As angry and frustrated as I was with him at the moment, I understood. I could tell him I’d be there until I was blue in the face, but sometimes, words weren’t enough. How many times had his own family failed him when he’d asked for help? How many hours had he spent alone in a psychiatric ward as a terrified twelve-year-old, trying to tell the truth and being told he was sick? That he was crazy? That kind of wound couldn’t be healed with vague promises.
“I’m not even going to dignify that with an argument. I’m coming with you. End of story.”
The night air held a crisp chill to it, winter still clinging to the mountains, no matter what the calendar said, bringing with it an icy breeze. The sky remained clear, though, and an endless array of stars spanned overhead, sparkling in the midnight darkness. Lowery’s Crossing lay silent around us, the peace of the night undisturbed.
“What now?” I asked when he hesitated on his front porch.
“Now we follow her.”
My heart stuttered in my chest. ‘Her’, he’d said. We had to follow ‘her’.
Please don’t let it be Rebecca.
“I know. I’m coming,” he whispered to whoever stood in the emptiness beside him, and we started walking. Neither of us spoke, keeping the delicate truce between us. The inevitable argument would have to wait until we dealt with this.
We walked in silence, heading toward the east end of Lowery’s Crossing. Alex and I had walked this town end to end together on our date nights, talking and getting to know each other. It had always been one of my favorite ways to spend time, just the two of us and the town we both loved.
Now the darkness slid between us, burrowing into the cracks I’d never known lay hidden in our foundation. The silence that was usually so comfortable was now riddled with tension, guilt and anger overriding the calm security we’d wrapped around ourselves.
Frustration hounded my every step, my thoughts running in circles, askingwhy. Why hadn’t Alex called me? Why had he broken his promise? Why didn’t he trust me? Corralling those words and holding them back took almost more willpower than I possessed, but they had to wait until we were done here.
“Do you know who it is that we’re following?” I asked after a few blocks and he stumbled, like he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone.
“She looks familiar, but I can’t remember her name. She hasn’t said anything except asking me to help her. I don’t think it’s fully sunk in for her that she’s…” He didn’t finish the sentence, glancing at the empty air ahead of him.
“It’s okay. I get it,” I said, hating the tiny surge of relief that washed through me. I’d talked about the case with Alex and showed him Rebecca’s missing persons flyer and he’d told me he knew the family. Someone in our town was dead, but it wasn’t her.
Just like every town, there was a rougher side to Lowery’s Crossing. The houses here showed more signs of neglect, with overgrown yards and sagging fences. Here and there, a few determined people kept immaculate houses, but that only made them stand out like a sore thumb.
The home Alex took us to was one of those. Whoever lived here had clearly tried to make this place cheerful, with pretty floral designs painted on her wooden porch. Flower beds sat dormant along the front, but once spring finally hit, they would likely be a riot of color. Lacy curtains hung in the windows and sparkling wind chimes danced in the night breeze, tinkling and spinning. Children’s toys were scattered across the deck, protected from the elements by the simple metal roof overhead.
The sight of those toys gave me pause, my heart sinking.
“It’s not a child, is it?”
“No. I remember her now. It’s Jaime Smalls.”
No wonder this place looked so familiar. I knew Jaime. She’d been one of the first arrests I’d made as a new member of the LCPD, ending up in cuffs for public intoxication. If my memory was right, she’d done court-ordered rehab and seemed to have turned her life around. I’d seen her waiting tables at one of the restaurants on Broad Street, looking happy and healthy.
“This is where she lived,” Alex murmured.
“She still hasn’t said anything?”
Alex shook his head and he looked so tired that I wanted nothing more than to call this off and take him back home, where I could put him to bed and hold him until the cold went away. As mad as I was, I hated seeing him like this. It reminded me too much of the day he’d found Andre Marcel’s body and he’d ended up in the hospital, sick and freezing.
Alex shivered, staring up at the house. “She’s scared.”
“We have to keep walking, maybe look for a back entrance. If someone else is in there, they’ll see us and the last thing we need is a fight.” I tried to urge him on, but Alex planted his feet. “Alex, please.”
“She wouldn’t bring me here if it wasn’t safe,” he insisted.
“We can’t know that for sure. Please. We’ll go further down the block and call the police.” I cursed myself for not thinking to grab my holster out of the lockbox in my car. I hadn’t expected to need it when going into my boyfriend’s house.
Still, he didn’t move. “She’sscared, Donovan. She’s running out of strength, but she doesn’t want to let go until she knows she’s been found. I can’t leave her.”
Every instinct I possessed, both as a detective and as just a cautious person, insisted that we don’t go into that house. We were unarmed, no one knew where we were, and anybody could be in there. Could I really take the word of a dead person who I couldn’t see? Try as I might, I couldn’t pick up even the tiniest flicker of the woman who supposedly stood three feet in front of us.
“Alex…”
