“Ryan, I need you to do what I say. You need to listen very carefully because there isn’t much time. And I have to get this out.”

“What are you talking about, Blake?”

“Do you know that condo development out on Gap Springs Road? The one they started and never finished?”

“Hilldale Estates? Yes, why?”

“I need you to come out here. I’m already here. With your computer. You’ve got to get here too.”

“Why? You’re crazy. We have to get to the police. Now. Or they’re going to lock us up and not let us out until Henry is a grandfather.”

“No, we can’t. You have to come here. Ryan . . .” It sounded like someone took the phone or placed their hand over it. Muffled sounds. Maybe another voice? And then Blake was back. “Come out here, or people will get hurt.”

“Who?”

“Your family, Ryan. Amanda. Henry. Sam too. You’ve got to come out here.”

“But—”

Amanda? Henry? I thought of the man who had come to the door, trying to get in. Looking for Blake and me. It was terrible that the girl got killed.

“I can’t tell you more, Ryan. But when you get here, it will all make sense. But you can’t tell the police where you’re going. Or Amanda. If you tell anyone, it won’t be good. If you tell anyone or call the police, Amanda and Henry could die. They really could. . . . I know you can’t go to the bathroom without sharing it on Twitter, but don’t tell anyone—”

Then the call cut off. No farewell. Nothing else. Just the end of the call.

“Blake? Blake?”

And once again, I really worried that Blake was in way over his head. And couldn’t get out on his own.

And I was in danger of being pulled down with him.

Amanda and Henry were in danger of being hurt. If I didn’t go . . .

I grabbed the bat and left the house.

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

Hilldale Estates sat on the far edge of Rossingville. A local developer—a man named Forsyth who had already made several fortunes creating subdivisions, strip malls, and office buildings—had decided that what the town really needed were luxury condominiums and townhomes on the outskirts of town, the kind of place that would be a neighborhood unto itself, complete with its own shops, restaurants, and even a bank.

To say Mr. Forsyth overreached would be an understatement. People in Rossingville didn’t want to pay a lot of money for a luxury condo or townhome. They didn’t want to pay exorbitant condo fees. To make matters worse, Mrs. Forsyth decided she no longer wanted to tolerate her husband’s infidelities, and she filed for divorce, which left everything tied up in court. As a result, Hilldale Estates remained half-built and unoccupied, the buildings erected but unfinished inside.