“Okay. So we can stand on Bardstown Road and shout, ‘Rachel.’ What if she changed her plans? What if she stopped home in Upton?”

  “No, no. There’s more.”

  “Did you take the phone?”

  “I did.”

  “They can track that.”

  “I tossed it. Maybe the cops won’t know the girl’s in Louisville, but we will.”

  “Okay. You said there’s more.”

  Yates felt a flush of pride color his face. “I looked on the girl’s social media pages. That was easy. And she has this friend in Louisville. A chick named Rachel Berger. From the same hometown, Upton. And her address is 1919 Humboldt Road. See? I’ve practically handed it to you.”

  Hogan lit the cigarette, and Yates felt relieved. He was getting sick of watching the cigarette dangle from the other man’s mouth unlit. And he figured that lighting the cigarette meant Hogan was happy.

  “You figured all that out, huh?”

  “Yeah. I was hoping to make up for my . . . you know, overzealousness.”

  “I don’t know if you can do that.”

  “Look, I’ll go up to Louisville. I’ll find the girl at this Rachel’s house. I’ll take care of what you asked me to take care of. I’ll get her to the family.”

  “Or Rachel will be dead just for opening her door.”

  “Come on. Give me a chance. I look young enough to blend in with young people. You said that.”

  Hogan studied him, squinted. The clouds were shifting, more sunlight returning. “Maybe.”

  “You know I can.”

  Hogan puffed away. Some of the hard lines disappeared from his face, making him seem a little younger. He flicked the ash into the grass. “You sit tight for now. Don’t do anything until you hear from me.”

  “How will you contact me?”

  “The usual way.” Hogan pulled up his sleeve and looked at his watch. “But I may not need you anymore. In the meantime, lay low. And I mean very, very low. The cops are lit up about this murder. They’re dying to arrest someone.”

  “What about the cop? The dad.”

  “What about him?”

  “Can anybody get to him?”

  “Why are you asking that?”

  “I just figure if you’re tracking his daughter, it must trace back to the cop.”

  “Forget the cop. Ex-cop. Just forget about him.”

  “If you say so . . . I was just thinking—”

  “Please, don’t do that. It’s dangerous.”

  “I know about the business the family is in. I understand that. It would make sense if they wanted to hurt this cop somehow. Or any cop who must have busted them.”

  Hogan held his index finger in the air. “You need to be careful about supposing things when it comes to the family. And their motives. It’s not ever going to be what you think. Okay? Just push them out of your mind. This is way more complicated than you understand.”

  Yates tried to push harder. He didn’t know if it would help to lift him out of the hole he was in. Or dig the hole deeper. It was time to try. “I’ve been to the farm. I know what goes on there—”

  “Once. You were there once.”

  “—and they trusted me to do this job, so I feel like I’m involved. I have something on the line. And if the police were to track me down, I could easily tell them—”

  “Like I said”—Hogan raised the finger again—“put thoughts of the family and their farm out of your head. It’s best for everyone that way.”

  “I want this to work out the best for everyone.” Yates felt a little better, like he had seized back some of the power in the dynamic with Hogan. It was always good to remind him of what Yates knew. “Don’t you?”

  Hogan studied him for a moment, his brow wrinkling. That made him look older again, definitely on the high side of fifty. The age seemed to settle on him, and it made Yates feel better, like he was getting a clearer fix on the guy. He hated when Hogan’s age slipped around, when he couldn’t tell exactly what or who he was dealing with.

  Hogan looked like he’d reached a decision, accepted something about Yates. Maybe he’d just decided that Yates was going to be around for a little while, was going to be part of this now that the waters were muddied as they were.

  “I do.” Hogan smacked the paper against his own thigh, flicked the burning cigarette away. “And you need to wish for the same thing. Okay?”

  Hogan didn’t look back as he walked off.

  17

  As Avery pulled into the driveway, Alisha came out the door, her younger child in her right arm. The same old house—her dad’s house with his new family—looked smaller every time she came, the white paint dingier, the roof more worn. Weeds grew in the unmulched flower beds on either side of the front door.

  “Are you trying to stop me from going in?” Avery asked.

  “Of course not. I’m glad you’re here. Even a little surprised.”

  “I’m trying to help. It shouldn’t be so shocking.”

  “No, no.”

  Avery wasn’t sure who Alisha spoke to. Her kid, Eliza, had taken hold of a fistful of Alisha’s hair and was twisting it in her tiny hand.

  “No,” Alisha said again.

  That time Avery felt that her sister was speaking to her niece. Eliza unclutched the hair and stuck her fingers in her mouth.

  “Can you say hi to Aunt Avery?”

  Eliza looked away, buried her face in Alisha’s hoodie.

  Same, kid. Same. Avery never knew what to say to children, lacked the gift of speaking in a funny voice or making an appropriate face. Anyone under the age of sixteen might as well be an alien beamed down to earth, because Avery lacked the ability to communicate with them.

  “What’s going on here in Funville?” Avery asked.

  “Dad just talked to the detective down in Breckville. What’s his name? Morris?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Anyway, I guess this is good news. They made a thorough examination of the apartment, and it looks like Anna might have packed to go away. Did you know she’s kind of a slob?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Okay. Easy. So, if she just went away, that’s good.”

