Quickly locking the door, Michaele dialed the phone with trembling fingers.

On the fourth ring, he answered. “Yeah?”

“Jared, thank God.” His strong though irritated voice had her instantly forgiving what had transpired between them earlier. “I know I should have called the station, but I—”

“Michaele? What’s wrong?”

“I think Faith is missing.”

He was silent for several seconds. “Come again?”

“She never got home, and I just got this awful call—”

“Stay put,” he snapped. “I mean it. Don’t go outside. Do nothing until I get there.”

“But I haven’t told you—”

He hung up.

As soon as she replaced the phone receiver and looked out the parted kitchen-door curtains, out beyond the moths circling dizzily in the porch light to the indecipherable darkness beyond, the skin along her arms and at the back of her neck began tingling and her heart beat wildly.

Someone could be standing just beyond, maybe hiding as close as beyond the wrecker, watching her….

“Ms. Myers never fails to give the reader an entertaining story with fresh characterizations and dialogue that sparkles.”

—Rendezvous

Also available from MIRA Books and HELEN R. MYERS

COME SUNDOWN

MORE THAN YOU KNOW

DEAD END

Lost
Helen R. Myres

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Acknowledgments

With every book a writer’s list of indebtedness grows. I would like to thank the following…

Ethan Ellenberg, not only for his input into this story, but for all the support, wisdom and perseverance from day one of our association.

Robert and Lacy Cooper, and Linda Varner Palmer for getting me through that ill-timed computer crash.

Betty and Cindy Meece for bunches, but most of all the Linda Vachon print. You did, indeed, inspire.

For answering questions and sharing anecdotes…

Wayne Bryant

Bobby Cole

Carol and C. F. David

Brad Taylor

RCR

And to Burt, whose real “Precious” inspired Michaele into taking on that Cameo restoration in the first place. I can only hope that hers would have come out half as good as yours did.

Just in ratio as knowledge increases, faith diminishes.

—Thomas Carlyle

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

1

Split Creek, Texas

Wednesday, May 13

4:30 p.m.

“Where’s Faith?”

Her father’s slurred question warned Michaele Ramey of two things: first, that despite her attempts to keep an eye on him, the son of a bugger had gotten hold of some hooch again; and second, that, as usual, her sister Faith’s word wasn’t worth squat.

Too annoyed to risk answering right away, she rolled out from under the ’56 Chevy Cameo, and used her cleanest knuckle to carefully rub at the rust particles in her eyes. “There’s a hole the size of an egg in her muffler,” she told Pete Fite, the watchful owner of the old vehicle. “But I can’t patch metal that’s turning into confetti. You’ll need a new one.”

The chicken farmer bowed his head, which had Michaele thinking that the fifty-nine-year-old was beginning to bear a strong resemblance to the poultry he raised on the forty-acre farm on the south side of town. He had the same wide-spaced, blank eyes, the same sharp, beaklike nose, and damned if he wasn’t scratching his boot at the concrete floor of the garage the way those razorial critters did when searching for food.

He slowly shook his head. “Can’t afford that. Just wrap something around it to get me through inspection. I’ll look into buying a new one as soon as I send off the next truckload of hens.”

This time Michaele used the back of her left wrist to wipe at the sweat trickling down her throat. “Why not the next egg shipment? I saw that batch of tired hens being hauled out of your place last week. You won’t have another load for a while, and I’m not a magician. Make it the next egg check, Pete.”

Shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of overalls that all but swallowed his skinny frame, he gaped. “You’d leave a man with nothing to live on!”

“Oh, stop.” Michaele pulled off the baseball cap she’d been wearing backward while under the truck and slapped it against her jeans to shake off any lingering debris, replaced it, and tugged the bill low over her narrowed eyes. “Just sell me the damn thing, already. You’ll only let it sit and rust until it’s nothing more than a weed-covered snake den—”

“Where’s my baby?”

The new whine from her father drew Pete’s attention, but when Michaele continued to act as though she hadn’t heard anything, he tugged at his earlobe and shrugged. “How much did you say you’d give me for her?”

They went through this every time he came in, which was becoming more frequent thanks to the increasing number of potholes on his lengthy, unpaved driveway. What’s more, he knew what he had in the Cameo, as did Michaele. Chevrolet hadn’t made over 5,000 of them in ’55, and fewer than 1,500 in ’56. Considering the growing love affair going on with the American pickup truck, this one would be worth a tidy bundle if sold for parts; a small fortune if restored properly, something Pete had neither the skill nor finances to do. Michaele wanted a chance to try.

“A thousand,” she replied. “Less the cost of a new muffler.”

Although that was a couple of hundred dollars more than she’d offered last time, he managed to look offended. “Can’t replace her for that!”

“You want to pay liability insurance and the registration fee on something that’ll be illegal to drive in a few days, go ahead. I suppose once you get tired of collecting tickets, you can always use your ’73 Ford.”

“Not likely. It’s got two flats.”

“Mike!” Buck snapped, his bloodshot eyes finally focusing on her. “You hear me, girl? Where’s Faithy?”

Michaele shot her father a cold look. Despite his grip on the door frame, he wobbled dangerously, and she found herself half wishing he would topple face first onto the garage floor and knock himself out.

“I’m with a customer,” she said sharply.

Buck squinted. “Well, shoot, that’s just ol’—” he hiccuped “—Pete. Pete, you seen my little girl? Got a call for her inside. She’s u-usually back from school by now.”

Yeah, right, Michaele thought sourly as she pushed herself to her feet. Only if the sneak couldn’t find somewhere to hide until closing. More often than not, her younger sibling didn’t show until Michaele was home putting dinner on the table.

Pete scratched at his thinning silver hair as he pondered Buck’s question. “Nope. Can’t say I have.”

Exasperated with the whole situation, Michaele snapped, “For heaven’s sake, Buck, you know Pete lives south of here. Faith commutes to and from Mt. Pleasant, which is north. Tell whomever’s on the phone that she hasn’t arrived yet and hang up so someone with a real problem can get through!”

She turned back to the town’s newest widower. She knew he was in no hurry to leave and would rather spend the rest of the afternoon shooting the breeze with her; but she had too many problems of her own to be swayed by compassion. “Sorry,” she said, rising, “I have to finish servicing Chief Morgan’s car, and I promised that it would be done by six. If you want to avoid getting a ticket in two weeks when this expires—” she nodded to the sticker on the truck’s windshield “—you’ll have to come to terms with what that means.”

She wiped her hands on the already filthy rag and shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans, then stepped over to the patrol car still in need of an oil change and lube job.

“Guess I could let her go for the thousand…if you threw in new tires for the ’73 to sweeten the deal.”

Michaele almost let out a whoop. She’d been wanting to get her hands on “Precious” since she was seventeen, but wasn’t about to admit anything of the kind to Pete. Instead she muttered, “Jeez, Louise. All right, already! Bring the title tomorrow along with those flats, and I’ll write you a check.”

“Cash.”

That would mean a trip to the bank, because she didn’t keep that kind of money around; it presented too much of a temptation to Buck, who could easily finish drinking himself into a grave on a fraction of the amount. “Okay, cash it is. I’ll hop over to the bank as soon as it opens in the morning.”

“And I’ll need a ride home.”

She shot Pete an irritated look. “Why don’t I just adopt you? Never mind,” she added, as he began to grin. “Okay, I’ll see that you get home. Now, please, go away and let me earn a nickel.”

Satisfied, Pete left, and Michaele went back to work. But no sooner did she start unscrewing the drain plug from the patrol car’s oil pan than a vehicle pulled up to the gas pumps. She listened for the sound of Buck’s shuffling steps. When he failed to budge, she called over her shoulder, “Customer!”

After several more seconds, she headed outside herself. “And people ask why I don’t smile more,” she grumbled under her breath.

Their customer was none other than Reverend George Dollar. Michaele’s mood went from soured to curdled. Of the twelve-hundred-seventy-something people currently calling Split Creek home, why did he have to be the one driving up?

She circled around the back of the white Escort wagon that the church had inherited several years ago and went straight to the gas tank. “Fill it, Reverend?” she called up front.

He leaned out the driver’s window and smiled into the sideview mirror. “Please, Michaele. I was beginning to wonder if anyone was around. You really do need to get that service bell repaired.”

“Uh-huh.”

The only thing wrong with it was that she’d disconnected the thing. Even when she manned the garage by herself, she would have to go blind and deaf before missing anyone pulling in.

Sliding the pump nozzle into the tank’s mouth, she glanced over the car into the station’s office-store area. As she’d suspected, her father was slumped on his throne again—whether asleep or unconscious, she couldn’t tell. What she could see, though, was that he hadn’t put the phone’s receiver back into the cradle.

She shook her head. And he insisted the crap he drank wasn’t pickling his brain?

“The windshield needs cleaning, Michaele.”

Sure it does.

Gritting her teeth, she latched the nozzle for automatic filling and reached for the squeegee soaking in the pail of cleaning liquid at the other end of the island. But she was burned. Damn it all, the old buzzard would have to be gumming the steering wheel to be bothered by the smudge or two on the otherwise sparkling windshield. No, he just wanted her stretched across his hood to get his cheap thrill for the day.

“I was sorry not to see you joining Faith at services Sunday.”

She briefly considered enlightening him. The only reason her younger sister went to church was that there were few other excuses to dress up in Split Creek without looking like a lost tourist, and Faith did like to dress up. Not Michaele, though; nor did she have the stomach to sit through any hypocritical sermons, let alone the kissy-huggy stuff that followed those gatherings. However, the businesswoman in her stopped her from being all-out rude to a customer—even a tightwad like George Dollar.

“Well, Reverend, I had an emergency tow,” she said, careful to keep her chest away from the windshield.

“I understand. Running a business is a mighty big responsibility on such a pair of small shoulders. Plus, you have sweet Faith counting on you to be both mother and—forgive me—father to her. But that’s no excuse to turn your back on the Lord, child.”

As he spoke, Michaele could feel his gaze moving over her. She was relieved when the pump suddenly shut off. Then she glanced back and saw why it had stopped so soon.

Here we go again.

Michaele slammed the squeegee on top of the pump and with jerky movements replaced the nozzle in its holder. As she screwed the fuel cap back on, it was all she could do not to grind her teeth into powder.

“I haven’t turned my back on God, Reverend,” she said, finally stepping up to the driver’s window. “It’s just that it’s been years since we had much to say to each other. That’ll be three-fifty.”

He made a great show of patting various pockets. “Dear me…I seem to have misplaced my wallet somewhere.”

Was there no limit to the man’s nerve?

“Try the glove compartment,” she drawled.

“Ah! Of course.” Without an iota of embarrassment, he reached into the compartment and soon presented her with a five-dollar bill. “You know, it grieves me to hear you speak with such cynicism, Michaele.”

“Well, there’s a cure for that, too.” She stretched to her full five foot four to dig out change from the front right pocket of her jeans. “From now on, let your tank get closer to E before stopping by.”

Accepting the money, he wagged a cadaver-white finger at her. “You’re not getting off that easy. I’m a patient shepherd, and I will bring you back to God’s flock sooner or later.”

Michaele glared after him as he pulled away. “Do me and God both a favor,” she muttered, “and hold your breath.”

She didn’t like that he brought out her worst side, but his arrogance irritated her as much as his sneaky sexual leers disgusted her. On the other hand, she allowed, for once maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that Buck was inebriated. Had he been the one serving “the good reverend,” he would have let the charity hog have the gas free, thinking it would make him points Upstairs.

“Fruitcakes and freeloaders. It might as well be Christmas.” She strode into the store and slammed the phone’s handset into the cradle. As expected, the resounding clamor didn’t win her so much as a muscle twitch from her father. With his mouth wide open and the rest of his alcohol-swollen body almost as slack, a thin stream of drool was beginning to run down the side of his jaw.

Michaele kicked the sole of his booted foot with the toe of her athletic shoes.

He jerked upright, the movement knocking his cap to the cement floor. “Wh-what?”

“Where is it?”

“Huh?”

“The bottle.”

He went from dazed to pit-bull mad. “I was sleepin’! In case you ain’t noticed, it’s hotter ’n hell in here, and I’m full wore out.”

“Yeah, guzzling battery acid is exhausting work. Well, I have news for you. It’s hot out there, too—” she nodded toward the garage “—and we’re busy, which is the only reason why I actually give a flying fig if you drink yourself into a coma. Now we had a deal, old man. You promised to carry your weight and not get soused during working hours. So hand it over.”

He stared at her outstretched hand and resumed his comfortable slouch. “Leave me alone, ya mouthy li’l bitch. Nag, nag, nag. I shoulda drowned you back when I had the chance and your ma wasn’t looking.”

The insults no longer stung as they once had. She’d heard so many over the years, she’d grown numb to them. “I’m sure it crossed your mind,” she replied coldly. “Aren’t I lucky the liquor anesthetized any guts you had about the same time it leeched your mind of sense.”

Casting a glance at the wall clock, she saw she had ten minutes before Jared was due. Leaving her father, who was already drifting off again, she hurried back to the garage.

There was still no sign of Faith.

2

5:03 p.m.

Jared Morgan dropped the previous day’s reports on day clerk and dispatcher Norma Headly’s desk. “Let Curtis handle them if you want. I’m out of here. See you in the morning.”

“Just a second, Chief. I have Garth Powers on line one. He says there’s something out at the high school that you’d better see.”

Jared waited for more information, but Norma didn’t elaborate. “Does he want me to play twenty questions? What’s up?”

“I asked. He won’t say. He’s concerned someone will hear and start a scare ‘again.’ Those were his exact words,” she added with emphasis.

