“You’re sure that your parents will find that note in the microwave before realizing the car is gone?”
“Yeah. My mom likes to know how warm her morning tea is, so she uses that, not the stove.”
“I have a plan.”
Matt sighed. “That took longer than I expected. You usually think faster.”
Eric smirked. “Since neither of us can go home or risk using a credit card for a hotel, we need somewhere to stay tonight, assuming we don’t hear from Ryan. Even if we don’t, I think I know how to get onto his parent’s property and to the guest house. Ryan was showing me the grounds. The security is okay, but it’s not like they’re really expecting intruders. They aren’t a drug cartel or something, with armed guards and all of that. I can scale one wall away from the road, in case the cops are watching the house, as I assume they are.”
“I likely can’t climb a wall. You can do that with sandals on?”
“No, barefoot. We need to add rock climbing to our list of skills to train on.” Eric had been doing it for years along with parkour, so getting into the LaRue estate wasn’t an issue for him. His feet would get scraped doing it, but rock climbing shoes that let your toes grip were a help anyway.
“What then?”
“For food today, you have enough cash for us, and maybe we’ll get some for tomorrow just in case. And we’ve got the car with a half tank of gas. Once we’re at the guest house—I’m thinking after midnight we do this—then tomorrow, I’ll see if I can get Daniel’s attention at the main house, by going to the back door or something. We’d just keep an eye out for his parents, making sure they already left.”
“You think we can trust him?”
Eric watched a red Toyota Camry pull into the lot ahead of them. “To not tell the police we’re there? Yeah, I do. We might have to tell him more. He already saw the gear. He doesn’t believe Ryan about the Stonehenge disappearance, and he’s too smart. He would be a good ally.”
“Okay. Are we ready to try the phone again?”
“Yeah. This time let’s go near Ryan’s house. I want to see what’s around there and find a good place for you to drop me off tonight.”
Matt started the car, and they drove off. This time, when Eric turned on the phone, he found a voicemail from someone named Quincy King.
The metal door opened, and the rarely seen Quincy, one of the LaRue family attorneys, stepped inside. A former football player, he was tall, muscled, black, and had a direct, piercing gaze from brown eyes that now looked grim. With it being before sunrise, he didn’t have an expected suit and tie, just a hastily thrown on button-up shirt and jacket and jeans, and a shoulder-slung tote.
On seeing him, Ryan jumped to his feet from behind the small table in the police station holding room, knocking over the metal chair he’d been sitting on. It fell with a clatter.
“Anything on Anna? They won’t tell me shit because I won’t tell them anything.”
Quincy closed the door and the sober look on his face made Ryan’s heart sink. “Have a seat.”
“Just tell me.” The lawyer gestured for him to sit again, and Ryan irritably picked up the chair and sat down, the table before them, Quincy’s bag on top as the attorney sat and looked him in the eye.
“There’s no simple way to say it,” began Quincy, his face resigned. “A car hit her. From the look of it, she wasn’t in one herself. She’s in terrible shape. Both legs are broken, one arm. Her spine.”
Ryan felt a horrible pain in his chest and could feel the blood draining from his face. Knowing all about spinal injuries from Daniel, he just stared, too horrified to speak.
“She has a skull fracture, punctured lung. She’s in surgery and will be for a while longer. She’s stable, but there’s no telling how well she will recover, though they do not believe she is at risk of passing.”
Ryan held still, as if to make any motion, including breathing, would be to accept what he had just heard. All this time, they thought that being on a quest was such terrible peril and getting home meant safety. They could relax. Not worry. Be ordinary. This illusion had just shattered, just like Anna’s body. The image of her on the stretcher stuck in his mind, as if refusing to get out of the way to make room for another picture with that list of injuries. He didn’t realize he had stopped breathing until Quincy shook his arm and his eyes refocused on the attorney.
“Are you alright? Hold on.”
Quincy got up, opened the door, and yelled for some orange juice, coffee, or something else sugary or caffeinated, saying something about Ryan being in shock. Ryan supposed that was true. He felt dazed, his head foggy. Not until the bottle of OJ sat before him and Quincy made him drink it did that start to clear. He gulped the drink until it was gone, coming back to the world a little more.
“Okay,” began Quincy, “some color back in your face. Listen, I know you’ve just had a big jolt. We’re not in a rush. Just listen a minute. The police, FBI, CIA, and probably a couple other acronyms have been looking for you, Anna, Matt, and Eric, because Matt disappeared on camera. They slowly figured out Anna did the same from the car she was driving in 270. They assume
