Morgan typed in the search bar. “There he is.”

Lance leaned closer. “Oh yeah. He’s definitely a relative. He looks like Kim.”

In his profile picture, a tall and red-haired Stephen Holgersen was dressed in camouflage from head to toe and held an AR-15. Morgan scrolled down the page, full of blog posts on survivalist tips. “He has a YouTube channel too.” She opened a new tab. “More of the same.”

“What’s the address of the property?” Sharp moved around the desk to watch over Morgan’s other shoulder.

Jenny gave them a rural route number in Redhaven. “The survival school uses that address as well. One more thing before I go. Stephen Holgersen drives a white Chevrolet Express Cargo Van.”

Was that the white van that had sat in front of Olivia’s house?

Jenny said goodbye and signed off.

Morgan plugged Stephen’s address into the app. Most of the property was solid green with a blue horseshoe-shaped blotch roughly in the center. “Looks like nothing but woods and a lake.” She switched to the survival school’s website. “The school offers weeklong classes on wilderness survival. There’s a photo gallery.”

She clicked through a series of pictures of people fishing with homemade spears and nets, building shelters from natural materials, and setting snares to catch small game.

Sharp stared at the screen. “That would be an excellent place to hide a kidnapping victim.”

Morgan tapped a finger on her desk. “But why would Olivia’s agent want to kidnap her own client?” Her tired brain whirled. “Could there be a financial motivation?”

“She and her husband were separated. So Kim probably needs money,” Sharp said.

“Right,” Morgan agreed. “But doesn’t she lose money if Olivia doesn’t produce more books?”

“It doesn’t make sense. She needs Olivia to finish her proposal.” Sharp reached for Morgan’s computer, still showing the company’s website. “We don’t know they are working together. There could be a conflict between Kim and Stephen. We have no information about their relationship, and we’ve all seen enough family disputes to know that being blood relatives doesn’t always translate to a close bond. We know Kim is Olivia’s agent. We are hypothesizing Stephen took Olivia. The rest is conjecture.” He clicked on a tab marked VIDEOS and read the first two titles out loud: “Setting Booby Traps to Keep Your Family Safe; How to Make an Explosive Trip Wire Alarm.”

Morgan read several more video headlines: “Know Your Rights on Property Searches and Seizure; How to Stay off the Government’s Radar.”

“This sounds like the guy who blew up our front porch.” Lance stood.

“We should call Stella,” Morgan suggested.

Sharp shook his head. “Why? She’s tied up with Joe Franklin, and we don’t have any evidence that directly links Stephen Holgersen to Olivia—at least nothing that isn’t purely circumstantial. The ability to have done something is not probable cause; neither is bankruptcy. Stella wouldn’t even be able to get a search warrant.”

“She could interview him.” Morgan shifted back in her chair.

“This guy is anti-government.” Sharp pointed to the computer screen. “He’ll know his rights. He’ll never agree to an interview. He won’t let her onto the property. Requesting an interview will give him advance warning and allow him to get rid of any real evidence on his property. If Olivia is there, he’ll move her.”

If she’s still alive.

Sharp rose to his feet. He glanced at Morgan, and then Lance. “I think I should go alone. I will be breaking a long list of laws tonight—”

Lance stopped him. “You are not going anywhere alone. I’m in.”

“In that case, you’ll need to have your lawyer on hand,” Morgan added.

Sharp could not be allowed to go off on his own. He had already nearly been arrested that night. Who knew what else he might do?

Chapter Thirty-Six

Lying on her side under the blanket, Olivia heard the sound of the doors being unlocked. When had he said she only had two days left?

What day is it?

She lay in the corner, the blanket pulled up over her shoulders. Her breath rattled in her chest. Her body ached from her previous beating. He might not have to kill her. How much longer could she survive down here anyway?

The hinges squeaked as the doors opened, and his boots clomped down the stairs.

“What the fuck?” He walked closer, his footsteps crunching in the dirt until he stopped a foot from her head. His shadow fell over her. A few seconds passed. “Ah, shit.”

The flashlight beam looked red behind her closed eyes.

“Get up.” He nudged her with his foot.

Olivia groaned and rolled to her hands and knees. She’d tied the blanket around her shoulders like a cape. It hung down around her hands. She paused to cough and suck oxygen into her lungs.

“I said get up.” He tapped her thigh with the toe of his boot.

Pain shot up her leg, and she groaned, her head hanging.

“Come on. On your feet. Your time is up. We’re taking a walk.”

He’s going to kill me.

She looked up at him. He hadn’t bothered with the mask. Without it, he was just as intimidating. But Olivia had no options. Her time had run out.

She levered one foot under her body and lifted her head, her fist clenching the sock on the ground. Launching herself to her feet, she whipped the sock toward his head. She’d spent the last day filling the toe of her sock with every small rock she could find in the dirt of the cellar. Now those rocks struck her captor in the head with a solid thwack.

He staggered backward, his knees buckling. The flashlight fell to the ground. Olivia advanced, swinging the sock at his head again. It struck him in the temple. His arms windmilled for a second, and he fell backward into the dirt.

She wanted to hit him again, but she’d have to get closer. He might grab her.

Not worth it.

Afraid to take her gaze off him, Olivia snatched the flashlight from the ground and backed toward the stairs. He was half sitting, supporting himself with one hand. The other clutched his head.

Olivia turned and limped up the stairs. Outside, she shut the doors and glanced wildly around. The cellar had been dug into the side of a wooded hill. There was a large metal padlock on the ground next to the bulkhead. It locked with a key, which she assumed was in the cellar with her captor.

She needed to secure the doors. She’d stunned him, but she hadn’t knocked him unconscious. He’d be after her soon.

She grabbed a narrow branch and shoved it through the door handles. That was the best she could do. She turned away from the cellar and surveyed her surroundings. In the darkness, all she could see was woods. Were there any other people nearby? Should she risk using the flashlight?

She switched it on and kept the beam pointed toward the ground. A footpath led downhill, into the woods. Which way should she go? Follow the path and hopefully run into a vehicle she could take? Or go in the opposite direction?

Switching off the flashlight, she hobbled toward the path. The ground was sandy in both directions. He would have little difficulty following her trail. Adrenaline flowed in her bloodstream, easing her breathing and quieting the pain in her foot. But she still couldn’t move very quickly. She limped down the path.