Local Woman Reported Missing After Week Without Contact
My stomach drops as Rafe clicks on the video embedded in the article, and my father's face fills the screen. He's standing on the front porch of my parents' house, bundled in his winter coat, his gray hair mussed by the wind. His blue eyes are red-rimmed, and his voice shakes as he speaks.
"Riley left for home over two weeks ago," he says. "She was supposed to be here by nightfall. She sent an email saying she had car trouble, but we haven't heard from her since. This isn't like her. Riley's responsible. She doesn't just disappear. If anyone has seen her or knows where she is, please contact us. Please. We just want her home safe."
The camera pans to show my mother standing beside him, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, her hazel eyes filled with tears. And she just stands there, gripping my father's arm, while I feel my throat tighten.
Behind them, another man steps into frame. He's tall and lean, with silver hair and a gray uniform. A badge glints on his chest. He introduces himself as Detective Paul Hargrove, retired state trooper, and explains that he's assisting the family in their search.
"We're treating this as a missing persons case," he says. "Riley Maddox was last seen just outside of New York City. Her car was seen on the side of the highway where we assume she got a flat tire, and there's been no activity on her bank accounts or phone since she disappeared. We're asking anyone with information to come forward."
The video ends and the screen goes black, but I stare at it, my pulse pounding in my ears. I can't move. It's like something wrapped around my chest and made me stop breathing too. My family is looking for me and asking for my safe return. It feelsparalyzing to know I'm here watching them and I can't tell them I'm okay.
"Who is he?" Rafe asks.
I blink and look at him. "What?"
"The cop. Who is he?"
"My sister's fiancé's father. He's a retired state trooper."
I watch the muscles in Rafe's jaw work as he leans back against the desk and crosses his arms, eyes on me. "He's pushing an investigation."
"Of course he is. I've been missing for over a week."
"You told them you were fine."
"An email, Rafe. One fucking generic email that didn't tell them anything. Did you really think that would be enough?"
His expression darkens and I can tell he's thinking irrationally again, just like he did when he demanded that I hack the fucking FBI. I swear this man is going to get me killed if he doesn't do it himself soon.
"I told them exactly what you told me to say, but people were always going to start looking for me. That's what happens when someone disappears. Because I have people who actually care about me." I'm feeling emotional now, and worked up. I don't mean to be hateful, but the words snap out like venom anyway. "But you wouldn't know what that means, would you?"
He stares at me, and for a moment, I think I've gone too far. His eyes are cold, and his body is tense. My instincts scream at me to step back, but I don't. I hold my ground, my chin tilted up, and I keep talking.
"You're heartless," I say. "You threaten people. You take what you want. You don't care who gets hurt as long as you get what you need. So no, I don't think you understand what it's like to have people who love you. People who notice when you're gone. People who would tear the world apart to find you."
All of this—the anger, the gesturing of my hands, the emotional hysterics I'm feeling—all of it was just the loneliness of missing my family until I saw that newscast. Now I feel out of control.
"I didn't start this. You did. You put a dead body in my car?—"
"No," he growls, and there's something in his eyes now. I'm scared of him when he looks at me like this, or maybe I’m turned on and I'm scared of that.
"You think I wanted this?" he asks. "I didn’t put that body in your car. One of my enemies did and it forced my hand. I didn't want you anywhere near my financials."
"Then let me go."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. You just won't."
He steps closer, and I feel my thighs press against the desk. His eyes are on mine and I can feel the heat radiating off his body. The air between us feels charged and volatile, and I realize my pulse is racing.
"You think it's that simple?" he asks. "You think I can just open the door and let you walk out of here? You know too much. You've seen too much. You're a liability."
"So, what? You're going to kill me when this is done? Is that the plan?"
He doesn't answer but he curls his bottom lip into his mouth and bites it in anger.
