“Royce,” I whisper, my eyes tracking to where Kat is standing talking to one of the organizers of the event, “what information do we have about the accident that killed Portia Drake?”
“Basic police report,” he says, keys clacking away as I watch a rather animated exchange between Hazel and her aunt. Hazel’s mouth is pinched and her expression cold as she shakes her head while Amelia gestures nowhere in particular.
“Royce.”
“I’m looking. Basic autopsy, nothing in her system. Roads were wet and it was dark— police signed off as her being unfamiliar with the area and lost control.”
“The aunt said she was forced off the road.”
“Uhh…” There’s more clicking as I track Amelia heading toward the bathroom and Hazel talks to the bartender. “There’s nothing in the police report that says that, just that driver left the road and crashed into a tree attributed to the weather, speed of the vehicle, and that she was unfamiliar with the area.”
“Who identified her?”
“Hazel and identification found in the car.”
“What kind of car was she driving?”
“A black Ford Taurus.”
My blood runs cold in my veins as everything finally clicks into place.
A dark sedan.
“Portia died and Hazel came back a shell of herself.”
Or not at all.
I mean to step around the table when the empty glass catches my eye—but it’s not empty.
White residue clings to the bottom and the side where Amelia had taken a drink.
“Ozzy, find Amelia now. She went toward the restrooms,” I order, his affirmative coming through my earpiece. “She’s going to need medical. Samson?—”
“Yeah, boss?”
“I need you to collect this cup on this table without causing a panic and then relieve Ozzy. There should be a detective in the hall you can turn it over to.”
“Roger that,” Samson murmurs.
“And someone get me eyes on Hazel,”I grit out as I try and locate her in the crowd, a shifting of people making it impossible to find her.
Not Hazel.
Portia.
“Boss,”—Grimm’s voice is dangerously low—“is she…”
“She’s Portia. Hazel died in that crash.”
Seconds feel like hours as Samson relieves me at the table and I make my way toward the front.
There’s no room for panic.
But I can feel it creeping in, clawing at my psyche as Grimm suddenly appears at my side, the both of us trying to locate our target.
“But they’re—” Grimm starts but it’s Royce who finishes.
“They were identical twins. Social media photos from their trip show Portia with brown hair like Hazel’s. Before that all her pictures have her with long blonde hair.”
