Bedlam Page 12

  “Almost ready,” I told Finn. “Kyle’s duffel is next door in my brother’s room.”

  “I’ll carry your suitcase and the food downstairs while you pack up Kyle’s stuff,” he said.

  Jake and Kyle had been about the same size, so I threw a few extra shirts and pairs of jeans into the duffel. Maybe Kyle would like to wear my brother’s clothes. Before zipping the duffel shut, I slipped a childhood photo of Jake and Kyle wearing their Little League uniforms into the bag.

  Finn waited for me in the hall. Without a word, he took the duffel and carried it downstairs to Daisy.

  I pointed at the Chamberlain’s house kitty-corner across the street. “Kyle’s pickup is in the garage. You can follow me to Mrs. B.’s house.”

  “Sure thing.”

  We crossed the street. Finn took the keys from me and wrestled open the garage door. At the sight of the black truck, he frowned. Trailing his hand over the side of the truck bed, he slowly approached the driver’s door.

  He cocked his head and glanced at me. “Valhalla Ranch?”

  “Yeah. Kyle borrowed his friend’s truck for the trip.”

  Finn was silent for a long moment. “I thought Kyle was a city boy,” he said slowly.

  “He is—or he used to be. Early on in the pandemic, Kyle was hitchhiking to Portland after somebody stole his ride. A rancher—Bear—picked him up on I-84 and told him to come to Valhalla if things got bad in the city. Things got very bad in the city. Kyle and his friends headed to Valhalla. Found that it had been taken over by a group of white supremacists. Real bad guys. They were holding Bear prisoner. Kyle and his friends helped Bear take the ranch back from the bad guys. And now they all live there.”

  Finn touched the letters spelling out Valhalla Ranch. “That’s quite an adventure Kyle had.”

  “It is. As soon as Boise is stabilized, he and I are going to Valhalla. Kyle said it’s his home. Bear and his friends there are his family.”

  Finn swung his startled gaze my way, his expression serious. “Mr. Allsop says that you and Kyle are signing on to help him run Boise.”

  Oh, crap. How could I be so stupid? I was so comfortable with Finn that I forgot that he was Mr. Allsop’s man, that he would report back what I said. “Mr. Allsop wants us to stay. He has some idea that because we grew up with Brody—because he knew our parents and our background—that we’re the right kind of people to work with him.”

  “Mr. Allsop has some strong opinions about the right kind of people,” Finn conceded. “But you don’t want to join up?”

  “We want Boise to be safe from the Nampa Boys. We want the Haven back up and running. We want to see law and order restored, so survivors can live in peace and rebuild their lives. That’s what the Allsops are working to achieve, but as soon as we know that Boise is secure, Kyle and I are going to Valhalla.”

  Hands on his hips, Finn stared at the floor, deep in thought.

  “Please don’t tell Mr. Allsop that Kyle and I will be bailing on him. We’ll tell him. I promise. Just not yet.”

  He lifted his head and met my eyes. “You’re asking me to keep a secret from my boss.”

  “I am. I’m sorry to put you in that position.” I faltered. I was asking a good man to compromise his integrity. “If you need to report this to him, I understand. I guess there’s no real reason to keep our decision from him, it’s just that he seems so set on us staying. We want to keep the focus on stopping the Nampa Boys, not the fact that we’re leaving.”

  “I understand,” he said. “Guess it wouldn’t hurt to keep the news from Mr. Allsop, especially since you’ll be telling him eventually.” Despite his assurance, Finn looked troubled, lost in thought. His fingers drummed on the gold lettering on the driver’s door.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

  He ran a palm across his face. “No need. You’re going to Valhalla. Sounds like a fine plan. Can’t say I blame you.”

  His voice sounded wistful. It made sense. He grew up on a farm, and he probably missed it. An idea occurred to me. Finn understood everything required to raise crops and tend livestock. With his work ethic and character, he’d be an asset wherever he settled. Kyle said that Valhalla was a big place, that his friends would welcome Ever and Mrs. B. Maybe they’d have room for a hardworking farm boy.

  “Are you committed to sticking with the Allsops?” I asked. “Maybe you’d like to come to Valhalla with us.”

