Set You Free (18 page)

“It has to be Joe,” Grady says. There’s a small window in the barn. I move a little closer to the window and look in.

Freeze.

Pull back.

“What kind of car is that in there?” I say.

Grady takes my place at the window. “It looks like a white Ford Taurus.”

“Like the car that was apparently stolen from JJ?”

“Exactly like that,” Grady says. Neither of us moves.

“We should go see if there’s a door at the back,” I say.

“We should,” Grady says without moving.

“Then we need to look inside the cottage.”

“I guess we do,” Grady says. His voice is quivering.

I take his hand. “So come on.” I hear him inhale. I let go of his hand and move along the side of the barn. Luckily, there is a door. There’s only an empty hole where the doorknob should be. I slip my fingers through and pull the door open enough to slip in beside JJ’s stolen car.

“The bastard,” I say. I feel the hairs stand up on my arms. I didn’t know the kid who died on Beacon Hill Road that night, but looking at this car is the same as finding a gun used in a murder. Or a bloody knife. This was a weapon, no matter how you look at it.

And JJ was the killer.

Grady has his phone out and is taking pictures. “That’s the car, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I say. Every time he takes a photo, the flash goes off.

“You’re sure?”

“How many of these could there be in town?” I say.

“Tons,” Grady says. “Trust me there.” He looks out the window while pulling his sleeve over his hand.

“What are you doing?” I say.

He opens the driver’s side door. “Keep an eye out for anyone coming this way. I want to get a closer look.” He pops the hood and walks to the front of the car. “This is a major engine,” he says. “Seriously tricked out.” He sets the hood down, then pushes it as quietly as possible back into place. “I think we’ll have to sit on this. No newspaper is going to run a story about JJ Carter’s stolen car.” Grady pockets his
phone. “It would seem incredibly insensitive at a time like this. Plus, there is no proof he had anything to do with that other kid’s death.”

“Maybe if it’s given to them the right way,” I say. “If the police aren’t telling the public everything…”

“If I learned anything from that whole situation with my dad, it’s that the police and media work together,” Grady says. “No reporter is going to kill his connection with the mayor’s office or the police to run something like this. There’s too much at stake.”

We move around the car to the front of the barn and look out a filthy window.

“What if we sent it to someone out of town? Someone in Albany or over in Vermont?”

“Media is all about connections. We’d have to find someone with a really serious grudge against the Carters.”

“That’s possible,” I say hopefully. “There must be people out there that he’s pissed off.”

“With Benny missing, I really doubt many newspapers would take the risk to attack a man.”

“It can hold,” I say. “We have this now—we can use it.”

“Listen to you,” Grady says. “What are you thinking?”

“There has to be someone inside.” I shift a little and knock a wrench off the workbench. It clangs on the floor, and we freeze. Grady grabs my hand. For what seems like forever, neither of us breathes.

“Come on, let’s…” I begin.

Then someone comes banging out of the cottage, yelling, “It never works up here. I have to go down by the lake.”

We duck. We crouch there for a moment before slowly straightening to look out the window.

JJ Carter stands in the halo of light from the doorway, his cell phone above his head, looking at the glowing screen. “If we do it here, we’ll lose the connection.”

“Fine.” A man appears in the doorway. He lights a cigarette as he comes down the steps. “Let’s go down to the water.”

JJ brings the phone closer to him. “Like that, I lose the signal,” he says. He raises the phone again. “There, I have it. It’s so messed up.”

“You can’t float six feet off the ground to call him,” the other man says. He’s shaking his head at JJ. “Just go to the lake.”

“You’re coming with me,” JJ says. “I’m not explaining all this to him myself.”

“You can’t talk to your father on your own?”

“Not about this. I don’t understand half of this stuff.”

“Go,” the guy says, giving JJ a shove.

“That’s Joe Fisher,” Grady says. “I’ve seen his mug shot.”

I grab Grady’s hand and say, “We have to go inside.”

“Why?”

“Because Ben could be in there.”

“What if they come right back?”

