A killer stole her voice.

Now she’s ready to take it back.

Don’t miss the chilling Shades of Death series from USA TODAY bestselling author Debra Webb.

Joanna Guthrie was free. She had been for eighteen years—or so she needed everyone to believe. What really happened during the longest fourteen days of her life, when she and two other women were held captive by the worst kind of killer, wasn’t something she could talk about. Not after what she’d had to do to survive.

But when more women go missing in an eerily similar manner, Jo knows her prolonged silence will only seal their fates. She’s finally ready to talk; she just needs someone to listen. FBI special agent Tony LeDoux can’t deny he finds Jo compelling—he’s just not sure he believes her story. But with the clock ticking, Jo will do anything to convince him, even if it means unearthing long-buried secrets that will land them squarely in the crosshairs of the killer...

Also by Debra Webb

The Blackest Crimson

No Darker Place

A Deeper Grave

The Coldest Fear

The Longest Silence

Available from MIRA Books

For additional books by USA TODAY bestselling author Debra Webb, visit her website at www.debrawebb.com.

The Longest Silence

Debra Webb

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2018

Copyright © Debra Webb 2018

Debra Webb asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9781474074742

Praise for the novels of Debra Webb

“This psychological thriller is rife with tension that begins on page one and doesn’t let up. It’s a race against the clock that had me whispering to the pair of flawed, desperate protagonists ‘Hurry, hurry.’ A gripping read.”

—#1 New York Times bestselling author Sandra Brown on The Longest Silence

“The twists and turns in this dark, taut drama make it both creepy and compelling, multiplying the enjoyment. It’s hard-edged and emotional, ensnaring the reader in a world perfectly imagined. I bid a grand welcome to a new voice in the thriller world.”

—New York Times bestselling author Steve Berry on The Longest Silence

“A well-crafted, and engrossing thriller. Debra Webb has crafted a fine, twisting thriller to be savored and enjoyed.”

—New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham on Traceless

“A steamy, provocative novel with deep, deadly secrets guaranteed to be worthy of your time.”

—Fresh Fiction on Traceless

“Debra Webb’s best work yet. The gritty, edge-of-your-seat, white-knuckled thriller is peopled with tough, credible characters and a brilliant plot that will keep you guessing until the very end.”

—New York Times bestselling author Cindy Gerard on Obsession

“Interspersed with fine-tuned suspense...the cliffhanger conclusion will leave readers eagerly anticipating future installments.”

—Publishers Weekly on Obsession

“Webb reaches into our deepest nightmares and pulls out a horrifying scenario. She delivers the ultimate villain.”

—RT Book Reviews on Dying to Play

This book is dedicated to my sister and my two brothers. Growing up on a farm in small town Alabama, we didn’t have video games or tablets or cell phones. We had one television for the family that received three local channels. So we spent a lot of time reading books and creating our own entertainment. My sister, Mary Ann, was the caretaker when my parents were out working the farm. She was like a second mother and is a very talented singer and songwriter. She kept us entertained with her beautiful voice and her happy laughter, and our bellies full with her good cooking. My elder brother, Eddie, was the artist and the storyteller. His stories were always Hitchcockian and kept my younger brother and I scared of our own shadows. Johnny, my younger brother by two years, was my true partner in crime. We explored the farm and beyond, climbed trees and turned towels into superhero capes to see if we could fly off the smokehouse roof. We pretended to be superheroes and cops and robbers. Despite the ups and downs that came later in life, I am so lucky to have such a wonderful family. I love you all, and thank you so very much for inspiring me.

Acknowledgments

Writing a fiction novel is hard work. An author puts her heart and soul into the task. It’s extremely important to love the characters in your story. If you don’t, it will show. In fact, for me, the characters are the most important element of the story. No matter how amazing and exciting the plot, if you just can’t connect to the characters, then what good is it? I love the characters in this story. They are real to me in so many ways. In particular, Joanna Guthrie’s character is close to my heart. A tragic life event caused her to lose touch with her family. Eighteen years passed before they found each other again. This element of the story was deeply personal to me because the same thing happened between my elder brother and me. Seventeen long years passed without me seeing him or hearing his voice. I am immensely thankful to have him back in my life.

Another important aspect of creating a fiction novel is research. Since the work is fiction, I sometimes take liberties. For instance, the Aubri Lane Restaurant doesn’t serve lunch, but for the purposes of this story it does. Milledgeville, Georgia, is a beautiful town. I so enjoyed visiting. The people are welcoming and charming. I felt completely at home and plan to return in the future. There are many folks I need to thank for their help in my research. First I must thank my assistant for the trip, Donna Boyd. She was a wonderful asset for taking photos and notes and just being good company. The wonderful folks at the Antebellum Inn Bed & Breakfast were incredible. The best place to stay in Georgia! I so enjoyed the delicious breakfasts with the other guests. From the local tour guides to the folks on the street, it was a treasured experience. Thanks to Wayne Crenshaw, Mike Couch, Dr. Bob Wilson and Nancy Davis Bray for providing direction and advice on the old asylum. I must thank Jamaal Hicks of Georgia College security. I was quite impressed with the highly trained and caring folks who take care of the students. There are too many other sources to name them all!

As always, please know that any liberties taken or mistakes made are mine and mine alone. Happy reading!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Praise

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Epigraph

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

About the Publisher

“Do not tell secrets to those whose faith and silence you have not already tested.”

—Queen Elizabeth I

1

Westwood, Kansas

Friday, March 4, 8:30 a.m.

Ellen Schrader only wanted a gallon of milk.

How was she supposed to feed her children breakfast without milk? Now her son was late for school. All because she’d needed that damned milk. What she got instead was rear-ended by an old man who couldn’t see his hand in front of his face and suddenly somehow it was all her fault. No one had said as much but why else would that young officer be sending her so many suspicious glances? He and the old man had been huddled together talking for far too long.

Probably whispering about her.

Ellen braced her hip against the police cruiser. The officer had told her to wait right here next to his cruiser. All those flashing lights from not one but two police cruisers as well as the ambulance were making her head swim. She’d already told the paramedic that she wasn’t hurt. She was fine. Perfectly fine. Now he, too, was in deep conversation with the officer. For Pete’s sake, you would think she was some sort of criminal. This was what she got for attempting to obey the speed limit. Everyone else, including the old fart who’d hit her, wanted to fly like they were in a race against time.

The officer peered suspiciously in her direction once more.

This was ridiculous! Her hair was damp from the rain that continued to sprinkle just enough to be ignored by every single person except her standing on the side of this godforsaken road. On top of that she was freezing and no one appeared to care. The officers who were so kind at first now appeared too busy taking the old bastard’s statement and shooting those wary looks in her direction. He sure as hell had no right to cry whiplash. He was the one who hit her for God’s sake!

Neither of the cops had offered to have her wait in one of the police cruisers or in her car. She groaned as she considered the ugly way the tailgate of her Mercedes was crushed. That old pickup had done a number on her SUV.

Where the hell was Art? The officer who’d taken her report had called him. Her husband would be livid. The Mercedes was barely a year old. God, this was all she needed. Ellen closed her eyes and tried to keep her body from swaying. The spinning eased a bit and she hugged her arms around herself to try and control the shivering. The rain made the cool morning air feel even colder.

“Ma’am.”

Reluctantly she opened her eyes, grateful for the vehicle at her back since the whole world seemed to have joined the spinning in her head. “What now, Officer...?” She frowned. What was his name? She blinked to clear her vision and stared at his chest. The two blurry name tags finally blended to become one. “Officer Edwards?”

“I’m afraid I’ll need you to take a Breathalyzer test, ma’am.”

His words hit her square in the stomach, making her sway again. “Are you suggesting I’ve been drinking?” She made a scoffing sound. “It’s not even nine o’clock on a school day. Please.”

For some unexplainable reason her knees began to shake.

“Ma’am,” he said a bit more firmly, “you have the right to refuse, but then I’ll have no choice but to arrest you.”

The rain was coming down harder now. Ellen hugged herself more tightly. This could not be happening. Thank God Art’s minivan pulled up behind the cruiser. As if the officer had only then realized they were all standing in the rain, he asked, “Mrs. Schrader, would you like to sit in the squad car?”

What difference did it make now? She was soaking wet already. Before she could say as much, Art shouted, “Ellen! Jesus Christ, are you all right?”

She tried her best to summon a smile for her husband but somehow her lips wouldn’t make the transition. There was something she should remember but whatever it was her mind refused to cooperate. Her head automatically moved up and down in a nod that she was okay. Her knees tried to buckle. The officer—Officer Edwards—steadied her.

What was wrong with her?

Before she could explain to her husband that she really was perfectly fine except for the fact that the careless old man hunkered under his little umbrella with its one broken rib had ruined her car, Officer Edwards pulled him aside. Art would be very upset that Alton was late for school and that their daughter hadn’t had her breakfast yet. It didn’t help that Ellen wasn’t feeling so well. She swayed again. She really needed to sit down.

Art looked from the officer to Ellen, fear or dismay claiming his handsome face. As if he’d only just realized that his wife could have been seriously injured in the accident, he rushed over to her and took her by the shoulders. Rather than pull her into his arms to comfort her, he shook her hard and for the first time in their ten years of marriage Ellen felt afraid.

“Where are the children?” he demanded, his voice an icy roar.

Ellen frowned. What did he mean where were the children? The two officers were back at her SUV, searching around inside. This made no sense.

Art shook her again. “Ellen, where are the children?”

“I...” She licked her lips. Her mouth felt so dry. “They’re at home, of course. I wouldn’t take them to the store with me when...” The rest of what she needed to say eluded her. Why hadn’t she brought the children with her?

“Who’s watching them?” he shouted.

“Art, please.” She pulled free of his punishing grip and bumped against the cruiser. “The children are fine. I just had to run to the store for milk. I would have been home already if not for—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish.

Her husband rushed back to his minivan and drove away, tires squealing. One of the officers followed in the second cruiser.

Officer Edwards took Ellen by the arm, his grasp firm. “Why don’t we take that test now, and then we can drive to your home and make sure the children are okay?”

At this point the entire situation felt surreal, like a very bad dream. This couldn’t be happening. She didn’t understand all the fuss. Of course the children were okay. She would never allow them to ride with her when—when she’d been drinking.

Drinking. That was the thing she’d forgotten. She’d been drinking all morning. Something she’d seen on the news had upset her but she couldn’t remember what it was. Ellen shook off the idea; she didn’t want to think about that or the vodka she’d chugged as if her life depended on it.

Disappointment and hurt twisted inside her. Art would be so angry with her. The children would be upset she’d left them for so long. The accident wasn’t supposed to happen. She was only going five miles to the store and then right back home.

Resigned to her fate, Ellen took the silly Breathalyzer test. Officer Edwards stared at her funny, and then he announced that she was under arrest. Focused on preventing herself from vomiting, she scarcely paid attention to the rights he read her. The spinning was completely out of control now.

