He frowned. "How would you know?"
"I'm the boyfriend's father."
Mark studied him for a moment. Then he shrugged. “What do you want me to say? She's eighteen. It's not uncommon for her to stay over at friends' places. It's not like I keep a close eye on her."
"Father of the year."
“Oh, fuck off. If you're here to judge me, you can leave now." Mark crossed the room and opened the front door, holding it wide.
"Just trying to get answers."
"Yeah, well, maybe you can find them with her friends."
"Ruby?"
He nodded.
Noah walked out. The door closed behind him before he'd reached the bottom step. He stood in the driveway for a moment, looking at the RV and the garage and the detailing signand the whole sad shape of a life that had room for a business but not for a daughter.
He got in his vehicle and left.
The fire escapewas on the east side of the building, bolted to the brick in a zigzag of rusted iron that groaned when Ruby put her weight on it. She'd walked past the building twice from the street, checking the windows, checking the entrance, making sure Garrett's truck wasn't in the lot behind it. It wasn't. The studio was above a print shop that had closed at noon. She was trying to decide if this was the worst idea she'd ever had.
It was. She climbed anyway.
The window on the second-floor landing was open about four inches, propped with a wooden block to let air through. Ruby crouched and pushed it up. It slid without resistance, the frame swollen with humidity and loose in its track. She swung one leg over the sill, then the other, and dropped into a room that smelled like darkroom chemicals and stale coffee.
The workspace was to the right, she could see the edge of a backdrop stand and umbrella lights through an open doorway. To the left was living space, a kitchen counter, a couch, a television mounted on the wall. Garrett lived here. Studio and apartment, all in one. A setup that meant clients came to his home, which was a thought that made Ruby's skin crawl in a way she hadn't expected.
She started with the studio. A desk against the far wall held a laptop and stacks of printed proofs in clear sleeves. She flipped through them quickly. Landscapes. Headshots. A wedding from what appeared to be last fall. Nothing that told her anything about Fiona.
A filing cabinet beside the desk had three drawers. The top two held business records, invoices, model release forms. The bottom drawer was locked. Ruby pulled on it twice, hard, and the cheap lock gave way with a metallic pop that sounded louder than it was.
Inside were folders. She pulled them out and opened the first one on the desk. Photographs. Not landscapes. Not headshots.
Boudoir shots. Young women in lingerie, posed on a bed that Ruby recognized as the one visible through the doorway to the living space. Some were tasteful in the way the industry defined tasteful, soft lighting and strategic angles. Others weren't. The further she went into the folder, the less clothing there was and the younger the faces got. She recognized two of the girls from the Strutz Agency wall. One of them she was almost certain was still in high school.
She kept looking. Second folder, third. More of the same. Different girls, same bed, same lighting. None of them were Fiona. But the pattern was clear enough and it made her hands shake with something that was equal parts anger and fear.
She was reaching for the fourth folder when she heard the front door open downstairs.
Footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. Unhurried. The sound of keys being tossed onto a surface.
Ruby grabbed the folders and held them against her chest. There was nowhere to go. The fire escape window was behind her but she'd have to cross the hallway to reach it, and the footsteps were already at the top of the stairs. She stepped back against the wall beside the cabinet and waited.
Garrett walked into the studio and saw her.
For a second neither of them moved. He was carrying a camera bag over one shoulder and a takeout container in his free hand. His eyes went from Ruby to the open drawer to the foldersin her arms, and his face changed. The confusion burned off fast and what replaced it was cold.
"What the hell are you doing in here?"
Ruby threw the folders at him. Photographs spilled across the floor between them, scattering in a fan of bare skin and staged poses.
"You're a pervert," she said. "Where is Fiona?"
Garrett stared at the photos on the floor. Then back at her. "You broke into my studio."
"Where is she?"
