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I was almost too deep into my own research to notice the text.
It had hit me like a flash in Sloan’s office. And the more I read, the more it made sense.
Jean Rodriguez would be about Laney’s age, maybe a year younger. He had behavioral problems even as a young kid and had been diagnosed with severe emotional instability. The file didn’t actually call him a sociopath, but it definitely implied it.
Martin had protected Jean his whole life. When Jean began to act out, Martin used most of his money to pay for top care for Jean. Martin’s wife, Melissa, tried to help the best she could, and between the two of them they managed to keep Jean in check.
Around Jean’s fifteenth birthday, he caught and murdered a neighbor’s cat. He did some time in juvenile detention for that, but only a month. Martin got him out early.
Two years later, he got into an incident at school. Apparently, he had savagely attacked and brutally beaten another school boy over a girl. The details were pretty weak, but he managed to avoid jail time.
After that Martin put Jean in a special school for kids with emotional problems.
Martin did an amazing job protecting his son. I barely knew much about Jean, and I had never bothered to research him before. I knew he had issues, but I didn’t know the extent of his problems. Martin never talked about him, and he clearly went out of his way to try to keep Jean out of anyone’s mind.
Martin was Jean’s biggest advocate and most powerful protector.
When Martin died, Jean graduated from the school. Without Martin’s steady hand to guide him and the money he brought in, Jean was left in Melissa’s care. And Melissa simply wasn’t equipped like Martin was to handle him. Plus, she was working full time to support her other, younger children.
Jean didn’t stand a damn chance.
It was a tragic story. It was a story I should have been more familiar with. I should have known what was happening, should have been there. Martin had buried it so well that it took murders to dredge Jean’s story up. Plus, I was too busy wallowing in my own fucking self-pity to notice that shit. I vowed to help take care of Martin’s family as best I could.
But I was going to catch and put Jean away for a very, very long time.
I only noticed the phone buzz because I was thinking about calling Melissa and checking to see if she knew where Jean was.
Of course, once I saw the message from Laney, I didn’t need to make that call anymore.
It hit me like a knife in the chest. I’m here. Come get me. It’s Jean Rodriguez, he’s the killer. And the location was right there.
I opened it up in my maps app. She was just outside town, surprisingly near where Luisa had been found.
I stood, rage flowing through me, and grabbed my gun. I was out and in the car, my engine revving, before I even realized what I was doing.
It was like a year ago all over again. Except now I was Martin, ready to charge into danger alone.
The thought hit me square in the chest.
But as far as I knew, Sloan didn’t believe that Laney was missing. Then again, the text was pretty conclusive. Or at least it would be enough for him to send some troopers with me to check out the location.
Still, I didn’t know how much time she had. I didn’t know how she had gotten her phone, if she was unharmed, or what. The faster I got to her, the more likely it was that she’d be safe.
Or, I could get there and get both of us killed.
I had the biggest decision of my life. I was given a second chance to try to do it right, but I couldn’t make up my mind.
I was torn. I needed to move, to save time, but I also needed backup.
My hands on my phone, I began to drive.
27
Laney
Alone in the dark, floating in space.
I heard Jean stomping around upstairs some more. I didn’t understand what he meant by the meth comment, or what had happened upstairs, but I knew that I was incredibly lucky. If he had been distracted a moment later, or if he hadn’t kept my phone in his pants, or any number of other possibilities, I’d likely be dead already.
Instead, Easton knew where I was. I had gotten a message out to him, and he’d come.
Hope bloomed weakly inside me.
Again time passed. Hours, minutes, I couldn’t tell. I could only hear my breathing and Jean’s footsteps upstairs.
Then, abruptly, his steps stopped. There was only my breath, the darkness.
More time passed. My hope warred with my fear for control of my mind.
And suddenly the light again, blinding. Jean descended the stairs.
“I’m back, sweetie,” he said. “Sorry about that.”
I cowered in the corner.
“Took me longer than I thought. Lucky we’re not dead, actually.” He crouched down in front of the cage again, laughing. “Damn lab almost took off half the house.” He shook his head, smiling.
