It hits me then that the dress will be confiscated.
I sniff back my anger and look up at the agent. “There is no such thing as an anonymous call,” I say, not attempting to hide the accusation in my tone.
His light brows create a furrow between his eyes. “No. There’s not,” he confesses. “The call led officials to an abducted boy that was being held in a warehouse. They then traced the call back to a wireless number in Grayson Sullivan’s name. This address was listed on the account.”
I turn my head to hide my outrage. Grayson knew it would only be a short matter of time before they discovered the location once they made the connection. It’s so blatant it’s almost stupid. Not the act of a highly intelligent man or criminal. Surely the FBI has to see that.
“The boy is all right?” I ask.
Nelson nods. “Yes. The parents are with him at the hospital.”
I tug the blanket tighter around me. “The man who kidnapped him is in that rancid container.”
“Jesus.” The agent drives a hand through his shaggy hair. “Did you witness this?”
I consider the question. Grayson isn’t inside the burning house. I know this just as the agent knows this fact.
The tests I endured and passed told me all the answers I ever sought. No more hiding. No more suppressing. No more lying. Grayson set fire to his life for me, so that I can start over. So that when I’m ready—truly ready—we can start over.
I trust him.
He found me by putting the puzzle pieces together. So that’s how I’ll find him. This agent and any official working the Sullivan manhunt are my new best friends.
“London?” the agent gains my notice, pressing the question.
I turn toward the fire. “Yes, I witnessed the murder. I have your answers.”
After a charged minute, he asks in a more subdued tone, “Is there anyone I can call for you?”
Normally, that question would provoke me. A painful reminder of how alone I am. But being alone and lonely, as I once expressed to my patient, are two different things. I no longer choose to be alone, and the person I need is out there. Waiting for me.
I look at the FBI agent. “Yes. Call the press. I have an announcement to make.”
Dig them up.
He’s not my father.
Lessons that I must put into action, or else the rest of the answers will never be unlocked.
Now I know where I belong.
31
Thereafter
Grayson
If hell had a point of entry, it would be Mize, Mississippi.
I crank the AC and towel off the sweat from the back of my neck, disgusted with the heat. Then I turn up the volume so I can hear her voice over the blast of the vents. Twenty-four hours after her rescue, London is giving a press speech to the media.
My finger traces the delicate curve of her face, the flatscreen a poor substitution for her soft skin. I drop my hand. It curls into a fist on my thigh.
“Though this announcement weighs heavily on my heart, I cannot bear its burden for one more day,” London says into a microphone. The flash of cameras doesn’t faze her. She’s a born actress for this world.
I smirk as I settle on the sofa of my RV. To everyone else, Dr. Noble is a truly burdened soul. A survivor. A hero. To me, she’s a dark goddess that should be feared.
“During the long and trying hours of my captivity, I suffered a mental collapse. Breakdown—no longer recognized by my colleagues or me—is the only way I can describe what transpired.” She pauses to look at the floor. So demure. “Due to the duress, repressed memories have been recovered of the man who abducted me.”