InSight

body.
    Abby recalled a book she read years before about a butterfly collector who kidnapped a young art student in London and held her hostage, to admire her as he did his prized butterfly collection. Is that what Stewart planned?
    After an hour, her cell phone rang. Abby quickly grabbed it from the zippered compartment of her purse and flipped up the cover. “Help me!” she shouted into the phone, but only static answered. Was there a message? She fumbled with the buttons to punch in her code, but Stewart quickly pulled over and snatched the phone without a word. She heard the familiar notes as he turned it off. It had to be Pete. Had he heard her plea for help?
    They reached the summit of the mountain, and after a slight descent Stewart veered off the highway, coming to a stop at the end of the exit ramp. Abby flipped the crystal of her watch to time the distance to wherever he planned to take her. He turned right, then made a quick left onto a paved road. After maneuvering a series of hairpin turns that forced her to grab the grip on the door, Stewart turned onto a long gravel road. She lost count of the turns, but according to her watch, he stopped the car twelve minutes after he exited the highway.
    He got out, opened the back door, and took her arm. She kept a tight rein on Daisy’s halter. Shivering from the chill in the air, she pulled her arm away to button her jacket. The trees rustled above her, providing a canopy to shade the area, she assumed, because no sun penetrated their veil. Breathing in the fresh mountain scent of pine and laurel, Abby listened to the symphony of birds and crickets and male cicadas, the crunch of gravel and dead leaves underfoot, and wondered if all the observations mattered. Would she ever leave?
    Stewart led her up six wooden steps, his hand firm on her arm, and unlocked the door. Daisy remained close. Even though she knew she could never run away, Abby mapped the area in her mind, a habit to supply a mental visual of her surroundings.
    Inside, a woody, mildew odor reminded her of the house Lucy rented on Lake Lanier one summer when she vowed to stop drinking. One of her many vows; one of her many broken promises. Cooking grease permeated the stagnant air. Abby recalled Stewart’s fondness for hamburgers. The odor brought to mind something else. Another smell. Not its presence, but its absence. Cloves. Why didn’t she smell it on his breath?
    “I’ll show you around,” he said.
    Abby recoiled from his touch but managed to mask her disgust. How could she stay here with him, a man who murdered her daughter and who almost succeeded in killing her? She wouldn’t end up a pathetic victim like the young woman imprisoned in the secret basement of the butterfly collector. Stewart was insane, and with Daisy’s help, she’d find a way to escape, or she’d die trying.

Chapter Fifteen
    The Deception

    L uke wasn’t proud of the way he stormed out of Abby’s house the other night. He’d acted like a spoiled child, but he couldn’t answer any more questions without going to a place he didn’t want to go. And being with Abby meant going there. She wouldn’t quit until she got answers. That’s what she did for a living. Pry into people’s lives to root out their problems. Was he ready for that?
    Whether he answered yes or no, he should have found time to email her before the FBI called him to leave immediately for Miami to lip-read a confirmed meeting between a major coke dealer and a Colombian supplier. He determined the time and place of the shipment, then stayed around for the bust. The feds were happy. So was he. Abby had helped him turn a disability into an advantage. He smiled at the thought that he call deafness an advantage.
    Guilt weighed on him the whole time he was gone. He thought about leaving a voice message but it wasn’t the same as talking to her. When he returned, he left a message, then emailed when she didn’t answer. When that didn’t get a response he dropped by her office. Cleo said she had left early, so he drove to her house. She wasn’t home.
    Now he was worried. She couldn’t be that pissed, could she? He left another voice message. Then he sent a text to Pete, who drove to Abby’s to wait with him. By six o’clock, Luke was beside himself with worry. Abby organized everything by time and place and rarely veered from her schedule.
    At six thirty, Pete called the taxi service. Someone had canceled Abby’s pickup. “Man or a woman?” Pete