Page 43 of In Her Grasp

“Nothing worth mentioning,” she said dismissively, hoping her nonchalance would further pique his anxious curiosity. “Probably just one of those crank calls we get now and then. Happens all the time with high-profile cases. No need to worry yourself over it.”

But just as she’d hoped, Jenna’s attempt at nonchalance seemed to have the opposite effect. “I want to know,” Tommy insisted, his tone tinged with defensiveness.

“Look, Tommy,” Jenna continued, keeping her voice level, “I didn’t get an identification. It’s most likely someone playing games, thinking they’re being clever. You know how people can be.” She was spinning a net with words, trying to ensnare him by piquing his curiosity.

“Still, I’d like to know what was said,” Tommy pressed. His words carried the insistence of a man who could not afford the luxury of ignorance. Jenna noted the change in his tone, the urgency in his demand. And she could see by Frank and Jake’sexpressions that they sensed the same thing. It was a slip, a crack in his armor, and Jenna was ready to wedge it open.

“Nothing worth bothering yourself over,” Jenna replied, her voice a gentle brushstroke of reassurance. “He was adamant that if I met him after dusk tonight at the willow tree near where the bodies were found, he’d show and tell me exactly what he meant.”

“Are you going to go?” Tommy’s voice had taken on a sharper edge.

Jenna let out a scoff, her tone bordering on mockery. “Of course not,” she dismissed the idea like swatting away an annoying insect. “I mean, if you don’t know what it’s all about, it can’t be anything real. It’s undoubtedly just a crank call from someone trying to get me to waste my time. I’m sure that whoever called will be a no-show tonight. It was just a stupid practical joke, and I’m not about to fall for it.”

“Well, then …” his voice trailed off.

“Sorry to have troubled you with it,” Jenna offered in feigned apology, her voice softening ever so slightly. “And again, thank you for your role in catching Carl Reeves. You’ve been a big help.”

With that, Jenna said goodbye to Tommy and hung up the phone. Her eyes met Jake’s, and he cleared his throat, breaking the tension.

“That settles it then,” Jake said. “Tommy’s been playing us from the start.”

Frank pushed off his chair and stood upright. “Never thought that kid had it in him,” he muttered, shaking his head. “But you’ve got him on the ropes now. Well-played, Jenna. That was swift thinking, indeed. I’m proud of you, kid.”

Jenna smiled, allowing herself a brief nod of recognition toward Frank’s compliment. “Thanks, Frank. But we’ve still gotour work cut out for us. We’ve laid the groundwork. Will he walk into our trap?”

“We have to get out there ahead of him,” Frank said, his gray eyes sharp with anticipation. “If he takes the bait, we’ll catch him,” he added with certainty.

“Here’s hoping he can’t resist the lure,” Jake said, getting up from his chair, ready for action.

“Let’s prepare a little more carefully,” Jenna cautioned them. “We need to make sure everything goes according to plan.”

***

The phone slipped from Tommy Larson’s grip, thudding softly against the moist earth. He stood motionless in the middle of his field, the last echoes of Sheriff Graves’ voice still ringing in his ears. His eyes narrowed as they scanned the horizon where the sun dipped low. Hi hands, calloused and weathered from the relentless toil on the farm, clenched into fists.

He got down from his tractor, boots sinking slightly into the soil, and surveyed his land. It was his sanctuary, his fortress of solitude amidst the gently rolling hills of Genesius County. Here, he’d thought his secrets were buried as deep as the roots of the crops he tended to.

Two years. Two years since the night, Mike drew his last breath, and with him, the last of Tommy’s ties to a past he wished to forget.

“Is she onto me?” He cast a glance back toward the farmhouse, its windows reflecting the dying light, offering no answers.

Tommy stood rigid, the memory forcing its way to the forefront of his mind with relentless clarity. The reservoir’s surface had been calm that day, a mirror reflecting the carefree blue of the sky.

His breaths came in short, sharp intakes as he recalled how their laughter had turned sinister, the jovial mockery shifting into something darker. Mike, Clive, and Jimmy, the trio he once considered brothers-in-arms, had grown weary of his presence, their camaraderie souring like milk left out in the summer heat.

“Let’s see how long Tommy can hold his breath,” Mike had said, a sneer twisting his features as they gathered around him at the water’s edge.

Their rough hands had gripped Tommy’s shoulders, pushing him down into the cold embrace of the reservoir until the light above fractured into shards, slipping away as the pressure built in his chest.

Panic had set in, his limbs thrashing in vain against the strength of his so-called friends. His vision blurred, the edges growing dark until there was nothing but a void so complete it seemed to swallow him whole. He was dying, and he knew it. But there was no light waiting for him to walk into. Instead, there was an eternal blackness that terrified him more than anything he’d ever experienced before or since.

When they finally hauled his limp body from the water, coughing and spluttering back to life, something within Tommy had irrevocably changed. He had glanced up at their faces, expecting relief or guilt, but found only wide-eyed fear at the possibility of consequence for their actions.

It wasn’t just the act of nearly drowning—it was the betrayal, the torture by those he trusted. And so, he had plotted, waited for the perfect moments to turn predator from prey, to give them a taste of the terror he’d felt submerged in the depths.

One by one, he made sure they experienced the same engulfing darkness that haunted his every waking moment. He'd given the second and third victims plenty of time to think about death, waiting years between his strikes. Mike, his own flesh andblood, had been the final act of vengeance, the last piece of a puzzle he wished never existed.

Tommy leaned down and picked up his phone, then his boots crunched over the field, each step a sharp punctuation in the quiet of the approaching evening. The phone call with Sheriff Graves replayed in his mind, her words crisp and clear as the autumn air that carried the scent of impending frost.

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