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“Tell me where you are. I’m going to send someone to sit with you, to keep you safe, until you’re ready to decide if you want to report it.”
“No one would believe me.”
“After what we learned today, they will.”
Silence hung until finally she whispered, “Okay.”
They ended the call after Wes got the information he needed. He tapped a message on his phone, then rubbed her shoulder. “Baby, you okay?”
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. “No.”
“We’re going to do whatever it takes to safely get Matt. Then we deal with everything else later.”
She nodded, wiping the tears away. “Thank you for doing all of this with me. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You absolutely could have. But then I wouldn’t be part of your lives, and you and Matt wouldn’t be so important to mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Bailey barely slowed to a stop and let Wes out. By the time she checked her rearview mirror, he’d already disappeared into the thorn-bush and kudzu overgrowth near the Cosgrove property.
It took her only a moment to reach the main gate, and with trembling hands, she entered her code. The gate slowly opened, as if warning her to stay away. Each second crawled by. Her nerves jackhammered, worsening as she drove onto the property. Of all the times she’d driven up this driveway, of all the times she thought this place might suck the life out of her, Bailey had never known how bad it could be.
“Keep it together,” she told herself. Angus and Erick didn’t know what she’d seen. They could only guess, and she would make sure they believed her lies. “Everything will be all right.”
She parked under the portico. Angus opened the door as he had the night she’d found the lipstick message scrawled on her bathroom mirror. Erick had sat by her side, discussing the threats, and the entire time, he was the threat. Everything had been Erick. Her sister. Somehow, Ryan. She didn’t know how he pulled everything off, but she had zero doubt.
Bailey closed her car door behind her, refusing to wither under Angus’s ire.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he demanded.
“Where’s Matt?”
He slammed his palm between her shoulder blades to hurry her along. “Get inside.”
She stumbled. “What is going on?”
He slammed the door. “Go into the living room.”
“Fine. Fine. Stop rushing me. God, what is happening?” Kimbra, Martin, and Peter spoke quietly near a baby grand piano, each with glasses of scotch. No Erick. Her stomach tumbled. “Where is Matt?”
They turned. Each frowned as though she’d disturbed their day. Bailey didn’t know why she hadn’t seen it before. Martin and Peter had the same cold eyes as Erick. The same heartless expressions of the people she’d podcasted about and studied. They were cold, calculating killers. They did it for sport. Because of illness. God only knew why.
And right then, their callous stares looked at her like she was a problem that had to be taken care of.
But Kimbra and Angus? Bailey didn’t understand their part—and she didn’t care. “Where is my son? I’m not going to ask again.”
Angus swept by and picked up his scotch. “Sit down.”
She had to pretend she knew nothing. She had to be angry that they had Matt, not that they were the center of a fucked-up murder club. Oh, God. The club. Erick’s involvement in a museum. Nausea swept over her.
“We know where you were,” Martin said. “All of this time, all your snooping, and you finally figured something out. You should be proud of yourself.”
Pretend you know nothing. “I found a key. So what?”
Kimbra joined Angus on the couch. “And a location.”
“I found an address and a key while going through Ryan’s belongings. What does that have to do with Matt?” No one spoke. This wasn’t working. How could she twist the narrative? “Did you know?”