  “Or something happened to her, like what happened to Kayla.”

  Alisha smoothed a loose hair on Eliza’s head, stepped toward Avery, and placed her hand on her sister’s biceps. She lowered her voice. “Was it awful? I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks. I’m okay.” The image of Kayla tucked into the bed, head turned to the wall, skin pale and cool as marble, would linger for a long time. No shortcut existed to scrubbing certain pictures from the mind. “How are things inside?”

  “Oh, yeah. That.” Alisha looked back at the house, ran her hand through her hair. “Well, he’s been drinking. And taking his pain pills.”

  “So, situation normal all fucked up.”

  “Something like that. Look, Avery, he’s so around the bend about Anna. Earlier today, he came hobbling outside, using the walker, with his gun sticking out of his pocket. He was convinced a car parked up the street was someone coming to assassinate him. He thinks Anna’s been murdered or kidnapped, and they’re going to call and use her as bait to get him.”

  “I could have predicted all of that. But you seem to have an agenda. Spit it out.”

  Eliza tugged Alisha’s hair again. “Ow, baby. Stop.” She pried the little fist loose. “I know it’s difficult for you to come here. It’s been . . . a while. He’s agitated enough.”

  “Christ, Alisha. I drove an hour to be with the family. After finding a murdered girl this morning. Can you give me a little bit of a break? And some fucking credit?”

  “What does ‘fucking’ mean?” Eliza asked.

  Alisha’s eyes widened. “It’s a grown-up word, sweetie.” She looked at Avery and mouthed, Thanks.

  Avery shrugged. She didn’t feel like apologizing. To anyone.

  Alisha said, “It’s been years since we’ve all been on the same page in this family. Years. Since before . . .”

  “Since before Dad met and married the Dragon Lady.”

  “Avery. We all want the same thing. Okay? We all want Anna to be safe.”

  “Where is Aunt Anna?” Eliza asked.

  Alisha kissed her daughter on the top of the head. “She’s not here right now.”

  “I love Aunt Anna.”

  “We all do, hon. We all do.” She turned her attention to Avery. “Last night, you blew me off when I asked you to check on Anna. The hardest no, you said. But you went to her apartment this morning.”

  “So?”

  “So, I know you care,” Alisha said. “You big softie.”

  “Can we go inside before I puke?”

  “Aunt Avery’s going to puke, Mommy.”

  “She might if we’re too nice to her.”

  Avery followed them to the door. Before they went inside, Alisha turned back.

  “Just be aware . . . things have changed since the last time you saw them.”

  18

  The house smelled musty, like it had been closed for too long.

  As always, every blind and curtain was shut, making the house feel like a mausoleum.

  Alisha’s warning about things changing served Avery well. She noticed right away the scattered newspapers, the stained carpet. Every flat surface was covered with magazines or junk mail or soda cans. Potato chips littered one section of the carpet near the disordered sofa.

  A TV played at a jet-engine decibel level. A news channel Avery hated. A red-faced anchor brayed about rising crime and lost liberty.

  Alisha found the remote on the coffee table with her free hand and mercifully muted the TV. “Chelsea is sleeping, and I need to get this one down too. Jane?” She moved toward the door to the kitchen. “Jane? Dad?”

  Avery looked around. The arrangement of the furniture remained the same. The artificial light cast a sickly yellow glow on the walls.

  Something tightened around Avery’s neck, like a choke collar. She started to find it hard to breathe. Like her air was slowly being closed off.

  Like she was underwater. Flailing.

  Jane emerged from the kitchen. “Oh. Oh, I see. It’s Avery.” She wore a pink robe, loosely belted at her waist, and dingy white socks. Her graying hair was pulled back, and her eyes looked slightly sunken. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here.”

  “Hi, Jane.”

  “I wish you girls had told me you were coming. I was going to pick up.”

  Alisha placed her hand on Jane’s upper arm. “You don’t have to clean. It’s okay. I can help you with that later.”

  “You’re the only person who ever picks up here. Your dad can’t do it anymore.”

  “It’s fine, Jane. Where’s Dad?”

  “He was . . . I mean, he was right here. . . . I’m not sure. We heard you girls coming in. . . .”

  The pressure on Avery’s throat eased a little. A delay in coming face-to-face with him again. She was putting off the inevitable.

  “Why don’t you sit, Avery? Do you want something?”

  “I’m okay.”

  Jane clutched her robe, gathered the two halves tighter across her chest. She was still nearly as tall as Alisha. “Avery, honey, was it awful? In that apartment? Honey, are you sure Anna wasn’t in there?”

  Avery tried to reconcile the scared, shaken woman before her with the home-wrecking monster she had considered her to be when she was younger. The two pictures didn’t fit together. “I’m sure. And the police looked as well. They’re very thorough.”

  “Avery, I was just telling Alisha that Anna’s friend called us. Eric. You know, that kid who’s been in love with Anna since they were in high school? He lives in Louisville now.”

  “Where was he last night?” Avery asked.

  “Well . . .” Jane searched for the answer. “I guess I don’t know.”