This whole shitty morning had been blown way out of proportion. She hadn’t done anything wrong. The entire ridiculous episode was the old man’s fault. As the officer closed the cruiser door, imprisoning her in the back seat, she watched through the window as the asshole old man drove away free as a bird. The milk she’d bought was spoiling in her SUV and Alton was late for school. How many times could a child be late for kindergarten and still be promoted to first grade?

This was silly. They were all worried for nothing. The children were fine. Ellen loved her children more than anything else in this world. She would never, ever put them in danger. She was a good mother. Always careful. Like this morning, to ensure they were fine until she returned with the milk she had blockaded them in the coat closet before leaving the house. She’d made a game of it by telling them to stay hidden while Mommy went in search of the breakfast fairy. There was no reason for all this fuss or for Art to panic.

Fear knotted in her belly. Then again, she’d never expected to be gone so long.

How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? She tried to focus on the digital clock on the dash of the cruiser. Her vision wouldn’t clear enough to read the blurry numbers. Didn’t matter. When they got to her house everyone would see. The entire episode was nothing more than a series of unfortunate events. The children were fine.

Except the children weren’t fine.

Ellen saw the flames the moment the cruiser turned onto her street. Her heart launched into her throat. People were crowded into the street—her street—watching the burning house—her house.

In time she would learn that the children had gotten out of the closet. Hours, instead of minutes, had passed since their mother left them and they were hungry. Fearless and protective, five-year-old Alton had tried to scramble eggs for his little sister.

The fire had started in the kitchen. The smoke alarms didn’t send an alert to the monitoring service since Ellen had forgotten to pay the bills the past three months. Though her little boy had successfully wiggled the chair out of the way to open the closet door to freedom, he wasn’t big enough or strong enough to get past the doors she had locked to keep them in the house.

2

Copperas Cove, Texas

Sunday, March 25, 10:00 p.m.

The phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

The annoying sound echoed off the dingy walls of the tiny one-room apartment.

Joanna Guthrie chewed her thumbnail as she stared at the damned cell phone. Three people had this number: her boss, a research analyst she occasionally worked with and Ellen. If it was work, the caller would simply leave a message, but it wasn’t work—it was Ellen.

Jo’s foot started to tap so she stood and paced the floor. “Not answering.”

Why should she answer? The calls came about three or four times a year and they were always the same. Ellen would complain about her life and her husband and her kids. She would bemoan the hand fate had dealt her. She would never be whole. Nothing she attempted fixed her. Not the shrinks or the meditation or the yoga or any of the other crazier shit she’d tried, like cocaine, and certainly not the alcohol.

The ringing stopped.

Jo stared at the phone. Two minutes tops and it would start that fucking ringing again. She closed her eyes and exhaled a measure of the frustration always generated by calls from Ellen. Guilt immediately took its place. No matter the reason, whenever Ellen called Jo always wound up feeling guilty whether she answered the damned phone or not. A voice mail carried the same guilt-generating effect.

“Not my fault.” She paced the room like a freshly incarcerated criminal on the front end of a life sentence.

Ellen had chosen her own path. She’d made the decision to pretend to be normal. Dared to marry and to have children. Jo shook her head. How the hell could she do that after what they went through—what they did? Now the woman spent every minute of every day terrified that she would somehow disappoint her family or that something bad would happen to them because of her. Or, worse, that someone would discover her secret—their secret.

Deep breath. “Not my problem.”

Jo had made the smarter choice. She’d cut ties with her family and friends. No boyfriends much less husbands. No kids for damned sure. If she wanted sexual release she either took care of it herself or she picked up a soldier from one of the clubs in Killeen. She didn’t go to church; she didn’t live in the same town for more than a year. She never shared her history with anyone. Not that there was anything in her past that would give anyone reason to suspect the truth, but she hated the looks of sympathy, the questions.

The past was over and done. Dragging it into the present would not change what was done.

She had boundaries. Boundaries to protect herself. She never wasted time making small talk much less friends. Besides, she wasn’t in one place long enough for anyone to notice or to care. Since her employer was an online newspaper, she rarely had to interact face-to-face with anyone. In fact, she and the boss had never met in person and he was the closest thing to a friend she had.

Whatever that made her, Jo didn’t care.

Hysterical laughter bubbled into her throat. Even the IRS didn’t have her address. She used the newspaper’s address for anything permanent. Her boss faxed her whatever official-looking mail she received, and then shredded it. He never asked why. Jo supposed he understood somehow.

She recognized her behavior for what it was—paranoia. Plain and simple. Six years back she’d noticed one of those health fairs in the town where she’d lived. Probably not the most scientific or advanced technology since it was held in a school cafeteria. Still, she’d been desperate to ensure nothing had been implanted in her body—like some sort of tracking device—so she’d scraped up enough money to pay for a full-body scan. Actually she’d been short fifty bucks but the tech had accepted a quick fuck in exchange. After all that trouble he’d found nothing. Ultimately that was a good thing but it had pissed her off at the time.

A ring vibrated the air in the room.

Enough. Jo snatched up the phone. “What do you want, Ellen?”

The silence on the other end sent a surge of oily black uncertainty snaking around her heart. When she would have ended the call, words tumbled across the dead air.

“This is Ellen’s husband.”

A new level of doubt nudged at Jo. “Art?”

She had no idea how she remembered the man’s name. Personal details were something else she had obliterated from her life. Distance and anonymity were her only real friends now.

Now? She almost laughed out loud at her vast understatement. Eighteen years. She’d left any semblance of a normal life behind eighteen years ago. Jesus Christ, had it only been eighteen?

Felt like forever.

“Yours was the only name in Ellen’s phone I didn’t recognize.” He chuckled but the sound held no humor. “Her mom and dad’s number is there. Her little sister’s. The number for Alton’s school, my mom’s and the pediatrician. Mine, of course. But yours was the only other one.” He made a sound of surprise. “I never realized there was no one else. No friends. Not even any of the other mothers from Alton’s class or from our neighborhood are in her contacts. I just assumed she lunched and shopped with the other mothers. Set up playdates, but Alton said no playdates.” He sighed. “Doesn’t really matter now, I guess.”

That inky blackness spread through Jo’s chest like icy water rushing over a cliff. “Where’s Ellen?”

Another of those humorless chuckles. “I wish I could tell you she’s at home with Elle—that’s our three-year-old. But Elle’s with my mom. My wife isn’t here at the hospital with me and Alton either.”

Jo held back her questions through another long, weary sigh. A steady beep, beep, beep echoed in the background. He’d said he and Alton were in the hospital. “Is Ellen sick?”

Wait, he’d said Ellen wasn’t there. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Jo repeated those two words to herself during the silence that followed. Ellen’s problems weren’t hers.

Ellen made her own choices.

“No,” Art finally said, his voice cracking on the single syllable. He cleared his throat. “Alton is having his second surgery, by the way. They weren’t able to finish all the skin grafts with the first one. He’ll be okay. Maybe one more surgery after this.” Silence filled the air between them once more. “The fire wasn’t her fault, you know. She didn’t mean for any of this to happen. She tried. She really did. I should have given her more credit for trying.”

Fire? As hard as she tried to ignore it, worry gnawed at Jo.

“In case you didn’t know, Ellen had a serious problem.”

Had? More of that tension twisted in Jo’s gut.

Art drew in a shaky breath. “I tried to help her but nothing ever seemed to work. Don’t worry though, Alton will be okay. The burns on his hands and arms will heal. I tried to tell her he’d be fine, but I guess I was so angry I waited too long to reassure her. At first I was too upset to think rationally. Any father would have done the same. I was so scared and so damned furious. I told her she had to leave. That I couldn’t trust her to take care of the children anymore. So, you see, it’s really my fault. I shouldn’t have said so many hurtful things. I wasn’t thinking... I was so upset by what she’d done.” Pause. “I guess I should have called you sooner, but I—”

“Art,” Jo snapped, “where is Ellen?”

He cleared his throat. “Ellen killed herself three weeks ago today. Last night I finally worked up the courage to go through some of her things and I thought—since you were the only friend listed in her contacts—that you might want to know. And maybe you could tell me what she meant by the note she left. Three words and I don’t have a clue what they mean. She knows everything. Do you know what she meant by that?”

Jo ended the call.

Ellen had tried to call her three weeks ago and Jo had ignored the incessant ringing. No voice mail was left. If a caller didn’t leave a voice mail, you weren’t actually obligated to call back, right? It had been a Saturday. Must have been the day before...

Jo sank onto the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. She should have answered. She should have tried to be the friend Ellen’s husband thought she was. And Ellen was right. She did know everything—Jo had lived it with her. Now the only other person who knew what really happened eighteen years ago was dead.

Jo wondered why in all this time she’d never considered taking that avenue out of this pretend life she muddled through?

Maybe because she was a coward—or maybe because if she did then the bad guys won.

She looked around the place she called home for now. Her entire apartment was this one ten-by-twelve room. Even the bathroom was nothing more than a small corner hidden behind a makeshift partition wall. The wood floors were worn and creaked with every step she made. The plaster on the walls was cracked, the blue paint faded. The only window was covered with a cheap, nicotine-stained paper blind, the sort made for temporary use. There was a tired sofa that served as a bed, along with a rickety metal and Formica table accompanied by two well-worn chairs. Along the shared wall between this room and the neighbor’s the kitchenette looked like something out of a 1950s Airstream.

Jo blinked. None of it really mattered. There was a roof over her head and four walls to protect her from the weather and whatever other threat showed up. No leaks in the roof and the plumbing worked most of the time. She pushed to her feet and shoved her cell into the back pocket of her jeans. Uncertainty and disappointment and all the other weaknesses she rarely allowed herself to feel suddenly assaulted her.

Memories from her former life poured through the emptiness inside her before she could stop them. She’d had a family. She’d had a scholarship. The future had been hers for the taking. Now, Jo turned all the way around in the middle of the room; she was thirty-six years old and this was her life—all because she’d made a terrible, terrible mistake eighteen years ago.

Poor Ellen had tried as best she could to salvage some semblance of a life and look how that turned out.

Bottom line, they had both allowed persons whose names they hadn’t known—whose faces they couldn’t be certain they had ever seen—to get away with destroying their lives.

Determination surged in Jo’s veins. Ellen was dead. The other girl was dead. Jo suspected the bastards who had orchestrated all of this were responsible for numerous other devastated lives and deaths, as well. Was she going to do nothing and allow them to never have to face responsibility for what they’d done?

Jo had been silent far too long.

Besides, what did she have to lose?

Not one damned thing that wasn’t already gone.

3

Lorton, Virginia

Tuesday, April 10, 11:16 a.m.

