She rolls her eyes and then turns to me. “I understand the terms of our deal. I also understand that there is no way in hell I’d get away with kidnapping that girl. She’d tattle the moment my back was turned. Also, I’d have to kick the kid’s ass for ratting me out, and if you think I’d enjoy that, then you and I have a fundamental misunderstanding of one another. I wouldn’t mind if I had to, but I’m not going to do it for fun. I have other ways to spend my time. More productive ways.”
>
“Like enjoying her husband’s highly talented—” Owen begins.
“You done with the sales pitch?” Cherise says.
Owen’s brows arch. “Sales pitch?”
“Casey doesn’t want to fuck you. I know that comes as a tremendous shock, but I could write you a goddamned letter of recommendation, and it wouldn’t change her mind. Now stop embarrassing yourself. The blonde seems tough enough for you. Maybe she’d like a romp.”
“With him?” Petra says. “No thanks. However, if you’re offering…”
Petra’s trying to throw Cherise off balance, shock her. But Cherise only barks a laugh and says, “Not on the table, sugar. Not right now, anyway. I’m busy negotiating with your friend here.” She turns to me. “I don’t have the girl. I notice you aren’t naming her. Neither am I. We’re both covering our asses in case the other has mistakenly identified the target. I don’t have her. I’m on her trail, though. I was given bad information on her exact whereabouts, but I spotted her this morning. Unfortunately, they were on the other side of the river, which isn’t fully frozen, so I couldn’t cross there and talk to them. I picked up the trail, and I thought we were getting close when my darling husband needed to take a shit.”
“I had cramps.”
“And now we’re further delayed. Also, we’re no longer the only ones tracking her. So here’s my offer, Miss Casey. You can give me half the reward for finding her and setting you on the proper trail. Or we race to the finish line. But if we get to her first, I expect the full reward … or I will take her captive until I get it.”
Petra balks, pointing out that we know who the target is and Cherise didn’t “find” her. Yet Cherise did find out who Abby’s mother is, independent of us, and unlike us, she knows where to pick up the trail. Also, as far as I’m concerned, if half the reward means Owen and Cherise fade into the forest without interfering, it’s worth it. So I agree.
“You said they,” I say. “She wasn’t alone. You saw her with someone this morning?”
“Yep, her and her husband, out looking for their little one.”
Petra’s gaze cuts my way, but I pretend not to see it.
“So you saw this girl…”
“Sidra. Yes, I saw Sidra.”
“And some guy…”
“Her guy. Baptiste. I saw Sidra and Baptiste across the river this morning, and I’d strongly suggest that you set your pup on their trail, because that sky says snow, and their trail isn’t going to last.”
FORTY
Cherise shows us the trail, and I put Storm on it. The trail is a mess, and I can’t help but wonder if we’re being tricked. Whoever walked this way is following in the tracks left by a herd of caribou. The temperature is rising, and it’s got to be above freezing, the sun beating down on a trail through relatively open land, meaning not only are the human prints almost lost among the caribou ones, but they’re all melting into mush. And then it starts to snow, almost as if Cherise called for the skies to open and make it even more impossible to confirm her story.
“Here,” she says, pointing at a clear footprint. “And before you say that’s mine…” She puts her own foot beside it. Hers are about a size bigger. I don’t trust Cherise, but she plays the long game, looking into the future and setting out her pieces for the moves that will ultimately benefit her rather than the ones that’ll fill her pocket at this moment. It’s not in her interests to trick us for one reward when she might be able to parlay this transaction into a long-term relationship.
They leave, and I set Storm on that print, the only one I’m relatively sure comes from Sidra. She snuffles around a bit. Once she’s confident, she starts tracking.
“He lied,” Petra says. “That son of a bitch Baptiste lied. I don’t know how you bought his story, Casey. I’m sorry, but that was dead obvious. First his kid is kidnapped and then his wife? Not even by the same person? I’ll tell you what happened. That hostile woman—Ellen—took Abby for good reason. Those two kids abandoned the baby or they were talking about it or they were just shitty parents. Ellen took Abby and ran. They caught up and shot her, and left their own baby to die in the forest.”
I glance over at her. That’s all I do. Heat rises in her face, and then her jaw sets. “Yes, I find it hard to believe any parent would do that, but as a cop, you know it happens. Even more likely, it was just him. My ex was the ‘maternal’ one in our relationship. Maternal in the traditional, ignorant sense that women are the ‘real’ parents, and the guys are just sperm donors and bottomless wallets. That’s how men are raised. My ex grew up sneaking his sister’s dolls to play with. If his parents caught him, they took them away, terrified it meant he was gay. That’s what we do to little boys, and we do the opposite to little girls who don’t want dolls. The result is that Mom usually is the maternal one, the protective one. How many family annihilators are women?”
“A few,” I say. “But, yes, they’re overwhelmingly men. Your point being, I presume, that you think Baptiste didn’t want this baby. So he tried to get rid of her, shot Ellen, and is now leading us on a wild-goose chase after a fictional kidnapper.”
“You saw his gun. Does it match the murder weapon?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you still think the kid’s telling the truth and Cherise is lying about seeing them together this morning?”
“No, I don’t think Cherise is lying.”
“Mistaken, then?”