  “It’s okay,” Avery said. “Why did he call?”

  “He can’t get ahold of Anna either. And he’s worried.” Jane looked at Alisha and then behind her, like she wanted to make sure no one else heard. “I talked to him, instead of your father. Thank God.”

  “What did he say?” Alisha asked. “I thought he was just checking on her.”

  “Yes, that. He said Anna might be going up to Louisville, but he wasn’t sure. He also said . . . he said he’s heard that Anna was drinking a lot. And partying. And . . . other things.”

  “Other things?” Avery asked. “Like what?”

  Alisha’s brow furrowed. “We’re all adults, Avery.”

  “You can imagine,” Jane said.

  “I hope it’s true,” Avery said. “She’s a young woman. I hope someone is having some fun.”

  “Avery. Please?” Alisha said.

  “I’m just thinking of Kayla’s parents, what they’re going through,” Jane said. “Someone told them, right?”

  “Someone told them, Jane,” Alisha said. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “To lose a child. To have your child taken away . . . so violently . . . And that lunatic is running around, maybe hurting other girls. Or spying on them. I was going to pick up the house a little.”

  “You don’t need to do that. Would you like to go with me while I check on Chelsea and put Eliza down?”

  “Yes, I would. Do you mind?”

  “No, I’d like it.”

  Alisha took Jane by the arm and gently guided her down the hall, leaving Avery alone in the living room. She stood with her hands folded in front of her. She watched the muted TV anchor rage on the screen.

  Family photos, framed and faded, still hung on the wall. Avery hadn’t seen them in years, and she couldn’t resist looking.

  She and Alisha posing together as kids, wearing matching clothes. Anna in a few school shots, gap-toothed and braided. Dad, Jane, and Anna in a portrait.

  Avery knew Jane valued those photos more than anything. Within the first year of their living in that house—while Alisha and Avery were still in Florida with their mom—there was a small fire, which destroyed most of Anna’s baby pictures. Jane treated the photos that remained, and the ones taken since, like holy relics. She tried very hard to make everything seem normal. She never could, but she tried.

  Avery’s eyes landed on the photo she remembered best—her dad in uniform.

  Since the day that photo had gone up in their home, when Avery was five or six, she’d been studying that image. Her dad, with a full head of hair, standing before an American flag. Badge shining, every button bright. He looked trim and strong, a force to be reckoned with. Avery hadn’t read comic books or watched movies about superheroes. She had lived with one.

  Avery had decided that far back that she wanted to be like him. Once she had even brought the photo to school for show-and-tell or career day or something—she couldn’t remember which. But she remembered telling the class she was going to be a police officer like her dad. And the whole class applauded.

  Whenever she’d told her dad, he always responded, “That’s right.”

  For so long, it was. Right. An easy star to guide one’s life by.

  Until the day everything went wrong.

  19

  It happened on a Tuesday afternoon in February.

  The call came over the radio: 10-46. Accident with injury.

  Avery operated out of KSP Post Three in Bowling Green. The dispatcher added additional information: vehicle off road at mile marker thirty-three. Northbound.

  Avery was close, just five miles away. She responded 10-96. En route.

  Traffic was light. The interstate there cut through cattle farms, gently rolling hills with trees in the distance. Avery reached the scene, saw tire tracks leading off the interstate, a gaping hole in the barrier fence.

  A burgundy vehicle bobbing in the dark water of a small pond.

  “Shit. Fuck.”

  Avery flicked on her lights, pulled to the berm, skidded to a stop. She checked in quickly from the scene, requesting backup. Vehicle in water. Passengers inside.

  Avery climbed out, ran to the pond. Two civilians stood on the edge of the water. It was cold but not freezing. About forty degrees. Avery’s equipment jangled and creaked as she ran. She stumbled over a rock, partially turning her ankle.

  “Damn it.”

  By the time she reached the water, the vehicle was almost submerged. How deep is this fucking thing?

  “They went flying past me and off the road.” The one guy wore a feed cap and heavy work boots. The man next to him, who wore a long wool coat and dress shoes, took two steps away from the water. “I think there’s a kid in back. Maybe two.”

  “Shit.”

  The man looked at Avery. Waiting. Expectant. “Well?”

  Avery dropped her belt, gun, baton, handcuffs, all on the muddy ground. She kept the flashlight to smash the windows. No time to remove her heavy shoes.

  She stepped in. The freezing water stung her legs, even through her pants.

  She felt like she’d swallowed water. Choking—an iron fist of fear around her neck. Cutting off her air. She swore she had smelled chlorine stronger than the rich odor of mud and brackish water.

  All in. Just go all in.

  Just like Dad said—dive in. All at once. That’s the only way.

  Avery stepped in up to her knees. The water around the edges of the vehicle bubbled and hissed. Her feet felt like frozen blocks.

  A child. Maybe two.

  Sirens approached. Still far away. It was on her. If you wore the uniform, sometimes it all landed on you to do something.

  Avery swallowed. I’m going to die. Just accept it—I’m going to die.

  This is how my life will end.

  She took two quick steps forward and dove, hands out, body flat. She splashed, disappeared under the surface of the water.