Jared didn’t like the sound of that. There weren’t many things that would prompt the ex-jock-turned-administrator to call for outside help. It would have to be more than a hastily tossed-away reefer or a racial situation that had gone beyond the name-calling stage. A firearm brought to school? All possible these days, but none of those things would make Garth so secretive, and that had the hairs on the back of Jared’s neck rising. He could have done without the inflection on again.

“Tell him I’m on my way to pick up my car. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Slipping on his cowboy hat and sunglasses, he exited the white-brick building, resigned that the cold beer he was looking forward to at the house would have to wait a while longer.

Split Creek’s police station was located on the northeast corner of Main and Dogwood, in a three-streetlight downtown. The community itself was one of the more resilient in Wood County, but that was hardly due to brilliance in city planning or any law enforcement. Situated between Dallas and Shreveport, Louisiana, and nestled in the heart of the photogenic Pineywoods, it also lay in the fork created by Big Blackberry Creek that eventually fed into the Red River on the east, and Little Blackberry that emptied into the Sabine River on the west. In other words, the town transformed itself into a virtual island during spring’s and autumn’s heavy rains. Hardly impressive strategy by anyone’s standards, but the addition of bridges over the years had improved the situation somewhat.

It was the residents, however, who made the rustic, visually quaint community stand out. They were an odd assortment of old-fashioned eccentrics, economic progressives, religious conservatives and creative liberals. That strange brew could make things percolate during political elections, and passions didn’t quiet down much during high school football or basketball season, either; nor when the competition was on for spring and autumn tourist traffic. But so far, the only blood shed was from the occasional bruised nose on the playing field…or when a picnic involved one beer or wine cooler too many.

Well, almost, Jared thought with a pang of sadness.

Overseeing this motley group had been his responsibility for almost five years. He’d been a member of the department for nine. Like many East Texans, his ancestors had emigrated here from the deep South—Georgia, in his case. For the first half of his life, he’d bounced around the Lone Star State as his father dealt with transfers with the Texas Department of Public Safety. Later there followed a stint in the marines and, finally, a last year down in Austin to finish getting his college degree, before returning here to move into the family home. The unexpected death of his parents had precipitated that. Now thirty-five, he was all that remained of his side of the Texas Morgans.

He often thought things should have turned out much differently, but it would be dangerous to dwell on that. It was Garth’s call that had triggered the reminder, had triggered too many memories. He didn’t need that.

Only as he crossed Main Street and approached Ramey’s did it become easier to push away his gloomy thoughts, thanks to the sight of Michaele Ramey bending to pick up something from the concrete floor in the garage.

Damn, he thought. For a slip of a thing, she could snag his attention faster than a bored bull could pick up the scent of forbidden heifers in a distant pasture.

“Hold that pose, Ramey,” he drawled as he drew nearer, “and you’ll cause a traffic pileup out here the likes of which Split Creek’s never seen before.”

Michaele glanced over her shoulder, her expression showing she was anything but impressed with his humor. “Just once I’d like to see you come and go without making a sexual innuendo.”

“It’s a free country—I suppose you have a right to dream.” He grinned to hide the more complicated emotions she stirred in him. “How’s my car?”

“Not much better than your line of bull. I swear, Morgan, you’re only across the street. Why can’t you get this thing serviced on a regular basis? This old oil is thick enough to sculpt with!”

“Blame yourself. If you didn’t turn me down every time I ask you out, I wouldn’t need so long between visits to heal my wounded ego. Exactly how much rejection do you think a guy can take?”

She didn’t waste so much as a blink on him. “Have Red or one of the others bring it over.”

“You stay away from Samuels,” Jared said, pointing at her. “He’s a happily married man with two growing boys needing three big meals a day if they’re going to bring home another division football title this fall.”

“Idiot.” Michaele punched the controls, and the lift began its slow descent.

The failure to get even a hint of a smile out of her told him that her day wasn’t ending any better than his. He knew why; he’d seen the reason as he’d crossed the street. “I take it Buck’s sleeping off another binge?”

“No, I fed him rat poison with his lunch, and I’m just waiting for dark to bury the body.”

“And Faith’s running late?” There was no sign of her red Trans Am.

“Who knows? And from now on, I refuse to care. She’s about to graduate, she turns twenty-one in two months, and, so help me, the minute that happens, I’m washing my hands of her.”

“Sure you are.”

Blue eyes clearer than any dream and sharper than any laser sliced into him. “Watch me,” she said.

“Caretakers don’t know how to shut off, honey. Even the ones trapped in dysfunctional families.”

She kicked the lift’s power unit out of her way, and reached for the clipboard on the nearby workstation. “‘Dysfunctional’ doesn’t begin to cover my zoo. Why don’t you cheer me up and tell me you shot a bad guy today and saved us taxpayers a bunch of money on a trial?”

“My, you are in a bloodthirsty mood. Let’s see…I wrote two speeding tickets this morning, spent lunch listening to the mayor worry about another store for rent on his block, moved a small mountain of paperwork off my desk. Nope, didn’t empty so much as one chamber. Wait! I did run over a water moccasin, driving in this morning. Does that count?”

“Knowing you, it was probably an accident.”

He liked that she sometimes saw through him better than others did. Because of his military background and his hard line regarding certain types of legal infractions, some in town considered him a hard-ass. To be accurate, he had his calluses and edges, even an unhealed wound or two; but as long as people didn’t probe those too much, he considered himself one heck of an amiable guy—and patient. Particularly where one diminutive career cynic was concerned.

As Michaele finished filling out the invoice for his car, he reached out to wipe at a streak of grease along her jaw. Like the rest of her, that chin was finely contoured, in total contrast to her personality and occupation. Barely tall enough to reach his Adam’s apple, and easily a hundred pounds lighter than him, she made most people around her feel huge. But most knew she was as physically tough as she was psychologically resilient. Heaven help her, she had to be.

Not surprisingly, she stepped out of his reach, but kept writing. “Get it over with,” she said, sighing.

“What?” He waited for her to look up so he could feel the kick that always came when their gazes connected. To define her eyes as blue was as insulting as saying that short mop of hair, mostly hid under her cap, was black. The media could fuss all they wanted about Liz Taylor, but to him nothing struck the heart like Michaele’s gem-clear eyes.

“Ask me out so I can say no, and you can be on your way.”

“Not tonight.”

As she handed him a copy of the bill, there was an instant when concern broke through her cool reserve. “What’s wrong?”

“Did I say anything was wrong?”

“You don’t have to. It’s written all over your face. Come to think of it, you look as though you were served bad oysters at lunch.”

“Maybe I’m worrying that nothing’s ever going to change between us.”

She quickly lowered her thick lashes. “Knock it off, Morgan. How many times do I have to tell you that you’re wasting your time toying with me?”

“Until it sinks into that pretty but thick head of yours that I’m not playing a game.”

“There is no us.”

“Right. Keep trying to convince yourself of that.” Fighting a stronger frustration than usual, Jared shoved the receipt into his shirt pocket.

Michaele slapped the clipboard back onto the workbench. “What’s gotten into you? We go through the same song-and-dance every time you come over, then you go on your merry way. Why get bent out of shape today?”

“Because, believe it or not, you’re not the only one who’s had a long day, and maybe I’m a little tired of you insisting this is all a joke, when you know damn well it’s not.”

Her laugh was brief, but confirmed her confusion and growing unease. “Of course it’s a joke. That’s why you mess with me. You know I’m not interested in a relationship with anyone. And I sure as hell wouldn’t start anything with someone who drinks!”

Jared knew that, all right, and thought her reasoning reeked worse than their creeks’ stagnant water during a dry spell. “Damn it, not everyone who has a beer once in a while is going to turn into the alcoholic your old man is!”

“Didn’t say they were. But I’m not planning to test the theory, either.”

He didn’t want to analyze it, but something that wouldn’t stay contained got the best of him. “Then start dressing like you mean it.”

“Excuse me?” Arms akimbo, she stared down at her stained denim shirt and jeans.

“Getting as dirty as a man doesn’t make you one. You know full well that my office window faces here. In the future, try wearing a bra once in a while and jeans that don’t look sprayed on, if you find my attention so offensive.”

As he headed for his patrol car, Michaele followed like a rabid terrier on the heels of a postman. “What I wear is my business, Chief Morgan, have you got that?”

Jared didn’t answer. Instead he all but threw himself into the patrol car and slammed the door shut. Tight-lipped, he gunned the engine and drove the hell out of there.

Son of a bitch. He groaned as he headed toward Split Creek High School. Of all the stupid blunders…

He’d met Michaele Ramey when she’d been a runt of sixteen, and she’d already known more about cars than most men learned in a lifetime. Even then she was going through seven kinds of hell with her family. Her inner strength, that incredible determination not to crumble, had quickly won his respect, just as her apparent disregard for—or more accurately, her obliviousness to—her exotic beauty had won his admiration. But, of course, she’d only been a kid…and he had met Sandy. Sandy, who, after his parents’ death, brought a calm and sweetness to his life—until that awful day six years ago when he’d kissed her good-night, not realizing it was goodbye.

Jared rubbed his stubble-rough jaw, disgusted with himself. This was the wrong time to think about that, just as he’d chosen the wrong moment to push Michaele. She still wasn’t ready.

Fool, she probably never will be.

Damn Garth’s phone call. Who needed old ghosts resurrected?

He owed Michaele an apology—and she would get it, right after he dealt with whatever was going on at the school. Watch that not be anywhere near as bad as Garth had insinuated, too, he thought grimacing. But then, nothing could be that bad again. Not ever.

Split Creek Jr.–Sr. High School was located right after the bridge over Big Blackberry Creek, a half-mile before the eastern perimeter of town. Jared pulled into the sprawling school’s curved driveway, eyed the near-empty parking lot, and stopped before the canopied entryway. Hurrying inside, he found Garth Powers waiting for him in the main hallway.

At 42, the six-foot-seven-inch former basketball star had served as trail master to herds of high school kids for several years longer than Jared had been a cop, and had the trim build of a man several years younger. His open-minded sense of humor had helped him sustain a more youthful attitude than many his age, so he’d proven himself to be a big favorite among students, faculty and parents. Now Jared grew uneasy as he noted Garth’s spooked countenance and the way the grim-faced man kept glancing nervously over his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming,” Garth said. “By chance did you see anyone hanging around outside?”

“No. Are we waiting for someone else?”

“I’d say he’s already been here and gone. The question is, for how long?” Garth pushed open the door to the men’s rest room, and Jared entered.

He stopped only a step beyond the threshold.

Up on the tiled wall were scrawled large letters painted in a bright red that ran the entire length of the tiled urinal wall. Garth illuminated them even more by turning on the rest of the overhead fluorescent lights. That made the message look even more insane.

I’m back! 666

3

Although every instinct told him to turn around and walk out, to climb back into his car and keep going until he ran out of gas, Jared forced himself to stay put.

“Tell me it’s not blood,” Garth said, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.

“It sure as hell looks it.”

“But surely not…?”

“Human? Considering the amount this would have taken, let’s guess against it for the moment, and hope to heaven somebody doesn’t show up missing within the next day or so.”

“Jesus, Jared.”

“If you don’t want the truth, don’t ask the questions.”

The harsh reprimand had the older man backing away a step. “Just tell me what kind of sick bastard decided to resurrect this part of our past.”

Someone who remembered what horror they’d lived through that terrible day six springs ago tomorrow. Someone who knew what it had done to the town and wanted another taste of that craziness. But he knew Garth didn’t want to hear that any more than Jared wanted to believe such a thing possible.

“It’s almost graduation,” he said, grasping for a credible alternative. “You of all people know how revved kids get at this time of year.”

“This isn’t something to joke about. Not in Split Creek.”

Amen, thought Jared, because the last time they’d been exposed to anything like this—the first time—the price had been a life, one very dear to them both, a life that had cost the town its innocence. Anyone who thought it amusing to stir up any of that was sick, pure and simple, and needed to be found.

“Who else has seen this?” he asked, unable to take his eyes off the numbers.

“Just me. I noticed the light under the door, but knew Brady had finished in here over an hour ago.”

“Brady Watts? Where is he?”

“Over in the science lab. Should I get him?”

The school’s janitor was a gentle-natured old black man, who kept to himself and wasn’t the kind to repeat gossip, let alone encourage it. But first and foremost he was a Southern Baptist. Seeing this message would shake him enough to seek out spiritual guidance, which would mean Reverend Isaac Mooney entering the picture, someone who did like to talk. Jared neither needed nor wanted that.

“No. But if you can find a couple of mops and pails, then lock that door, I’ll help you clean up this mess. Or paint over it, if we need to.”

“Don’t you want to take a picture, get a sample, or dust for—”

“It’s kids!” Jared snapped. “Yeah, it’s six years tomorrow, but that’s no secret. You’ve heard the talk around town. People always remember what they should forget and forget what they should remember.” He turned back to the wall. “No, this is a juvenile prank meant to shock us, and why should we be surprised? Local gossip reflects what’s on TV and in the movies these days. People are being desensitized right and left, and the kids are the first to be affected. Apparently, one or two of them thought it would be fun to spook you. Don’t give him, or them, the satisfaction. We’ll wash it off and forget it. When they see this didn’t get a rise out of you, they’ll lose interest and move on to using keys to scratch car paint or something equally lamebrained.”

“She was my sister-in-law, Jared. How can I forget?”

“Damn you, Garth. She was my fiancée! I say, let her rest in peace.”

Garth looked as though he wanted to continue arguing the point, but after several seconds, although red-faced, he stormed out of the rest room. As soon as the door shut behind him, Jared reached for his pocketknife and pulled a paper towel from the wall dispenser. The procedure wasn’t as pure as using the collection gear in his trunk, but he couldn’t afford to take the time to get it. If Garth got so much as an inkling of how deeply troubled Jared was by this, the guy would need a tranquilizer to get any sleep tonight, and that would mean bringing Jessica into the picture. Sandy’s older sister didn’t deserve this, either.

