Iron House

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Abigail rode hard in the cool dawn: same horse she always rode, same muddy track through the low field by the river. The animal was a wellspring of strength and purpose, a touchstone when nothing else made sense-and right now, nothing made sense. Not Julian’s collapse and disappearance; not the bodies in the lake or the things Jessup said when he tried to make it right.

“Hah!”

She drove her heels into the horse’s flank, and the animal did what it was meant to do. Mud flew, and the reins snapped once in white lather before they found their stride.

It was all coming apart.

Everything.

She reached the end and turned, ran it again as her thoughts burned and the sun rolled close enough to ignite the sky. This was the day, she thought. Another body would surface or Julian would be found and arrested. Michael would find Andrew Flint or learn some terrible thing.

She reached the end of the field and was startled when Victorine Gautreaux stepped out of the trees. Abigail reined hard, horse sidestepping. “Damn, child, you’re going to get somebody killed.” The girl said nothing. “What are you doing here?”

Victorine rolled lean shoulders. “Looking for you.”

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

“You’re here often.”

“You watch me ride?”

“I like your horse.”

Abigail looked from the girl to the far house. They were alone. “What do you want?”

“Julian says there’s medicine-”

“What do you know about my son?”

“I know he came to me instead of you.”

There it was, the challenge that made Abigail despise Gautreaux women. “Is he okay?”

“He tells me there’s medicine to help get his head on right. He says you’d know what it was and that I was to collect it.”

Abigail peered down at this ragged child with perfect skin, small breasts and blades for hipbones. She was pretty enough, but pretty only went so far. “Are you sleeping with him?”

“Nobody touches me ’less I say.”

“We found condoms.”

“I’m not saying we haven’t talked about it, neither.” She shrugged. “Julian’s nice and all, but still…”

“Then why do you care?”

“He’s helping me.”

“With what?”

“With running away.”

Abigail could find no argument there. Running away from Caravel Gautreaux made more sense than most things. Her voice softened. “Are you telling me Julian sees some reason beyond the obvious to help you?”

She lifted her chin. “Coming from nothing don’t make me nothing.”

Abigail studied the girl more closely. She talked tough, and stood straight, but there was fear there, too. The stare didn’t hold as long as it could have. “I want my son back,” Abigail said.

“And he wants to get his head straight first. He’s scared.”

“Of what?”

“Will you give me the medicine?”

The horse moved back a step, and Abigail put a hand on its neck. “You’re out in these woods a lot.”

“I’m not doing nothing. I just like the woods.”

“Do you know anything about the bodies they’re finding?”

She shook her head, but it looked like a lie.

“Don’t lie to me,” Abigail said.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Julian says he’ll help you, fine. I’ll help you, too. Money. A place to live. I’ll set you up, little girl. I’ll change your life.”

Defiance dwindled to shiftiness. “You lie.”

“We have a billion dollars and change. Try me.”

The stare held between them, and it was Victorine Gautreaux who broke first. “All I know is what Julian told me.”

“And what did he tell you?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“He told me it was you.”

“What?”

“He told me it was you who killed them boys.”