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“I assure you, I haven’t,” I said. I was done covering for this man. “Get up, Mr. Bell. It’s time your kids knew what you’re putting them through.”

“What are you talking about?” Landon asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Your dad has been able to walk for at least a couple of weeks. He’s not as dependent on you and Geneva as he wants you to believe.”

“She’s crazy,” Kevin said. “Landon, I told you not to let her into my house.”

“Mercy,” Landon said, his expression tortured. “You realize how you sound.”

“I’m telling you. The man can walk. I saw him hauling garbage totes down the driveway. I don’t know what his game is. Insurance fraud? Emotional blackmail? Whatever it is, you’re not being fair to your kids, Mr. Bell.”

“How dare you?” Kevin shouted, then immediately collapsed into a fit of coughing. “I don’t feel well. Landon, help me back to my room. I begged you two not to let this woman into our lives. I told you it would only cause grief. Where’s Geneva? Landon, tell me the truth. Where’s my little girl?”

Kevin started to weep. Landon rushed to his side then knelt before his father, comforting him. When Landon looked at me again, pain and contempt filled his eyes.

“You need to go,” he said. “Don’t come back here. You’ve done enough damage.”

It was no use. Landon couldn’t let himself believe his own father had betrayed him. He wasn’t ready. I pushed myself through the front door and slammed it behind me, taking Geneva’s iPad with me.

But something was wrong. Very wrong. I knew in my soul that I had to find Geneva before she disappeared for good.

Chapter

Thirty-Four

By the time I made it back to the office just after five, it had been taken over completely by Holland and two members of the Northern Michigan Violent Crimes Task Force. Dan glared at me when I walked in.

“You went over there, didn’t you? You know I didn’t want you to.”

“You didn’t ask me not to,” I said. “Geneva is my client and she doesn’t trust you. She wouldn’t have even opened the door for you.”

A woman with platinum gray hair came out of my conference room. She flashed me her FBI credentials. “Ms. Gale? I’m Special Agent Karen Maven. I cannot thank you enough for the incredible work you’ve done on this case. I’ve just been getting myself up to speed with your father. You understand you’ve managed to do something we’ve spent over a decade and hundreds, if not thousands, of man-hours trying to accomplish?”

She had a copy of The Traveler’s Guide in her hand.

“I’ve just been trying to protect Geneva Bell. And that’s the thing that should be at the forefront of everyone’s mind right now. I’m deeply concerned she might be in danger.”

Karen’s expression turned grave. She invited me into my own conference room but had the decency to apologize for doing so. Dad was camped out at one end of the table drinking coffee. It was after five, but I wasn’t going to lecture him about how that impacted his sleep in front of all these people.

“What’s going on?” Karen asked.

As briefly as I could, I explained what happened at Geneva’s house. “I don’t trust her father,” I said. “It bothers me that he’s been lying about his mobility issues. Whether that has anything to do with the greater investigation, I have no clue.”

“But you said Geneva behaved like this in the past,” Mac said. “She’s just flown the coop without warning before.”

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sorry, but a big reason for that was because of you, Detective.” I leveled a stare at Holland. “Geneva felt she was being persecuted.”

“Dan,” Karen quickly interjected, seeing her colleague’s hardening facial expression. “Nobody’s blaming anyone for anything. We’ve always just worked with the information in front of us. Ms. Gale, although I didn’t share Detective Holland’s suspicions about Geneva, some of them were well founded. She was less than forthcoming in those years. And now, by your own admission, we find out she withheld a critical detail about what happened that night. A detail that now very strongly points to the conclusion that Derrek Sidney had an accomplice who might still be out there.”

“There have been multiple copycat killings in the intervening years.” Another gruff-looking cop walked into the room. He introduced himself as Wendall Kincaid from the US Marshals Service.

“You think those are Geneva’s fault?” I said.

“Stop,” Karen said. I could see why she found herself as the leader of this group. She seemed good at handling egos. “No one is saying that. Are we, gentlemen?”

“No,” Kincaid quickly responded. Dan gave some sort of grunt that we were supposed to take as assent.

“Do you have any idea where Geneva might have gone?” Karen asked.