Page 77 of Fallen Creed

It all came down to natural instinct. Years ago, Ruben read an article about social media sites becoming one of the biggest threats to blowing the cover of hundreds of witnesses kept in secret protection around the country. All Ruben had to do was stick with it and monitor the mother’s Facebook page. Emma would never expect him to still be searching for her half a year later, let alone on social media. He’d made it clear he didn’t use the sites and didn’t want his girls to use them either. She certainly wouldn’t have expected him to do something like befriend her mother and be accepted.

Eventually, his patience was rewarded. Wading through recipes and boring day-to-day drivel finally paid off. The message he’d been waiting for came in a post on the mother’s Facebook page.

ALL’S GOOD. HAVE A JOB AT MENARD’S.

OMG!! WHERE ARE YOU?

CAN’T TELL. #3233. DOING GREAT! I’LL BE IN TOUCH SOON. LOVE YOU!

At first glance, he’d missed the significance of #3233. For all he knew, Emma and her mother had some silly code. She came to him with a laundry list of uptight rules. He should have known how much trouble she’d be when he discovered she didn’t have a single tattoo.

“My mom would kill me if I got a tattoo,” she’d whined until he’d convinced her that alone was the best reason to get several.

Rebels without causes. Those were the girls he looked for and found easily. Until Emma Hobbs. She was too smart. Too rigid. Athletics had pounded too much discipline into her. Her working-class, single mother had weighed her down with a conscious.

Ruben was the one who gave her street creds. He was the one who taught her how to shoplift without getting caught. How to change her name and create a whole new persona. Never once did he have one of his girls use his lessons against him.

Never. Until Emma.

Of course, to be fair, he usually got rid of them before they thought about leaving the arrangement. He could get a whiff of their discontent before they even considered it.

There was one thing Emma Hobbs might not have realized—despite her somewhat admirable attempt. She did not know what great lengths David Ruben was willing to go to hunt her down. If she’d been watching her mother’s Facebook posts, she must have believed it was finally safe to make contact.

The smart, scholarship girl had no clue that Ruben had been watching and reading all of her mother’s vapid posts. When he finally hit pay dirt, he was not about to let her slip through his fingers a second time. He was determined to break their code. Could it be that Emma was telling her mother where she was?

It turned out to be fairly simple. He realized that each individual store had an identifying number. Sure enough, all he had to do was google Menards and store #3233, and he found where she was just like that. Hastings, Nebraska.

He had to hand it to her. He didn’t know where the hell Nebraska was. A small Midwest town was the last place he’d look for her, let alone a hardware store. The good girl was still wickedly clever. And that made him more determined than ever.

The name change was trickier. But knowing where she worked made it a slam-dunk. Or it should have. Having three girls would have helped. Three pairs of extra eyes to search from the photo he provided. Problem number one: he was down a girl. But that was a separate project that would need to wait to be remedied.

Problem number two: how could he possibly have prepared for Emma to have a doppelgänger? And at the same place where she worked. The resemblance was uncanny. She was even wearing Emma’s, aka Libby’s, name badge.

Vanessa said the girl had whined some excuse for it. By then, it was too late. She couldn’t possibly be allowed to live after what they had already done to her. What else could he do, but chalk it up as another lesson, and use it to motivate the girls to correct their mistake. Give them a chance to make up for disappointing him.

Evidently, it worked, because the two of them had put their heads together and figured it out. Although he knew it was probably Vanessa more than Shelby. He glanced at the girl stretched on her double bed, texting and plotting, but still absorbed in the television screen and the sappy movie.

Never mind, he told himself. They had searched and found an address. They had found Emma’s hidey-hole. As soon as this blasted snow stopped, they would finish up their business and head to Florida. Who knows? If they did a good job, maybe he’d feel generous enough to let Shelby come along.

—60—

As soon as Ariel rushed into the trailer, Libby knew she was high. Her eyes were too wide and bright. She reeked of weed. The musky odor rode the fresh, cold air that blew in around her. With only a glimpse, she saw the dogman noticed, too.

“Hey, why the hell did you let him loose?” Ariel shouted. Her voice was too loud for the small space, and she managed to turn “loose” into a hissing sound.

“He let himself loose while we were gone,” Libby told her. “I guess you didn’t tie him up tight enough.”

“Damn! I should have hog-tied his wrists and feet together. That stupid dog kept snapping at me. Help me. We can do him again.”

She talked about him as if he were still unconscious. Libby didn’t move. The guy didn’t either. They watched Ariel peel off layers of outerwear, swinging her arms too much as she pulled them out of the sleeves. She yanked off her gloves using her teeth, pausing in between to point her finger gun at him.

Libby stayed at the counter where she continued to stir soup on the stovetop. She stopped from rolling her eyes. The dogman stayed at the table. She could see him reach over to reassure the little dog by putting his hand on her. The gesture did little to stifle the dog’s snarl. Her lips were pulled back, baring teeth. For a fleeting moment, Libby wondered what it would be like to be loved and protected by this man.

“Seriously, we need to get rid of this guy,” Ariel said, as she attempted to kick out of the boots Libby had given her. In almost the same rushed breath, she added, “What smells so bitchin’ good?”

Libby shook her head and ignored her.

The boots were caked with snow. Ariel hadn’t bothered to stomp any of it off before she barged back into the trailer. They would leave a puddle. Struggling to keep her balance, Ariel finally plopped on the floor and started tugging. Watching how clumsy, yet aggressive she was, Libby felt a pang of regret. She shouldn’t have called her. She was so immature, and the drugs not only triggered her impulses, but heightened her urgency to act on them.