“Braydon, I’m only going to tell you this once. I don’t, and will not, blame you for the actions of a psychotic man. You did nothing wrong.”

“But now I’m afraid he’s after you.” She may not have known Braydon long but she did know that the vulnerability he was showing now was rare. It pulled at her heartstrings.

“We don’t know that for certain,” she said.

“He wants to make me suffer. What better way than to use you.”

“You care about this entire town and all of its people. He can use any of us.” She said it to lighten the mood. They were skating around saying something significant again. Sophia could feel it. She watched as the conflicted man next to her chose his words carefully.

“He knows you’re different.”

Manhunt

Tyler Anne Snell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

TYLER ANNE SNELL genuinely loves all genres of the written word. However, she’s realized that she loves books filled with sexual tension and mysteries a little more than the rest. Her stories have a good dose of both. Tyler lives in Florida with her same-named husband and their mini “lions.” When she isn’t reading or writing, she’s playing video games and working on her blog, Almost There. To follow her shenanigans, visit www.tylerannesnell.com.

This book is for my mother, Robin.

Who, against all odds, has never stopped believing that I can do no wrong. Without her support and never-faltering love, this book might still be a tangled web caught in my head. I love you, Ma!

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Detective Braydon Thatcher looked at the dock with an anger he had learned to contain burning in his chest. No matter the time that passed, that spot was his personal hell.

“I just don’t understand! Amanda and I fight sometimes, but nothing so bad that she’d just leave.”

Braydon tore his eyes away from the dock, no longer in the Bartlebee name but that of the Alcasters, and took in the rumpled Marina Alcaster. She was upwards of sixty but looked as frail as if she were pushing eighty. Her slumped frame and thin bones were deceiving at best. Everyone in Culpepper knew she had a temper that often boiled over and ran hotter than the Florida heat. Her screech could be heard like a car crash in the town square.

Which was why no one, not Braydon or his partner Tom Langdon, was surprised to hear that Amanda had gone. Though, her mama refused to entertain such a thought.

“When’s the last time you two had it out?” Tom asked, sending Braydon a significant look when Marina hesitated. “Did y’all fight last night?”

Marina pursed her lips and shifted a hip out. “I wouldn’t call it a fight...but we did have a conversation.”

“A conversation?” Braydon raised his eyebrow as Tom wrote that one down. “What kind of conversation?”

Marina put a hand on her hip. “A loud one.” She huffed.

“Was Amanda mad when this loud conversation ended?” Another hesitant look.

“Well, yeah. She got in her car and left.” Before Braydon or Tom could point out that Marina had called to file a missing-persons report, she rushed on. “But she came back later! Look—” she pointed over her shoulder at a blue Honda “—that’s her car!”

“And you haven’t seen her since?”

“No, that’s why I called you two.” Marina’s temper was starting to flare and Braydon didn’t have the patience to deal with it today. Not with the dock looming in the distance with its invisible stain of agony. Tom, one of the only constant friends Braydon had kept since the incident eleven years ago, knew his partner was distracted by the closeness of it. He took down Marina’s contact information and assured her they’d look into it.

“We’ll give you a call when we find her,” he called, already following Braydon to the truck. “I bet you thought after your promotion to detective you’d have a lot more interesting cases than dealing with a little Alcaster dispute, huh?”

Tom was trying to lighten the mood Braydon had fallen into—he smiled big, exposing teeth slightly stained by too much coffee. Braydon appreciated the gesture and shook himself as they pulled out of the driveway and took the winding dirt path back to the main road.

Tom was right, though. Braydon expected—and hoped—for more exciting work than looking for Amanda, who was twenty-six years old and probably at a friend’s house waiting for her own anger to sizzle out. Not to mention, her being gone wasn’t an actual case until she had been missing for forty-eight hours. The only reason they had driven out was due to a lull in between cases. Also, it wasn’t wise to anger the elder Alcaster, which is exactly what would happen if they had told her to wait her daughter out. So out they had come, ready to help a member of the community. Though, again, trying to patch up a fight between mother and daughter hadn’t been on Braydon’s mind when he signed up for law enforcement. For the better part of his career, he had worked hard for the promotion to one of the two detectives in Culpepper. The town wasn’t big by any means, and mostly sleepy, but there were still investigations that needed working and cases that needed solving.

