Page 70 of At Midnight Comes the Cry
Clare strode toward her car. “We’ve got to get back to the rectory. Fast.”
“What about the chief?”
“He’s unhurt and not being held prisoner.”
“Are you sure?”
Clare flung open her door and got in. “I am. He used our code word.”
Hadley scrambled after her. “What’s the problem, then? Not only did we get all the intel we were hoping for, we’ve actually confirmed Cal is in direct communication with the camp!”
Clare twisted around and spun the car in reverse before Hadley had finished buckling up. “He got all the info he was hoping for, too. He knows Clare, who took in Tiny, was a friend of the Smiths. And he had a message for the wife of Russ Van Alstyne. Now he knows I’m one and the same.” She accelerated down the drive. “How long will it take for him to find Russ’s address?”
“Oh. Oh, no. Tiny.”
“Yeah, Tiny. We’ve got to move her.”
“Where?” Hadley clung on to her door handle as Clare screeched onto the road. “I mean, I can’t take her at my place. I’m sorry. And you need to make sure you and Ethan are out of there, too.”
“I know. The first thing we need to do is get her to press charges against her husband. She still has bruises on her neck and her wrists. That’ll be enough for Lyle.”
“MacAuley can’t arrest him! They live in Warren County and the crime occurred in Essex County.”
“Lyle knows every cop from here to Montreal. Plus, Russ says he’s the wizard of getting warrants issued. He’ll make it happen.” She stepped on the gas.
“You’re forgetting one thing.”
“What?”
“We’ve got to talk her into making the complaint. As someone who stayed with a shitty husband forwaytoo long, I can promise you it won’t be easy.”
9.
“Your wife got the message.” Russ had heard the whine of a snowmobile coming into camp, but he still hadn’t gotten a grip on how and why they were used. He made a mental note:urgent communications.
“Did she say anything?”
The driver hooked his helmet under his arm and gave him a look. “We’re not a dating app. You want to expound on your feelings, go write a letter, like your buddy, Mr. Pussy-whipped.” He thumbed toward Kevin, who was heading downslope, balancing two heavy buckets. Latrine duty.
Two things had become clear since yesterday morning: he wasn’t going to get anyone’s name, aside from Austin and Dillon, who were still getting disgusted looks from the captain. And he wasn’t going to be allowed any time alone with Kevin. It wasn’t like he’d been told it was forbidden. It was just that every time the two of them were in the same space at the same time, someone else came along.
The militia members were a mix of overenthusiastic wannabes, like the two who had captured him, and worryingly competent men. The captain had mentioned one guy who had done four years in the infantry, and there were several who were skilled enough in woods craft to be rangers or certified guides. Russ had spent most of yesterday sittingnear the kitchen tent, trying to look bored while committing faces, hair, and height to memory. Twenty-four hours later, he was confident he could report accurate descriptions back, and he had reached the limit of usable intelligence he could get from hanging out at the canteen. He needed the chance to look around.
He and the captain had had another talk over breakfast—a mix of old army stories, recruitment, and a reeducation session—but once that was done, everyone went to work: patrolling, cleaning, readying the next meal, and whatever was happening inside the old WWII-era tent.
There was another, more modern rig beside it, large enough to serve as a mobile platoon office. Russ had seen the captain go in about a half hour ago. No one was obviously assigned to guard him, but when he got up and strode toward the tent, the cook dropped his peeler, wiped his hands, and followed. Russ stopped outside the flap. “Captain? It’s Van Alstyne.”
The captain emerged without his parka, and as he pushed aside the fabric, Russ saw he had been right—he caught a glimpse of a table with a lantern illuminating papers. The captain glanced over Russ’s shoulder and waved the cook away. “What can I do for you, Chief?”
“Give me a job. I’m about to fall asleep sitting up, I’m so bored.”
The militia leader quirked a smile. “You don’t like time alone in the woods?”
“If I’m hiking. Or hunting. Sitting on my ass while everyone else is busy isn’t my style.”
“Hmm. You remember the two men who brought you in.”
“Dillon and Austin? Oh, yeah.”