“We can’t think about it,” I say. “We have to go now. Come on.” I run out the rear door of the garage, then crouch
and move as quickly and quietly as possible to the back of the cottage. I look around the corner and see, a few hundred feet down toward the beach, JJ and Joe sitting on a log. For some reason, I’m not all that nervous suddenly. There’s a pounding in my ears, and I’m clenching my teeth, but I feel as though I can do anything.

“You stay here and watch,” I say to Grady.

“What? You’re going in alone?”

“Someone has to be the lookout.”

“You be the lookout. If they come back, you warn me and run to the car.”

I have to think fast. “No. Because Ben doesn’t know you. If he’s in there, why would he go with you?” Grady opens his mouth to protest, but I interrupt. “We don’t have time to argue. If they start coming, let me know.” I run inside before he can say another word.

I’m standing in the kitchen. There’s a passageway to a living room and then two bedrooms on either side of what has to be a bathroom. Both bedroom doors are open.

I stay low and crawl through the passage to the living room. The place is a mess of empty bottles and cigarette butts. Magazines and newspapers are scattered on the floor. A PlayStation 3 is plugged into a small
TV
.

The bedroom on the right is all bedsheets, ashtrays and empty beer and whiskey bottles. I look in the closet and find it entirely empty.

Before I leave, I take a quick glance out the window. JJ and Joe are still down by the water, their forms silhouetted against the moon.

The other bedroom is cleaner, though not by much. A bed has been tipped upright against the wall to make room for a large desk and chair.

I open a drawer and discover batteries, keys and empty cigarette packs. The other drawer is empty. I reach around inside and find nothing.

I sense someone at the window and quickly duck.

“What are you doing?” Grady whisper-yells. “Is he in there?”

“No,” I say.

“Then get out. Come on.”

“Just a minute.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just keep watching for them.”

I open the first drawer again.

Nothing has changed. I want to turn the light on. Instead, I bring out my phone and use the flashlight app. I suddenly don’t care if Joe or JJ eventually discovers I was in here. None of it really matters. I need to find something. Something that can tell us what to do next.

I go to the empty drawer again and move my hand around the space.

“Lauren, they’re coming,” Grady whisper-yells.

It has to be here
, I say to myself.
It has to
. As I’m pulling my hand out, I twist it so my fingers are on the underside of the drawer. At first I don’t feel anything, but then, as I slide my hand out, my nail catches on something. I shift a little and find a small, hard rectangle held on by tape. I tear at the tape and pull out a little red
USB
drive.

“What are you doing here?”

I turn to find JJ standing in the doorway.

He takes a step toward me. “You bitch, what are you holding?” He points at my hand. He takes another step toward me. He looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him. There is pure hatred in his eyes. “I asked you a question.”

“You tried to blame everything on Tom,” I say, “when all along you knew he had nothing to do with your brother’s disappearance.”

“He has Ben,” JJ says. “I’m certain.”

“I know what you’re doing out here,” I say. I hold up the
USB
drive. “This is all the proof I need.”

“But you’re not going anywhere with it,” JJ says. He moves toward me, his hand out. I wait until the right moment, then bring my foot up hard into his groin. He crumples to the floor, unsuccessfully attempting to reintroduce air to his lungs. I feel like kicking him in the head. Like stomping on his face for all that he’s done and all he’ll likely do. For everything he gets away with because of who he is. But I know it would do no good and wouldn’t make me feel any better.

Anyway, I got what I wanted.

I jump over JJ and dart through the house and out the door. Grady is still beneath the window.

“Let’s go!” I say.

We’re halfway to Grady’s car when I hear Joe yell, “What the hell happened to you?”

TWENTY-FOUR

“I never turned it around,” Grady yells as he gets in the driver’s seat.

“There isn’t anywhere
to
turn around,” I say, slamming the passenger door closed. Through the darkness, headlights flare up. They dance around the woods, illuminating the trees and the road and the interior of Grady’s car.

Grady jams the car into reverse, throws an arm over the seat and starts backing down the trail. The
BMW
’s headlights are blinding. Branches bang against the roof. The car heaves along the track, engine squealing. Within seconds the
BMW
is on us, so close I can make out JJ’s angry face behind the steering wheel.