The god-awful sound wouldn’t go away. Like an earthquake shaking the whole damned townhouse, the noise splitting his skull.

Former Special Agent Anthony LeDoux cracked one eye open. Sunlight poured in through the slits in the blinds and he snapped his eyes shut once more. What idiot designed bedrooms facing east? Better question, what idiot rented a townhouse with a bedroom facing east?

A rusty groan growled out of him. You did, Tony. Special agent... Yeah right.

He should probably get up. Maybe eat something so he wouldn’t lose any more weight. Maybe even do something worthwhile like look for a job. His brain ached with the weight of the thought.

What the hell time was it? One hand tunneled from under the sheet and pawed across the bedside table until he found his cell phone. Once his fingers wrapped around it, he dared to raise his head from the pillow. Pain abruptly throbbed in his skull like a series of IED blasts.

“Shit.” Despite the agony, he forced his eyes open and peered at the cell phone—11:20 a.m. “Christ.”

Before he could drop the phone back onto the table it vibrated. So that was the infernal noise that had awakened him. Even with the phone in his hand the noise was like a blender full of rocks roaring on high speed. He stared at the screen until the caller’s identity came into focus.

Angie.

Oh hell. Tony cleared his throat and said hello aloud a couple of times just to make sure he sounded normal and not hungover before answering. “Hey, sis. What’s up?” Didn’t help. His voice sounded rusty and cracked twice.

“It’s Tiffany.”

He sat upright, the room rocking like a boat about to capsize. Plowing a hand through his hair, he prayed his head wouldn’t explode before he got through this conversation. “What’d she do? Drop out of school?”

His niece had been the perfect angel from the day she was born until high school. It was as if the day she turned sixteen she wanted to make up for lost time. The girl had given her conservative parents pure hell the past three years. As Angie’s only sibling, Tony had been the sounding board for the worst of the awful episodes. Thankfully things had been mostly quiet since Tiffany left for college. He’d hoped she had grown out of her wild stage.

A sob echoed in his ear and his heart reacted. “Ang, what’s going on?”

He stood. Swayed some more before he could steady himself. It wasn’t until then that he noticed the blonde in his bed. Her bare ass and rumpled mane were the only parts not covered by the tangled sheet. What the hell was her name? Chelsea? Chanel? Fuck! He couldn’t remember.

“She’s missing, Tony,” Ang said in his ear. “My girl is missing.”

A hint of fear roiled in his belly. He turned away from the blonde, who hadn’t moved. “Okay, sis. Take it from the top. Tell me what happened.”

As Angie spoke, he put her on speaker and left his phone on the table while he searched for his jeans and shirt. When the blonde still didn’t move, he leaned close and listened for any sign of breathing. She smelled of expensive perfume and high-octane vodka. Her soft purrs confirmed she had survived whatever the hell they’d done last night.

“We wanted her to come home for spring break,” his sister went on, “but she had other plans. She wouldn’t say what or with whom. Said it was none of our business and that we’d hear from her when she got back. So we thought maybe she had a boyfriend. Maybe a serious one. But ever since spring break she’s been distant. I called her every day last week and she never answered or called me back.” More of those heart-twisting sobs resonated in the room.

Tony hopped on one foot and then the other to tug on his jeans. “Is she showing up for class?”

“She was in class on Friday, but she didn’t show up for any of her classes yesterday or this morning.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute.” The room spun a little so Tony sat down on the bed. The blonde moaned but didn’t move. He picked up the phone and took it off speaker. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s not even noon, Ang. Maybe she’s just late. She could be on her way back from a weekend trip right now.” His niece had hardly been out of pocket long enough to overreact. Ang did that sometimes. She was particularly emotional when it came to her only child.

“No. No, I spoke to her roommate. Tiffany didn’t—”

“Ang, listen.” He rubbed at the back of his skull. Damn, his head hurt. The taste of bile and vodka climbed up his throat. He swallowed it back. “She’s nineteen and trying out her wings. Wait and see... She’ll show up sometime today. Just try to stay calm.”

“You don’t understand!”

His sister’s raised voice was like a bullet to his brain; he flinched. He needed something for this headache. Angie was older—only by fifteen months—and she never let Tony forget it. As calmly as he could, he said, “Explain it to me then.”

“None of her clothes are missing. Nothing. If she went on a weekend trip, wouldn’t she take something? A change of clothes? Her purse?”

That drop of fear he’d felt earlier widened into a distinct trickle. “She didn’t take her purse? What about her driver’s license and cell phone?”

“No. Nothing. Tony,” Ang said somberly, “she didn’t even take her makeup or her Jeep.”

A flood of uncertainty crowded into his chest now, making his next breath difficult. “Okay. Have you alerted campus security?”

His niece was a beautiful girl and certainly didn’t need cosmetics to enhance her natural beauty but she refused to step out the door without the works. If she didn’t take her makeup, she hadn’t left willingly. Not to mention her cell phone and driver’s license. If they possessed one or both, no teenager left without them.

“Yes, of course. We’re headed to Milledgeville now. I need you, Tony. I don’t care what’s going on with you and the Bureau—I need you. Tiffany needs you.”

With Ang and Steve in Dahlonega, the drive down to Milledgeville would take between two and three hours. They would arrive well ahead of Tony, which meant he had to get moving.

He leaned forward, fighting back the urge to vomit, and gathered his sneakers. “Call the Dean and ask him to put campus security on high alert. As soon as you get to Milledgeville, go straight to the security office. I’ll call the Milledgeville chief of police and explain our concerns so he’ll see the urgency in the situation.”

“Thank you.” His sister made a keening sound. “What if—”

“Ang, stop. Don’t even go there right now.” She started to cry and the sound was like daggers twisting in his chest. In the background her husband, Steve, offered quiet reassurances. When silence filled the air between them, Tony said, “Listen to me, sis, we’ll find her.”

“Promise me, Tony. Promise me you’ll find our baby.”

“I promise.”

The call dropped off. Tony blew out a heavy breath. Now sure as hell wasn’t the time to tell his sister that he wasn’t simply having trouble with the Bureau—he had resigned from his position at BAU-2. He’d been keeping that secret from his ex-wife and his sister for more than a month. He glanced back at the blonde. He’d filled his nights with booze and women whose names he couldn’t remember the next morning. Like a vampire, he spent his days sleeping.

He grabbed his shirt and headed for the bathroom. A better man would shave and shower before hitting the road, but Tony wasn’t a better man anymore. He’d stopped being that man more than a year ago.

Bitter bile rushed into his throat and he barely made it to the toilet. He heaved until there was nothing left to exorcise from his gut.

The path of self-destruction. His new boss had said those words to him in the final weeks before Tony gave the hard-nosed asshole and the Bureau the middle finger. He flushed the toilet and, with effort, pushed to his feet. He ducked his head under the faucet and rinsed his mouth. Swiping his face with his forearm, he stared at his reflection. He definitely needed to shave. Needed a haircut. Looked like death warmed over.

No time to fix his broken image.

He bumped into the wall on his way to the walk-in closet. The idea that his blood alcohol level might still be lingering above the legal limit filtered through his mind. No time to fix that either. He’d take food and water with him and work on that particular issue en route. He grabbed the leather overnight bag he’d used for the eleven years of service he’d given the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

He ignored the row of suits and crisply pressed shirts and stuffed a couple of polo shirts and another pair of jeans, socks and underwear into the bag. A pair of loafers went in next. Should have gone in first. Before his fall from grace he’d packed this damned bag so meticulously that even his shirts came out as smooth as when they’d gone in. Not anymore. On second thought he shoved a suit jacket into the bag. If he halfway looked the part maybe Angie wouldn’t have too many questions.

At the door to the bedroom he remembered his Dopp kit. He might not want to shave now but he’d have to eventually if he expected the local cops to listen to what he had to say. He added the toiletry kit to his bag.

As a profiler for the Bureau he’d spent a lot of years learning how to manipulate the locals to accomplish his goal. In fact, he’d become a master manipulator. Maybe all that bad Karma he’d left in his wake had finally caught up to him.

He glanced at the blonde in his bed. This was the part he always dreaded.

Chelsea or Chanel wasn’t happy about being roused. She called him every foul name in her vast repertoire while he helped her dress. When he’d called a cab, he gave her a bottle of water and maneuvered her out of the building. As the car pulled away from the curb she shouted asshole and flipped her middle finger at him.

Nothing he didn’t deserve. He climbed into his BMW and collapsed against the seat. Anthony LeDoux, this is your life.

Somehow, until he figured out where the hell Tiffany was, he’d have to find a way to pull himself together and at least pretend his world hadn’t gone to shit and that he could help rescue his niece from whatever trouble she had gotten herself into.

Too bad he’d lost his hero credentials months ago.

4

Milledgeville, Georgia

8:30 p.m.

It was late, but the tension in the chief of police’s office was motivated by far more than the hour. Tony sensed the animosity the moment he walked through the entrance doors of the Public Safety building. Obviously, the man already had Tony’s number. Not surprising. Any cop worth his salt would do his homework.

There was a time when Tony had been damned good at prompting all the right reactions. Not anymore.

Since it was well past business hours, a uniformed officer had been waiting to allow him into the one-story building and then to escort him to the office of the town’s top cop. A tall, fit man, Chief Arlan Phelps had no doubt spent the last thirty or so years in law enforcement and possessed no tolerance for those who used evasion and innuendo to manipulate events.

Not so good for Tony since these days those were his most valuable assets.

“Make yourself comfortable, Agent LeDoux.” Phelps gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

“Thanks.” Tony settled into the offered seat, careful to keep his gaze on the chief. He’d pulled over at a truck stop outside Atlanta. After topping off the gas tank, he’d spent some time in the bathroom shaving and changing clothes. Then he’d forced himself to eat a hot meal. He’d used some Visine to tone down his bloodshot eyes and popped a couple of Advil. By the time he made the exit for Milledgeville some ninety miles later he felt reasonably human.

Phelps hadn’t stopped staring at him since he came into the room. The older man smoothed a palm over his slick head. “There is nothing in this world I hate more than having my time wasted, and you, Mr. LeDoux, wasted a good deal of my time this afternoon.”

So, he knew Tony’s secret. Great. Might as well play this out and see if there was anything salvageable. “How do you mean, Chief? When a young woman—anyone for that matter—goes missing, I take it very seriously, and time is not an asset that should ever be wasted in a situation such as this one.”

“The FBI tells me you’re no longer in their service.” Phelps leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on its worn, smooth wooden arms. “I don’t know what to make of that, Mr. LeDoux. Isn’t it against the law to impersonate a federal agent?”

Now he was just being an asshole.

Tony nodded. “You’re right. I used the position I once held to prompt you to action. The truth is Tiffany is my niece—my only niece, daughter of my only sister. My goal is to ensure everything possible is done to find her.” He held up a hand when Phelps would have spoken. “I no longer serve the Bureau, that’s true, but I did and I was very good at my job. I can help—I want—to help.”