Acutely aware of the risks he was taking, he used the knife to scrape at the driest corner of the first letter.

4

6:06 p.m.

Michaele didn’t bother trying to rouse her father after locking up. It wasn’t the first time she’d left him snoring in his chair, and she doubted it would be the last. In any case, she didn’t have the energy to put up with the wrestling match and verbal abuse it would take just to get him into the truck; what would she do with him at home? Besides, with the police station directly across the street, he was perfectly safe, and she would have the time alone that she needed with Faith…once her sister showed up.

Preoccupied, Michaele drove badly through the intersection, and the wrecker shuddered in protest to her delay in downshifting. But she finally got the 454 big-block engine smoothened out and continued north on Dogwood, then turned west on Cypress and across Little Blackberry Creek.

Convinced she would find her sister at the house soaking in the tub, as Faith was apt to do on afternoons when she was feeling particularly lazy, Michaele was disappointed to reach their place and find only the family’s aging pickup truck in the dirt driveway. The irony of her reaction didn’t escape her. How often had she pulled in here hoping there would be no one at the two-story frame house?

So be it, she decided. If this was to be her moment, she would celebrate. There was more to be grateful for than peace and quiet; there was also the acquisition of the Cameo. This called for a pan-fried steak, and later maybe one of Faith’s luxurious, long baths. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d taken the time to pamper herself.

But once inside the house—dark and stuffy from being shut up all day—she felt like a stranger. It was the unusual quiet, she supposed, so unnatural considering her volatile family. The mess was the same, though. There were dishes in the sink, newspapers and magazines everywhere, laundry waiting for someone to shove it into the washing machine or dryer.

“Gross,” she muttered.

She supposed she could keep the house in better shape if she did everything herself; however, working herself into an early grave the way her mother had wasn’t on Michaele’s list of goals. Bad enough her father and sister let her support them.

She loaded the washing machine, adding the shirt and jeans she’d been wearing. Then, stripped down to her cotton panties, she ran upstairs for a shower.

It was a rather quick shower. Thanks to her line of work, she could scrub herself raw daily and still fail to get off every last trace of the day’s grime. That was also part of why Jared had upset her so.

It had been unfair of him to accuse her of being a tease. She had never tried to be anything but what she was—a damn good mechanic, who would never have clean nails or Faith’s flawless skin. Michaele dug around in too many engine manifolds, had wrestled with too many stubborn nuts and bolts to win those kinds of compliments. So where did that big lug get off thinking she was interested in provoking him? She needed a man about as much as she needed an earring pierced through her tongue.

When she returned downstairs, there was still no sign of Faith.

Determined to wait up for her no matter what, Michaele fried the steak and nuked a potato in the microwave, then ate the simple meal, balancing the plate on her knees as she sat outside on the stoop to escape the stale house smells.

For as long as she could remember, they’d lived on this wooded dead-end street in the middle of a cleared pasture that a tornado hadn’t yet found. Thirteen acres of sandy loam that liked yucca cactus, nut grass and every other variety of weed, but resisted her sporadic attempts to grow vegetables without pesticides or heavy doses of chemical nutrients. The garden had been her mother’s idea, as had been the E tacked on to Michaele, after Buck—disappointed that he wasn’t getting the son he’d wanted—insisted on keeping the male name, anyway.

By the time she returned inside, it was nearly dusk. After cleaning up in the kitchen, she threw the washed clothes into the dryer and added another load to the washing machine. Then she stretched out on the couch with a mystery novel she’d been meaning to get to since buying it for herself as a Christmas present.

By ten o’clock she gave up trying to pretend she was concentrating and accepted that something was seriously wrong. Faith had never been this late, not from classes; and if she’d had plans, she would have stopped at the house first to change.

Michaele’s concern grew after she called her sister’s closest friends. All of them—with the exception of Harold, whose mother had answered and informed her he wasn’t home yet, either—said they hadn’t heard from her today.

Could Faith be with Harold Bean? They hadn’t dated in some time, but both attended Northeast Texas Community College and remained friends.

Frowning at the clock, Michaele decided to give her sister until midnight, simply because she dreaded the thought of calling the police station. It didn’t matter that Jared wouldn’t be there; he would be told, and she didn’t want to be accused of playing another game. Surely Faith would wander in before then.

Michaele returned to the front room, turned off the lights and settled in the rocker by the picture window. It looked so much darker out there tonight. The driveway seemed longer, and the woods across the street appeared downright ominous. For the first time since those early days after her mother’s death, she regretted that their neighbors were acres away, hidden by trees and thick brush.

She closed her eyes against the view and tried to think pleasant thoughts. What came was an ugly scene this morning with Faith, the way her sister had stormed out of the house…the taunting image of her lying bloody and crying for help in a crushed car somewhere…her father telling the police, “It’s Mike’s fault! She drove my poor baby to her grave!”

The ringing phone made her jerk upright. Disoriented, in her rush to get to it she almost knocked the whole thing to the floor before successfully bringing the handset to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Is Faith there?”

She didn’t recognize the voice, wasn’t even alert enough to know if it was a man or a woman calling. “Um…no. Who’s this, please?”

“You mean she didn’t call to say goodbye? She wanted to.”

Michaele’s confusion turned instantly to lung-freezing dread. She gripped the phone more tightly. “What did you say? Who is this?”

There was no reply…only a soft click as someone hung up.

5

Thursday, May 14

12:01 a.m.

Michaele stood there in shocked disbelief. Even after the buzzing reminded her to hang up, she remained rooted in place, trying to reassure herself that she’d heard incorrectly.

Suddenly, reacting as though the phone’s handset was a venomous thing, she dropped it back into the cradle, then stared out the picture window at the empty road. Beyond. Into the opaqueness of the dense woods.

As understanding grew into fear, she reached for the phone again, only to draw back.

Who are you going to call? Calm down. What if you’re wrong? What if this is somebody’s idea of a joke?

That was it. Michaele rushed into the kitchen and jerked open the door. “So help me,” she muttered under her breath, “if you borrowed someone’s car phone or got someone else to call me, thinking you would pay me back for—”

The Firebird she had expected to see in the driveway, with her sister laughing behind the wheel, wasn’t there.

Michaele’s stomach grew queasy. Quickly locking the door, she snatched up the phone book next to the refrigerator and, with trembling fingers, flipped through the white pages. Her dialing was equally haphazard, and she exhaled with relief when she finally heard the ringing that told her she hadn’t botched that last attempt. The stove clock read 12:03. The ghoulish time didn’t slip past her, nor did the belated realization that she must have dozed off, after all.

On the fourth ring, he answered. “Yeah?”

“Jared, thank God.” His strong, though irritated, voice had her instantly forgiving him his earlier behavior. “I know I should’ve called the station, but I—”

“Michaele?” There was a muffled sound as though he were sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

“I think Faith is missing.”

He was silent for several seconds. “Come again?”

“She never got home, and I just got this awful call. He said—”

“Are you and Buck at the house?”

“Yes. No! Buck’s at the garage.”

“You’re there alone? Stay put,” he snapped. “I mean it. Don’t go outside. Do nothing until I get there.”

“But I haven’t told you—”

He hung up.

She couldn’t believe it. Instead of listening to what she had to say, instead of assuring her that he would immediately have his men on the night shift look for Faith, he was coming here because she was alone? Heaven save her from the entire male race! Calling him instead of the station had been a mistake, after all.

But her frustration didn’t last long. As soon as she hung up and looked out the parted kitchen door curtains, out beyond the moths circling dizzily in the porch light to the indecipherable darkness beyond, the skin along her arms and at the back of her neck began tingling. Someone could be standing just beyond, maybe hiding as close as behind the wrecker, watching her. The thought made her feel exposed even though the oversize NASCAR T-shirt she liked to wear to bed almost reached her knees.

Her heart pounding, she rushed over to tug the curtains closed and to recheck the lock. The lock was one of those flimsy twist jobs in a door that was half glass, which made her think about the other doors. Not once since she’d come home had she bothered checking them to see if they were locked or not.

With a new dread, she hurried from the back door to the front, testing each one. Everything was as it should be, but her heart continued its wild beating, anyway, and so when done, she stopped in the hallway, her back pressed to the wall, the one spot where she knew she couldn’t be seen from any window.

Get a grip, Ramey. This isn’t like you.

Nevertheless, a flash of lights on the living room wall made her catch her breath. In the next instant she recognized them as car lights. Jared? He lived north on Dog-wood, more than a half-mile away. Could he have dressed and gotten here this fast?

Faith!

Anger blossomed anew as Michaele ran to the kitchen. Once again she flung open the door.

With mixed feelings, she heard the white patrol car’s engine shut down just before Jared climbed out and rushed up the steps. It looked as if he’d pulled on the short-sleeved blue shirt he’d been wearing earlier because one of the buttons was undone, and his jeans were zipped but not fastened. Although his face was shadowed by the straw cowboy hat, she saw that his eyes were bloodshot and that the always pronounced shadow of whiskers was darker than ever. The scent of beer that drifted in with him confirmed the hunch that he hadn’t gotten as far as bed yet when she’d called.

“Should you be driving in your condition?” she asked as he entered.

“If that’s an invitation for coffee, I won’t turn it down.”

With a lift of her eyebrows, she took the saucepan they kept on the stove and filled it with what she estimated was enough water to fill a large mug. They didn’t bother with coffee machines in the Ramey household; Faith refused to drink anything but store-bought latte, and Buck doctored anything put before him with so much sugar and milk, Michaele figured instant was good enough.

As she went to the pantry for the jar, she said, “Maybe you should call one of your men to handle this.”

“I’m not drunk.”

She refused to be intimidated by his terse reply. If anyone had the right to be out of sorts, it was her. “I call you and tell you that I think my sister is missing, and not only don’t you ask me any questions about her, but you waste valuable time driving over here when you should be out looking for her.”

“My first priority was to make sure you were all right.”

“Of course I’m all right. I’m here!”

Jared took off his hat and ran his other hand over his hair. “Michaele, you don’t know what’s—” He signaled her to give him a moment, then replaced the hat. “It’s not going to help anything to get sarcastic.”

Although not ready to admit she was out of line, she did back off by getting a mug from an open cabinet. “Faith never got home from school,” she told him. “And there’s been a phone call.”

She repeated everything the caller had said. When she finished, she glanced over her shoulder. Jared just stood there, his eyes closed.

“You’re thinking someone’s pulling one over on me, that I’m being melodramatic. I hope I am. But the more I think about it, the more I feel—He was smiling when he spoke, I could tell. That’s what unnerved me. He was enjoying himself.”

Once Jared met her gaze again, not only did his expression tell her that he didn’t think she was overreacting, but he looked sick to his stomach. “Did you recognize the guy’s voice?”

“No.” She suffered a new pang of guilt. “To be honest, I’m not even sure it was a man.”

“You just said—”

“I’d fallen asleep and was disoriented. The call lasted only a few seconds.” As she replayed the awful conversation in her mind, she tried to portion out a spoonful of coffee granules. Most spilled onto the counter.

Jared took over and completed the task. “Could the caller have altered his or her voice?”

“I guess. I don’t know. No, it had to have been a man.”

“Because…?”

“Because.”

“Harold Bean, maybe?”

One of the less appealing things about small towns was that everyone knew everyone else’s business, including who was or had been paired with whom. Michaele shook her head. “Jeez, no. He’s still nuts about her, sure, and as far as I know they’ve remained friends, but…no. Faith’s moved on.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Harold’s voice cracks like a thirteen-year-old’s when he’s the slightest bit emotional.”

“You sound more like a protective parent than a worried sister.”

“Damn it, Morgan, I’m not protecting him. I’m simply not going to say what I don’t believe, so back off!”

Jared held her angry stare. “When did you receive the call?”

“At midnight. I phoned you right afterward. Maybe I should have called the station or 9-1-1.”

“You did the right thing.”

Then why did he look as though she’d become his worst nightmare, as though he were about to excuse himself and charge for the bathroom?

Before she could say as much, he stepped around her, turned off the flame under the pot and poured the boiling water. “Have you searched the house thoroughly? There’s no sign that she might have been here while you were at work? Maybe she packed a bag or something, planned to stay with friends for a few days?”

“No, I didn’t notice anything when I was going around opening windows, and she didn’t say—”

The pot clattered as he slammed it back onto the burner. “You had the windows open?”

“Hello! This is Split Creek, not L.A. What’s more, two of the three people living here think we have round-the clock maid service. Maybe you can tolerate that kind of stench, but not me.”

“Okay, okay. Go lock up. Then check the closets, under the beds…Do it,” he intoned when she didn’t budge. He started for the door. “And yell like hell if you find anything. I’m going outside to have a look around.”

“For what?”

The glance he cast her over his shoulder left her feeling like a slow five-year-old. As the screen door shut behind him, she muttered, “It’s my house, buster. I have a right to at least ask.”

What did he think he was going to find out there, anyway? She’d told him Faith wasn’t here. And what did he think she’d run into upstairs?

Somewhere above her a board creaked. It was the same sound Faith used to make when she tried to sneak out of the house for a date on a school night. Of course, this time, Michaele thought, it was the house cooling, a board expanding—

Another creak sounded.

“So I’ll placate him.” She might as well, she decided. Otherwise he would do it for her and know once and for all what slobs the Rameys were. The heavy flashlight she snatched up along the way was for her own peace of mind.

Five minutes later they were both back in the kitchen.

Jared reached for the still steaming mug of coffee. “I’ve radioed the station and told them to keep an eye out for Faith, and to check on Buck. You know we can’t initiate an official missing persons search for twenty-four hours, but I’ll set in motion what I can. If you could give me a recent photo of her, that would help.”