“He’s going to ram us,” I say.

Joe is beside JJ. He has a cigarette trapped between his lips and looks for all the world as if he’s out for a Sunday drive.

“I can’t go any faster,” Grady says. When we break into the open area at the split, Grady cuts hard to the right and spins around in a graceful arc.

JJ flies past, sliding sideways as he brakes hard and comes to a stop in a cloud of dust.

“He’s blocking our way out,” I say. Grady’s eyes are darting all over the place. He drops the car into
drive
and guns it, steering straight toward the
BMW
. “Grady!” I yell. Both cars skid from side to side as they approach one another. At the last second, Grady cuts to the right and slides around the back of the
BMW
, then swerves up a little rise and back onto the track.

“Holy crap,” I say.

Grady steers down the track, bringing the car back under control.

It doesn’t take long for JJ to catch up in the bigger, more powerful
BMW
. We bang out onto the side road in a wash of dirt and dust, headlights flashing all over the place. Two quick turns later and we’re on the highway. Grady accelerates around a U-Haul, cutting off a minivan in the process.

“I won’t be able to outrun a
BMW
in this piece of junk,” he says.

“So what are we going to do?” I say.

Grady keeps checking his side mirror. “We’re okay for a few minutes. He’s stuck behind that U-Haul.” The minivan edges up to pass us, and Grady shifts back into the passing lane to cut him off. The minivan’s horn roars through the open windows. The only way JJ could get to us right now would be to drive on the shoulder.

“We can’t do this all the way back to town,” I say. “Eventually, he’ll be right beside us.”

“I know, I know,” Grady says. “Let me think for a minute.” He keeps checking the mirrors, speeding up and slowing down.

I look at the side mirror and see the
BMW
switching lanes. Grady lets off the gas for a moment, and the U-Haul driver sounds a long horn.

“The old highway comes off the next overpass. You have to drive through Morrisberg to get to it. After that, it’s a straight shot north back into Resurrection Falls.”

“But there isn’t an off-ramp on this side of the road,” I say, as the overpass comes into view.

“No,” Grady says. “There isn’t.” The minivan driver sounds the horn again as Grady’s hand goes to the parking brake between our seats.

“What are you doing?”

“Hold on,” he says. He begins to accelerate, pulling away from the U-Haul and the minivan.

“Grady,” I say. “What are you doing?”

“Sit loose. Don’t get all tense.”

“Why?” I say. “What are you going to do?”

His hand tightens on the parking brake. His eyes are wide, and he seems to be breathing more quickly than necessary.

“Grady?” I say again.

As we drive beneath the shadow of the overpass, Grady yanks the parking brake and turns hard to the left, sliding off the road. We’re heading directly toward a cement stanchion when he releases the brake, cuts hard to the left and swerves around it. We come out onto the other side of the highway in a long sideways slide, weaving in between two cars. Grady works the steering wheel back and forth in an attempt to straighten out. The problem is, we’re driving in the wrong direction on the only highway in the area. It’s late, but not late enough for the road to be empty. He steers back to the shoulder, the rear tires slipping on the loose gravel.

“Grady!” I yell.

The
BMW
is keeping pace with us on the other side of the highway. We reach the off-ramp as a wall of cars crest the rise in the road ahead of us.

Grady’s hand goes to the parking brake again, and the next thing I know we’re doing a one-eighty slide across the road to a chorus of horns, narrowly making it onto the off-ramp. Grady releases the parking brake and straightens the car out while slowing down.

“Where did you learn to drive like that?” I say.

“You don’t want to know.” His hair has flopped to one side, and a trickle of sweat is making its way down his cheek.

“I do,” I say. “Or I wouldn’t have asked.” We cross the overpass, and I can see the lights of the
BMW
as JJ brakes and swerves into the right lane.

“
GTA
,” Grady says.

“The video game?”

“And the
Need for Speed
games too. I drive those on ultra-realistic mode.”

“You’ve never done anything like that before?”