Phelps smiled. “I figured as much after I spoke with the girl’s parents. Here’s the problem.” He leaned forward, eliciting a groan from his chair. “We have no real proof at this time that Tiffany Durand is missing. She’s nineteen years old and even her roommate said she might just have decided to take a little vacation with the new guy she’s seeing and hasn’t made it back to class in time. It happens. It’s too early to get worried just yet.”

Tony prepared to list the litany of reasons that assessment was inaccurate except this time Phelps was the one holding up his hand. So Tony grabbed onto his last shred of patience and heard the man out.

“I make my decision based on facts and the facts simply don’t indicate foul play just yet. I don’t know how well you keep up with your niece, but this isn’t the first time she’s disappeared. Campus security is lead on any case that involves the students and they’ve questioned her roommate and several of her friends—just because her parents called. I spoke with the chief over there—for no other reason than you asked me to do so. As you know, without some indication of foul play or suggestion of imminent danger, Tiffany is not technically missing. She’s a nineteen-year-old woman who didn’t show up for class and who has a record of doing so. The good news is she always comes back. Never misses more than a day or two.”

When the chief paused to take a breath, Tony argued, “We believe this time is different. Tiffany’s mother knows her better than anyone and she has reason—”

“Mr. and Mrs. Durand explained their feelings very clearly and we all completely understand their misgivings. Hell, I have two daughters and raising them about put me six feet under. Girls, no matter how smart and how sweet, can break your heart and scare you half to death.”

Tony took a moment as if he were weighing the chief’s sage words. “So, you’re choosing to impose a waiting period?”

Federal law left the decision in the hands of local law enforcement, but few opted to hold out and be the reason a missing child or young adult became a homicide case. Tony held the older man’s gaze. Men like Phelps didn’t like veering outside the lines. They chose a path in their careers and they never deviated, kept it simple. But life wasn’t simple. Tony had seen up close what a psychopathic serial killer could do to a victim in a couple of hours. Time was always the enemy.

“Tiffany’s done this before,” Phelps reminded him. “The security folks over at the college are an outstanding team. They go through the same training as our state police so we’re not talking about a group of rent-a-cops. They’ve performed their due diligence. Frankly, they’ve already gone above and beyond—questioning other students, talking to her professors. They haven’t been twiddling their thumbs over there. In fact, I’ve spoken to the chief several times today. Based on Tiffany’s previous activities, he feels she’ll show up in the next twenty-four hours.”

“Her previous activities?” The headache had resurrected and started to throb behind Tony’s eyes. “You keep insinuating she’s done this before but I’m not hearing any actual dates or firm accounts.”

Phelps heaved an impatient sigh. “Twice last semester and a third time back in February, she disappeared for a couple of days. Her confidential contact confirmed that she left of her own volition after her final class last Friday. Bottom line, at this time we have no credible reason to consider her missing. If she does not show up or contact her family or confidential contact by tomorrow morning, we’ll move forward with a missing person report.”

“Confidential contact?”

“Each student has the option of designating a confidential contact that isn’t necessarily a parent or other next of kin. Typically, a confidential contact is close to the student and would be aware of his or her whereabouts.”

“Well.” Tony stood. He closed the button of his jacket. “I’ll see you first thing in the morning, Chief.”

Before Tony reached the door, Phelps said, “You’re that convinced she’s not going to show up.”

Tony thought of all Angie had told him. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

He reached for the door once more, and Phelps said, “Sit back down, Agent LeDoux.”

Tony hesitated for a couple of seconds, mostly to annoy the man. Finally, he turned and took the three steps back to his chair. There was only one reason to continue this discussion after such a lengthy discourse of reasons not be concerned. “You know something you haven’t shared with the family.”

“I’m speaking to you in a professional capacity.”

Could have fooled me. “I appreciate that, Chief.”

“This goes no further than this room. We have to consider the welfare of our students and the last thing we want is to have them unnecessarily unsettled.”

What he really meant was he didn’t want parents calling to demand answers. “I understand.”

“There’s another freshman who didn’t show up for class yesterday.”

The rising tide of fear Tony had been holding back for the past nine hours threatened to push past his defenses. He needed a drink. “Any similarities?”

Phelps nodded. “Her purse, other personal belongings as well as her cell phone are still in her room. Her car is still in student parking, just like Tiffany’s. Unlike your niece’s, this girl’s confidential contact insists that something is wrong. Since this student has no history of failure to show up for class or of disappearing for a couple of days without telling anyone, her parents have already been contacted. The chief over at campus security, Ed Buckley, has started the missing person protocol.”

“Are my niece and this other student friends? Classmates?”

Phelps reached for a manila file on his desk. He opened it and pushed it toward Tony. “As far as we can tell, they don’t know each other. Had no classes together and look nothing alike. No friends in common. About the only trait the two share is that they’re both students who maintain a steady four point oh.”

Tony studied the file. Vickie Parton was eighteen. Her black hair was one of those feathery short cuts and her eyes were hazel. Other than being model thin, Parton and his niece had nothing whatsoever in common—on the outside.

Phelps scrubbed a hand over his somber face. “No one has seen or heard from her since her final class on Friday afternoon.”

Tony pushed the folder back toward him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Phelps nodded.

“You know,” the chief said, stopping Tony at the door once more, “I can already tell I’m not going to like you, LeDoux.”

Tony shifted to face him. “If it makes you feel any better, I was just thinking the same thing.”

One corner of the older man’s mouth quirked. “But if you can help, I’ll pretend for as long as it takes.”

Tony gave a nod. “Sounds like a plan.”

As he moved along the corridor, Tony gave himself a mental pat on the back. He might be out of the game but he hadn’t lost his touch. He would find Tiffany. If his niece had been harmed in any way, whoever did the deed better hope the locals found him before Tony did.

Antebellum Inn, 11:00 p.m.

“I wanted you close.”

Tony dredged up a smile for his sister. “Saved me the trouble of looking for a place.”

Angela LeDoux Durand looked so damned much like their mother with her fair skin and dark hair and those oddly pale eyes, more gold than brown. Sometimes even her voice made him have to look twice to ensure their mom wasn’t talking to him. Tony had inherited his lighter hair and darker eyes from their father. Right now, his sister’s eyes were filled with worry and fear—the same worry and fear he felt churning in his gut.

“I was afraid you’d be angry.”

Tony tossed his bag on the floor of the room. “Why would I be angry?”

Ang had been to Milledgeville several times to see Tiffany. She’d stayed at this historic inn every time, which was why she’d automatically called in a reservation on the way here. Only this time she’d reserved a room for him, as well. Not a problem. Really. He and Ang had always been close. As kids they’d been inseparable. Even as teenagers they’d shared many of the same friends. Adulthood hadn’t changed that—at least not until recently. Sharing the news of his divorce with his sister had been relatively easy; the career crash and burn, however, was a whole different ball game. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes. She’d always looked at him as if he was a hero, starting the day he’d kicked nine-year-old Lacon Turner’s butt for putting gum in her hair.

He did not want to fail her or Tiffany now.

Ignoring his question, she gestured to the room at large. “I knew you’d need some privacy. I hope this works.”

The pool cottage was behind the main house with its four guest rooms. A narrow rear yard, small parking lot and the pool stood between the cottage and the back steps of the hundred-plus-year-old home. The cottage accommodation was bigger than the rooms in the house and had its own kitchen. His sister had been right about the need for privacy. The last thing he wanted right now was for her to start worrying about his personal issues.

He gave her a nod. “It’s perfect.”

She summoned a weary smile. “Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She’d insisted he replay verbatim his meeting with the chief of police. To prevent the hysteria he noted beneath the surface of her carefully controlled expression, he’d done as she asked—except for the news about the other girl. He loved his sister and he would do anything to find Tiffany, but there were some things civilians didn’t need to know.

Civilians? He almost laughed at himself. You’re a civilian now, dumb ass.

Maybe so, but he’d seen things. There were things he couldn’t erase from his brain—things that haunted him every single hour of every day of his life. Those things were what really scared him where Tiffany was concerned.

Don’t go there yet.

Before his sister could go, he pulled her close and hugged her tight. “We’ll find her, Ang. I promise.”

She cried for a minute. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back his own emotion. He had to be strong for her and for Tiffany.

Tony stood at the door and watched as she crossed the property, returning to the main house. The night air had a chill to it. Once Ang was inside, he closed and locked the door. He plugged in the laptop Ang had carried in for him. The damned thing had been in the trunk of his car since the day he walked out of his office. The box of personal possessions from his office was still in his trunk, too. He hadn’t cared about looking at any of it. The few scattered personal items he’d kept on his desk were just a reminder that he’d screwed up. The photo of his ex-wife he’d shoved into a drawer months ago. The bag of peppermints he’d recently started using to conceal the alcohol on his breath. The keys to the house that was no longer his. His ex got the house and the dog and his best friend—who hadn’t really been a friend at all as it turned out. Tony had gotten nothing. Didn’t matter. He didn’t need anything. The townhouse he moved to suited his needs and friends were overrated.

Enough about the past. His new motto was to live in the moment.

He closed the blinds and dug into his bag where he’d stashed the pint of bourbon he’d found in the trunk—ironically in the box of personal effects from his office.

He opened cabinet doors until he found the mugs. A mug in hand, he made himself comfortable at the table. He fired up the laptop. While it loaded, he poured himself a healthy serving of bourbon. He’d been dying for a drink all evening.

The first sip burned like hell. But the promise of that burn allowed him to begin to relax. He downed another swallow and focused his attention on the laptop screen. Time to see what his niece had been up to on social media. He may have walked away from his career with the Bureau’s Behavioral Analysis Unit but he still had a few valuable contacts.

Even when the police had officially listed her as missing, it would take time to unlock all the barriers that prevented law enforcement from seeing what Tiffany had been doing online and on her cell phone the final days and hours before she disappeared.

Tony intended to know as much of that as possible before he closed his eyes tonight.

The chief had made a reasonable point when he mentioned Tiffany’s occasional disappearing acts. Tony got that. But this time was different. He trusted his sister’s instincts far more than he did those of Chief Phelps.

There were necessary steps that had to be taken before determining Tiffany’s status. As with unlocking her phone and social media accounts, each step required time.

If she was in trouble, time represented one of the biggest threats to her staying alive.

5

Milledgeville

Wednesday, April 11, 7:50 a.m.

Jo reached for her coffee but curled her shaking hand into a fist rather than risk picking up the mug.

She wasn’t supposed to come back here. Ever. In fact, she hadn’t set foot in the state of Georgia since she left eighteen years ago. Never coming back. Never, never coming back. She shouldn’t be here now. Deep breath. No choice.

Keep your head on straight, Jo.

From what she could see last night not that much had changed other than the old asylum had closed down. She’d read about the closure a few years ago.