For what? Everyone in the area knew what Faith looked like. She was one of those people who never met a stranger and talked to everyone.

“We’ll need it if we have to broaden our search,” Jared said gently. “Also, come morning, if…well, you’ll have to come into the station to fill out some forms.”

As he spoke he made less and less eye contact. That, more than anything, triggered a new dread in Michaele. “You don’t think she’s going to show up, do you.”

“I’m merely explaining procedure.” He put down the mug. “Could you get me that photo?”

The one she chose was from the top of the TV in the living room—a Glamour Shots creation, yet another indulgence the girl couldn’t afford. At the time it was taken, Michaele had been too angry to admit her sister looked gorgeous, more stunning than most of the empty-eyed skeletons in the countless fashion magazines the kid bought. It wasn’t just the filtered lens, the way Faith’s long black hair was brushed in uncharacteristic but sexy disarray, or the artful makeup that gave her eyes an almost Far Eastern tilt, her mouth a pouty just-kissed look. Faith simply had…something.

Returning to the kitchen, Michaele handed the picture to Jared. “All I was trying to say before was that if you know something, I think I have a right to be told what it is.”

Jared slipped the photo into his shirt pocket without looking at it. “I’ll be in touch.”

That was it? “Fine!” she snapped, as he headed for the door. “Then hear this—as soon as I change, I’m going to start searching for her, too.”

“The hell you will.”

Before she could move he’d spun around and grabbed her upper arms, almost lifting her off her feet to bring her face-to-face with him. It wasn’t hard to do. He might not be the tallest guy in town, but he had to be one of the strongest, and if he wanted, he was capable of making a larger man feel like a Chihuahua confronting a rottweiler.

“You stay put,” he growled. “And don’t think I won’t be checking in to make sure you’re here.”

“I can’t sit and do nothing.”

“Then pray.”

Jared Long Morgan talking about prayer? Next to her, he had the worst church attendance record in town. “Now you’re frightening me.”

“It’s about time.” But he frowned once he noticed his grip on her, and abruptly let her go. “Stay here. If she shows up, you’ll be able to let me know all the sooner.”

He started to leave again.

“Jared.” When he looked back, Michaele chewed on her lower lip. “You might as well know something. We fought before she went off to school this morning.”

“So what else is new?”

Despite his wry, even kind tone, she didn’t allow herself off the hook. “This time I threatened to shut her off financially if she didn’t start helping out more. She left crying and cussing.” Remembering the awful scene, Michaele felt her own throat ache. “What am I going to do if…?”

Jared swore under his breath and this time drew her completely into his arms. “Don’t go there, honey.”

Holding Jared was like trying to wrap her arms around the single, ancient oak in the middle of their pasture; but for once Michaele let herself need his size and strength. She almost believed that if she held him hard enough, if she shut her eyes tight enough, she could stop what felt like a free fall into the worst nightmare ever imagined.

Jared’s breath teased the top of her head. “Ah, Mike. Everyone knows the burden you’ve been carrying for years, just as they know it’s a fact of life that siblings fight. There’s nothing to beat yourself up about. Now listen.” He eased her to arm’s length. “Lock up tight behind me. Don’t open up for anyone except me, Faith or Buck. If there are any more calls, let me know immediately.” He nodded to the card on the counter. “I’ve left you my cellular phone number.”

She hadn’t noticed, and gave the card only a brief glance; all she was focusing on was him. He was about to leave, and she didn’t want him to. She didn’t want to be alone.

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“I’ll try to be patient.”

“Don’t hurt yourself straining.”

Although the words were warmly spoken, there was something close to despair in his eyes, and suddenly she had the strongest urge to be in his arms again, to smooth away the grim lines that were deepening around his mouth. The need was as frightening as it was compelling.

“About this afternoon…I’m sorry,” she heard herself say. “I hated that we fought.”

“Me, too.”

“I mean really hated it. Your—” she didn’t know what word to use “—your respect means a lot to me.”

“We’ll talk about that someday.”

His thumb’s caress at the corner of her mouth had a surprisingly debilitating effect on her ability to remember all the reasons for believing romantic entanglements weren’t for her. Nuts, she thought, finally succeeding in putting more space between them.

Sighing, Jared reached for the doorknob. “Remember what I said. Keep everything locked up.”

“Yes.”

And she did…only to find it didn’t quite work, in that she wasn’t alone. Jared’s presence lingered long after his car was out of sight. That disturbed her almost as much as everything else going on.

6

12:30 a.m.

“Where’ve you been?”

Harold Bean froze in the doorway, blinded by the glare of the kitchen’s fluorescent lights flashing on, and though he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, he decided it was just as well that he couldn’t see. Looking at his mother at any time was a grim chore; it became downright painful at twelve-thirty in the morning when she wore only a nightgown and still had to stand sideways to fit through the hall doorway.

“Jeez, Mama.” He squinted, then blinked hard to get used to the brutal glare. As his vision cleared, he stepped inside the double-wide trailer, shutting the door behind him. It was all about buying time, and when he turned back to face her again, he saw that at least this gown was made of a dark, opaque material, less transparent than some. Unfortunately, the huge orange-and-yellow flowers on it reminded him of gaping mouths screaming for freedom. He figured he and those flowers had a lot in common.

“I asked you a question, young man. Where’ve you been?”

“The usual.”

He headed straight for the refrigerator. He hoped this would be one of those nights when she gave up quickly and went back to bed.

“Don’t give me that. You should’ve been home hours ago. Ain’t nothing open this time of night.”

No shit, he thought. That was another reason why he intended to get the hell out of Split Creek as soon as he graduated next year. This was a do-nothing town full of know-nothing people going nowhere. He might not be brain surgeon material, but he was smart enough to know he could make a good life for himself in the military—and not as a bottom-of-the-shitcan grunt, either. He was going to be an officer. Recruiters down in Tyler had convinced him of that. One more year, he fantasized as he took out the plastic gallon jug of skim milk from the top shelf, then it would be “Anchors aweigh!” for him.

“Don’t drink all of that!” his mother cried. “I need some for my cereal in the morning.”

Keeping his back to her, Harold rolled his eyes at the whiny demand. The sow drank no-fat milk and diet soda all day, bought everything and anything guaranteeing lower calories on the label, yet he was the one losing weight around here. Because I’m not scarfing down cookies and chips as a chaser to everything.

In fact, he had trouble trying to keep a hundred sixty-seven pounds on his six-foot frame, while he regularly had to replace the extra boards under his mother’s bed to keep it from crashing through the floor of the trailer.

As thirsty as he was hungry, but unwilling to listen to more of her yammering, he poured himself a mere half glass of the cold liquid, then returned the container to the refrigerator.

“You were out sniffing after her again, weren’t you?” his mother demanded.

“No.”

“How many times do I have to say it before it sinks into that thick skull of yours? The girl’s done with you, stop chasing her. Ain’t you got no pride?”

“I wasn’t anywhere near Faith Ramey.”

“Well, her sister must’ve believed otherwise. Why else did she call here looking for her?”

That got his attention. He stopped the glass inches from his mouth. “She didn’t.”

“You calling your ma a liar?”

“All I’m saying is that Mike knows Faith and I don’t drive up to school together anymore.”

“Probably ’cause she got tired of you laying out and goofing off. So where were you? At some club drinking? I won’t have a drunk in my house! I got rid of your no-good father, and I’ll get rid of you if’n you’re turning that way.”

“This is a trailer. Ouch!” She’d leaned into the kitchen just enough to slap him across the back of his head. White bursts of light exploded before his eyes and his eardrums ached. “Fuck it,” he groaned.

She swung at him again. “No cussing under my roof, and don’t be correcting your superiors! Guess you figure you’re too old to answer to me, but let me tell you, Harold Bean, you’re nothing until I say you’re something. Got that?”

Shaking from humiliation as much as fury, he almost spilled his milk as he stretched to set the glass on the counter. Somehow he resisted the temptation to commit violence, rubbed the back of his head and simply replied, “You’re gonna wake Wendy, Mama.”

“Don’t you worry about her. Unlike you, she knows it’s a school night and went to bed at a decent hour. She’ll get her rest. Now I asked you a question.”

A question he wasn’t about to answer, not truthfully, anyway. But he had a lie practiced and memorized. “I was at the school library until they closed. Did you forget that I told you I had a paper due as part of one of my finals and needed more footnotes?” He hadn’t said anything of the kind, but while his mother had the memory of a whole herd of elephants when it came to what happened on each and every TV soap opera, she couldn’t recall diddly about anything he told her regarding school. To keep it that way, he exaggerated shamelessly. “Remember, I explained all the instructors care about is footnotes, footnotes and footnotes?”

“Oh…yeah.” Her eyes, thin slits in a moon-pie face, scanned the length of him. “Then where is it? You badmouth your teachers, but don’t bring in so much as one sheet of paper to prove you’ve been working? How dumb do you think I am, boy? You think I don’t remember that the library closes at nine, and that it only takes you forty minutes to get home from up there?”

That voice. Sometimes Harold fantasized about wrapping his hands around his mother’s fat neck and squeezing, squeezing until her head popped like a ripe zit. His loathing for her incessant nagging was that strong. But this was hardly the time for her to know his darkest thoughts.

“It’s late, Mama.” He reached for the milk again. “I left everything in the car so I wouldn’t have to tote it all out again, come morning. If you don’t believe me, take my keys out of my pocket and look for yourself. As for the rest of the time, if you’d given me a chance, I would have explained I had car trouble.”

His mother snorted. “A likely story.”

“If I’m lying, I’m dying.” To pledge himself, he held up his hand the same way she did hers at church. “Car battery went on me. It was deader than—” he barely stopped in time to save himself from earning another smack “—I had to wait until somebody came by who was willing to drive me all the way to the Wal-Mart in Mineola and back, which was the only place open at this hour.”

She looked doubtful. “Who would go way out of their way to do something like that for you?”

“Jack Fenton.” It had taken some thinking, but Harold had remembered his former high school classmate who lived on the far side of town. “Fenton” was a name his mother had heard before, since the guy had been the class valedictorian and had impressed everyone by doubling up on his college courses to graduate a year early. But most important, Fenton was someone his mother would probably, hopefully, never meet. “He happened to pass me on his way home from Texarkana after checking on some cattle for his folks.” It wasn’t a lie that the Fentons were among the more successful ranchers in the area.

His mother brushed her stringy, chin-length hair from her face. “Well, I hope you paid him for his trouble, or at least reimbursed him gas money.”

“He wouldn’t take any.” Slinging back the last of the milk, Harold rinsed out the glass and put it in the dish drainer, fully aware of what would happen if he didn’t. “He said he hoped somebody’d do as much for him sometime if he got into trouble.”

“Now that’s what I call a Christian gesture.” The trailer groaned as his mother rocked back and forth to get enough momentum to turn around and make room for him to precede her down the hall. “You be sure to add him in your prayers, and thank the good Lord for sending you an angel in your time of need. In this day and age, there’s no telling what kind of evil could have been out there.”

The only thing Harold prayed for was that Rose Bean’s Lord “took her home” via natural causes before he was driven to murdering her himself. “Ow!” he cried, as she pinched the back of his arm. “What was that for?” Hell, was the old witch capable of reading minds now?

“You could have called from the store so I wouldn’t have lost sleep worrying. I’ll bet Jack called home. I’ll bet his parents don’t hear any lip from him, either.”

Instead of answering, Harold escaped into his room, quickly shutting and locking the door behind him before she could ask another question. He’d had enough. Besides, the key to lying well was knowing when to shut up.

As he hoped, his mother’s heavy steps moved on down the hall to the other bedroom that she shared with Wendy— “Sow Jr.,” as he called his younger sister in the safety of his mind. What a relief that she hadn’t taken him up on his challenge to check his car to make sure he’d been telling the truth. He’d been counting on that, and if he’d been wrong…he didn’t want to think about the consequences.

Not at all hampered by the darkness of his room, he twisted around and dropped onto the middle of his twin-size cot, then fisted his hands over his head like a boxing champion before an audience of thousands of cheering fans.

He’d done it! Once again he’d made it home without anyone being the wiser about where he’d been and what he’d been doing. And that’s how he planned to keep things.

7

1:15 a.m.

Patrolling Split Creek by day was about as exciting as watching a cow chew her cud; things rarely got more lively at night. Until that message in the high school rest room and Michaele’s call, Jared had begun to believe, as did most of the rest of the community, that they were overprotected. Two cops patrolling the area at night, while Curtis Jarvis manned the station, should have been enough manpower for a town twice their size. Now, who knew? And yet despite his concern, he had to fight against another yawn. He would never make a good vampire. His internal clock was better suited for day work, and his butt and mind were starting to protest this extended time behind the wheel—especially since it was getting him nowhere.

With a deep sigh, he radioed the station for a status report, but Curtis informed him that Eagan and Griggs weren’t having any more success than he was. Next he called the sheriff’s office over in Quitman to get an update and to determine what else they were willing to do at this stage. By the time he once again had both hands on the wheel, he’d reached the southwest perimeters of the community. It was the least likely area for Faith to be—mostly farms, woods and marsh—however, it also had the main access road to Tyler, and Faith was a city girl at heart. Maybe she’d decided to go down there and had had car trouble.

There had been a full moon on Monday, and three-quarters of it was still high in the night sky, but an increase of low clouds kept the terrain pretty much dark. His car’s headlights picked up another pair of eyes in the tall grass on the side of the road, and he warned, “Don’t make my day,” to what he suspected was either a raccoon, small dog or cat. The last thing he wanted was to add to the roadkill count.

