“So that was a lie somebody told David: about the prisoners you’d told you wanted to kill me.”
“What?” he scoffed. And didn’t bother to state the obvious: that was part of the setup too. To support the claim that he was in fact murderous.
Merritt slicked back his thinning blond hair, and his face deflated. “Then I made my mistake. Oh, man, did I screw up. I paid Ryan again—this time to help me find you. He says sure. And what does that prick do?”
Shaw said, “Called up the triggermen and whoever hired them and cut a deal. You gave Ryan the leads you’d found, and he sent them right to the killers. And whentheyfound a lead, Ryan sent it to you.”
“That’s right. He didn’t have any quote ‘contacts’ in the county, like he promised me. It was those two.” An angry nod toward where Suit and Jacket waited atop the hill in front of the cabin. “I thought you might go to a women’s shelter. Ryan told them. They went to check it out. Thank God, you weren’t at any of them. Who knows what they would have done to the staff?
“And they were the ones that saw Han’s selfie and figured out about the motel. They told Ryan. He told me. I was heading up there when you got away.”
Bitterness flooded his face. “I might as well’ve been texting the triggermen directly.” Then a shake of the head. “I found the name Frank Villaine and thought that might be a lead. Could Ryan find the address? He did and gave it to those two, as well as me. He hoped the murders would go down there. But you were gone.”
Hell of a coordinated plan, Shaw reflected, wondering again who was behind it.
Merritt gave a grim laugh. “And finally... finally, I got it that something was wrong. They needed to get me to where they’d tracked you down—for the murder-suicide—at Timberwolf. But how did Ryan’s contacts know you were there?
“Just didn’t seem right. I went up there but stayed out of sight. I saw them burning the camper. And I saw you escape. And just after that, she got there.” A nod toward the front, where Donohue’s body lay. “The guy in the suit handed her an envelope. I went after you on foot. Then I got a text from Ryan, some bullshit about your being spotted in the cabin here by local police or somebody. Of course, the truth was the triggermen’d found you and told him where. I slipped around them and came through the woods from the north.”
Shaw asked, “And no idea who put out the contract?”
“No. Ryan said he tried, but—bullshit. He lied and took my money.” Merritt gazed toward his ex-wife. “So why? Why would somebody want you dead? All I could think was it was some project you’re involved with at HEP.”
Parker grew thoughtful. “Well, I’m the only one who could finish the fuel rod containment vessel on schedule. To find somebody else and bring them up to speed, the Pocket Suns’d be delayed at least a year. That might be the end of the company.”
Colter Shaw, however, had another theory. He said to Merritt, “So. You go to Ryan and ask about a special services contract.”
“Right.”
“And word comes back there is one—and your name’s attached.”
He nodded.
“But Allison’s not ‘Merritt.’ She kept her maiden name.”
Silence for a moment. Then Parker gasped. Merritt whispered, “Hannah?”
The girl’s eyes narrowed.
It was only a sixty, sixty-five percent hypothesis but it seemed logical.
“Why?” Merritt asked.
“I don’t know. Not yet. Maybe you witnessed something...” A thought occurred. “Maybe youphotographedsomething. One of your selfies. At the fishing lodge, they burned your phone and computer. Why go to the trouble unless they wanted your files destroyed?”
At this thought he upped the likelihood to seventy-five percent.
The girl lifted her palms. “But, I mean, which one? I’ve taken, like, thousands of pictures.”
Jon Merritt pointed to the backpack. “The envelope?” Shaw handed it to him.
“I found these in your room. I thought they might have some clues about where you and your mother might go to.”
Hannah, while obviously concerned with the direction of the conversation, continued scanning for threats. She met Shaw’s eyes and he nodded. His encouragement clearly pleased her.
Shaw helped Parker onto the couch. He and Merritt sat beside her. Merritt began flipping slowly through the stack.
In the images, Hannah tended to assume the same expressions—cynical, doubtful, wryly amused, sardonic. Similar poses too: cocked head and hip. Sometimes fingers making signs that teens would know. Her outfits were more or less the same too: stocking cap, sweats and jeans, all of dark hue. Gloves without fingertips.