Plus, it wasn’t the promise of excitement that had pushed him into the profession—it was the pursuit of justice.

“Have you ever met Amanda?” Tom asked, facing ahead so the sun lit up his blond hair.

Braydon nodded. “I’ve been to a few parties with her but that was when we were in school,” he answered. “I had to be about seventeen...maybe eighteen.” That had been almost eleven years ago, Braydon calculated. Back when he was going through the wild and rebellious stages of being a teenager—drinking, partying and feeding hormonal impulses at every turn. He had been one of the undesirables then, on the wrong side of the law that he now tried to uphold. His mother had sent him to church every Sunday as if it would absolve whatever demon had possessed him, but there was nothing Pastor Smith could preach that would end Braydon’s lust for the wicked.

That is, until one rainy night changed everything.

Tom seemed to realize the bad mood was relapsing. He shifted in his seat and turned up the radio. The cool sounds of 103.1’s program of all things ’80s pumped through the truck’s speakers. Normalcy returned in the small cab.

The end of September had crept up on the town, though the Culpepper heat still radiated like it was August. Sweat pooled beneath Braydon’s white polo shirt, adhering it against his suntanned skin. One of the perks of his promotion—shedding the uniform. Despite his reformed sensibilities, wearing the cop getup pricked against his inner rebel.

It was a twenty-minute trek from the Alcasters’ back to the station at the heart of town. Braydon spent the rest of the drive watching the rural part of Culpepper transform into neighborhood turnoffs, industrial buildings, shopping boutiques and the few dilapidated structures littered in between.

This part of town had once been run-down—a meeting place for drug dealers, prostitutes and people who liked and used both. It wasn’t until six years ago that Richard Vega had pumped life, and money, back into the four-block stretch. The New York City native had a business acumen to be reckoned with and enough funds to open Vega Consulting—a company of marketing strategists created to serve not only Culpepper, but all of North America.

Braydon didn’t know the extent of how Vega Consulting operated, but he had to believe they were doing well. Richard Vega lived at the end of Loop Road with an electronic gate surrounding the five acres of land he had purchased without batting an eye.

The partners had fallen back into a comfortable silence the last few minutes of the drive. It was as though the growing distance from the dock was lifting a sour weight from Braydon’s shoulders. When the police station came into view, the ill feelings had all but disappeared, though Braydon knew he wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.

“Langdon,” Tom answered after his phone did a vibrating dance.

Braydon pulled into the parking lot that butted up against the side of the station. The building dated back to the ’50s and had been renovated at least three times. It was all brick, cracked tile and offices that were small enough to pull double duty as closets. When most officers, Tom included, complained about the state of the building, Braydon found he didn’t share their sentiments. He never felt more at home than when he set his eyes on the place.

He turned off the truck and met the humidity with a deep breath. It was midmorning, and the heat was at its worst. The rain that had bathed the town hours earlier had done little to reduce the temperature. He smiled to himself. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Despite all of the opportunities he’d had to leave his hometown, it was beautiful days when the sun was shining that reaffirmed his decision to stay. A person just couldn’t beat a beautiful day in Florida.

“Okay, we’re right outside now.” Tom hung up the phone and followed Braydon around the building to the front double doors with Culpepper Police Department hung in rusting letters above them.

“There’s a woman waiting in your office,” he said, holding the door open. “And apparently she’s not too happy.”

Braydon quickly ran through the list of women he had been with in the past few years, trying to find a name that stuck to someone who might be pissed. Well, recently pissed. Angela had been the last woman he had been with but that had been two months ago. Surely, she wasn’t the one in his office pitching a fit.

