‘You’re not even my type,’ Shannon said, as though she should be ashamed of this. ‘You’re lucky Fred isn’t into bruises. I’d love to beat the shit out of you right now.’

Instead, he turned out the lights.

•

‘Tell me about Fred,’ I say.

Abbey, Thistle and I are in the foyer at the FBI field office, waiting for her mom. Abbey won’t go any deeper into the building, but at least we’re out of the cold. Black clouds have gathered outside the window, blocking the moon. A storm is coming.

Abbey has been talking for so long that her voice is getting croaky. Back at the hospital, it took a couple of hours for her to tell us her story. A doctor eventually arrived in the parking lot, looking annoyed that she couldn’t examine Abbey upstairs. Thistle and I were out of earshot for the examination, but Abbey says the doctor has given her the all-clear. As soon as we got to the field office, a trauma psychologist interviewed her. Thistle and I didn’t hear any of that, either. Now we have Abbey back, and she’s filling us in on the details we missed, in between sips of an electrolyte drink. The yellowish tinge is already fading from her skin.

Even after everything I’ve seen and done, Abbey’s story has unsettled me. Maybe because I misjudged Luxford. I’d been hunting the wrong kind of monster.

‘Shannon never told me Fred’s last name,’ Abbey is saying. ‘Or anything else about him. And I basically stopped talking to Shannon after that. I’d given up. On everything.’

‘But it wasn’t long between your SOS and Fred telling Shannon, right?’ I say. ‘A few days at the most?’

Abbey shrugs helplessly. ‘It was basically impossible to keep track of time in there. I don’t know.’

‘But not long enough for Shannon to mail something international,’ I say. ‘And you mentioned a cheerleader uniform, right?’

‘Uh, yeah.’

‘A foreigner wouldn’t be into that,’ I say. ‘It’s a pretty American thing.’

‘Did Shannon mention his boss at all?’ Thistle asks. ‘Kenneth Biggs?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘How about Daniel Ruthven?’

‘It was a fucking abduction,’ Abbey says. ‘There wasn’t much small talk, okay?’

‘When we found Shannon’s porn stash,’ I say, ‘he went on the run.’

‘Yeah, no shit. Left me to die.’

‘Can you think of anywhere he might have gone?’

‘He never mentioned a secret hideout, if that’s what you’re asking,’ Abbey says. ‘But I’d say there’s a good chance he’s with Fred.’

‘You’ve been very helpful,’ Thistle says. She squeezes Abbey’s hand. Abbey looks down at Thistle’s fingers. It’s been a long time since she’s had physical human contact, other than the beating.