Not soon enough.

Images flickered through her brain. She pushed them away. Don’t look. Don’t look. Have to look.

They should burn the whole place down. Every decaying building.

A complete contrast to the old asylum, Milledgeville was a quaint place that exuded small-town charm and promised parents of potential students that it was a safe and wholesome setting. In truth, it was, for the most part, despite the college campus and endless assortment of official and unofficial sorority and frat houses. Bars, clubs, restaurants, boutiques. All the things every college student needed handy for the launch into adulthood.

Jo went for her coffee again. This time she managed to lift the mug without the risk of spilling the hot brew. She downed a couple of swallows as she stared out the window toward Hancock Street. The first day of her freshman year she’d been so excited. No one in her family had ever gone to college. She was the first. Her parents had been so proud. Even her brother—a man who was far more contented with his head under a hood than in a book—seemed genuinely happy for her.

She’d arrived with big dreams and fully determined to prove she deserved the opportunity. She hadn’t bothered with friends the first semester. Her academic work had been her singular focus. Christmas had arrived and she’d stayed on campus to volunteer with local Christmas charities and to earn some extra cash. She’d gotten a job through the holiday season so she could afford a couple of new outfits and presents to send back home.

Every day had been a new adventure. She was so happy. Then winter started to fade and the promise of spring in the air had her hoping for more.

Her first mistake.

Ray had come to Milledgeville to help with the search on the ninth of March eighteen years ago. Her mother hadn’t been able to come. Their father had been too ill to travel. Cancer. He’d died a year later. She doubted her brother or her mother would ever forgive her for not coming to the funeral.

They didn’t understand.

How could they? She had never told anyone what really happened. She and Ellen had made a pact never to tell. Would it have changed anything if they had told the truth? Would Ellen and the others be alive? Probably not.

Jo shouldn’t have come back here. Had to. Two weeks, one day and six hours had been required for her to work up her nerve to begin the journey from Texas to Georgia. She’d rolled into town in the middle of the night last night. Slept in her twelve-year-old Celica. Nothing like traveling in style.

She was here. That alone was a freaking miracle. Eighteen years. Seventeen years, ten months and twenty-five days to be exact since she left this place.

Jo watched the cars on Hancock Street cruise by. This time of year prospective students were visiting the campus with their parents. Two young girls sat on the bench outside the Blackbird right now. Faces all smiles. Hearts full of excitement. Probably freshmen with that first awkward year nearly behind them or high school seniors hoping to start in the fall. Their futures were just beginning. Others rushed along the sidewalk. Most of the students lived on campus or in one of the sorority or frat houses and used bicycles to get around. Milledgeville was that sort of town. She’d had a bike eighteen years ago. But then she’d sold it when she decided to leave. A single backpack with a couple of changes of clothes was all she’d carried with her when she boarded that bus to anywhere but here.

At the front of the café the door opened and new voices filled the coffee shop. Jo scrutinized the group. So young. They had no idea how important the decisions they made today would be to their futures.

She’d made the wrong decisions and she’d paid the price. Every single night of her life she woke up at least once with her heart racing and her skin clammy with fear that someone was coming for her—that someone knew what she had done, that they would show up at her door.

No one ever came. After nearly eighteen years it was obvious that the only evil she or Ellen or any of the others had to face was their own reflections—the fear, the secrets. The truth. And the years of silence.

Jo started to push the memories away but stopped. She had come back to this place to confront the past. No more pushing it away. No more running. She picked up her cell phone and studied the screen. On the drive here she’d considered calling her mom. She’d only spoken to her once or twice since she left, but she did send her a card on her birthday every year. Disappearing without letting her mother know from time to time that she was okay had been something she couldn’t do.

Her hometown of Madison was less than an hour north of here. She turned her phone screen down on the table. Not yet. She had to take care of this first. When this was done, she would call her mother and maybe even drop by for a short visit. Ray probably wouldn’t speak to her and certainly wouldn’t want to see her. He was married now and had two kids. She didn’t know Tracey, the woman he married. According to Facebook, she was a nurse. Ray was still a mechanic at the same garage he’d worked at when Jo was in high school and then in college, only he owned the place now.

Sometimes she felt like a stalker following his wife’s social media activities but it made her feel better knowing they were all okay. Her mom had wanted grandchildren. She looked happy in the photos Tracey posted. Jo didn’t have any social media accounts of her own. Instead she used her neighbor’s. Wherever she lived there was always at least one neighbor who was careless. Leaving a door unlocked, drinking or drugging too much. Using the apps on their phones was easy. She could look at whatever she wanted, and then delete the history.

“You sure you don’t want something to eat, hon?”

Jo looked up at the server who’d asked that question about half an hour ago. She’d been here too long. Time to move. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

The server—Regina—frowned. “All right then.” She placed the check for the coffee facedown on the table.

Grabbing the check, Jo stood and headed for the register. She made it a point to avoid eye contact with those she passed. Not meeting people’s gazes had become automatic, like dressing nondescriptly and keeping her hair short so she didn’t call attention to herself.

Two customers were in front of her at the register so she waited.

“No,” a girl behind her insisted, “I’m telling you this is for real. I heard my father talking to the chief of police this morning. That girl is missing. She left class on Friday and never came back. I think,” she added in an attempt at a whisper that failed miserably, “there might be two missing.”

Jo pulled her compact from her bag and pretended to check her teeth. She scrutinized the girl seated in the booth across the aisle directly behind her. Young. Likely a student. She was huddled in the booth with a guy, maybe her boyfriend or a study partner.

The guy said, “Well, your dad’s the sheriff. I guess he would know.”

The girl looked around again before saying, “It’ll be all over the news by this afternoon. It’s cray cray. The one who’s for sure missing is a freshman so I don’t know her. Poor thing, she probably went home with the wrong guy. It happens, you know.”

“You’re gonna have to hand me that check, hon, if you want me to ring you up.”

Jo jerked her attention forward and passed the check to the server behind the register. “Sorry.” She dug for a bill from her purse and handed it to the woman. “Keep the change.”

“Are you sure?”

Jo was already headed for the door. She didn’t look back.

“This is a twenty! You only had coffee,” followed her out the door.

Jo forced her feet to slow. Running would only draw attention to herself. Deep breath. Another. She climbed into her Celica and locked the doors. More slow deep breaths. She needed to calm down.

At least one freshman was missing.

Didn’t mean the abduction was relevant to why Jo was here. Hundreds of people went missing every day all over the country. That would be way too big of a coincidence. Not possible. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

Think.

If by some bizarre twist of fate, it was him, the girl had potentially been unaccounted for at least four days. That left another ten days—if she was like Jo, like Ellen—until it was too late.

Stop borrowing trouble, Jo-Jo. She had no idea the circumstances of the girls’ disappearances.

“Stay focused.”

She drew in a deep breath. Stick to the plan. Going to the cops at this stage would be premature—a mistake. She couldn’t help if she was detained for questioning or worse, arrested.

Can’t tell the whole truth yet. Can’t tell. Gotta keep quiet for now.

But if those two girls were taken by the same person who took Ellen and her, Jo had at best ten days to find the truth before someone died.

Only what the police didn’t know was that there wouldn’t be just two victims—no one knew about the other girl yet.

6

Georgia College & State University

Parkhurst Hall

12:45 p.m.

Tony moved slowly through the shared space where Tiffany had lived for the past nine months. The suite was reasonably sized. On her side of the room was a typical twin-size bed with nightstand, a desk and chair, bookshelf, chest of drawers and lockable closet. The closet had been unlocked when he arrived. The roommate, Riley Fallon, stated that Tiffany never locked her closet. He snapped photos as he went along to review later. This might be his only opportunity for access to the room.

The roommate and Angie had been allowed to view the closet before their official questioning for the purpose of attempting to determine if anything was missing. Both had confirmed that Tiffany’s belongings, as best either one could tell, were all there. Tony was amazed at Angie’s ability to remain so strong during the questioning that followed. She explained how Tiffany would never leave without her makeup, purse and cell phone. No one challenged that assessment. The birth control pills found in the nightstand drawer added yet another check to the missing column. Angie hadn’t known Tiffany was on birth control but didn’t appear upset about it. The date of the prescription and the number of missing pills indicated Tiffany had taken one every day until the day she was last seen in this room—four days and eighteen hours ago. Tony snapped a photo of the prescription just in case. Never knew what would turn out to be important.

In his opinion there was more than enough evidence to confirm the status of missing. Phelps as well as Chief Buckley of campus security were now equally convinced. A press conference was held at eight this morning and the alerts were issued. The Georgia Bureau of Investigation as well as the Federal Bureau of Investigation had been notified. Setting up a joint task force with Chief Buckley as lead was the next order of business for the local authorities. Something else that would burn valuable time they didn’t have to spare, but it was a necessary step. The more eyes they had on the case, the more boots on the ground, the better.

Tony sat down in the chair on Tiffany’s side of the room and waited for Riley Fallon, the roommate, to return to the dorm. In this morning’s interview she had stated that she came back to the room for lunch Monday through Friday. She used the break in her schedule for relaxing and studying. According to Riley, Tiffany often did the same thing. Only Angie didn’t think so. Not that Tiffany’s mother called the other girl a liar or even countered her statement, it was the expression on Angie’s face that alerted Tony to her feelings on the matter. Later he’d asked her and she’d mentioned that Tiffany talked about the quad and the many wonderful places provided by the college for students to chill. He’d noticed the benches and tables. Lots of places for students to hang out besides trudging back to the dorm.

Riley Fallon hadn’t been completely honest. Even without Angie’s thoughts on the matter, Tony had watched the young woman’s gaze avert when asked a direct question and the way she fidgeted. Fingers tugging at cuticles, then clasping and unclasping. Reaching up and adjusting her hair repeatedly. Chewing her bottom lip. Clearing her throat again and again. Looking anywhere as she spoke except at the person who’d asked the question. Classic signs of deception.

The question now was whether what she was hiding was relevant to the investigation into Tiffany’s disappearance.

Residue from the search for fingerprints still littered surfaces in the room. Since the roommate needed to use this room and no indication of foul play had actually occurred in this space, the forensic techs had made quick work of going over the room and clearing out so as not to disrupt the resident. Extensive photos had been taken as well as the sheets from Tiffany’s bed and the few items from her laundry bag.

Coming back for a second round of questions was motivated by more than the idea that Tony thought Riley Fallon was lying, it was the lack of sincere concern for her roommate that bothered him most. It was the way that, when the interview was over, she looked directly at the person asking the questions and presented a worried face without the first drop of moisture appearing in her eyes and insisted she hoped Tiffany was okay.

The key turned in the door lock but the door only partly opened. “I need the money before we go in.”

Riley’s voice.

“Sure.”

Male voice.

