways or garages. Considering the number of houses, there were only a few vehicles—pickup trucks, some as old as hers, only not in as good shape. The houses were laid out in a rough semicircle, in the middle of which was a much larger building with cream-colored tile instead of wood or aluminum siding. The overall effect was that of a church. Or a mausoleum . The presence of a small cemetery with wood crosses made her go with church.

One would never know this little enclave was here. It was like Brigadoon, that mythological Scottish town that came to life every two hundred years. The perfect location for a nefarious operation.

A curtain moved at one of the windows on the nearest house, then dropped quickly back into place. They passed another house, this one significantly larger than the others. In comparison, it was a virtual mansion, with at least three levels, fluted columns, and a large wraparound porch.

What she didn't see anywhere were toys. Bicycles, balls, Frisbees. Although these days, it seemed like all kids wanted to play with were video games on their phones, tablets, or laptops. Still, one would expect to see some evidence of children. If they were really here.

When the truck finally stopped, the couple got out and waved to her to do the same. As she got out of the car, the first thing that struck her was the smell. The air had a certain pungency to it. Marijuana . Not smoke, but the same thick earthy smell that wafted out the door of the marijuana dispensaries that had popped up all over Colorado. Located in a valley, the smell had concentrated well below the surrounding terrain. Another geographical benefit for an illegal pot farm. Not only out of sight but out of smell.

"Before we continue," the woman said, "do you have a phone? We're pretty old school here. We don't allow electronic devices beyond this point."

"No," she answered truthfully. Good thing she'd followed her gut. This scenario was starting to reek more and more like a trap. Still, she had to know for certain if Noah was okay. She'd come this far, and it was too late to turn back now. One thing was for sure…Noah was here.

Somewhere.

"You don't mind if I check, do you?" The man approached, still sporting a bland expression, yet something about all that blandness made the hairs on her neck prickle like a cactus.

She took a step back. If he tried touching her in any way…

He pulled a device from his pocket. Not the typical farm equipment. Without touching her, he ran it over her legs and arms, then her torso. "She's clean."

"Come." The woman indicated Marlie should follow. "We'll walk the rest of the way. You can leave your car here."

The man had taken up a position behind Marlie. Like he's guarding me .

A small pen housed sheep that rushed to the fence as they walked past. Agricultural fields came into view, most covered with white tarps. A large school bus that had been painted gray was parked next to one of the fields. "What are you growing?"

"Sugar beets, mostly."

Yeah, right. Cannabis, mostly . Lots of it, judging by how many tarp-covered fields loomed in the distance. There had to be thousands of plants.

"Here we are," the man said.

They stopped in front of a small wood building, this one looking more like a storage shack with no windows. The woman inserted a key into a padlock and opened the door.

Marlie started backing away. If Noah was in there, he was being held against his will. A strong hand gripped her upper arm.

"You wanted to see Noah. He's inside." Having given up all pretense, he pushed her to the door and shoved her inside.

She fell to her knees.

"Marlie!" Noah raced from the shadows, dropping beside her.

Ignoring the twinge in her knees, she ran her hands up and down his arms. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Except that I got caught."

"Well, well, well." A second man now stood in the doorway, grinning in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck not only prickle but sway back and forth in a loud warning. "If it isn't the pretty little thing that got away."

Marlie's heart leaped into her throat. Fear took over, paralyzing every muscle in her body. Not that she'd truly doubted this was a trap…now she knew it was true for a fact.

Backlit by dim gray light was Frank Manello, aiming a rifle at her chest.