The woods abruptly ended to expose two chicken-coop-size houses, neither of which was lit by security lights. Old Mrs. Fahey lived in the shack teetering on cinder blocks, and her widowed daughter Pearl Wascom resided in the one with the screened porch, set farther back from the road. Jared often thought that the two women should move in together and rent the second house to supplement their meager income, but they squabbled too much to stay under the same roof for any length of time. Only their shared commitment to keep Ezekiel Baptist Church across the street polished and ready for any service, as well as the cemetery beside it groomed like a public park, assured any civility between them. What bothered Jared was knowing he could walk up to either house and find the doors and windows unlocked. These were the same two ladies who’d been among the most spooked when Sandy was murdered in her own home. It amazed him how quickly they’d forgotten that, or, more accurately, how they preferred the comfort of living in denial—as had so many in their community.

Continuing, he drove past a few dozen equally isolated residences. With every mile he covered, he willed the radio to relieve him of his growing tension. It didn’t happen, though, and when at last he’d come full circle, he drove past the gas station again.

Buck seemed content to spend the night where he was. Just as well, Jared decided. As much as he didn’t like Michaele being alone at her place, her father would only add to her stress.

Once inside the police station, he headed straight for the coffee machine. He’d barely begun pouring himself a mug full of the potent brew, when Bruce Griggs and Buddy Eagan shuffled in. Bruce, who looked more like a lifeguard than a doting father of two little girls, reported that all he’d come up with was a small domestic disturbance in the trailer park where the Mexicans who worked at area commercial nurseries lived. Buddy, divorced and always a bit edgy, grumbled how his trip hadn’t even yielded that much.

“Bet she’s holed up with one of her instructors getting…tutored.” Smirking, Buddy poured himself a mug of coffee.

“Knock it off,” Bruce replied. “Faith’s a sweet kid. She used to baby-sit our girls, and she was the most responsible sitter we ever had.”

“Hey, my ex’s kid sister went to college down in Austin, and is only a couple years younger than Faith. Some of the stories she told about when she sat kids—”

“That’s enough.” Whatever Faith was or wasn’t, Jared didn’t want anyone discounting the possible seriousness of the situation. He carried his coffee to the city map and studied it again before checking his watch. It was after two o’clock.

Where are you, kid?

“Bruce,” he said to the younger cop, “you take the section I just covered. Buddy, you repeat Bruce’s route, and I’ll go through yours again. Everybody, look a little harder. Pause to check out remote properties. If you see anything suspicious, call for backup, pronto.”

Bruce looked the least thrilled; however, he accepted the assignment as he usually did. He simply finished his coffee, rinsed out the mug and headed for the bathroom. Buddy went to shoot the breeze with Curtis for a moment. Confident the men would be back on the street in minutes, Jared refilled his mug and carried it out to his car.

His was the only vehicle on the road as he worked his way through town. At the corner of Magnolia, he noticed Reverend Dollar’s study light just going off. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed how late the minister worked, but others were up late, too. At the other end of the street, he found Dillon Hancock still at it. Hancock lived in the attic of Last Writes, the bookstore taking up the lower two floors of the sprawling Victorian. Jared’s mood soured somewhat as he passed; the town’s number one rebel and most notorious bachelor had befriended Michaele with ease, and although Jared was fairly confident that it was only a platonic relationship, he was jealous nonetheless.

The last street in the immediate part of downtown was Cedar, and there, at the elegant, contemporary-styled house on the corner, he saw the shadow of Garth Powers moving around in his home office. Jared couldn’t blame the guy for pacing, but hoped he was keeping his mouth shut and hadn’t upset his wife, Jessica.

Once again he turned onto Dogwood. This was the road Faith would have taken to and from school. Soon after driving by his own home, commercial zoning replaced residential property, followed by mini-farms, tracts of five to twenty acres owned by the more successful retailers in town and some commuting professionals out of Tyler. By the time he reached the City Limits sign, the only lights around were from larger farms and ranches. He kept hoping to come across a disabled Firebird around each bend…but it didn’t happen.

A mile beyond the sign, surrounded by solid woods, he had no choice but to cut a sharp U-turn and head back. There was still Big Blackberry Drive and the northeast side of town to check out beyond the Powers place, he told himself, although he knew finding anything there was a long shot. With deepening concern, he reached for his cellular and punched in Michaele’s number.

She answered before the first ring ended. “Yes?”

“I was hoping you’d be napping some.”

“How can I sleep?” she replied. “That call keeps playing over and over in my mind. Have you found anything?”

“I’m afraid not. We’re on our second pass through the area. The sheriff’s office reports things have been quiet for them, too, but in a way that’s good news. They’re able to spare the manpower to pick up wherever we’re leaving off.”

“He has her.”

“You don’t know that. All you know is that someone wants you to think that. They may only be out to play with your mind.”

“They’re doing a good job of it.”

Jared heard the fatigue and the strain in her voice and wished he could go to her, even though he knew she wouldn’t welcome the comfort he wanted to offer. “I checked on Buck. He’s fine.”

“I don’t want to think what he’ll be like when he finds out.”

Jared sympathized. For all the trouble the guy gave Michaele, he’d treated Faith more like an adored puppy.

Past tense? Listen to yourself, Morgan.

“Don’t assume the worst,” he forced himself to say. “For all we know, she met up with some friends and decided to spend the night there.”

“I’ll kill her. I swear, if that’s what happened, I’ll shake her until she’s bald or—”

“Chief! Come in, please.”

Curtis’s usually calm drawl was edged with anxiety, which immediately made Jared cut short his conversation with Michaele. “I’ll get back to you,” he told her, and disconnected before she could ask what was going on. Something told him that she didn’t need to hear what his dispatcher had to say.

He reached for the radio mike. “What’ve you got?”

“A call’s come in from the Fite farm. Old Pete’s found something out there. Sounds like Faith Ramey’s car.”

So a jaunt to Tyler wasn’t out of the picture. “Just the car? No sign of her?”

“Pete didn’t say anything about seeing anyone. All he said was that his dogs went crazy and woke him. When they wouldn’t settle down, he went outside to check around, and as soon as he saw that a strange vehicle was on his property, he ran inside to call it in.”

“Well, did he recognize it?” If it wasn’t too dark, he should have. Like most everyone else, Pete knew Faith.

“I don’t get that impression from what he’s said so far, and I sensed he was too scared to get a closer look.”

“All right, that’s good, too. It’ll keep him from contaminating anything. Have you notified Griggs and Eagan?”

“Yeah, did that first since they’re closer. Eagan’s just arriving, and Griggs is about two minutes behind him.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

8

2:40 a.m.

Reverend George Dollar shut off the lamp and sat in the darkness of his office wanting the absolution, temporary though it was. He had yet to stop shaking, but it was slightly better than when he’d first come in and had almost knocked over the umbrella stand at the back door. Just the thought of the attention that noise could have brought from upstairs triggered a more violent shudder. No, Miriam could not know that he was the biggest sinner in his congregation. Disgusting. Doomed.

How could he have let it happen? He’d been making such progress. Had he grown complacent? Surely not.

He was being tested, he decided with a flash of revelation. Satan had sent a demon, not unlike the two that had taunted Jesus upon entering Gadara. His demon had been informed of his progress, and, like a maggot, had infested his mind and contaminated it until he’d succumbed to a fever. He’d never noticed it coming on because it was natural to feel warm at this time of year. Especially this year.

Tears welled anew behind his closed lids, and this time they weren’t only tears of remorse, but of self-pity. Why had the Lord taken so long to share this insight? For almost two hours he’d been praying and paging through his Bible, while asking for forgiveness. He’d read Psalms 130 and 139; then, when there’d been no sign from above, Psalm 143. He’d even fallen to his knees and raised his palms in supplication, and in the loudest whisper he dared—ever conscious that Miriam had the ears of a safecracker—had invited the Almighty to strike him dead if that was His will. Unfortunately, his knees gave out before getting a response, and now, sitting here in the darkness, it had come.

A test…no doubt because I’ve proven myself a worthy soldier.

The thought made him bite at his knuckles the way he had when, as a schoolboy, he’d sit outside the principal’s office awaiting a thrashing for a childish infraction. Oh, but for a return to those innocent days.

“Give me a sign to know I have Your forgiveness,” he declared in a low vibrato. Impassioned, he raised his right fist to the ceiling and pointed at it with his left hand. “Say the word, and I’ll smite this wicked limb here and now that it might never again act in weakness!”

With growing zeal, he reached for the carved-bone letter opener a member of his congregation had made for him several Christmases ago. The blade had as sharp an edge as anything in Miriam’s kitchen, and he’d already had a close encounter with it. The last time he’d invited the Lord to smite him, he’d slipped and cut himself so badly, the wound had required seven stitches—not to mention a lot of explaining to his wife.

Now, as then, the room remained silent.

The reverend smiled knowingly. “You don’t think I would do it, except by accident. And You’re right, of course. I’m as big a coward as I am a weakling.”

He replaced the letter opener in its wooden tray and covered his face with his hands. Despite having scrubbed them in the kitchen sink, they still carried the smell of sex and the earth he’d dug in.

As visions of his earlier behavior flashed again in his mind’s eye, he flung himself to the carpet and began sobbing. “Help me. Stop me. End this, damn it. End it!”

9

2:40 a.m.

The scene before him was at once typical of investigations, and yet eerie; however, Jared wasted no time climbing out of his car. “What do you know?” he asked Buddy, who was the first to come over to him. He’d parked next to the patrolman’s unit, making his the fifth vehicle in the semicircle.

About a dozen yards in front of them stood the red Firebird. A few of the cars were idling, their headlights being used to illuminate the Trans Am that was parked slightly off Pete Fite’s driveway on the grassy, sloped embankment. The driver’s door was wide open, the interior light on. There was no sign of Faith.

“Is that how you found things?”

“Exactly this way—the engine and headlights off, but the door wide open. Pete swears he didn’t touch a thing. Doesn’t look good, Chief. She’s not here.”

“Well, somebody was.” He could tell that it was Faith’s car from the license plate. But what had him placing his hands on his hips was the man who rounded the thing and leaned into the vehicle. “Who the hell is that?”

“Deputy DeFreese Adams. Sheriff Cudahy’s newest boy.”

“Where the hell did he train? Hollywood? Get him away from there before he touches anything. As it is, he’s probably contaminated the surroundings. Look where he’s standing—right where there would have been the only footprints of the driver.” He had to all but yell over the baying hounds, and he scowled at Pete’s dogs leaping and cavorting around the visibly upset man. “Why hasn’t someone told Fite to lock up those mutts?”

“I was on my way to do that when you pulled in.”

Chagrined, Buddy didn’t wait for Jared to comment further; he took off. Halfway there, he yelled something at Deputy Adams that Jared didn’t catch, but it made the lanky cop pull out of the Firebird so fast, he hit his head on the frame. His sharp curse and subsequent shuffling made Jared half tempted to reach for his gun.

“Shooting the son of a bitch wouldn’t make half the mess.”

Turning away from the pitiful scene, he came face-to-face with Deputy Roy Russell. The shorter man’s dark, somber eyes and gray, thin hair testified that he had as many years in law enforcement as Jared, and was as disturbed by Reese’s actions.

“Sorry, Chief. He’s new.”

“So I heard.” Sometimes new was good, because then people did everything by the book as though each page was tattooed on the inside of their eyeballs. Why hadn’t they been blessed with one of those? “Well, this sure is starting off bad.”

“I’ve only been here a minute, but it feels worse.”

“Yeah, Eagan tells me there’s no sign of her.”

“That’s not all.” At Jared’s questioning look, Russell lifted both eyebrows, as well. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Can’t say I gave him time to.” Actually, he’d expected his man to share anything pertinent immediately. It seemed the new guy wasn’t the only one screwing up tonight.

“Her purse is in there. At least, I’m assuming it’s hers. That’s why I was in my car. I’ve called the sheriff, told him we’re going to need John. Hope you don’t mind me making that decision before talking to you.”

“I would have done the same thing.” John Box was the new detective for the Sheriff’s Department. A transplant from the Dallas PD with fifteen years in Homicide, he’d moved his family to the Pineywoods after hearing his teenage son and daughter respond to him once too often in mall-speak. Wood County was fortunate to have him, and because Pete’s property was only partially in Split Creek, the sheriff’s people had as much jurisdiction here as Jared did. “Tell me about the purse. What makes you think it’s hers?”

“It looks like something my teenage niece would carry. You know—less than half the size of what older women carry, and the seams splitting from being crammed with brushes and cassettes and makeup. It’s on the passenger floorboard.”

“Tipped over as though the car had been stopped sharply, or as though thrown back in for…whatever reason?”

“Neither. It’s pretty much upright, kinda leaning toward the console. Looks intentionally placed there, as though that’s where she kept it. My wife keeps hers that way, too, since I told her how at city corners thieves like to bust in windows and steal purses they see on the seat.”

“Are there any signs of a struggle? Blood? Spilled liquids?”

“I wish. It’s such a stagnant scene, it gives me the creeps. But listen, I only had a quick glance around. Once I guessed what we were dealing with, I got the hell away from there.”

“Wish you’d given your cohort the same advice,” Jared replied with a nod toward Adams, who was still standing too close to the vehicle to suit him.

Roy sucked air between his front teeth. “That’s an ambitious boy, Chief. Made it clear after his second day that he wants to be the department’s second detective.”

It wouldn’t happen because of his performance on this case. “Ignore me if I’m insulting your intelligence,” Jared replied. “But if I don’t get to him first, remind Box to take print samples from Mr. Up-and-Coming so we don’t waste time on false leads.”

“I hear you.” The deputy glanced over toward the house, where Pete was penning his dogs, then back at the street, and finally the woods. “Where do you think she is?”