“She’s from out of town,” Tom offered, cutting off Braydon’s line of thought. “Probably got a ticket from John and wants to complain to someone.” John was a policeman who loved giving tickets to tourists passing through. Some people loved golf, John loved giving tickets. Braydon sighed.

“I’ll deal with her,” he said, feeling his nerves switch to annoyed. He’d never had much of a stomach for outsiders.

“Sounds good to me. I’m going to call around and see if I can’t find Miss Alcaster.”

They parted ways after walking through the lobby and into the largest room in the station. Rows of desks, computers, chairs and coffee cups filled the room. Some were occupied with Uniforms—a few colleagues Braydon didn’t like and a few who didn’t like him. John the Ticketer’s chair was empty. He was probably writing someone up right now, Braydon mused. Along the far side of the room stood four doors that led to a break room, Tom’s office, Braydon’s office and the conference room. To the left, with the blinds always shut over the window in the door, was Captain Westin’s domain.

A man was smart to avoid that office when the captain’s temper was high.

Braydon walked across the room and let out a sigh as he saw his door was closed. Why they had left a stranger unsupervised was an issue he would bring up as soon as he ushered her out. Not only was it an invasion of privacy but also breaking regulation.

He reached out to grab the doorknob when the old oak slab flung open.

“It’s about damn time!”

Braydon stepped back, caught off guard. He furrowed his brow at the woman standing before him. No one in Culpepper would believe she was anything but an outsider. Despite the heat and humidity, she was wrapped in a black pantsuit with a blazer that covered the length of her arms and a shirt that dipped low in a V. Although Braydon tried to keep his gaze up, he couldn’t help noticing the suit hugged her chest and hips in a very attractive way. Her skin was creamy porcelain, another sign that Florida was not her home. It stood out like a shock against the glossy dark hair that was pulled high in a bun. Although her eyes were a deep shade of sage, there was no denying the fire that sparked behind them.

“I’ve been waiting in here for almost half an hour!” she fumed.

Braydon put up his hands. “Whoa, calm down. Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll get this all straightened out.” He moved around her, catching a whiff of perfume. It filled his senses with its sweet aroma.

The woman hesitated, as if unable to immediately obey, before she dropped down into the seat across from his desk.

“Now, Mrs....”

She waved her hand through the air. “Miss,” she corrected impatiently. “Sophia Hardwick.” The name sounded vaguely familiar but Braydon couldn’t quite place it. The red-lipped Sophia had scrambled his attention. “And like I told the man out there, I’m here about my sister.” She was gearing up to explain, her hands intertwining on the top of the desk. The way she leaned forward a fraction, didn’t improve the hold on his concentration.

Before she could start, Tom appeared in the door. His brow was furrowed. He didn’t bother with knocking.

“Braydon, we need to talk.” He tipped his head toward Sophia. “This will only take a minute, ma’am.”

Sophia slammed her hands onto the desk. She stood with such speed that Braydon mimicked the act, hand flitting to his holster.

“Are you serious? You just got in here. I’ve only had time to tell you my name for heaven’s sake! You will not put me off anymore,” she said, looking between the men. “I’m here because my sister is missing and I need you idiots to do something about it.” There was a pause as all of the air seemed to rush out of her. Color tinted her cheekbones, whether from the exertion or her makeup, Braydon didn’t know.

“I didn’t know Amanda had a sister,” he said, lowering his hand but still on guard. Sophia may have been petite but her passion was seeping out of every pore.

“What? Who’s Amanda?” she huffed. “I’m here about Lisa.” Braydon looked at Tom, who had turned white as a sheet. Something must have happened as soon as Tom had gone to his office.

He looked down at a paper in his hands. “Lisa? Does she happen to go by Trixie?”

Sophia shook her head. A few strands of hair came loose at the movement. Tom’s upbeat mood was gone—an issue that brought Braydon’s nerves back to the edge.

“No. She goes by Lisa. Lisa Hardwick.”

Tom’s mouth set in a deep frown. Without explanation to Sophia he turned to Braydon. “We need to talk,” he said. “Now.”

