Page 84 of Submitting to Them
“He gets like this with you too, huh?”Lin says.
“Yeah.I guess it’s an established pattern?”
“His dad was a good guy, but he was terrible about expressing emotions.He taught Bash to hide them, too.Bash has opened up a lot, especially in the past couple of months.”
She doesn’t have to say it—Ella is helping Bash to be more expressive.But now, Ella is missing.
And Bash, like me, is losing his fucking mind.
Ironwood investigators continue working in the background, and when Lin turns back to her own laptop, I shut my mouth and let her work.I wish I knew where Joel would go.He’s always run to Rayanne at the slightest hint of trouble.But now, Rayanne’s in jail, awaiting trial.Without bail, because she and Steve both pose significant flight risks—so at least the judicial system is doing something right.
Bash returns after a little while.He doesn’t look much calmer than he was when he left, but he seems to have himself under control.
“Any news?”he asks.
Before I can answer, Detective Baldwin calls me.
“Kingston, here,” I answer.
“I have news.”
“I’m putting you on speakerphone.”
“No problem,” he says.
I tap the icon on my phone.“Okay, go ahead.”
Lin, Bash, and several of the other Ironwood people stare at my phone, waiting for Baldwin’s news.
“We found his car,” Baldwin says, “but not Joel or Ella.We think they got into a second vehicle.”
“Where’d you find Joel’s car?”Bash asks.
“Some family property in the Sierra foothills, between here and Death Valley.The officers have checked the place out and moved on.”
“So Joel’s taking Ella south-east,” I say.
“They were for a time.Could’ve gone any direction since,” Baldwin says.
I want to throw things, shout at everyone here that the world is ending and they aren’t working fast enough.Bash, Ella, and I were so fucking careful—how could this have even happened?What would cause Ella to come downstairs like that and leave?
Joel must have tricked her, somehow.
I tell myself to stop worrying about how he got her, because that really doesn’t matter.What matters right now is getting her back.
Twenty-One
Sebastian
King has barely ended the call with Baldwin before he and I are poring over one of the printouts of the Hacklers’ properties.Pages and pages of properties in different states, different countries.Differentcontinents.Holy hell.No wonder the Hacklers are considered flight risks.
In California alone, they have, by my count, four properties.
“This one,” King says, pointing to a house on the California list.The address is in the town of Foothill—just a couple hours’ drive from here.“This is where they found his car.”
“That’s it, we’re going,” I say.
Kingston nods.“I’ll drive.”
