Faith checked her own watch. “So, everyone will be there in a little over two hours?”

“Unless they read the message boards at four in the morning.” She asked Nick, “Can I use your laptop?”

Nick offered, “The computer in my office is more private.” He scooped up the Big Whitey files, telling Faith, “I’ll get started on these.”

Branson followed him to the door, but she didn’t leave. “I’m sorry for wasting y’alls time. I always try to be tough as I need to be, never tougher than I have to be.”

Will nodded, but Faith wouldn’t give an inch. She waited for Branson to leave, then blew out a puff of air.

Will said, “What do you think?”

“I think Tony Dell’s closer to Big Whitey than we thought.” He nodded, though they both knew that’s not what he was asking about.

“Whoever this Big Whitey is, he’s a freaking genius.” Faith couldn’t keep the admiration out of her voice. “He played them like a fiddle.”

“The two men in the house.” Will coughed a few times before he could continue. “I could see Tony slitting their throats, then going after the third guy with an ax. He’s a killer. He likes using his hands. He takes out the three of them, puts the brace on the basement door so Sid Waller’s trapped, then he walks away.”

“He was feeding Lena intel. He knew when the raid was going to happen.” Faith waited out another coughing fit. “You still think Tony’s not Big Whitey?”

Will gagged down some water. “I don’t know what to think anymore. He’s more like the point at the edge of somebody else’s sword.” Will coughed again. “And I know he’s got that weird thing with his sister. Stepsister. But I can’t see him with little boys. He couldn’t stand to be in the same room with his own nephew.”

“You never know what people get up to,” Faith said. “Do you think the stepsister knows anything?”

Will shrugged to save his voice. He’d have to find a way to get Cayla Martin to talk. There was no other option.

Faith stared at the grainy cell phone photo on the screen. “Poor little lamb. He can’t be more than seven.”

Will didn’t want to look at the screen, but once he did, he couldn’t take his eyes off the boy. It didn’t seem possible he was still alive. How had he survived living in that dank, dark hole? And what had been done to him while he was there?

“I’ll call Sara.” Faith took out her cell phone and dialed the number.

Will opened his mouth to tell her there was no point. Nothing came out. He couldn’t speak, but not because of his sore throat. It occurred to him that the boy was not talking because he had nothing to say.

His expression in the photo told the story. The boy would never be the same again. He would never sleep as deeply or play with the same abandon. Chasing a ball, flying a kite, helping his mother set the table—none of this would ever be done without constantly checking for danger. The boy did not want to go back to his parents. They wouldn’t recognize him. They would take one look and ask who was this damaged creature and what had he done with their real son. It was all captured in the grainy photo on the screen—the fear, the loneliness, the overwhelming shame.

Marie Sorensen had the same look. She had been stolen. She had been abused. She had been thrown away. Even when she got home, she never felt safe. She had made the only choice that was truly her own.

Will couldn’t blame her.

There wasn’t a box in the world that was big enough to contain those horrors. Everything she’d survived had made her want to die. Who could fault the boy for thinking the same thing?

“Sara’s not answering.” Faith ended the call. “Do you think she’s at the hospital?”

He didn’t answer.

Sara was finished with Will. That much was obvious. But somehow, for the brief time they were together, she had managed to change him. She had tamed his beasts. She had made him feel safe. She had made him feel whole. Sara hadn’t completely shuttered the file room, but she had made it seem further away—like someone else’s memory, someone else’s life.

Will had to tell her this, had to explain why she was so desperately needed.

“I’ll find her,” he told Faith.

If anyone could coax the boy into talking, it was Sara Linton.

13.

“Sara?”

Sara turned over in bed, trying to get away from the noise. She hadn’t fallen asleep last night so much as collapsed from exhaustion.

“Sara?” Nell said. “Sara?”

Sara woke slowly, rousing from a deep, dreamless sleep. She put her hand over her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Just after four-thirty.”

Sara dropped her hand. She looked up at Nell. They were in the hotel room. After what happened with Will last night, Sara didn’t have it in her to drive back to Atlanta. “Is Jared okay?”

Nell gave an odd smile. “Possum just called. He says they’re going to wake him up. I was about to leave for the hospital.”

Sara forced herself to sit up. She hurt in all the wrong places.

“I’ll go with you.”

“You need to get the door. There’s a man who wants to talk to you.”

Sara finally managed to put together the conversation. There was only one man in Macon right now who would want to talk to her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to him. Still, she brushed her fingers through her hair as she went to the door.

And then her jaw dropped when she saw Will.

For just a moment, Sara found herself thinking that she was responsible for the damage to his face.

Then she realized that he’d been beaten.

“What happened?” She reached up to him, but there was nowhere Sara could touch Will that wasn’t injured. Even the blood vessels in his eyes were broken. “Did someone choke you?”

He swallowed. The pain made him cringe. His voice was hoarse. “Amanda sent me.”

Sara could hardly understand him. “Come in.”

Will didn’t move. She grabbed his arm, pulling him into the room.

“Nell, this is a friend of mine.” Sara let herself believe she was holding back details because Will was undercover. “He lives in Atlanta.”

“Nice to meet you.” Nell dug her hand into her purse, but her eyes were on Sara’s hand, which was still wrapped around Will’s arm.

Sara let go.

Nell said, “It’s good, Sara. I’m happy for you.” She held up her keycard. “I’ll be at the hospital.”

She nodded at Will before she left. The door closed automatically, slamming hard against the metal jamb.

Sara knew it would be pointless to go after her. She asked Will, “What happened?”

He put his fingers to his larynx as if he could force up the volume. “We’ve got about an hour.”

She stared, disbelieving. “What?”

“I know you don’t want me here.” He coughed, the effort from talking obviously too much. “Amanda asked me to—” He coughed again. And again. His face started turning red.

“Sit down.” Sara was still angry, but she couldn’t let him pass out in front of her. She found a tiny bottle of Tennessee whiskey in the minibar. “Drink half of this.”