“Until a few minutes ago, I’d hoped at a friend’s having a good pout.”

“Spoiled type?”

“A little. More accurately, part of a struggling family. Anyone related to Buck Ramey has her work cut out for her.”

Roy’s eyes widened. “She’s that Ramey?”

“There aren’t any others in these parts that I know of.”

“I’d never seen her at the garage.”

“It’s not exactly her idea of a fun place to hang out.”

“Mike’s little sister…damn.” He eyed the Firebird with new dread. “It’s gonna be tough on Mike to see this.”

“She isn’t going to.”

That, too, won him a look of surprise. “Who else is going to tow it and keep it locked away from vandals and the curious? You know she has the contract for Split Fork—half the county for that matter. Even Cuddy would call her, seeing how close we are to town.”

True. And considering the hour, Bendix up in Winnsboro would cuss him until Sunday for hauling his butt out of bed at this hour if it meant crossing into Mike’s territory. Besides, he did want the Firebird close. But, heaven help her, Mike didn’t need this.

Once more Jared peered into the darkness toward the farm-to-market road. There wasn’t so much as a security light at the entrance to Pete’s farm. What would make Faith turn in here of all places?

“You sure you didn’t see anything or anyone while driving over here?” he asked Roy.

“Not a soul. Folks don’t frequent rural clubs the way they used to, and even less so on a weekday. It’s also too early for the milk trucks to start making the rounds to the dairy farms. I know you’re hoping the girl had car trouble and decided to walk home, but I reckon if that was the case, she’d have been more likely to grab her purse and head up to the house and ask the old guy for help.”

“Could be Pete’s dogs scared her.”

“So why not honk the horn until he came out?” He gestured toward the abandoned car. “Her keys are still in the ignition. Who leaves a vehicle like that?”

Someone who was in a hurry, or hurt…or who didn’t have a choice. Before he faced Michaele, he had to have a clue as to which it was, because one thing was for sure—Mike would demand answers.

“We have to search the woods,” he said.

With a fatalistic sigh, Roy glanced down at his shiny new boots. “Thought you’d say that. I’d hoped that since Pete’s hounds hadn’t picked up any scent, we could pretty much cancel out worrying about that.”

“With the chicken stink around here, it’s a wonder those noses can lead them to their food bowls.” He grew more sober. “Plus, we don’t know that if something is out there, it’s above ground.”

Roy stopped tucking his pants legs into his boots. Straightening, he met Jared’s unblinking stare. “I’ll keep Adams close by me,” he said quietly. “Hopefully, that way I’ll be able to stop him if he’s about to make another mistake. But I’ll tell you up front—I’d be cool if this turns out to be a waste of time.”

“Me, too,” Jared murmured as he headed to take a closer look at the car himself. “Me, too.”

10

2:40 a.m.

Garth Powers stared at the massive Southwest-style desk his wife had given him for their first Christmas in this house. It gleamed from a recent dose of lemon oil, testament to the faithful attention Jessica awarded everything in their home. He ran his fingers over and over the light pine surface, as he had been doing for some time now, when he wasn’t lifting the near-empty tumbler of scotch to his mouth. No housekeeper or cleaning woman for them, no sir. No matter how often he suggested it to her when she occasionally broke down and complained about a touch of arthritis or her overscheduled life, Jess didn’t believe anyone could care for their possessions the way she did, and he knew better than to argue when she made up her mind about something.

But they definitely would end up arguing if he didn’t get his ass up to bed. It was—he did a double take as he noticed the time—late. For that matter, where was she? It was well past time for her to be home. Had he forgotten some special thingamajig again? With all he had on his mind tonight, it wouldn’t surprise him.

He tried to remember her schedule. Wednesdays…It had been Republican Ladies night. Except that once a month she missed that session to attend Split Creek Gardeners. No, the gardening club met just a few days ago…didn’t it? Either way, no social gathering lasted this long.

Moaning, he rubbed his face. He should call her on her cellular, but how could he in his condition? She would know something was wrong straight off. He hoped to hell she hadn’t had car trouble and needed a lift. After polishing off his fifth scotch, the last thing he needed was a summons to collect her.

He was reaching for the switch on his amber-screened desk lamp when he heard a sound in the hall. Damn, he thought, self-consciously touching his sore right hand. He hadn’t even heard the garage door open.

Seconds later, Jessica tall, slim and elegant even in designer sweats, leaned in to his study. Her intelligent brown eyes immediately settled on the crystal tumbler before shifting back to him. “What’s this? You should be fast asleep by now.”

“On my way. I was just…making some notes for Commencement exercises.”

This time her gaze dropped to the cleared blotter, but her smile was sympathetic. “You always do a marvelous job, Mr. Perfectionist. I don’t know why you drive yourself crazy worrying so much.”

She waited for him to come to her, then offered her cheek. Jessica was an attractive woman at any time—forty, with vibrant hair every bit as rich as the lustrous walnut door, perfectly coiffed into a smooth swept-back style that framed a strong forehead and high cheekbones. Her somber eyes embraced him, but he didn’t miss their canniness. Jess loved hard and long—but not carelessly. Most of the time her dedication to him and his career left him beyond grateful, almost humbled. Sometimes, however, he struggled with a feeling of suffocation.

What he felt tonight, though, wasn’t her fault. No, not tonight. Not in a while. It was his doing. All him.

“How’d it go?” he asked, suddenly noticing her clothes were paint-stained. “What did you do, start early on the Christmas parade float and lose track of time?”

She lifted precisely tweezed eyebrows. “I figured you would forget—and after I only told you three times!”

“Sorry.”

“How many of those scotches did you have?”

Her Dallas-bred, SMU-educated drawl showed up most when she was ready to fuck or fight, and he gestured helplessly, wanting neither. “You threw me, that’s all. That’s not what you usually wear to a meeting of any kind.”

“I wasn’t at a meeting.”

Shit. What did I miss? “Well, Deirdre Collingwood phoned to ask about the University Women thing.” He wasn’t about to admit that he couldn’t remember squat about that one, either.

Jessica slipped her hand inside the open V of his dress shirt. “She’s been out of town. I’ll call her in the morning. What’s wrong, Garth?”

“Nothing.” But when she tugged lightly at his chest hairs, he knew evasiveness wasn’t going to work. He decided on a portion of the truth. One truth. “Waylan Ivens.”

“That’s old news. You matched that other school’s offer to Coach Ivens. Don’t tell me he’s trying to blackmail you to up the ante.”

She was his biggest fan, proud to have brought him to what had been her grandparents’ property, although they’d leveled the house and rebuilt; proud to parade her celebrated “super-jock” husband around town, and claim the prestige that won them in the community. For the past twelve years she’d made sure they built on that celebrity status, to the point where he only half joked when saying that after he died, he would be lucky if she didn’t bronze his balls to display at parades and during town elections.

With his left hand, he lifted her fingers to his lips. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Agreed. Now answer the question. Is he?”

Since it wasn’t the primary concern preying on his mind, Garth had to think a moment. “Not him. Them. The other school has made a counteroffer. No way am I going to be able to go that high. We’ll lose the bastard—and after he gave me his word that he’d stay at least five years!”

Jessica freed herself to touch his cheek. “What will you do?”

“Try to be a good sport and wish him the best.” Growing comfortable with the story, Garth shrugged and allowed some embellishment. “It ticks me off that he’s doing this to us now, though. How am I supposed to find somebody equal to his talent and reputation at the end of the school year? Hell, football practice starts again in seven weeks!”

“Something will come up. Everyone loves to work for you.”

“Obviously not.”

At his droll reply, Jessica began to mimic his earlier caress. It was then that she noticed his bruised hand. “What have you done to yourself?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Every knuckle is bloody and bruised. Your fingers will be swollen to twice their size by morning. Please tell me you didn’t do something foolish to Ivens.”

“Ah…no. Actually, it was something more asinine. When he left my office, I punched the wall.”

“You poor idiot.” She slipped her arm around his waist and directed him toward the stairs. “You need a warm shower, and then I’ll put some medicated cream on it.”

“Sounds tempting, but it’s already so late.”

“You’re tight enough to snap. You won’t sleep unless we get you relaxed.”

Despite his preoccupation and fatigue, he experienced a twinge in his groin, helped, of course, by her hand sliding down over his ass. Amazing, he thought. “What did you have in mind?”

They’d reached the top of the stairs. She directed him through the white-on-white bedroom, which in the glow of the bathroom night-light looked far more inviting than on bright summer mornings when the sun drilled him awake. The king-size bed called to him—but not as clearly as did Jess’s eyes.

“What’s my lover’s favorite thing?” she murmured, stopping him in front of the double-sink vanity in the bathroom. Not waiting for an answer, she reached for his belt.

Garth watched, bemused. Before she had his zipper opened, he was erect. “I don’t deserve you,” he said again. But he also urged her to her knees.

It was better this way, he thought. No explanations, no burdening her with his messes. Of course, he was only buying time. In the back of his mind, he’d always understood and accepted that. But as her mouth closed on him, he shut his eyes and blocked that out for one more night—blocked out everything but the pleasure.

11

4:12 a.m.

Michaele couldn’t sit for more than a minute or two at a time. Ever since Jared had left, she’d been moving from room to room, window to window, stopping every few minutes, tempted to reach for the phone to call and ask for an update. Surely it had been long enough to do that now?

She glanced at the kitchen clock and uttered a deep-throated groan. No wonder she ached all over; she’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours. But no way did she dare lie down at this stage; even if she could fall asleep—which she doubted—she would never be able to rouse herself again in time to reopen the garage.

“This has to end,” she muttered. “It has to.”

She wondered again at why Jared had cut short their conversation. Sure, she’d heard Curtis on the radio, but that didn’t mean it had been about Faith. But what other reason could he have, not to have called her back by now?

That’s it, Ramey. You’re overdosing on self-importance—

At the sound of a vehicle, she immediately dashed to the kitchen door. Yanking it open, she saw that it was indeed Jared’s patrol car. For one instant her heart lifted with hope—only to plunge when she saw the empty passenger seat. She felt a strange sense of disconnection, until he started up the stairs; then she noted his expression was as ominous as she’d ever seen it. Except the time…

“What is it?” she demanded.

He didn’t reply, not until he was inside. How she held on to her temper, she didn’t know; probably because of his appearance. He looked as though he’d been rolled in mud and again in weeds.

“We haven’t found her,” he finally announced.

“Then why do you look as though you did, but can’t find the stomach to tell me?”

“Because we do have…something. Her car.”

Once, when she was thirteen, Buck had punched her in the belly. After she lost her lunch, Michaele had knocked him cold with the empty bottle at his feet, and when he’d come to, she’d vowed that if he ever touched her again, she’d have him arrested, and she and Faith would take their chances with foster care. Jared’s announcement brought that sickening pain back. Only, this time she couldn’t afford to lose it, not in front of him.

“We had a call from Pete Fite,” he continued. “His dogs woke him. When they refused to calm down, he figured he had another coyote or worse after his stock.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Her car at Pete’s place?”

“The tags and VIN number check out. Also…Hell,” he muttered, looking as though he’d prefer to be anywhere but here. “There’s no other way to do this, but say it straight out. Her purse was in there, too.”

Her mind refused to register what he was saying. She heard the words, but their meaning somehow would not pass through the icy morass that had shut down her brain.

“Maybe you’d better sit down,” Jared told her.

“You’ve been searching the woods out there, haven’t you?” she said with dawning realization. “Looking for her body.”

“There’s every reason to assume she’s alive.”

“You searched the woods!”

“We had to!” His equally testy reply reverberated through the house. That seemed to shake him as much as it did her, and although he placed his hands on his hips, he said more calmly, “What you need to take comfort in is knowing we found nothing. There’s no evidence of violence—not in the car, not anywhere.”

That wasn’t comforting at all. “So she was forced. Taken away at gunpoint.”

“Damn it, don’t make this harder on yourself than necessary.”

“You took fingerprints and—what do you call them? Trace samples?”

“We brought in John Box. He got a few prints. As good as they are, I suspect they’re Faith’s—and yours.”

The slight delay in adding her name made Michaele lift her chin. “So now I’m a suspect in my own sister’s disappearance?”

“Of course not. The point is aside from those prints and a little red ore on the driver’s floor mat, it’s as spotless as if she had just washed the thing.”

“She did. Yesterday. She’s very proud of that car. Should be, considering what it cost.” The crass comment made her grimace. “What about the steering wheel?”

“Clean.”

“You mean, except for her prints and mine again, right?”

“No, it’s been wiped down.” That revelation triggered her queasiness again. “The caller.”

“Maybe.”

“What now?”

“I need you.”

They weren’t new words to her. He’d said them before; in fact, they were his usual “call to duty” whenever he phoned to say he had a vehicle in need of a tow. But tonight they sounded different, somehow…and stirred emotions too complex to deal with.

“Good,” he said, when she didn’t respond. His gaze moved over her face. “I was afraid I was going to have to fight you about this. I’m glad you don’t want to go out there. I’ll call Cuddy and tell him to get Bendix. It’ll go over better if he phones—”

She clamped her hand over his on the phone’s receiver, and held him still. “Don’t even think it!” Of course, it was merely a token gesture, but she had to try.

“It’s the best way to go in this case,” he told her.

“That clumsy ox isn’t putting his paws on my sister’s car.”

“Could you please let me save you from having to do this?”

“You didn’t let anyone hide anything from you when you lost Sandy.” His warm breath on her face made her release him and take a step back, but she didn’t yield on her argument. “This is my job.”

“You’ve got the wrong wrecker. You’ll need the rollback for the Firebird.”

Seeing that he knew he’d lost this round, she grew calmer. “Which is at the garage and directly on the way.”

