I trawl through every folder as quickly as I can, trying to find Caron in the information present and everything in between. There’s no record of his calendar, no details on his location. There’s no obvious coded language. His data must be kept separately.

There’s one person who knows how to find him. One person who could draw him out.

It’s time to reel in Cynthia Nordstrom.

OceanofPDF.com

25

OceanofPDF.com

ELI

It’s Monday. The weekend feels like it was seven days long with all the ups and downs Bria and I have faced together. This morning, she received word that Samuel has awoken and is able to speak, albeit slowly. She insisted I go to campus, so I check my texts between classes and receive sporadic updates as the day rolls on. She says Samuel’s comprehension seems good, but he doesn’t remember the stroke. His left side is weak. Rehab will start immediately and he should be back at Cedar Ridge within a few days.

My classes end mid-afternoon and I’m at my desk catching up on emails when a call comes through. At first, my heart speeds with anticipation that it’s Bria, but it’s Agent Espinoza’s name on the screen when I swipe to accept the call.

“We’ve been looking into your question about other cults who have experienced similar patterns of dissolution,” she says after a brief greeting. “It’s been difficult to nail down. If they’re not engaging in illegal activity, they aren’t really on our radar. There have been a few that have come and gone, but so far I haven’t found anything to indicate a similar pattern. The one potential exception is Disciples of Xantheus. Are you familiar with them?”

“Yes, I know of DOX,” I reply. “Religious cult. They were based in Nevada for some time before they disappeared.”

“That’s right. They just up and left. They turned up in Mexico for a short time before continuing south. They wound up in Bolivia.”

I let out a long sigh as I lean back in my chair. “No extradition.”

“Exactly. But we do have a woman who recently left the cult and was repatriated. She’s in Washington at the moment. She’s been in the hospital, so we haven’t had the opportunity to fully interview her yet, but she stated the catalyst for the cult’s movement from Nevada was a murder and two disappearances.”

A chill flows down my arms. There had been rumors about something cataclysmic occurring within the reclusive DOX community, causing them to pull up from their little oasis and disappear. There wasn’t anything they were doing wrong on the surface of things. It was just a small community that kept to themselves, and no one left. They never got into trouble. It never made sense why they would suddenly leave.

“Is there any chance I could interview her?” I ask. “It’s a long shot, but if there have been disappearances, perhaps they chose to run from someone.”

“One step ahead of you, Dr. Kaplan. Sara should be up for release from the hospital tomorrow, and I’m hoping she’ll agree to head to Ogden while you’re there. I’ll keep you posted, but the details we have so far are in the folders for you.”

I log in while we finish our conversation and pull up the limited information on Sara Monroe, a forty-five-year-old woman who was found wandering on a deserted Bolivian road, badly injured and alone. Reading into the limited information, it seems like she’s a woman with a wild story that she’s reluctant to tell. And at this stage, I’ll take any scrap of information I can get.

It’s four thirty when another text comes in, this time a reminder from Simon about the last race of the season. The Autumn Adder is tonight, and the weather is perfect. I’m craving that rush of adrenaline. I want to lose every thought to the machine beneath me and the dips and curves of the road… And I bet there’s someone else I know who would benefit from some time away from the weight of the world.

I pack up my things and send Bria a cryptic text before I head home to change, and within the hour I’m parking at her house.

“I see you’re finally embracing your rebel professor alter ego,” she says as she stops beside me, eyeing my motorcycle leathers and my purring bike with a sly smile.

I reach out and take her wrist, pulling her toward me until I can wrap my padded arm around her back and kiss her. Every time I’m away from Bria, even for a few hours, it feels like a deepening chasm is gnawing at my chest, consuming me. The only relief is her touch. Even seeing her at a distance is not enough. I need to feel her warmth, to let her fill that emptiness, not with light, but with the substance of her shadows.

Bria presses her palm to my face, tracing her thumb across my stubble. “What are we up to?”

“I’m taking you to something fun. It’s a little bit naughty though. It’s not what you’d call a ‘sanctioned event.’”

Her smile brightens as I pass her the spare helmet. “The Autumn Adder?” she asks.

This woman. It started with a voice in a coffee shop, a busted glance, and a bombed meeting. And now here she is, grinning like there’s not a secret she can’t excavate from me, and all I want to do is carve out my heart and give it to her. “How the fuck did you know about that?”

Bria shrugs as she walks around to my left side and swings her leg over the bike, settling in behind me with her arms around my waist. “I already told you. I have skills you don’t even know about, Dr. Kaplan.”

With a gentle squeeze she lifts a hand and closes her visor, and then we’re off, speeding toward the foothills.

The location of the Autumn Adder changes every year. I’ve been coming since I moved here four years ago, and every season it’s grown. When we arrive at the location Simon provided as a dropped pin, there are bikes filling the cracked asphalt parking lot of the abandoned gas station and lining part of the road. Music plays from someone’s speakers. People are laughing and talking, the excitement palpable as they check out each other’s machines and chatter about the upcoming ride. Not everyone will race, but there are many contenders, some of whom I’ve faced before.

I park and Bria gets off first, bewitching me as she takes off her helmet and her loose hair tumbles over her shoulders. She can’t see my face through my mirrored visor but she smiles like she can, that same cocky “caught you” look lifting the corners of her mouth.

“Pancake,” I say, lifting my visor. “If you keep looking at me like that, you’re going to throw me off my game.”

Bria saunters closer, a leopard in a leather jacket. I pull my helmet off and she wraps her arms around my neck. “If you changed your mind and don’t want to race, I’m sure I can make it worth your while.”

“Good luck convincing him out of it,” a familiar voice cuts in just as I’m about to kiss Bria. I draw back and watch as Simon approaches, running a hand through his sun-bleached hair. “Kap has a track beef. He came in second two years ago and swears Wilson cheated.”

“He did cheat,” I argue. “He kicked me and tried to touch my brake.”

“Wilson is the new Romano Fenati, apparently,” Simon whispers to Bria with a wink.

I roll my eyes and lean closer to Bria. “Romano Fenati pulled an opponent’s brake—”

“At the San Marino GP,” she interjects. “He was dropped from the Marinelli Snipers and had his racing license revoked.”

Simon grins, his clear blue eyes dancing between us as I try to wrangle my dumbfounded expression. I shake my head in disbelief and swallow. “Simon, this is my girlfriend, Bria. Bria, Simon.”

The two shake hands as Simon’s gaze rakes over Bria’s face in a way that makes me want to rip his skin off. “Racing fan?” he asks.

“No.”

God I love this woman. She doesn’t elaborate. She just lays it out there, no explanation or apology given.