“Unbelievable! I just tell you that my sister is missing and you just—”

“Ma’am. We will be with you in a second,” Tom snapped. It was a rare occurrence to hear the shorter of the two men so tightly strung that Braydon didn’t hesitate. He followed Tom into the conference room two doors over.

“What was that about?”

Braydon didn’t know what answer to expect but it sure wasn’t what came next.

“Cal Green, you know him?”

Braydon nodded. “The mechanic?”

“Yeah, well he left a message a few minutes ago. He says his secretary, Trixie Martin, hasn’t shown up to work for two days. He got worried because she wasn’t answering her phone and headed to her place. All the lights were on, the TV, too, and the front door was unlocked. He talked to the nearest neighbor but they didn’t see or hear anything. Her car was even in the driveway.” He didn’t wait for Braydon to respond. “If that woman in your office is telling the truth, then that means—”

Braydon felt like he was waking up—all of his senses stood alert.

“That means that we have three missing women.”

* * *

SOPHIA WAS FED UP with all of the interruptions Culpepper had to offer. From the moment she had stepped foot inside the police station it had been a stream of one after the other—keeping her from asking whole questions, let alone getting full answers.

She had been bounced from officer to officer only to be told to keep quiet and wait for the lead detective to come in from a call. So, there she had stayed, sans the quiet. The four-hour trip had strung out her already thin patience as she left voice mail after voice mail on Lisa’s phone. It wasn’t her fault that the Culpepper PD wasn’t prepared for her volley of loud complaints.

Sophia smoothed out the invisible wrinkles in her slacks and tried to keep her temper in check as the minutes ticked by and the detective hadn’t returned. On a normal day she would have been more understanding, perhaps more patient. She knew that if she were back home in the city, the chances of her still waiting in the department’s lobby would be great. At least here she had been ushered into an office. Small blessings and silver linings.

Being alone was something Sophia had grown accustomed to throughout the past few years, but she found the lack of communication now was grinding into her anxiety. Lisa might fly by the seat of her pants 80 percent of the time, but she had never been so irresponsible as to leave without saying a word. Their relationship may have become strained lately, but it wasn’t that strained.

“Sorry to step out like that.” Detective Thatcher walked back into the office with a notebook under his arm. Instead of sitting behind the desk, he leaned on its corner and tilted his head down to meet her gaze. His eyes were the color of the sea—swirls of aquamarine. They were the kind of eyes that captured a person, making them want nothing more than to get lost within the bright pools. Sophia hadn’t noticed their allure until he was so close.

He had a swimmer’s build—tall, lean, but with muscles that peeked through his clothes. His shirt was pulled taut over broad shoulders, while his sun-kissed skin was a rich bronze—a shade she hadn’t been able to achieve in the muck of Atlanta. In contrast to his partner’s thinning blond hair, Thatcher had a mass of dark brown locks that were mussed to mimic what she thought would be his bed hair.

Sophia realized she had been staring. She needed to pull it together for Lisa. She cleared her throat and pushed her back straight.

“Now, if you would start from the beginning,” he prompted. His long, and ringless, fingers wrapped around the pen. He wrote with controlled precision as she spoke.

“My birthday was four days ago, on Sunday,” Sophia started.

“Happy belated birthday, then.”

She waved her hand dismissively but said thanks. Turning twenty-six hadn’t felt any different than turning twenty-five. “Lisa was supposed to come celebrate and she didn’t. And before you come up with a bunch of excuses as to why she didn’t show, let me stop you. My sister is an intelligent woman who, despite her occasional bout of forgetfulness, is one of the most responsible women I know. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her since yesterday. I called her cell phone, her house and even her work.”

“Have you been to her residence?” Thatcher asked, his eyes piercing. Sophia shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Yes, she obviously wasn’t there.”

“Was there any kind of disturbance? Did it look like someone had been there recently?”

“No, but that doesn’t really surprise me. From what I’ve heard she practically lives with her boyfriend.” Thatcher raised an eyebrow, this quiet gesture asking more than any verbal question would. “She isn’t at his place, either. He’s the one who called me yesterday asking where she was.”