  A pained expression crossed his face. I’d guessed right. He did miss farm life. “Now that’s a tempting offer. I can’t think of any place I’d rather go, but I have work to do that will keep me here.” He blew out a breath. “But tell you what, when things settle down, I’ll do my best to come to Valhalla.”

  I smiled. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  He opened the driver’s side door. “I’ll meet you at Mrs. B.’s place.”

  I jogged across the street and climbed into Daisy. Finn had already pulled out of the Chamberlain’s driveway. I backed my van onto the road and headed for Mrs. B.’s, Finn following close behind.

  As I was climbing out of the van, the pink front door of Cressida’s Cottage flew open. An agitated Mrs. B.—her silver hair unkempt and her eyes wild—raced down the front walk. She came to a stop, gasping for breath and pressing a hand to her chest.

  Finn parked the pickup, jumped out, and ran over to us.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “It’s Ever.” Mrs. B.’s voice trembled. “She’s missing.”

  SIXTEEN

  Kyle

  One of the Allsop security men opened the door to the war room and stuck his head inside. “Sir, we have a problem.”

  I looked up from the map of Nampa that I was studying.

  Mr. Allsop rose from his chair on the opposite side of the table. “Jonesy, with me.” The two men stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind them.

  Brody and I exchanged glances. “Wonder what that’s about,” he said, arching his brows.

  A minute later, the two men returned.

  “What’s up, Dad?” Brody asked.

  Ignoring his son, Mr. Allsop turned to me. “Sunny’s security detail radioed in.”

  “Did something happen to Sunny?” I interrupted, my stomach clenching.

  “No, Sunny is fine,” Mr. Allsop assured me. “My man reports that they were visiting...” He frowned and glanced at Jonesy. “What was it?”

  “Cressida’s Cottage, sir,” Jonesy said.

  “That’s right, they were visiting Cressida’s Cottage, and learned that the little girl—Ever—is missing.”

  “What?” I jumped to my feet, alarmed. “What happened?”

  “The elderly woman who lives there said that yesterday evening the cat knocked the screen out of the kitchen window. He went outside and hadn’t returned by bedtime,” Mr. Allsop said. “The little girl was distraught and after the old woman went to bed, the girl decided to go search for the cat. She left a note saying that she wouldn’t come home until she found him.”

  Sunny and Mrs. B. must be frantic with worry. “I’ve got to get there,” I said.

  “Jonesy will assemble a search party and drive you to the house. In the meantime, my man has taken your pickup and is scouring the neighborhood looking for the child.”

  “Can you be ready to leave in ten minutes?” Jonesy asked me.

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Meet my team out front.”

  I dragged my hands through my hair. Shit. This was a nightmare. The spunky kid had wormed her way into my heart. If she were lost, or hurt, or taken… all of the horrible possibilities raced through my mind.

  “Don’t worry, son.” I hadn’t noticed Mr. Allsop approach until he spoke. He squeezed my shoulder in a reassuring, fatherly gesture. “My team will find her. After the flu, every child is precious, especially girls. My men won’t rest until they bring her home.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I glanced around the room. “Brody, do you want to come?”

>   “Sure.” He shrugged. “I can help.”

  “I’m going to my room to get my weapon—just in case. I’ll meet you out front.” Without waiting for a reply, I dashed from the war room and up the stairs to the guest suite. Shrugging into the shoulder holster, I patted the magazine carrier, confirming that I had extra ammo. I raced downstairs and met Brody in the driveway. Two black SUVs pulled up. The passenger door on the first slid open, and Brody and I jumped in.

  Twenty minutes later, we parked in front of Cressida’s Cottage. Sunny and Mrs. B. sat on the front porch, holding hands. Sunny leapt to her feet and ran to me. Sliding my arms around her waist, I held her close.

  “I can’t...” she whispered. “If anything happens to Ever… I just can’t.”

  “I know, Sunshine, but we’ll find her and bring her home. I won’t rest until she’s back where she belongs.” I’d experienced enough to understand that it was a promise I had no business making, but it was one I wouldn’t allow myself to break. Whatever it took, I’d find Ever, even if it meant searching every house and looking under every bush in the whole damned city.