“You’ll wake Buck.”

“Fat chance.”

“I’ll talk to Bendix and watch him like he was on the Ten Most Wanted list. He’ll have to be careful, and under the circumstances I’ll bet he’d have no problem with dropping off the car at your place. C’mon, Mike. For once, don’t turn this into a twelve-round championship fight.”

Is that how he saw this? To her, it wasn’t about stubbornness, it was about being a professional—dependable and efficient. But as she rubbed her sweating hands against her hips, she was reminded of what she was wearing.

“From what I heard today on the police scanner, Bendix’s already had a pretty full day. Give me a minute to change, and I’ll be ready to go.”

As she started for the stairs, he blocked her way with his arm across the doorway.

“No matter how hard you try to prepare yourself, this isn’t going to be like a normal call.”

“I thought you said there’s nothing there?”

“There isn’t. That doesn’t mean it’s an easy scene to look at. Everything reverberates with more questions than answers, as though someone stood there and set a scene.”

“Premeditation.”

“No, sweetheart. Psychological fucking. I don’t care how long you’ve been in the business, a situation like this preys on your mind, starts eating at you from the inside out.”

“Right now, I’m more concerned that Buck might wake up as Bendix drops off the Firebird, and instead of asking questions, take a crowbar to him.”

“Bendix is three times your size—he can take care of himself. Don’t you get it? One Ramey is already missing—I’d rather not go for two.”

It was then that she felt his fear, almost tasted it. “You do think she’s dead,” she whispered.

“Don’t start putting words in my mouth.”

“Don’t treat me like some just-hatched chick. It’s even in your eyes. You’re thinking the worst.”

“No.”

“Why give up so soon? You said yourself that all you have is an abandoned car. Or is it? If there’s something you haven’t told me, I want to know. Now.”

“Will you give it a rest! Somebody is playing a nasty trick. You know it. I know it. But until I understand why and find Faith, I want you safe.”

They were logical words, but as insistent as he sounded, there was something in his expression that kept her from believing him.

“I’m not ready to explain more, Mike.”

She continued just standing there.

“It’s for your own good.”

How she hated that line. “In case you haven’t noticed, I already have one daddy more than I need.”

“If you think that’s how I think of you, you’re in deeper denial than I thought.”

She felt a muscle twitch under her right eye. Embarrassed, she bowed her head. “Not now.”

“You brought it up, not me. Either way, I’m not going to pretend your safety isn’t as important to me as finding Faith.” Before she could interrupt, he removed the arm blocking her. “All right, all right. Go do what you have to do. I’ll be outside. Just understand this—I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re back here and locked up tight again.”

Afraid he might change his mind, she hurried upstairs.

Once she’d exchanged wreckers as quietly as possible and was driving toward the Fite farm, Michaele’s adrenaline really kicked in. It was one thing to want to save face in what was a male-dominated profession; it was quite another to act the classic masochist-martyr. But how much worse would it be to be stuck at the house with her overactive imagination? No, she needed to see everything Jared had seen before facing her father, let alone everyone else who was bound to stop by, once word got around, asking innumerable questions.

Jared’s car lights remained close behind her. She wasn’t used to such mother-henning. This had to be triggering something about Sandy long buried in him; in any case, she hoped he would snap out of it. Although she wanted and needed friendships—more than was comfortable to admit—if this search stretched out, she was going to shelve the whole concept and focus on protecting herself. That would mean not allowing anyone to know just how vulnerable she was feeling.

Less than a mile down the road, she turned into Pete’s driveway. Considering the hour, the number of vehicles and people that were subsequently illuminated by her headlights was as touching as it was disconcerting. She was comfortable around cops and enjoyed shooting the breeze as much as anyone, but this was overwhelming. There hadn’t been this kind of turnout of law enforcement personnel since young Doc Arnold’s ten-year-old suffered a fatal jet ski accident out on the town lake.

She maneuvered around and between people and vehicles to turn the wrecker on the narrow driveway, since the Firebird was parked sloping toward the woods and would first have to be pulled back onto the roadway. A simple J-hook would be the least intrusive method.

Bruce Griggs, her personal favorite aside from Jared, helped her navigate and get people out of her way. By the time she had the thing set to load, her nerves were back in control.

She jumped down from the cab, aware of the numerous eyes on her.

She’d already greeted a few of the guys, but had made it clear that she wasn’t interested in small talk tonight—or any consoling. As promised, Jared was watching, too, and she didn’t want to jeopardize her right to be there, or anywhere else down the road if the occasion arose.

If it hadn’t been for the license plates and the familiar crystal star dangling from the rearview mirror, Michaele might have tried to convince herself that this vehicle wasn’t her sister’s.

“How you holding up, Little Bit?”

The voice spawning images of mangling gears belonged to Chester “Cuddy” Cudahy, the sheriff of Wood County. As usual the six-and-a-half-foot beef-loving, bourbon-worshipping man had an unsmoked cigar clamped between his stained teeth, and his red face was half hidden by a huge straw Stetson. Stereotypical as he looked, one glimpse of those compassionate, rheumy eyes made her own suddenly burn as though she’d rubbed them after harvesting a field of jalapeños.

“Hey, Sheriff. Sorry you had to be called out tonight.”

The East Texas icon, whose motto was “Keeping the department lean and the county clean,” tugged her close with a gruff gentleness for a brief hug. “Would have come regardless, once I heard this involves your kin, honey.”

“I appreciate that.” Michaele drew a deep breath. “I’ve already asked the chief his opinion of this. Would you mind giving me yours? What do you think is going on?”

Cuddy rolled his cigar between his tobacco-browned fingers. “Be easier to teach a three-legged dog to scratch.”

Jared joined them. “She thinks I’m keeping something from her.”

Michaele shot him a frustrated look. “I said no such thing. Did you tell him about the call?”

“He knows.”

“So she’s been kidnapped, right?” she said to Sheriff Cudahy.

“Possibly.”

“Well, what else could it be?”

“We’re trying to figure that out, Mike. Unfortunately, no one left us a note.”

His gentle chiding forced her to check her impatience. But as she made a complete circle to inspect their surroundings, the sight of the woods on either side of the driveway intensified her convictions. Even on a clear night with a full moon and the floodlights on, Michaele couldn’t get Faith to toss out a bag of trash for fear something might slither across her toes. The idea that she would willingly have come here, let alone walked away, was more than unacceptable. There was no way—not if a wild boar were snorting up her skirt.

“She’s been kidnapped,” Michaele said. “And with every hour the kidnapper is carrying her farther away.”

“Everyone in my department was called in as of a half-hour ago,” Cuddy replied. “Chief, you’ve called your day-shift people in, too, haven’t you?”

“Right.”

Cuddy gave her a “You see?” look. “I’ve also notified the Texas DPS, and all the counties around us have been called, too. Have a little confidence in us, Mike.”

She would love to; the problem was, nothing this close to home had happened to her before. Embarrassed, she nodded to the car. “Are you ready for me to take it?”

The two men exchanged glances, before Cuddy said, “It’s all yours…but you know the drill.”

A vehicle brought in as evidence was to be secured until released by legal authority. That meant she had to keep it locked in the fenced yard behind the garage so that it would be out of reach of anyone and everyone, in case it needed another going over.

“Tattooed on the brain,” she replied.

Michaele went back to work, anxious to get out of there. The place felt…evil. It was probably her imagination; nevertheless, she couldn’t help thinking something bad had happened in or around this car. The aftermath lingered, fouled the air, and sent images of inexplicable things flashing through her mind.

“What?”

Startled that Jared had managed to get so close without her hearing him, she dropped the leather gloves she’d just tugged off, now that the car was secured on the bed of the wrecker. Swearing under her breath, she swept them up off the ground.

“Michaele, something’s going on in that busy head of yours. I want to know what it is. If you’ve seen or heard something—”

“It’s just a feeling.” She noted his blank expression. “Disappointed, huh? What did you think—I spotted something under the chassis? Maybe a message stuck there by bubble gum. Or how about the kidnapper’s wallet, complete with address and photo so you can head straight over to his house and arrest him?”

He did what she’d done to him: he remained silent and just waited.

“Nothing about what went on here was her idea,” she said quietly. “And what I said about kidnapping? Forget it. Anyone who knows us, knows it would break us to pay the most modest of ransoms.”

“I’m thinking more of some kid wanting the Firebird. Maybe he dropped her off a few miles away, then lost his nerve and dumped the car, too.”

“You mean someone connected with a chop shop?”

“I hope not. Those folks can be rougher on the driver than on a vehicle. It’s almost graduation, Mike. You know how the kids are at this stage. They gulp a few beers, they start to get stupid.”

“The purse I saw John take from the car—it’s hers. Can I check it? Maybe I’ll see something noteworthy.”

“Sorry. It’s been bagged.”

Just in case, that’s what it all boiled down to. They would even keep things from her if it suited them—just in case.

“This is crap,” she muttered, and, slapping the gloves against her thigh, she climbed into the cab of the tow truck.

12

5:25 a.m.

Checks and balances on a small-town level resulted in a longer wait than Michaele expected before she could actually leave with the Firebird, and it wasn’t all that much earlier than usual that morning when she finally unlocked the gated back lot at the garage and unloaded Faith’s car. Once that was done, she parked the roll-back up front beside the other tow truck. By then, Jared, who had been observing her from across the street, yielded his post to Jim Sutter, the other day-shift officer, and went inside. As she crossed the street to go to the café behind the station, she waved Jim inside, too.

“I’m just going to get myself a cup of coffee,” she told the youngest of Jared’s officers. “Everything’s taken care of.”

“Chief said to watch you until Buck’s up and behaving himself, Ms. Mike.”

“You let me worry about Buck—and Chief Morgan.”

“You bet. Then I’ll just enjoy the quiet out here a bit longer. Don’t pay me any mind.”

Resigned that the recent academy graduate feared Jared’s ire more than hers, she went to the café. On her way back, she thrust a bag with coffee and a breakfast burrito at the always-hungry cop, before crossing the street and unlocking the front door of the family business.

Not surprisingly, her father barely stirred as she entered. He’d always been a deep sleeper, and the drinking only made that worse. It was the fluorescent lights that finally did it. Once he spotted her, he launched himself straight into the bathroom.

When he reappeared, she had two coffees and his favorite breakfast—biscuits and sausage—on the counter ready for him.

“Come eat,” she said.

Instead, he reached for his hat where it had fallen behind the chair sometime during the night. Slapping it onto his head, he shot her a look steeped in animosity. Even from that distance, Michaele could tell he hadn’t bothered with mouthwash or the toothpaste she kept in there. The lack of air-conditioning intensified the odor.

“My back is killing me,” he snarled. “I should whip your ass for leaving me here all night.”

“You just need to put something in your stomach.”

“What is it?” Circling the counter, he lowered himself onto a stool with the caution of someone respectful of hemorrhoids. “My gut feels like it’s been scrubbed with steel wool. Can’t eat nothing spicy.”

Considering what he regularly primed his insides with, she didn’t doubt it. The only nonliquid she’d seen him ingest in the past twenty-four hours was a package of salty peanuts from the vending machine by the front door. “It’s mild sausage with just a little sage.”

“I hate sage.”

“I hate sage. You love it.”

He leaned closer and peered down at the biscuit and well-done pork patty, a perfect replica of what he liked to eat—when he did eat breakfast. “Looks like shit. I’ll go find something myself. Better yet, I’m going over to Eugene’s. A little hair of the dog’ll fix me right up.”

“No way.” Eugene Folsom ran the body shop directly behind them on Pine Street. He was also Buck’s source for liquor when he couldn’t get it anywhere else, but Eugene’s brew was homemade and lethal. “Forget it.”

Michaele grabbed a handful of Buck’s overalls as he started for the door. The force of his wrenching free sent her flying back into the soda vending machine.

Stifling a moan for the pain in her shoulder, she righted herself and tried again. “We need to talk, Buck.”

“Not in the mood. Jeez, the lights’re still on out there. Why’d you wake me so early?”

“It’s only fifteen minutes earlier than we usually get here—and there’s a reason. Will you please listen?”

Something in her expression must have gotten through to what was left of his functioning brain. With a groan he rubbed at his whiskered jowls. “Got a helluva headache.”

“Aspirin are in the bathroom. Take three, and then if you won’t brush, at least rinse your mouth with mouthwash. Please. Whether it’s a good idea or not, I’m afraid you’re going to be doing a lot of talking today, and that breath of yours could crack steel.”

“You shut your trap or I’ll—”

“Buck!”

Michaele hadn’t heard Jared approach, but there he was in the open doorway glaring at her father.

Buck dropped the arm raised to backhand her. “Hey, Chief. Whatcha know?”

“Michaele’s only trying to sober you up so you don’t make a bigger ass out of yourself than need be.”

“What did I—? Why’re y’all picking on me?”

Stepping closer, only to grimace as he got within reach of Buck’s breath, Jared replied, “I take it she hasn’t had a chance to tell you yet?”

“Tell me what?”

“Go pull yourself together. Rinse out your mouth, too. It’s time to start acting like the head of your family.”

More confused than offended, Buck shuffled toward the bathroom again. “Ain’t one of you making any sense. Wish y’all would just leave me be.”

As he shut the door, Michaele rubbed her sore shoulder, then started rewrapping the food. She knew better than to expect Buck to eat once he was told the news.

“It wouldn’t hurt if you took a bite of something,” Jared told her.

She didn’t want to argue about food. “Did you learn anything new at the station?”

“No. I was in the midst of debriefing everyone and setting up a new game plan for the day, when Buddy yelled that Buck was getting temperamental.”

“That wasn’t temperamental, that was plain old sour. What’s the new game plan?”

