Page 83 of Closer Than You Know

Solomon laughed a sad sound. “His first adventure with me was when he was nine. His mother failed to look after him properly. His father was never in the picture. I was all he had, really. This was something special we shared. By the time he was a teenager, he was taking the lead.” A smile tipped up his lips. “He was a very good student.”

Vera’s insides expanded with the need to expel the horror he’d just dumped on her. She had to get out of here ... had to stop the bastard. If he was this profoundly affected by his grandfather’s looming death, he would be reckless ... and even more dangerous.

“In retrospect, while it’s true that his mother neglected him, it was me who ruined him,” Solomon went on. “I eventually understood that I had to try and save him. It was my obligation to him and to my daughter.”

“You wanted him to stop.” It wasn’t a question. She got it now. Her heart thundered ... throat felt dry ... palms were sweating. “You set up that whole finale with Gloria Anderson so you could give your grandson a second chance. You arranged it so I would find her. You did all of it—abducted me and Eric—to expose yourself ... to steer us away from him.”

“No.” The chains rattled again with the movement of his hands as he waved off her suggestion. “You found Gloria all on your own.” He lifted his shoulders, let them fall in a shrug. “Perhaps only because of his mistakes. You see, he left me out of the planning on that one. But thatis irrelevant. Then you started digging, and as you grew closer, I knew you were going to find us because you were—are—better than all the rest.” He stared directly at her then. “It was then that I recognized his vulnerability. I had to do something.”

So many emotions that she could not begin to name even a portion of them were roiling inside her. “Where is he? Where did he take my sister?”

“I only know that he is in your hometown. He is angry that I’m dying. Angry that it was he—and you—who caused me to spend my final years here. He will not listen to reason.”

So he had spoken to him. No matter that she wanted to go ballistic on the man, she held back ... focused on speaking calmly. “Where is he exactly?”

“I swear to you,” he pressed. “I do not know.”

“If,” she warned, “you fail to tell me the whole truth and my sister pays the price”—she leaned closer—“I will gut him like a fucking pig and watch him die in pain. You have my word on that, Doc. It won’t be like last time.”

“If I knew, I would tell you. Once I realized what he was planning and confronted him on his last visit to me, he disappeared.”

Her gaze narrowed. “I was told you had no visitors except your son, Christopher.”

“There are things that even the warden doesn’t know.” He smiled that charming expression he was known for. “Trust me when I say I have seen and spoken to him on numerous occasions. Perhaps the visitor logs list him as someone else—as Christopher, I would guess.” His brow furrowed then. “Be advised, I’ve contacted all my sources, and no one can find him.”

“Your sources?” What the hell?

Another of those faint smiles slid across his lips. “You know how it is in prison: if you can pay the price, you can learn anything—get anything—from the outside.”

Oh yes, she was well aware. Disgusted, she stood. “Give me a moment.”

She walked to the door and banged on it. It opened instantly, and the guard waited for her to step out. Eric looked her up and down, as if ensuring she was unharmed.

“I need a Sharpie.”

“A what?” The guard stared at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“A permanent marker,” she clarified. Who didn’t know what a Sharpie was?

“Ma’am—”

“Here.” Eric thrust a pen at her. “It’s the only thing I have on me.”

It was an ink pen, but she supposed that would work.

“Ma’am,” the guard repeated, “you cannot give him that pen or anything else.”

“Don’t worry.” She backed deeper into the room and away from the door. “It’s not for him. It’s for me.”

“Just close the door,” Eric said when the guard would have argued.

He muttered something about telling the warden and slammed the door.

Vera crossed back to the table and leaned over. “Hold out your hands.”

Solomon extended his hands, palms up, as far as his restraints would allow. Chains rattled. “Don’t move,” she ordered. On the underside of his left forearm, she wrote her number. Then she leaned away from him. “That’s my cell number. If you find out anything at all, you let me know.”

He stared at the number, then looked up at her. “You have my word.”

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