  “I want to help.” Sunny’s face was pale, and her chin trembled.

  “I know you do,” I said gently. “I think that the best thing you can do right now is to keep Mrs. B. company. Look at her.” I pointed. Mrs. B.’s fists were clenched over her stomach, and she rocked back and forth in her chair, her lips moving as she talked to herself, or maybe prayed. “She shouldn’t be alone.”

  “You’re right. Mrs. B. needs me. I’ll take her inside and make her ‘a nice cuppa’ like she always says.”

  “Good. And who knows, maybe Ever will surprise us all by coming back home on her own, Fitzwilliam in her arms.”

  “Oh, Fitzwilliam came home this morning. Pleased as punch with himself. According to Mrs. B., he sauntered across the yard with a mouse in his mouth.”

  “If only Ever had waited,” I said.

  “Yeah, if only she’d waited.”

  “I gotta go,” I said firmly, stepping back from Sunny. “Take Mrs. B. inside for a cup of tea. I’ll check in later.”

  “Okay. Good luck.” Sunny whirled around and returned to the porch. One arm thrown protectively around the older woman’s shoulders, Sunny escorted Mrs. B. back into the house.

  Jonesy appeared at my side. He unfolded a map of Boise—who would’ve guessed that paper maps would ever again be a thing—and pointed to a star that indicated our location. “Instead of teams, we’re splitting up and going out individually, so we can cover more ground before it gets dark.” That made sense. “We’ll check every house and every yard on every street, working our way out from this location. You’ll take a crowbar, in case you need to break into a place. Each man will carry a radio and check in with me once an hour.” His finger sketched a rectangle on the map. “This is you.”

  I memorized the street names in my search zone, grabbed a crowbar and two-way radio from the back of the SUV, and took off at a jog. The first house was only a quarter mile away. I checked the yard first, looking behind every bush and inside every outbuilding before approaching the house. The place had been ransacked, and the front door stood open. Gun in hand, I stalked through the house, calling Ever’s name. Unless she was hiding from someone, it was unlikely that Ever would take refuge in an abandoned house. But on the off chance that she had been injured and crawled away to safety, I’d search every damned house on my list.

  One frustrating hour passed. I checked in with Jonesy, who reported that none of the searchers were having any luck. During the second hour, I turned a corner and approached a house with a swing set and a child’s inflatable pool in the backyard. The pool stood upright, its three plastic rings full of air. How likely was it that the pool had been baking in the sun all summer without deflating? Child-sized pink and lavender shirts and shorts hung on a clothesline, along with adult-sized bras, panties, and a nightgown.

  The back of my neck prickled. Was somebody alive in the house? Somebody with a kid whose clothes needed to be laundered? What were the odds that both a parent and child would survive the pandemic? Brody and Mr. Allsop were the only ones I’d heard of. And Sahdev had told us that women never recovered from the flu. The clothing appeared to belong to both a little girl and a woman. Something was off here.

  I hopped over the short picket fence surrounding the backyard and approached the clothesline. If the clothes had been hanging there since the outbreak of the flu, the sun would have bleached the colors, and they’d be coated with dust stirred up by the wind. Instead, the pinks and purples were still vibrant. I rubbed the woman’s panties between my fingers. The fabric was soft, supple, and freshly laundered. The clothes hadn’t been baking in the blistering Boise sun for months.

  Somebody was alive inside the house.

  I crept up to the patio and peered through the sliding glass door into the family room. Nobody was in sight.

  All right. Think.

  What would a person do if she saw a stranger lurking outside the house, spying through the windows? Freak out. Grab a gun. If there was a survivor inside the house, I didn’t want to scare her or goad her into attacking me in a misguided sense of self-defense. A direct approach might be better.

  I prowled around to the front of the house, marched up to the door, and tapped the old-fashioned knocker against the wooden surface. Nothing. Not a sound came from inside. I repeated the action and again was met with silence.

  “Hello! Is anybody there?” I pounded on the door with my fist. I waited for thirty seconds. Still nothing. “I have a crowbar. I’m coming in to check the place out for survivors. We have a missing child, too, who might be hiding. If somebody’s in there, I mean no harm. I’m here to help.”