After a few seconds, Riley said, “Okay. Ten minutes. That’s all you get for twenty bucks.”

“That’s all I need.”

Well, well. The roommate had decided to try her hand at entrepreneurship while she was still a freshman. And right here in the dorm. How ambitious of her. Tony sat back and waited.

The two came into the room and Riley closed the door and locked it. The impatient young man was already unfastening his fly when Riley turned and spotted Tony. Her eyes rounded behind her nerdy glasses and he saw the first hint of genuine emotion there.

“Give him his money back and send him on his way and we’ll pretend this—” Tony gestured to the two of them “—never happened.”

“Holy shit, is that your dad?” the guy asked, hands going up in front of his chest as if to protect himself from a coming attack.

“Just go.” Riley shoved the twenty at him. He almost fell over his own feet trying to reach the door while fumbling with his fly. Another half a minute elapsed with him struggling with the lock before escaping.

Once he was gone, Riley said, “I told you all I know about Tiffany.”

“Sit.” Tony indicated the other chair. No matter how much psychology he forced into his brain, the idea of how mankind survived, considering survival required the species to go through puberty and adolescence, remained a mystery to him.

Riley sidled over to the chair on her side of the room and collapsed into it. “Are you going to tell on me and ruin my college career? I’ll lose my scholarship, you know.”

Gee, so nice to see more of that overwhelming concern for her roommate.

“That depends on how cooperative you are in the next five minutes.”

The girl glanced at his crotch.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Really?”

She cleared her throat. “What do I have to do?”

Leaning forward, he braced his forearms on his thighs and looked her straight in the eyes. “You have to tell me the truth. You and Tiffany weren’t getting along, were you?”

For one long moment she didn’t answer. She drew in a deep breath and released it. “We hate each other.”

Tony concluded as much. “Why?”

“She came into the room and caught me with...a guy.”

It happened. Guys loved it when other guys caught them getting laid by most any means. Apparently girls didn’t feel the same way. “Why was that such a big deal?”

Another exaggerated sigh huffed from her gloss-shined lips as she glanced to the bare mattress behind Tony. “Because we were in her bed.”

Now that was dirty. “So you were conducting your little business in this room in Tiffany’s bed?”

Riley nodded.

“I can see why she would be angry. When did this happen?” He opened his phone to his notepad.

She gasped. He showed her the screen to confirm he wasn’t calling anyone.

“Right after the semester break. She’s barely spoken to me since.”

“Have you been using your own bed?” He held up a hand. “Before you answer that question, keep in mind that the forensic folks will find all DNA on Tiffany’s bed linens.”

She nodded adamantly. “I don’t go near her side of the room anymore.”

Tony decided she was telling the truth. “We’ll keep this between us, if you tell me what you believe happened to Tiffany.”

She blinked, her eyes still wide behind the oversize eyewear. “I already said what I think in my statement.”

“I want everything you have, Riley, even if you aren’t completely sure it’s important. Any suspicions you have or rumors you’ve heard might be important, too.” He shrugged. “The goal here is to make sure Tiffany comes back home safely, right? Unless, of course, you have some reason to hope she doesn’t come back.”

The missing tears showed up then. “I don’t want Tiffany to be hurt. I mean, we’re not friends or anything, but I wouldn’t wish anything bad on anyone.”

Tony rolled his hand in a go-on motion.

“So there was this guy...” She shrugged. “I saw Tiffany with him once and she kept talking to someone on her cell. I think it was the same guy. That’s why I told the chief she had a new boyfriend. That’s what I figured.”

Frustration lit in Tony’s veins. “Did you recognize him or hear her say his name?”

Riley shook her head. “No. She’s very private. Not that she would have shared any of her business with me anyway.”

“Something made you think this guy was different,” Tony suggested. “Something more than just a study friend or a friend-friend?”

“Oh yeah for sure,” she agreed. “He was older. Maybe closer to forty. Like thirty-five or something.” She frowned as if trying to recall. “Dark hair. Blackish, you know. Taller than Tiffany. About your height, I guess. She acted all swoony around him like she was with some rock star.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “Heavy? Thin? Muscular?”

“Kinda lean and muscular. Not the overdone body builder type. I remember thinking he looked like a construction worker but better dressed.”

Tony added those details to his notes. “When did you first notice Tiffany with this man?”

“Early last month. I remember because I’m a leap-year baby. When I was a kid, every year that wasn’t a leap year we always celebrated my birthday on March first. This year I was at a club in Macon with a friend. For my birthday.” She put the word in air quotes. “I saw Tiffany with this guy but I never got a good look at his face. It was dark and I was a little—”

“I get the picture. What was the name of the club?”

“Wild Things. Fair warning, it’s not exactly one of the better establishments.”

Obviously. If they served alcohol to minors the place fell far below that mark. “Is that the only time you saw Tiffany with this man?”

She shook her head. “Friday I saw her getting into her Jeep with him.”

“Her Jeep?” Tony pushed to his feet. He refrained from demanding why the hell she hadn’t told anyone this already. He needed her cooperative. “You’re certain it was hers?”

“Positive. The black Jeep Wrangler she drives has one of the pink breast cancer ribbons on the tailgate. I think she said her mom survived breast cancer.”

An ache pierced his gut. His sister had gone through a rough time four years ago. She’d been cancer free since. He hoped like hell she stayed that way. He did not want to lose her. This kind of stress was not good for her, or anyone for that matter.

“You’re certain it was Friday—the same Friday she disappeared?”

The girl nodded. “Positive. I told the chief I saw them together but I might have forgotten to mention the part about the Jeep. I really just remembered that part.”

“Thanks, Riley.” Tony moved toward the door, but hesitated before opening it. “I may have other questions about Tiffany. As long as you stay truthful with me, no one will hear about your secret from me.” He handed her a card with his name and number. Something else he’d dragged out of the box in the trunk of his BMW. “Call me if you think of anything else or hear anything. For now, I’ll talk to Chief Phelps about getting a sketch artist in touch with you. If we can locate the man you saw Tiffany with, he might be able to help.”

She accepted his card, then nodded. “Okay.”

Tony had Phelps on the line before he reached the first floor. He explained about the potential suspect perhaps being far more than just a new boyfriend, considering his age. “If you haven’t already lined up a sketch artist to meet with the roommate, I think you need to make that happen.”

“This is exactly why eyewitnesses are so blasted unreliable,” Phelps complained. “Fallon insisted she didn’t know the guy’s name and barely caught a glimpse of him on one occasion.”

Tony wasn’t surprised. Fallon had no desire to mention the club in Macon. She was more concerned with protecting herself than helping the investigation.

“I’ll get a sketch artist lined up ASAP,” Phelps assured him.

“We also need a complete forensic examination of Tiffany’s Jeep.” Tony exited the building and dragged a chestful of air into his lungs. He prayed this was the lead they needed to find his niece.

“Her vehicle is still in the parking lot at the college. You know something else I don’t, LeDoux?”

“Fallon saw Tiffany in the Jeep with an older man as recently as a few hours before she disappeared. The same older man she spotted her with at the club in Macon. This man may very well be the unsub we’re looking for. He may have driven the Jeep back to campus to confuse the investigation. At any rate, it’s a lead and I’m headed to the club now to follow up on it.”

Phelps hesitated for a moment. “I’m curious as to why the roommate was so forthcoming with you when she gave us diddly-squat.”

Tony had made a promise to keep Fallon’s secret and he would do that as long as she didn’t hold out on him. “She had some time to think about it. Realized what she’d seen might be important. I’ll let you know what I find in Macon.”

Tony ended the call before Phelps could ask any more questions or suggest he let the task force handle the lead in Macon. As he climbed into his car, he Googled Wild Things. If he was lucky, they had video surveillance.

If he was even luckier, they kept it as far back as a couple of months.

He hadn’t been lucky in a long time. He hoped like hell that unfortunate streak was about to change.

7

Wild Things Lounge, Macon, Georgia

5:00 p.m.

Tony fought to restrain his temper as he waited for the manager to pick through the wad of keys he’d dug from his pocket for the one that would unlock the door. No matter that he had called the club manager en route to Macon, he’d still waited an hour in the goddamned parking lot. According to the owner, who lived in Atlanta and was the contact Tony had called first, a new security system, including video surveillance, had been installed three years ago. The owner couldn’t confirm whether the recorded data from a month or more ago would still be available. The manager handled the day-to-day operations and such decisions were at his discretion.

While Tony had waited for the manager to show up he had walked around the building. There was a camera at the front entrance, the emergency side exit as well as the rear employee entrance. No cameras focused on the parking lot. No windows in the building. He’d glanced in the Dumpster noting the discarded condoms and drug paraphernalia which spoke to the establishment’s general clientele or, at least, those who hung out in the parking area.

His phone vibrated again. Angie. He let the call go to voice mail as he had the previous two. He wasn’t ready to talk to her. Anything he told her now would only get her hopes up. Until he had confirmed the roommate’s new story he wouldn’t share the information with his sister.

“You got a warrant?” Sean, the manager, asked as he finally unlocked the door. Then he leaned against it rather than opening it and waited for Tony to answer.

Sean Waldrop. Twenty-five. Shoulder-length hair badly in need of a wash. A few curly hairs that looked more like they belonged somewhere in the vicinity of his balls sprouted from his chin. Tony felt reasonably confident the tight, ripped jeans were cutting off the blood supply to his upper body and, more important, his brain. With the heavy metal band T-shirt, worn leather jacket and combat boots, he had the 90s grunge look down. So not the kind of joint he would have wanted his niece to patronize. Something else his sister didn’t need to know.

Apparently Tony didn’t respond quickly enough since Waldrop lifted his skinny shoulders in a shrug and warned, “No warrant, no entrance, man.”

If he didn’t have one hell of an ongoing hangover from the past week—maybe month—Tony would have taken that punk-ass attitude down a notch or two. Instead, he smiled and said, “I showed you my credentials already.” What was one more flash of his invalid creds? “The owner, Kenneth Jonas—you might recognize the name from your paychecks—gave me permission to look to my heart’s desire. You want to call him?” Tony offered his cell. “I’m certain he’d be interested in learning why your bartenders are selling alcohol to minors.”

Waldrop stared at him a moment before relenting. He opened the door. “Make yourself at home, Mr. Fed. I got shit to do.”

Tony waited for Waldrop to go inside first. The stench of nicotine had infused the air, the dark paneled walls as well as the worn upholstery, all of which was underscored by the smell of countless spilled beers emanating from the cheap carpet. Waldrop flipped on the lights, which only confirmed Tony’s assessment. Tables filled most of the space. A small tiled dance floor butted up to an even smaller stage while a long bar stretched across the far side of the space. A door behind the bar probably led to the kitchen and/or the office. Between the bar and the stage, a narrow hall disappeared into the darkness. A sign directing patrons to the bathrooms pointed in that direction.

