The Lion, the Lamb, the Hunted: A Psychological Thriller

that they blocked the rear window as we drove off.

“You see the look on her face?” CJ said, once we were on the road.

“You mean toward the end? When she was talking about Bill?”

“Yeah.” Staring out her window now, shaking her head slowly. “She’s terrified.”

“And with good reason. He’s one bad dude.”

She nodded, deliberated. “But she didn’t get us any closer to connecting Samuels and Williams.”

“Cowboy hats and cigarettes…could be lots of men in these parts,” I agreed, “but it still does match.”

“Think he’s even still alive?”

I glanced at her, then back at the road. “Guys like that don’t often go away very easily.”

“And he sounds like an expert at flying under the radar.”

“Which reminds me.” I grabbed my mobile phone, dialed Sully’s number, and got his voicemail immediately. Clicked it off and shook my head.

“Your contact?”

“Yeah,” I said. The irritation must have been evident.

She sat up straighter and started counting on her fingers. “So Williams kidnaps and kills the son, then he starts visiting the mother in the mental hospital. Then she assumes his identity before he kills her?” She paused a beat, shot me a blank look. “Reality really is stranger than fiction.”

“And don’t forget Lucas,” I added. “We still don’t know how he got sucked into this.”

She nodded. “Yeah, there’s that.”

When I glanced over, I saw she was staring into the rearview mirror.

I said, “What is it?”

Still looking, squinting, “That car was behind us when we left Ruth’s, and it’s still there.”

I couldn’t see a thing—all the boxes obscured my view. I adjusted the side view mirror, saw a late model SUV with black, tinted windows. Looked ominous as hell. CJ shifted nervously in her seat. “Pull off at the next exit. See if he goes with us.”

I glanced ahead. There was one coming up. CJ saw it too, and with urgency in her voice said, “Take it.”

I did. Drove up to the stoplight at the end of the ramp, looked in the side view mirror. But the SUV hadn’t followed. I gazed over the railing and saw it go flying down the freeway. Then I looked over at her.

She shot me a suspicious glare and said, “You think I’m paranoid.”

“After what we’ve been through these past few days? All that we’ve seen? Do I think you’re overreacting? Nope. Not a bit.”

She revealed a shadow of a smile.

I tightened my grip on the wheel, felt the sweat in my palms as I merged back onto the freeway. The urge to list was overwhelming me. I struggled against it, fought it back.

Not now. Not in front of CJ.

But the pressure was almost unbearable, and I knew where it came from. It was becoming a way of life for us: always looking over our shoulders, always afraid someone was on our trail.

Hunting us. Like animals.

* * *

CJ insisted on finding another motel in a different town. She’d had her fill of Jerome—come to think of it, so had I. Next stop: Virginia, Texas, about fifteen miles up the road.

After realizing we hadn’t eaten all day, we picked up Chinese takeout, then checked into our new digs, the Desert Inn. At least it was clean. Seemed to pass CJ’s inspection.

Then we got down to business, sifting through the multitude of paperwork.

“She said this stuff wasn’t organized.” CJ shoved a pile of papers away. “She wasn’t kidding.”

“What a mess.” I reached for another stack, started shuffling through it. “Most of it I can’t even read. Looks like bunch of chicken scratch.”

“A whole lot of nothing. Even the so-called references to the boy that Ruth mentioned—most of them aren’t even on the same page as the ones about Jean. Hardly as incriminating as she seemed to think. Could’ve been talking about anyone.” She held up a sheet, stared at it, then tossed it aside, shaking her head. “God, it’s sad.”

“What is?”

“Losing her daughter,” she said. “Knowing who killed her and not being able to bring him to justice.”

I said, “It happens every day.”

“I know. Still, no matter how many times…”

I looked up at her. “Got something?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, examining a sheet of paper. Then she handed it to me.

I took it. Read it. And felt a burn in the pit of my stomach.

“Patrick?” CJ asked.

Her voice was nothing more than a distant echo. I tried to zero in on her but only saw white.

“Pat? What’s going on?”

After finally gaining focus, I said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Chapter Forty

The names in the note weren’t spelled out, but they didn’t need to be. I knew exactly who it was to, who it was from.

B-

Meet at 5:30pm

Usual place.

-W

I recognized Warren’s handwriting, and as cryptic as the note was, it seemed clear to me. A letter from Warren to Bill. Usual place: it wasn’t their first meeting, either.

It was the one thing I hadn’t shared with CJ—about my mother and Warren, that I knew they were somehow involved in Nathan Kingsley’s kidnapping and murder. A big thing, and I needed to tell her. So I did. I also showed her the note and the necklace.

“So let me make sure I understand you correctly,” she finally said once I was done, “this Warren guy—the senator—is your uncle?”

“Right.”

“And all this time you suspected he was behind this...along with your mother?”

I gave a single nod. “Also correct.”

“And the reason you’re just now mentioning it?”

“Because of this note.”

She looked at me for a long time, biting her lower lip, and then, “Yeah, I get that. Now tell me why you held out on me. This information is kind of important, Pat, kind of relevant. And you didn’t share it until you absolutely had to.”

“It’s not like that…”

She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Really?”

“No.”

“Then tell me, what is it like? Because I need to tell you, Patrick this one-way relationship thing—it’s not working for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This.” She held the note and necklace up, one in each hand, giving them a single shake. I saw veins sticking out of her forehead. “This is what I mean. You sat there and lied to me, Patrick. You told me it was just a damn news story! It wasn’t—this is all about you.”