Page 46 of Nowhere Good

Winslow went quiet. Claire listened to the road beneath the wheels. Only a few more minutes, and they’d be back in town, but she found herself wishing this country road would elongate, stretch out the time between her being here and going back to that trailer. The man beside her struck her curiosity in a way she’d never felt before.

“How’d you go from somewhere like New York all the way down here, anyway?” A smirk played at her lips. “Are you trying to get a little country?”

He laughed, showing off his smile lines. He had nice teeth too; sharp canines. “No, I just needed a change. Kansas City is smaller, a bit less demanding. I thought I’d have more time for my own life, but it turns out I don’t really have one of those.”

“Hm. You’re not married?” she asked, singing the last word. Winslow was so unlike any other man she’d met; when she imagined what type of girl he’d marry, it was almost like a fairy tale.

He laughed again, but this time, his cheeks reddened. If Claire didn’t know any better, she’d swear she just made him blush. “No, I am very single.”

“Very?” Claire raised her eyebrows, tugging at the knot on her rope bracelet. “Now that’s a strong word. There must be a story there.”

“I guess I haven’t found the time, that’s all.”

“Not even in Kansas City?”

“Not even in Kansas City.”

Their eyes met in the half-light of the car, and a strange sensation hit her chest—a lift and a spark, like reaching the top of a Ferris wheel. She looked away first, but his gaze lingered on her profile a beat longer before he refocused on the road. As unfathomable as it was, she could’ve sworn he was just admiring her the same way she was admiring him.

The thought made her dizzy; the thought that she could be pretty in his eyes, beautiful, even. She didn’t know what to do with it, so she leaned back, stared out at the night sky, and let herself pretend—for just a moment—that everything in the whole world was fine.

“It’s a beautiful night, you know,” she said. “All these stars.”

“Yeah,” Winslow said. “It is.”

FOURTEEN

By noon the next day, Seth sat in the conference room with a sad-looking bagel and a cold coffee, his head hurting as he cross referenced two lists of names—those who’d purchased boxcutters recently, and those on the list of white vans. There was always a point, in every difficult investigation, where he started to feel like his wheels were spinning out on ice.

Last night, with the map, had felt pivotal. Like it could mean something. But he’d checked again this morning, took photos and marked a pin on the GPS, then asked around the station. There didn’t seem to be any record of this apparent cabin. No reports of any fires.

That voice on the phone call played in his mind.

“She’s been gone for so long. Can you please find her? This doesn’t work without her.”

Celine Dyer, whose body was never found.

Something Claire said on the drive home last night bothered him too. Her family used to own the land around that cabin before selling it to the Bursells fifty years ago. Maybe he’d wonder if Celine knew about that place—had even been to it before—if there was any evidence of her there at all. But there wasn’t.

Still. No matter how many times he tried to search elsewhere, the Dyers always came back into his sights.

Claire, especially.

The way she’d looked at him last night, with those eyes of hers, had gotten into his head.

At some points, he swore she was teasing him. He had to remind himself that it’d been a while—maybe it was inevitable he’d get a bit flustered around a woman like her. But Seth wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of that feeling.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone made him blush.

Idiot.

To cleanse those thoughts away, he abruptly stood and left the conference room, into the bullpen. Pereira was at her desk, but Yess was missing.

“Hey, who’s watching the tip line?” he asked, and Pereira gave him a clueless shrug. Damn it, Yess. He went over to the desk as Pereira skittered after him—and sure enough, the light on the voicemail button was flashing.

“Crap, Yess didn’t ask me to cover him,” Pereira said. “Sorry, Winslow.”

“Not your fault. Let’s play it back.”