“Wait, didn’t you say she missed your birthday was four days ago? Why did you wait until yesterday to try to contact her?”

“We haven’t really been on the best of terms this past year.” Sophia’s face heated. “I assumed she didn’t come because she didn’t want to. It wasn’t until Richard called that we realized she had been missing for two full days already.”

“And Richard is the boyfriend?”

She nodded. “Richard Vega, I think he owns a company in town.”

Thatcher’s expression sharpened, his brow furrowing together as he paused writing.

“Your sister is dating Richard Vega? As in Richard Vega of Vega Consulting?”

Sophia nodded, more hair fell away from the bun atop her head. Whatever Thatcher was thinking, it wasn’t showing in his expression. His calm demeanor had turned utterly blank.

“And why didn’t he file a missing persons?”

Sophia felt her eyes widen. “You mean he didn’t?”

Thatcher stood and beckoned his partner from the other room.

“Did Richard Vega file a missing report a few days ago?” The blond man didn’t leave to go check. He instantly said no.

“We would have heard if Vega came here.”

Thatcher scratched his chin. It was smooth—void of facial hair that would hide the perfection that outlined his face. How kissable it looked, Sophia would have thought, had anger, fear and suspicion not been vying for the top emotional spot. Richard had called her with a voice drenched in worry. When she admitted she had no idea where Lisa was, he had assured her he would have it taken care of—that he would take all of the necessary steps to find her sister. Sophia had assumed that meant talking to the police.

“Why wouldn’t he have talked to you?” she asked.

“That’s a good question,” Thatcher said before leveling his gaze. There was a look she couldn’t decipher behind the eyes of the detective. All she knew was that it comforted and scared her at the same time. “That’s a very good question.”

Chapter Two

Detective Thatcher’s cool expression returned as he ordered Sophia to stay in his office. He sent in one of the beat cops, Officer Whitfield, to take down an official statement with all of the contact information between her sister and her. Whether he sent in a woman thinking it would make her more cooperative, she didn’t know.

Cara, as she was told to call the woman, was curt but kind and even though her gender didn’t affect Sophia’s mood, she managed to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s.

“Don’t worry too much,” Cara said with a smile that contrasted her darker skin. “Detective Thatcher is one dedicated man. He’ll locate your sister and bring her back, no problem.” She went as far as to pat Sophia’s knee. “I’m sure she’s just lost track of time or is staying with a friend.”

Sophia resisted the urge to disagree and instead pasted on a smile. Maybe the woman had softened her attitude a bit, but that was only patching one spot in a dam that was ready to burst. If she didn’t get some answers soon, there would be no man or woman in the whole town who could keep her from exploding.

“Thank you for waiting,” Detective Thatcher greeted when he came back in. He nodded to Officer Whitfield as she collected her things and exited.

“Well, I seem to be doing that a lot here.”

Thatcher ignored the pointed response and leveled his gaze at her.

“Miss Hardwick, do you know any women by the names of Trixie Martin or Amanda Alcaster?”

Sophia didn’t have to think about that long. She shook her head. “No.”

“Those names don’t ring a bell at all? Maybe your sister, Lisa, has mentioned them?”

She crossed her arms across her chest. “No, I don’t recall her talking about them. As I stated before, Lisa and I haven’t been on the best of terms recently. There’s a chance she may know them, but I couldn’t help you with that,” she answered honestly. “What does that have to do with Lisa being missing? Do you think they took her?” She compiled a quick list of why someone would kidnap Lisa. For one, she was beautiful—long legs, big bust, thick black, tangle-free hair and a pair of lips that drew men’s attentions from a mile away. Lisa was also annoyingly perfect when it came to socializing. She knew how to command a room and entertain an audience. She also seemed to be dating a man who carried a lot of weight in town. Surely any or all of those reasons could make a few women jealous.