“What’s the lighting like during business hours?” Tony asked.

Waldrop plopped a rack of glasses on the counter. “We keep the lights you see now on behind the bar and the stage.” He gestured to the stage. “The rest that stay on during opening hours are along the baseboards and under the tables—ambience lighting, they call it.”

In other words it was basically dark in the place during operating hours. The one camera Tony had spotted was above the mirrored wall behind the bar. “Is this the only camera inside?”

Waldrop picked up a rag and set his hands on his hips. “That’s it. Old man Jonas is a cheap motherfucker. I see that when I look at my paycheck, too.”

Tony decided it wasn’t worth the effort to point out that the owner was likely getting exactly what he paid for. The rows of liquor bottles behind the bar had his mouth watering. “Is the video recorder in the office?”

The manager hitched his head. “Follow me.”

The door behind the bar led into a small kitchen, as Tony suspected. The grill was blackened with use and the sink was stacked high with beer glasses and mugs. The rest of the counter space was cluttered with cans, boxes and utensils.

“Told you I had shit to do,” Waldrop said.

Tony doubted the regulars showed up every night for the health department rating. “Hopefully this won’t take long,” he offered. “I have shit to do, too.”

Waldrop opened the office door and gestured for Tony to go on in. “The system’s set up in that coat closet.”

The office had the same tired, dingy decorating scheme as the rest of the place. Papers were stacked in reasonably tidy piles on the desk. Part of a calculator stuck out from under one of the piles. An ashtray full of cigarette butts was jammed amid the stacks as if the smoker hoped it would all go up in flames so he wouldn’t have to file it. An oscillating fan sat on one of three file cabinets. Judging by the dust on the blades it hadn’t been turned on in years.

He opened the closet door. The VCR sat on top of a safe. The machine was off and covered with about as much dust as the fan blades. Frustration ground in Tony’s gut. He turned back to the asshole watching him. “When was the last time this thing worked?”

“Mmm.” He pursed his lips as if in deep thought. “About two months after they put it in. I think that was three years ago.”

Tony grabbed him by his shitty T-shirt. “Listen to me, asshole.” He put his face close to Waldrop’s. “I’m in a really bad mood. Someone I care deeply about is missing. I drove all this way hoping you were going to be my big lead. Turns out, you’re just a piece of shit with an attitude. Now I got no choice but to call in backup and show you just how unhappy you’ve made me.”

Shit-for-brains shook his head. “I don’t want any trouble. Tell me how I can help you, man. Seriously. Anything.”

Tony released him. He reached into his pocket for his cell and the man’s eyes widened. He held up his phone to relieve his tension and then showed him a photo of Tiffany. “Have you seen her? She was here with a dark-haired, older man about a month ago.”

Waldrop squinted at the pic. “She’s been here a few times. I don’t know the guy you’re talking about though. The chick’s usually with Hailey.”

“Hailey? Who’s Hailey?”

Waldrop snickered. “I don’t know her last name. She’s this older chick who comes around sometimes. I think she digs on younger girls. Know what I mean?”

Tony grabbed him by the throat. “I know what you mean. Now, how do I find this Hailey?”

He held up his hands, fear back in his eyes. “I don’t know, man.”

Tony tightened his grip on the scrawny bastard’s throat.

“Kayla knows her,” he squeaked. “She works here. She...she can tell you all about Hailey.”

Tony shoved him loose. “Take me to Kayla. Now.”

Clinton Road, 5:50 p.m.

Kayla Maples opened the door of her shabby duplex and immediately tried to close it. Tony used Waldrop as a doorstop.

Waldrop squealed. “Goddamn, man, you trying to kill me?”

Kayla screamed and ran for the kitchen. Tony shoved Waldrop aside and rushed after her.

“He’s a fucking fed!” Waldrop shouted from where he’d landed on the floor.

Kayla stopped and held up her hands. “I swear to God, I didn’t do whatever you think I did.”

Almost as good as a confession. Tony ordered, “Sit down.”

She inched her way back toward him but didn’t sit. Kayla was maybe twenty. She had short, curly red hair. She might be five feet tall and weigh all of a hundred pounds. Her face was clear; her skin looked healthy. Not the first visible tattoo. Since she wore shorts and a tee, he spotted no visible needle tracks either. But then there were a million ways to get high that didn’t show.

“I swear to God the pot’s not mine. It’s my brother’s. He lives here, too.” She turned big round eyes up to Tony. “Please, I’m a nursing student. Any trouble could get me tossed out of the program.”

“I don’t care about your brother or his pot.” Tony pointed to the sofa. “Sit. Tell me about Hailey.”

The girl frowned. “Why do you want to know about Hailey?”

“That girl she’s been hanging out with,” Waldrop piped up, “is missing.”

Kayla’s eyes rounded. “Tiffany? Tiffany Durand?”

Tony nodded. “You a friend of hers?”

“Not really.” Kayla shrugged. “I’ve seen her around the campus. I’m a sophomore at the same college. She started coming to the club last month.” She frowned. “I thought she was going to the beach or something for the weekend.”

“She’s missing.”

“Oh my God.” Kayla clasped her hand over her mouth.

Tony followed her gaze to the silenced television screen. The alert for Tiffany and Vickie Parton flashed on the screen.

“Tell me about Hailey,” Tony repeated. “Tiffany was hanging out with her?”

Kayla took a moment to compose herself. Waldrop collapsed on the sofa next to her and complained, “This guy is seriously fucking with my schedule.”

Kayla waved him off. “Shut up. I’ll help you open.” She lifted her attention to Tony. “Hailey Martin. She’s like thirty something. She comes to Wild Things a couple times a week. She’s a big tipper. She’s usually with someone younger and female, like Tiffany.”

“Did you ever see Vickie Parton, the other missing freshman, with Hailey?”

Kayla shook her head. “I’ve never seen Vickie before.”

“Are you and Hailey friends?”

“Not really.” Kayla glanced at Waldrop. Waldrop shrugged.

“What?” Tony demanded.

“They say,” Waldrop said, “she always has X handy.”

Son of a bitch. “Was Tiffany getting Ecstasy from her?”

Kayla shook her head adamantly. “I’m pretty sure Tiffany doesn’t do drugs. I didn’t get that vibe from her at all. She’s more like me—about getting her education.”

Tony looked to Waldrop. He shrugged again. “Who the fuck knows? I try my best not to see shit.”

This was getting him nowhere. “Where can I find Hailey Martin?”

“I don’t know where she lives,” Kayla said, her eyes relaying the honesty in her words.

“Cell number?”

Kayla shook her head. “She acknowledges my existence but that’s about all. I’m not her type.”

“Hell, man,” Waldrop wailed, “you’re a fed. Just ask your po-po friends to get the 411 on the bitch. I got shit to do.”

“Did you ever see Tiffany with an older man? Dark hair?”

Kayla did some more of that frowning as if she were searching her memory banks. “Are you talking about Miles? Hailey has a friend named Miles who hangs out with her sometimes.”

“You have any other details on Miles? A last name?”

She made a face. “Sorry. I don’t. He’s tall, dark hair, late thirties maybe.”

“You talking about that guy who drives the Ferrari?” Waldrop asked.

“That’s him,” Kayla said. “I just figured he’s some older rich dude who likes to go after younger women.”

Tony had a bad feeling she was closer to being right than she knew.

Waldrop stood. “I gotta go, man. I do not want to get fired.”

“I appreciate your help.” Tony headed for the door.

“Wait!” Waldrop called. “You brought me here, man.”

“Kayla said she’d help you open,” Tony tossed over his shoulder. “Ride with her to the club.”

He walked out the door and scanned the neighborhood. At least he had a lead. It might not pan out but it was better than the nothing he had a few hours ago.

8

Doe Run Road

7:15 p.m.

Hailey Martin was forty and lived in a Mediterranean-style home on a good-sized lot overlooking the lake. Her income last year was listed as 41k. The house was at least a half-million-dollar estate. The same property in Atlanta would be worth four or five times that much. The Jag coupe parked out front was not only new but also registered in her name. The damned car alone cost more than she made in two years.

Either the lady was earning extra income off the books or she’d married well. Tony’s resource hadn’t found any information on her marital status. He climbed out of the BMW and walked toward the front steps. The sun was dropping behind the trees. He had hoped to get back to Milledgeville before dark but that wasn’t going to happen. He checked his cell. Ang had left two voice mails. Phelps had left one. None of the messages included an update. They only wanted to know where Tony was and what he was doing.

At the moment he wasn’t entirely certain, but he would continue to follow his instincts until he felt he’d found all he was going to or his need for alcohol lured him to his room.

He pressed the doorbell. The chime echoed through the house. The double doors were more glass than wood. No curtains or blinds obscured the view into the entry hall and to the staircase that stood in the middle of it. He saw a woman’s bare feet first, then her lean calves as she descended the stairs. The sides of the white robe she wore came together but not before he got a glimpse of toned thighs. Martin tightened the sash as she walked runway style toward the door. She didn’t look forty, more like thirty. Long blond hair hung in thick waves around her silk-clad shoulders. Her eyes were pale. Gray, he decided as she neared. But it was her mouth that gave him pause. Wide with full, lush lips. The kind women paid the big bucks to have and men paid even more to taste.

“You lost, honey?” she asked through the glass.

A sleek black Doberman pinscher trotted up beside her. Black eyes scrutinized Tony.

“Hailey Martin?” Tony showed his official ID—the one he’d lost years ago and had to replace, then found in his glove box just this morning when he’d dug around for a pair of sunglasses.

Her face registered surprise. “Well, alrighty then.” She opened the door. “Come on in.”

Tony glanced at the dog.

“Brutus, go.”

Perfect name for the animal that stared suspiciously at his owner’s visitor. With one last glower at Tony the dog walked away, toenails clicking on the gleaming hardwood.

Martin cocked her head, scrutinizing Tony much as the dog had done. “You staying or am I going? I’ll need to get dressed if we’re going somewhere.” She pushed the door closed, the move causing the robe to show even more of her generous cleavage.

Tony ignored the instinctive stir of desire. “I have a few questions for you, Ms. Martin. As long as you’re cooperative, I don’t see why we can’t take care of what I need right here.”

“Follow me.” She turned and started in the same direction her pet had taken. The last of the sun filtering in through the windows highlighted the curve of her bare ass beneath that thin layer of silk.

Tony watched the sway of her hips for a moment before following. “Nice house.”

“Compliments of my first and only husband.”

The entry hall flowed around the staircase on both sides and then into the center of the home where an enormous kitchen sat to the left. On the right was the great room. A leather sofa flanked by upholstered chairs were nestled around the fireplace, the stacked stone soaring upward to collide with the vaulted ceiling. The rear wall of the house was mostly glass and showed the view of the lake. Behind the stairs a dining room separated the kitchen from the great room.

