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Jamie had been doing a podcast on true crime for almost four years at that point, and she’d blown into town ready to take on the world.

“Your name isn’t Jamie Brand, is it?” I asked.

“Daveigh Brand,” she murmured. “Jamie Brand is my professional name.”

“Come in.” I gestured toward the door of the station.

We were at the main office today, and my crew was waiting for me as we got in the door.

“Give me fifteen,” I said to them.

Gentry leveled his gaze on Jamie—Daveigh—Brand and narrowed his eyes.

Daveigh followed me into my office.

“Have a seat.” I gestured to the two chairs.

She did.

I picked up a file that had sat on the corner of my desk for a full year.

Her eyes widened when she saw the name. “You…you keep it out?”

“I know every person that goes missing in my county,” I said. “There have been four in my tenure. I’ve found all but your sister.”

Her shoulders slumped.

“Take a look,” I suggested.

She did, thumbing through the file.

She stopped when she saw the photo that she’d given the deputy last year when he’d taken Daveigh’s statement.

“I miss her with my whole heart.”

“Did you know that my daughter is missing?”

She jerked her head up.

“Her mother took her when she was just seven years old,” I said. “Every day I wake up and think about her. Wonder if she’s okay. Where she’s laid her head down the night before. If she has enough money. If she did well in school. If she’s alive.”

Daveigh swallowed.

“I won’t stop until we have your sister.”

What was left unsaid was “dead or alive.”

“I’m not a bad person, Daveigh,” I said. “I didn’t harm that woman. I have never forced a woman in my life.”

She nodded.

“I’m here because it’s a good cover.” She looked at me, her heart in her eyes. “I’m sorry. But I know my sister is alive.”

I sure the fuck hoped so.

That was my hope with every missing person case that came across my desk.

But this time? It’d been so long. I didn’t have the same hope that Daveigh did.