Detective Thatcher scratched at his chin, staring through her as he thought. When he realized she needed an answer, he straightened.

“I don’t think so.” His answer was made to put her at ease, but it wasn’t as concrete as she would have liked.

“Then why are we talking about them and not about Richard and the fact that he did not report my sister missing?”

“I’m about to go question him myself,” Thatcher said, pushing off the desk. He handed her a piece of paper.

“That’s my office number and my cell number along with Detective Langdon’s numbers.”

Sophia raised her eyebrow. “And you’re giving this to me why?” It was his turn to look confused.

“So you can contact us if you hear from Lisa or think of anything else that could help this investigation.”

“But you just said you’re going to go talk to Richard, right?”

“Yes, I certainly am.”

“I’m coming with you, then.” Sophia stood and pushed her bag up her shoulder. Detective Thatcher looked less than pleased but she didn’t care. She had up and left her job as an office manager at Jones Office Supply, traveled from the big city to a town that in comparison would barely fit in a shoe box, all while being submerged in a pool of worry. She didn’t want answers—she needed them.

“We’d like it if you would stay here and answer a few questions to help us, Miss Hardwick. Don’t worry, I’ll ask Richard all of the important questions.”

“I can answer questions later, Detective. Right now I want to go see what Richard has to say.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She was glad she hadn’t changed her outfit since work that morning. The heels gave her the height to feel intimidating.

Thatcher mirrored her stance, crossing his arms over his chest. The biceps that flexed at the movement didn’t lie about his workout habits.

“Listen, you’ve made it pretty clear that you don’t know much about your sister’s boyfriend or this town, so let me enlighten you on a few things.” He made sure she was focusing on what he said next. “Richard Vega is the wealthiest man in Culpepper. He is also one of the most loved residents. Pissing him off and yelling at him won’t get you any answers. At least, no truthful ones. If you want to come with me you need to calm down and try to keep a level head. Got it?”

Sophia nodded, slightly offended. It was true that she wasn’t the best with confrontation but why Richard didn’t report Lisa missing was a big question she was more than capable of asking. Unless Thatcher was arresting her for something, there was no way he could stop her regardless. She knew how to work the GPS on her phone—she could get to Richard’s by herself. Sophia would go over the detective’s head or behind his back if necessary. He must have guessed as much. After a tense moment he let out a long sigh.

“You’re riding with me, then,” he said, not trying to hide his annoyance.

“I have my own car, thank you.”

“Listen, if you want to come along, you’re riding with me.”

“Why?” she asked, voice raised. Was this some kind of cop-civilian power trip? She wasn’t afraid to start yelling again.

“Because I want to make sure you come back to answer those questions.” He took his keys out of his desk and motioned for her to go through the door. “I have a feeling you aren’t a person who respects any kind of rules.”

Sophia tried not to blush as she struggled to get into the cab of the detective’s truck. Her heels, now more cumbersome than intimidating, snagged on the small step up making her look like a drunken fool as she stumbled inside. At least Thatcher kept his mouth shut and pretended not to notice. If she had been Lisa, the movement would have been effortless and graceful.

“How far is it to Richard’s?” Sophia asked as they turned out of the station’s parking lot.

“You’ve never been there?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, guilt starting to move through her stomach. “I’ve never met the man, either.”

“And how long have Richard and your sister been dating?”

Sophia rolled her eyes. “Over a year now.” She set her jaw and mentally dared him to ask why she hadn’t met him. He must have picked up on her body language—he shut his mouth and they rode in silence until he finally answered her.

“Richard Vega lives on Loop Road. We have about ten more minutes until we get there. He lives on a large piece of land so it’s farther from the town center.”

She nodded. The anger she had felt toward the detective was lessening as she struggled to bat down her aversion to his authority.

“I do follow the rules, by the way,” she said after a few minutes had passed. “I just—” She looked down at her hands. “Lisa is the only family I have left. Well, the only one who counts at least. So, I’ve been kind of high-strung lately.” She felt her cheeks heat up again as she tried to apologize for her rude behavior without actually having to say it.