  I pried the front door away from the frame, then carefully pushed it open. Taking one cautious step inside the house, I swept my gaze over the hall and living room. The Haven’s scavengers hadn’t been here. There was no X spray-painted on the front door. And the place hadn’t been tossed by looters. It looked neat and orderly, the hardwood entry swept clean. An entry table held a collection of those Precious Moments figurines that my great-aunt Beverly collected, all free of dust and grime. Through an arched doorway I spied a tidy kitchen. A full glass of an orange-colored drink sat on the counter next to a plate of crackers and an open jar of peanut butter.

  Somebody was here.

  “I mean you no harm,” I repeated. “I’m working with the Allsop Corporation. We’re here to help. We’re making a list of all the survivors in town, and we’re working to make the city safe again.”

  A woman’s narrow face peeked out from the entry to the kitchen.

  “I don’t need any help from a pervert,” she declared, her voice wavering.

  My head reared back. Did she just call me a pervert?

  “Ma’am?”

  “I saw you fondling my panties on the clothesline.”

  The sheer absurdity of the accusation stopped me in my tracks. Jesus. I don’t get off on fingering strange women’s panties.

  “Don’t try to deny it. I saw you with my own eyes.”

  “Ma’am,” I said again, with as much dignity as I could muster. “I was trying to figure out if the clothes on the line were recently washed, or if they’d been hanging outside for months.”

  She sniffed, a sound that conveyed both skepticism and disdain.

  A thump from upstairs brought me back to the matter at hand. “Are you here alone?” I asked, glancing up the stairs.

  “My daughter is in her bedroom,” she said. “She’s been sick, and I won’t have her disturbed by the likes of you.”

  The thump sounded again, and she took a step into the front hall. A gaunt woman with dirty hair and dark circles under her eyes, she faced me defiantly. From behind her back, she pulled a pistol. She pointed the gun at me, her hand shaking. “Get out of my house,” she ordered.

  Well, crap. Still holding the crowbar, I raised my hands. “I’m here to help,” I said again.r />
  On the floor above us, a series of thuds erupted.

  “Sophia,” the woman cried, worry filling her voice. She dashed to the bottom of the stairs, turning her back to me, concern for Sophia overriding her paranoia about my intentions.

  I sprang forward, taking advantage of the distraction. No way I’d hit the woman with the crowbar. Instead, I dropped it to the entry floor and tackled her, shoving her face-down onto the stairs. She bucked beneath me, her frenzied desperation lending her an unlikely strength. I locked my fingers around her narrow wrist.

  “Sophia,” she howled. “Hide. Hide from the bad man.”

  Bad man. Pervert. What a shit show. What must the poor kid be thinking? The situation had gone totally off the rails.

  I planted a knee in her back. “Drop the gun,” I snarled in her ear.

  “Sophia,” the woman shrieked, ignoring my command.

  “Drop the gun, dammit.”

  Jesus, why wouldn’t she let go? Jaw set, I twisted the pistol from her hand and tucked it in the waistband of my jeans. I might have her weapon, but the fight hadn’t gone out of the woman. She kicked and threw her head back, thwacking my nose.

  Shit, that hurt.

  Eyes stinging, I seized both of her wrists and leaned forward, pressing my full weight onto her. She gasped for breath.

  “You done?” I demanded.

  “Sophia,” she whimpered.

  “I’m not going to hurt Sophia,” I growled. I pulled her arms behind her back, clamping one hand around her wrists. “We’re getting up.” I dragged her to her feet and shoved her forward. We stumbled up the stairs, pausing on the landing. I swiveled my head, examining the layout of the second floor. Two hallways branched off from the landing; the one to the right had three closed doors, the one to the left had four.

  First things first. I needed to make sure that the woman couldn’t attack me again. “Where’s your bedroom?” I asked. She had to have a belt or scarf in her closet that I could use to bind her hands. She tilted her head at the first door on the right. “Let’s go.” We shuffled toward the room. I opened the door and pushed her inside, glancing around the gloomy interior. My gaze traveled over a bed and dresser before landing on another closed door. That had to be the closet.