Free Devil's Lake (Bittersweet Hollow Book 1) by Aaron Paul Lazar

needs to disappear, forever.”
    Her mother’s face had turned paler than before. “I don’t know about this. We’re talking about conspiring to break the law.”
    Portia sat still, crying silently, but the tears still wet her cheeks. “Mom? Do you want me to go to jail?”
    Daisy turned to her, resolve stamped on her face. “Goodness, no, baby. I’m sorry.” She stood, placing her hands on Portia’s shoulders. “I'm with you all. Let’s do what we have to do to protect our girl.”
    Dirk stood, looking out the window. “We’ve got to go out there, find out if he’s dead or alive.”
    Anderson nodded solemnly. “It has to be done quietly. There needs to be a good excuse for us to be there. Something completely innocent and believable.”
    Grace swung toward Anderson. “Us?”
    His face hardened. “Of course, us. I’m not going to let your father and Boone face this monster alone.”
    Grace slumped back in her chair. “Right.”
    “No!” Portia bolted from her seat, ran to her father, and started pulling on his arm. “You can’t go out there. If I didn’t kill him, if I just knocked him out…he’ll kill you. He’s ruthless. He’s strong. He’s smart.” She sobbed the last words. “He’s a monster.”
    Boone stepped toward her. “How would he know us, Peaches?”
    “He had no television. But you guys were all over the newspapers. He bought several papers each week, clipped the articles. He knows you all by name.” She turned to Anderson. “Except you. I don’t think he knew you guys were married.”
    Grace looked scared. “Oh my God.”
    Dirk turned from the window. “We can’t assume he isn’t capable of retribution.” He thought for a moment. “We’ve gotta find out what happened to him. Carefully. Without alarming anyone.”
    Grace said, “What about the papers? We can do a search on the town. Look at the obits online. That kind of thing.”
    “That’ll work if his body was found,” Boone said. “But if he lived like a hermit, which I’m assuming is why Portia was never found, he could still be lying there.” Boone pulled out a chair again and sat down, running his hands through his shaggy blond hair. “I’ve got some ideas. Let me think on it. Meanwhile, Peaches, can you tell us more about the place? What did you see the first day you arrived?”

Chapter 17
     
    T he ride to the cabin had been long and filled with blackness and distortion. He had settled Portia on the seat beside him, and when she began to wake up, he’d clamped the horrible cloth over her face again, pushing her back to the darkness.
    “I remember a few things on the way up there, but mostly I was drugged. Chloroform, I think. He poured it out of a bottle and put it on a cloth over my nose.”
    They listened closely while she mentally returned to the trip that had begun her two years in hell.
    “He threw my purse out the window at one point. I remember feeling a sense of terrible loss. Everything was in there. My license. My cell phone. Everything.”
    Boone spoke up. “No one ever reported finding it.”
    “It was very rural. I’d just woken up because cold air came in the window, and when he leaned over to toss it out, I saw it go sailing past me in what felt like slow motion. I was so dizzy. But I seem to remember going over a bridge. Maybe a river.”
    “That would explain it,” Boone said.
    Dirk continued to take notes. “Bridge. River. Okay. What else?”
    “There was a town called Middleton. I remember signs for hotels lit up. It was night.”
    Anderson looked up. “I know where that is. I did an undergrad semester at the university in Madison, Wisconsin. It’s just next door.”
    Grace and Daisy watched and listened with intent expressions on their faces, as if they were trying to absorb as much as possible and somehow, through the powers of their minds, find answers.
    Portia turned to Boone. “In the truck behind the barn, there are papers in the glove box. Probably his registration