Tony asked, “Divorce?” The sun was just settling down against the water. The view was breathtaking—the one out the window and the one inside.

She smiled. “Heart attack. Seventy-year-old men shouldn’t take Viagra but his fondest wish was to make me happy.”

Tony acknowledged the comment with a nod. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She reached for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Thank you.”

He waited until she’d lit up before moving to the next question. “How long have you lived in Macon?”

“I moved here when I was eighteen to attend Mercer University.” She took a long drag from her cigarette and blew out a plume of smoke. “Would you like a drink, Agent LeDoux?”

His throat ached at the offer. “No thanks. I’d like to get to those questions I mentioned, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. Please, sit.” She sashayed over to the bar and poured herself a Scotch on the rocks.

Tony’s mouth watered. He looked away and made himself comfortable on the sofa. “Do you know Tiffany Durand?”

Martin curled up on a chair near the wall of glass. The white silk slid all the way to the tops of her thighs. “I don’t really know her, but I see her at a club I visit occasionally.”

“Are you aware she’s missing?”

She gasped. “Are you serious?”

“You haven’t seen the news?”

She made a scoffing sound. “Honey, I haven’t been up long enough to watch the news. I was in a dead sleep until you showed up at my door.”

“She and another freshman from Georgia College, Vickie Parton, haven’t been seen since Friday afternoon.”

Realization dawned in her gray eyes. “I don’t know the Parton girl, but I saw Tiffany at Wild Things a few days ago. Maybe on Wednesday or Thursday.”

“Did she mention a new boyfriend or any plans to go out of town?”

Martin shook her head. “No. She did seem excited though.” She sighed. “Oh dear. I feel terrible about this. Tiffany is such a sweet girl.”

“Do you know a man named Miles?”

“Miles Conway?”

“Does he frequent Wild Things?”

“Occasionally. He’s—” she shrugged “—a little reclusive. He doesn’t get out much.”

“How can I get in touch with Mr. Conway?”

“I think I have his number.” She finished off her Scotch and got up. The brief glimpse of the Brazilian wax job between her legs had Tony glancing at the floor. Martin went back to the bar. She left her glass and returned to her chair with her cell phone. For a half a minute she scanned her contacts. “Here he is. What’s your number and I’ll send you his contact info?”

Tony gave her his number. A fleeting vibration announced he’d received the number. “What does Mr. Conway do for a living?”

She seemed to consider his question. “I really don’t have any idea. I see him from time to time but we’re not really friends, more acquaintances who share an appreciation for the same things.”

Tony didn’t have to ask what those things were. “So Tiffany never mentioned a boyfriend or anyone new in her life?”

Martin moved her head side to side. “Never. She was a little shy when it came to men. Smart girl but very sheltered. I think she came to Wild Things just to prove she had the nerve to step outside her comfort zone.”

Tony could see Tiffany stretching her boundaries exactly that way. She loved life and wanted to experience it to the fullest. Please don’t let that free spirit attitude have gotten her into something dangerous.

“Do you recall anyone at the lounge watching her? Anyone odd who was new to the crowd who hangs out there?”

Again Martin appeared to consider the question. “I’m afraid not. It’s most always the same crowd. I go once or twice a week just to check on things. The owner is a friend of mine.”

“The owner?” Tony asked as if he didn’t know.

“Kenneth. He lives in Atlanta. He and I had a thing back in college.” She smiled as if remembering. “Back then he was too poor for me. I had my sights set on finding a rich old man with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, as the saying goes.”

Apparently she’d found one.

“You have my number.” Tony stood. “I hope you’ll call me if you remember anything at all that might help with the search for Tiffany.”

“I will, yes.” She stood. “I’ll check with some of the others who frequent the club. If I learn anything at all I’ll be sure to call it in.”

“Call me. You have my number,” Tony countered. “I don’t want any information you find lost in the storm of calls coming into the hotlines.”

“All right. I’ll call you.” Her lips slid into a smile. “Maybe we can have dinner or something.”

He decided not to touch that one. “Thank you, Ms. Martin.”

“Hailey,” she insisted as she walked back to the front door with him. “The pleasure was all mine.”

Tony felt her eyes on his back as he walked through the dusk to his car. A woman as hot and wealthy as Martin wouldn’t generally be caught dead in a place like Wild Things. Drugs? Maybe. Disposable fresh meat? Probably.

His phone vibrated against the console.

Angie.

Maybe if he gave her an update now she wouldn’t be waiting at his door when he got back to his room.

He would call her, and then he intended to find Miles Conway.

Antebellum Inn, Milledgeville

10:30 p.m.

He’d meant to call Angie but he’d gotten distracted and frustrated with trying to find Miles Conway.

As Tony walked past the pool and through the gate his entire body sagged with dread. His sister waited for him on the covered patio that served as a porch for the cottage. The lamp on the table next to her provided all the illumination necessary to get a good look at the devastation on her face.

He exhaled a big breath. “I’m a jerk.”

Funny how he regressed to their teen years whenever he was with his sister. No matter what he’d done in his life—good or bad—she was still the big sister who was older, smarter and cooler than him. And prettier, no matter that she was an emotional wreck right now.

“You couldn’t call? Your phone is dead?”

That her voice rose and then wobbled tore him apart inside. He sat down in the other chair flanking the table. “I’m sorry, Ang. I’ve been tracking down leads from here to Macon. I was so absorbed in my work, I lost all track of time.”

Her lips trembled before they twisted into a sneer. “I can smell how absorbed you were.”

“Do you want to hear what I’ve found or do you want to argue about my bad habits?”

She looked away, swiped the back of her hand across her cheek. When she glared at him once more she said, “Fine. Let’s hear it.”

“First, this part is for yours and Steve’s ears only. I had a friend do some digging into Tiffany’s social media accounts. There are only two and she hasn’t posted anything in the last couple of weeks. No private messages, no email. Nothing. Before that, she posted frequently, mostly about school. So something definitely changed recently. I haven’t been able to get to her cell phone records yet.”

“The police say the call and text histories were deleted on both girls’ phones,” his sister pointed out.

“True, but the carriers will have records of their communications. It just takes time to get them.”

Angie looked at him as if she’d expected more. “It took you all day to find that out?”

“I spoke to Tiffany’s roommate again.”

Angie’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

“She wasn’t completely forthcoming in her official statement.” Few her age were. “In my second interview with her she mentioned that Tiffany was dating some guy with dark hair—a guy Riley didn’t know.”

Angie frowned. “Tiffany never said anything about a new boyfriend to me. I assumed the boyfriend her roommate mentioned was only a friend. I can’t believe Tif would keep a new boy in her life a secret from me.”

“Well, there’s probably a good reason for that. This guy is older. Mid-to-late thirties.”

“Oh God.” Angie hugged herself, a fresh wave of tears gathering in her eyes. “Does she know his name or where he lives?”

“No she didn’t know, but I do.”

Angie covered her mouth with her hands.

“The roommate also told me she’d seen Tiffany at a club in Macon with this guy. I went to the club.” No need to tell his sister how sleazy the place was.

“Tiffany went to a club?”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Like you didn’t when you were in college.”

Angie squeezed her eyes shut. “Right.” She drew in a deep breath. “Keep going.”

“The roommate saw her with this guy. According to a friend of the manager the guy is one Miles Conway. I spent the past few hours trying to track him down. He’s not at home. I interviewed a couple of his neighbors who say he’s employed in some capacity in Milledgeville but no one knew where. I’ve got someone working on tracking down his place of employment.”

“You think this guy may have seen her before she...disappeared, or do you think he’s involved somehow?”

Tony opted not to mention the roommate’s statement about seeing Tif with the dark-haired man on Friday. He needed to know more before he gave Ang something else to worry about. So he shrugged. “Until I find him, I can’t say, but if the two were involved he may have seen her or know where she planned to go for the weekend.”

The truth was he couldn’t say the guy was involved. Until Tony looked him in the eyes and questioned him, it would be best to keep his thoughts to himself. At this point he felt confident that Tiffany was taken by someone she knew. Her disappearance was far too clean to think otherwise. Generally, with an abduction by a stranger there were signs of a struggle or something left undone. The victim’s car might be left in an unexpected place. The vic’s home or room would be left unlocked or show signs of breaking and entering. Some little something would be off. A neighbor would have heard a noise. There was always some unexpected element, small though it might be.

But this was clean. This was planned. And Tiffany cooperated without realizing she was doing so.

“Did you share this information with the police?”

“I called Chief Phelps on my way back here. He’ll pass the information along to the task force. Tomorrow morning I’m hoping to catch Vickie Parton’s roommate or one of her friends to see if I can connect this Miles Conway to her. Beyond that, I’ll continue trying to find him.”

Angie swiped at her eyes again. “I’m sorry I was so hard on you.”

Tony reached across the table and took his sister’s hand. “I won’t let you down, Ang.” He looked away a moment. “I know I screwed up with the Bureau. I let down my wife and myself. But I won’t let you or Tiffany down.”

She squeezed his hand. “Giselle’s a bitch. She didn’t deserve you.”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, well, maybe I made her that way.”

They shared a good laugh before Angie hugged him hard and hurried back to the inn.

Tony dropped back into the chair. He didn’t know how the hell he would keep the promise he’d made his sister, but he would die trying.

9

11:20 p.m.

Angie Durand hugged her husband closer. As hard as she tried she could not go to sleep. How could her beautiful daughter get involved with an older man? She knew better. Angie had taught her better. Tif was so much more mature and responsible than most girls her age.

Anger and hurt twisted inside Angie. She closed her eyes tight to hold back the tears. Dear God, how could she feel anger right now? Her baby was missing. She could be hurt badly or, oh God, dying. Please, please, just let me find my baby alive.

Didn’t matter how old Tif was, she would always be her baby.

Tif had her entire future ahead of her. Angie closed her eyes and prayed. Please, God, don’t let my sweet girl be taken from me.

Maybe Tif did make a terrible mistake, but she was only human and so very young.

“I’m so scared.”

Steve turned onto his side, facing her. He stroked her hair gently. “I know. I am, too. But we have to trust Tony and the police. They will find her. I refuse to believe otherwise.”

“I don’t know about Tony.” More of that ridiculous anger fired inside her. “He’d been drinking tonight.” Tears choked her for a moment. “Maybe...” Her voice broke. She cleared her throat, fought back the tears. “Maybe he can’t help. I know he wants to, but maybe he just can’t. Between the divorce and all the drinking and now his career is tanked.” She pressed her hand to her mouth for a moment. “Maybe he just can’t help the way he wants to...the way we need him to.”

Steve pulled her close against his chest. “Please don’t cry. We have to be strong right now. For Tiffany and for Tony. We have to believe.”

Angie nodded, unable to speak for fear of breaking down completely.

She believed. She believed. Tiffany was coming home. Tony would find her.

Angie believed this with all her heart.

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