“Among other things, I’m putting a call in to the college as soon as they’re open, to notify them about Faith. I’ve also got a call in for the sheriff up in Camp County. Before I talk to him, I need names from you.”

“Whose?”

“Faith’s friends.”

“You know them almost as well as I do.”

“Not only the people around here—those up there. Also teachers she was close to.”

That was rich. “Ever since Faith graduated from high school, I’ve barely been able to keep track of where she’s going, let alone who she’s going with. I did well to pin down her class schedule and get a glimpse of her grades at the end of each semester, and I only managed that because I was writing her tuition checks.”

“I understand. All I’m saying is that the more you can give us, the more thorough we can be. If the Department of Public Safety has to be called in, they’ll want that and more.”

At midnight, she’d wanted the state law enforcement people—shoot, she’d wanted the National Guard; but now the thought of bringing them in meant accepting that Faith might be lost to them. Not quite ready to take that psychological step, she was almost relieved when Buck reappeared.

“Ain’t you got somebody else to harass?” he muttered to Jared.

“Stop it,” Michaele replied. “There’s been bad news. It’s about Faith.”

Immediately her father’s sullen attitude vanished. He looked from her to Jared. “What about her? What’s wrong?”

“She’s missing,” Michaele said. “She never came home yesterday.”

A myriad of emotions played over her father’s face—incomprehension, denial, anger—but the sudden slump of his shoulders told her that he understood. “There’s gotta be…”

When he didn’t finish the statement, Michaele shook her head. “We don’t know the reason. And to complicate things, her car’s been found. It was in Pete’s driveway.”

Buck frowned, though his bloodshot eyes focused on nothing. “Pete Fite? Why would she be staying with him?”

“She’s not. That’s the point. She had no reason to be there.”

“Why, that dirty slug. I’ll tear him in two if he—”

“Pete is incidental in this, Buck.”

“As far as anything or anyone can be ruled out so far,” Jared added.

Michaele shot him a thanks-for-nothing look. “Pete was as upset as I was,” she told her father. “The car was just abandoned there.”

Heaven knew what was going on in her father’s mind. His facial muscles twitched and spasmed.

“Must be with a friend.”

“I don’t think so. I had a call. He made it clear that she wouldn’t be coming back.”

Dazed, Buck stared at her. “Where’s she going?”

“Nowhere that I know of. At least, not willingly. We think someone’s kidnapped her.”

At that troubling pronouncement, he began fidgeting. He dug deep into the pocket of his overalls and came up with a single crumpled bill and several coins. Michaele understood he was checking to see if he had enough to buy a pint of whatever rotgut he could find.

“Don’t even think it,” she intoned. “I need you here. We haven’t managed it in years, and maybe we’ll never do it well, but for once we have to stand together like a real family.”

“Sure. You’re right. But I have to…I’ll be back in a few minutes. Just need a sip of something to wash away the cobwebs.”

“For crying out loud, are you planning on staying comatose so you can’t be asked to identify a body?”

He brushed past her and lurched into the garage. Michaele followed, but it was a waste of time. When he escaped out the back door, she swore. “Don’t you dare touch that Firebird! It’s evidence!”

The car might as well have been coated with Anthrax, the way he kept his distance. But he proved amazingly adept at unlocking the back gate connecting their property to Eugene’s.

“Buck!” she yelled, as he threw open the gate and ran off. “Buck!”

Seething, she followed and locked up after him. Jared was waiting for her in the doorway when she returned. Even as she accepted that her father wasn’t Jared’s problem, she was ticked that he hadn’t helped to stop him.

“You okay?”

“Considering that it’s been this way since I was ten?” She shrugged. “Even before my mother died, it was no picnic. Why am I ever surprised that he’s inept at being a parent? All he cares about is that his clothes get washed, there’s money to swipe to buy booze, and he has a bed to fall into—provided he’s sober enough to find it.”

None of this was news to Jared, but then, she didn’t see why he was asking if she was okay, either. That was the most useless question to ask a person at a hospital, in the company of the police, or dealing with a funeral.

“I need to open,” she muttered, leaving him by the Firebird to return up front.

As she raised the garage’s overhead doors, she saw the sky was beginning to resemble the lavender shade of Faith’s favorite nail polish. The unwelcome analogy made her grateful to see a customer immediately pull in, although the late-model Cadillac wouldn’t have been her choice.

He sure is early, Michaele thought, as Garth Powers shut off his vehicle. Although she liked him well enough, he wasn’t one of her favorite customers and she’d never felt the impulse to drool over him the way some females in town did. But all in all, who could say anything really negative about Mr. Clean?

The ex-sports star offered a warm, if tired, smile as she rounded the car, and once again she was reminded of how men almost always aged more gracefully than women.

“Morning, Michaele. Would you fill her up for me, please?”

A tight-lipped nod was the best she could do, and she quickly had the hose set, the pump running. “Need any checking under the hood?”

“No need. Just had her serviced at the dealer in Tyler. Is that Jared in there? He’s up and at ’em early.”

“So are you.” Because that sounded too curt, she added, “He’s been up all night working a case.” What the heck, she thought. He was going to hear the news within the next hour or so, anyway.

Garth did a double take. “Trouble?”

“Faith’s missing.”

“What?”

She repeated the spare few bits of information she’d shared with her father only minutes before.

“Has Fite been arrested?”

The question reminded her that even after all these years, he didn’t know the community—aside from the students—the way Jessica did. “If there’s one thing I do know, it’s that Pete Fite can barely bring himself to put down one of his dogs when they get old or sick. He’d never hurt anyone.”

That only made Garth more upset. “My God,” he uttered. “It is happening again.”

13

Jared lingered by the Firebird only long enough to satisfy himself that it hadn’t been tampered with, but when he followed Michaele and saw Garth’s Cadillac, he knew he’d made a tactical mistake.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Garth demanded the instant he joined them. “Didn’t you think I had a right to know?”

Mindful of Michaele’s sharp gaze, Jared replied, “I would have checked in with you soon enough.”

“What did you mean ‘again’?” Michaele asked Garth.

Ignoring her, Garth snapped, “I have priorities, too. Exactly 703 of them. How do I protect those kids when you’re keeping me in the dark?”

“Try not making irresponsible intellectual leaps.”

“How can you say that? He left his message in my school!”

Jared narrowed his eyes. “Stow it!”

“You still think it’s a prank,” Garth said, incredulous. “But what if you’re wrong? What if that sicko’s got Faith, and next targets one of those kids?”

The pump clicked off; however, Michaele stayed put. “What message?”

“Damn it, Garth,” Jared growled, “you’re out of line here. There’s no evidence of a connection.”

“And there won’t be, because you refused to take it seriously! You should have taken samples, Jared.”

“That’s enough!”

“Hey!” Michaele shouted, smacking the roof of the sedan with her fist. “The next guy who treats me as though I’m this oil spot on the concrete gets a close encounter with this fist. Now one of you tell me what’s going on!”

For several seconds her demand hung heavily in the air. It was Garth who broke the silence. “I’m sorry, Jared. By remaining silent, I become an accomplice. Michaele, someone left a message at the school yesterday evening. Jared’s convinced that the message was merely a prank in bad taste about Sandy, because of the timing and all. But if the message is true and Faith ran into this guy, you deserve to know what you’re up against.”

Linking Sandy to her sister had the obvious effect on Michaele. Jared watched her face turn gray; her demeanor resembled something caving in on itself.

“Sandy was murdered in her own home…her own bed,” she murmured. “Butchered. Oh, God…”

“Don’t go there,” Jared said, automatically reaching out to steady her. “The only connection is the timing.”

She brushed him off. “Six years today. Who could forget something so horrible happening here in our town? That poor girl stabbed…her throat cut…and the killer was never caught!”

“Michaele, listen to me. It’s a prank.”

“There was something written above Sandy’s bed. Is that what was at the school? ‘Welcome to Hell’?”

“The numbers were there again,” Garth replied. “But this time he simply wrote ‘I’m back.”’

“All right, that’s enough,” Jared snapped. “She doesn’t need this.”

“I’ll decide what I can and can’t handle!”

Seething, Michaele jerked the nozzle free and slammed it back on the pump. Then she refastened the cap. “I can’t believe this. You had a clue, a warning of trouble, and you kept it from us?”

“While you’re busy working yourself into a knot, try remembering that crap written at the scene of the crime was published in every paper in Texas, and picked up by the media in half the country,” Jared said coldly. “Perfect fodder for every halfwit copycat in the mood to get some attention.”

“But you don’t know for sure, and now Faith could be lying out there with her throat cut!”

Hearing his worst fears voiced, Jared struck back—at the messenger. “Pay her and get the fuck out of here,” he ordered Garth.

“I need answers,” Garth argued.

“Get in line.”

“Those kids are my responsibility. Do you know what their parents are going to say when this gets out? You’ll be lucky not to wind up with a town-wide panic on your hands.”

Thanks to you. Jared wished he’d gotten that sample he’d taken secretly sent out last night. But because he’d gone home and buried his own bitterness and bad memories in a few beers, the sample hadn’t left until a while ago.

His delay in replying won a bitter smile from Garth. He began handing Michaele the money for the gas, saying, “You have my sympathies.”

She waved off payment. “We’re even. If it weren’t for you, I guess I’d still be in the dark—about a lot of things. Just tell me one more thing. Exactly when did you find that message?”

“About an hour after the last club and practice session let out.”

She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked straight at Jared. “You knew. Something was terribly wrong, and you said nothing. It never crossed your mind that a warning, some kind of outreach to the public might have been in order?”

Jared felt as though he were standing in a huge vacuum, where everything sane and reassuring was being sucked away. “Listen to yourself. To protect whom? Faith? At the time she was miles from here. How would that have helped her?”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know anything!”

As she stormed off, Jared fought the strong urge to hit something.

“Sorry,” Garth said. “But you deserved that.”

“I think I told you to take a hike.”

“You owe me an answer, and I can’t give you much time.”

Jared knew that, and knew what he was up against. He was a small-town cop, used to settling drunken brawls and officiating over fender benders. His department hadn’t even been able to resolve most of the burglaries that had been on the increase in the past year. This situation with Faith was fast rising out of his league, and Cuddy’s, as well. “Give me another twenty-four hours before you make any announcements. People are going to be upset enough about Faith to make everyone cautious, which is what you want, anyway.”

“Except for one technicality, namely, the who in the fear quotient. No.” Garth shook his head. “If you don’t have news by noon, or, better yet, have Faith back safe and sound, I’m going to hold an assembly and make an appropriate announcement. We owe them that. There needs to be time to notify parents and assume safeguards.”

Jared stepped back from the car. He’d lost ground and had to accept it. “Do what you can.”

“Noon, then. And that’s only if nothing else happens. If we’re contacted again, or—” Garth started the engine and shifted into gear “—well, I don’t suppose I need to tell you that’s when choice will be out of my hands, too.”

“You’re perfectly clear, all right,” Jared muttered after the departing car.

Despite Garth’s having complicated things for him, Jared wasn’t totally lacking in sympathy for his friend. It was the situation and the stress that was making him overlook so much—like asking about Garth’s bandaged hand. Hell, had things turned out differently, Garth would be his brother-in-law.

After the death of Jessica and Sandy’s parents, Garth had been almost a foster father to Jess’s kid sister. Later, once she’d earned her business degree, he’d given her a job at the school despite some minor flack about nepotism. Fortunately, Sandy had proven herself capable, running the entire administrative office, as well as coaching the girl’s twirling team. When the team brought home their first state championship trophy during a dry year when the boys couldn’t win anything for the town, Sandy had been a local heroine. And that was why Faith’s disappearance was going to be so hard on the community: the ex-high school cheerleader inspired the same affection from people.

Drawing a deep breath, he went in search of Michaele, and found her hunched over her workstation preparing a service form. Jared noted the pronounced shaking of her hands, and the way she kept clenching her teeth as though fighting some emotional onslaught.

He wanted to hold her, as he had last night, to offer her comfort and maybe take a little for himself. But he knew that trying would set her off. “I’m sorry,” he said instead.

“I had a right to know.”

No, she wasn’t going to beat around the bush, he thought. She’d never been that way about anything, except when it came to him. That was one of the many things he admired about her…when it wasn’t driving him nuts.

“I know. Why do you think I’m here instead of back at the office like I should have been ten minutes ago?”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“What you heard me say to Garth, I meant. I don’t believe there’s a connection. Equally critical for you to understand is that no matter why I do what I do, hurting you isn’t on the agenda.”

She made a mistake and ruthlessly scratched it out. Then, because that made an even uglier mess, she ripped up the form and tossed it away. Her rigid stance told him that only pride was holding her together.

“Look at me, Mike.”

She ignored him.

“Then do me a favor—go home. I’ll have someone collect Buck and bring him to the house, too. You’ve been up all night. You can’t—”

“Don’t!” she ground out. “Just find my sister. That’s all I want from you. Find Faith, and then leave me the hell alone—!”

“Chief? Chief!”

14

Norma Headly’s urgent call from across the street canceled any hope Jared had of trying to reason with Mike. He loped over to see what was up.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Norma gestured toward the station. “Loyal’s on the phone. I’m not surprised that the town Clearing House for Information heard the news, but it’s been some time since I’ve heard him this upset—and he hasn’t even left home yet.”

Loyal, the mayor of Split Creek and owner of the local barber shop, also owned one of the six city blocks in town, so it wasn’t a surprise that he’d heard something. He knew everybody and their pet cat-dog-gerbil and, since the death last year of his wife, he had lots of free time to indulge in his second passion—listening for hours to his short wave and police radios.

“He probably picked us up when we said we were calling in the sheriff earlier this morning.” Jared walked with her to the station and held the door open for her. “What specifically did he say?”

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