The sheriff stepped out for a brief meeting, leaving the three agents alone in the conference room. Brian spread out the case files and started scanning reports while eating his sandwich. Sean preferred to finish lunch first. Reading details from a homicide investigation while trying to eat was a great way to lose his appetite, and his stomach had only recently recovered from the autopsy.
For several minutes, the room stayed quiet except for the rustle of paper and the occasional crinkle of sandwich wrappers.
When Montoya excused himself to use the restroom, Sean glanced across the table at his brother. “Did you know Bonnie’s niece moved back to town?”
Brian kept reading. “Little Gracie? Yeah, Dan mentioned it. Haven’t seen her yet.”
Relief eased through Sean at his brother’s lack of interest. The more he thought about Grace, the more he wanted to see her again—and soon.
“She came by the beach house for dinner last night with Bonnie and Dan.”
That finally earned him Brian’s attention. His brother looked up from the report. “Yeah? Is she still gawky-looking?”
“Uh... not exactly.” The second the words left his mouth, Sean knew he’d made a mistake.
Brian’s eyes narrowed. “What does ‘not exactly’ mean? Don’t tell me she’s hot now.”
The three-letter word didn’t come close to describing Grace. Calling her hot was like calling a hurricane a stiff breeze.
Instead of answering, he shrugged and grabbed one of the homicide files, pretending he was far more focused on the paperwork than the conversation.
His brother wasn’t fooled. “Uncle Dan said she’s opening a physical therapy practice.” He leaned back in his chair. “Maybe I should schedule an appointment for my back problem.”
Sean’s head snapped up. “What back problem?”
“The one I developed about thirty seconds ago.” Brian rolled his shoulders in exaggerated discomfort. “Think I could use a massage.”
A low growl rose from Sean’s throat. Now that Brian knew he was interested in Grace Whitman, his brother would never let him hear the end of it. Back in high school and through their early twenties, the two of them had shared a long-running rivalry over women, though distance and separate careers had put an end to most of that years ago.
“Can we get back to the case, jerk-face?”
An evil grin spread across Brian’s face as he crumpled the sandwich wrapper and launched it toward the garbage can in the corner. The paper dropped cleanly through the opening. Then he grabbed his lower back and let out an exaggerated groan.
Sean seriously considered strangling him, but professionalism overruled the urge.
Half an hour later, the three agents sat elbow-deep in reports and crime scene photos spread across the conference table, jotting notes on white legal pads. They glanced up when the conference room door opened and a young dark-haired deputy stepped inside.
“The sheriff asked me to let you know we got a missing-person report that sounds like it could be last night’s victim.” He handed Sean a slip of paper. “Name’s Daphne Jones. Larry Cumberland is at the residence taking the report now. Said her photo matches the description.”
The deputy extended his hand. “I’m Ned Montgomery, by the way.”
Sean stood and shook it. “Special Agent Sean Malone from the FBI. This is my brother Brian and his partner, Rafe Montoya, with SBI.” He glanced at the information on the paper. “How long has she been missing?”
“Her roommate last saw her Saturday night. Her friends think she left a nightclub with somebody, but they never saw her leave. And nobody’s seen her since.”
Brian looked between Sean and Rafe. “Who’s coming with me?”
His partner shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me, but I’d rather keep going through the first two cases. You can fill me in later.”
Sean grabbed his sports coat off the back of his chair. “Works for me.”
Before Montgomery could leave, Sean stopped him. “Any word on Stuart Crowell?”
“Not yet. I’m covering the desk until twenty-hundred, though, so I’ll let you know if we find him.”
After giving the deputy his cell number, Sean followed Brian out of the conference room.
Within twenty-five minutes, Sean and Brian sat at the small kitchen table of a neat two-bedroom apartment in nearby Kitty Hawk. The top-floor unit was one of six in a three-story walk-up. Cheerful yellow accents brightened the compact space, and the scent of vanilla drifted from a candle burning on the counter, giving the apartment a warm, welcoming feel. Sean wondered how long that feeling would last once Cheryl Armstrong learned her roommate was never coming home.
