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On my side of the bed, the pillow is sunken, the sheets a wreck. As if I’ve torn them out, tossing and turning.

I’ve shoved the pillows

to Eve’s side of the bed.

“Eve?”

No answer.

The bathroom door is shut. I look for the thin strip of light that should be showing at the bottom of the door. Dark.

Where is she?

I grab a pair of jeans and get partially dressed, foregoing a shirt, and barrel downstairs, expecting to see her in the kitchen, maybe huddled up with a cup of coffee. She does that when she’s brooding over a case, and I remember last night how she left the house for a run, restless and perturbed over a missing teenager.

But the kitchen is empty.

I stand at the window, staring out at the backyard.

It takes me a bit, but what I’m seeing—or not seeing—is dawning on me.

The swing set I spent last weekend building for Ashley is gone. Vanished.

Just grass, wild and unkempt, needing a mow.

Huh?

Behind me, a clock chimes. 6 a.m.

Eve has to be out for a run. I think this even as my brain shouts outs an unintelligible answer. Like my dream, I look around for it, as if the answer might materialize.

The doorbell rings, and my heart restarts.

It’s Eve, and she’s forgotten her keys.

I open the door and a rush of relief swills through me at the sight of Eve standing on the stoop. Except she’s not wearing her running gear but a pair of dress pants, a crisp white shirt and she’s carrying her satchel over her shoulder. Her beautiful hair is pulled back, tight, and her eyes hold age, stress, and not a little weariness.

The image of the younger Eve flashes through my mind. Bright, her hair down and flowing through my fingers. “Did you go back to work?” I ask and shift to my right to let her come inside. “Why didn’t you text me?”

A car door slams and beyond her Silas is coming up the walk.

He has a scowl on his face, but I’ve secretly always thought that Silas wanted to kill me and bury me in a dumpster. What’s strange, however, is that usually he hides it.

“Are you working from home today?” She isn’t coming in.

“Stop it, Rem,” she says, and her tone could peel skin.

Huh? I make the sound and she sighs.

“You can’t keep dodging me. Grow up. I shouldn’t have to ambush you to get you to accept these.” While she’s talking, she’s dug out a manila envelope. She hands it to me. “Take them.”

I admit that because of the way she says this, I’m slow to reach out and take the envelope. But I do, because she’s Eve and I’ll do just about anything she asks. I look at her and she glances away.

Her eyes glisten.

Silas stands behind her, glares at me, and I have the strangest sense he’s here to protect her.

Ignoring the urge to put a hand to his chest, push hard and drag Eve off the stoop and into the house for a private chat, I open the envelope. My breath leaks out as I read the header.