The detective glanced over before he sighed for the second time that day.

“It’s okay. Situations like these are stressful.” He hesitated before continuing. “We were late into the station because we were on a call about a woman named Amanda Alcaster who was reported missing. There’s also another woman, named Trixie Martin, who was reported missing within minutes of us arriving.”

Sophia sucked in a breath. She didn’t know what to process first.

“I wanted to tell you so when I bring it up to Vega, you don’t freak out,” he continued. “This all could just be a misunderstanding or some women who want to escape their lives for a little while. But on the off chance that it isn’t, I need to make sure I approach the only suspect we have with caution.”

“I’ll keep quiet, then,” she said after a moment. “But I still want to be in the room.”

“Deal.”

* * *

IF THE DETECTIVE hadn’t told Sophia that Richard was the wealthiest man in town, she would have known the moment she saw his house—if it could even be classified as something as typical as a house. It sat at the end of a small one-lane road and could only be accessed by being buzzed in at a gate just outside the large loop driveway. The more Sophia looked at the place, the more she wanted to classify it as a mansion. It was only two stories but it expanded wide on both sides, looking like an old plantation home. An expansive garage sat to the left of the main house and beautiful, meticulously groomed landscaping was placed in between as a testament to some gardener’s handsomely paid green thumb. Large white columns lined the front porch a few feet from the driveway while the double, red, arched front doors were held open by someone who looked suspiciously like a butler.

“Who’s that?” Sophia asked as Thatcher opened her door and helped her out. Normally, she wouldn’t have accepted his help but she didn’t want another awkward moment in front of such an impressive abode.

“I never remember his name, but that’s Vega’s assistant. He’s a mousy fella, but you can’t see Vega without getting through him.” Sophia let Thatcher lead the way to the well-dressed man. She wondered if his boss bought him the suit that he wore despite the humidity which played havoc with her hair.

“Detective Thatcher,” the man greeted, shaking his hand. He looked over his shoulder to Sophia. Recognition flared behind his mud-colored eyes. “Miss Hardwick, it’s nice to finally meet you.” On reflex she shook his hand.

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

The man laughed and shook his head. “No, but Lisa loves to show us pictures.” Sophia had to roll her eyes again. That certainly sounded like Lisa.

“Mr. Vega is finishing up a meeting with some vendors. He shouldn’t be long.” He led them through the front door and immediately to a large open room to the left. Sophia was almost disappointed she couldn’t take a tour of the house. Just from the front door she had seen a large, marble-white staircase with a banister worthy of being a makeshift slide. “Make yourselves at home. He’ll be in here shortly.” The assistant scurried off, shutting the door behind him.

They were obviously in what was used as a formal study. Built-ins lined the walls from floor to ceiling and were filled with matching sets of thick-spined books. A large, formidable desk faced the door, no doubt to keep an eye on those who might enter, while high windows were draped in translucent cloth. A rug the size of Sophia’s living room cushioned the noise of her heels on the hardwood. She walked around the room, wondering if Lisa spent any time in it reading.

“I knew Richard had money, but I didn’t realize how much,” she admitted to the detective. He kept still in the middle of the room, looking as out of place as she felt. His jeans and plain shirt were a few leagues below the apparent dress code that Vega’s staff employed on a regular basis.

“They say he works hard,” Thatcher replied.

“They?”

“Like I said, this town loves Richard Vega.” Sophia wanted to ask what his thoughts on the man were, when the door opened.

Richard Vega was all suit, hair product and posture. He walked into the room as if it had been his idea. As if he had been the one to invite Detective Thatcher into his home. Watching him make his way over, Sophia immediately understood why Lisa was so drawn to the man.

There was an undeniable overriding sense of confidence that rolled off of him in waves. Lisa had always been drawn to, not just strong, but powerful men. She had a track record of getting involved with the big dogs only to realize what they had in confidence they lacked in kindness. Lisa had assured Sophia that this man was different, that Richard Vega had a good heart, but now Sophia didn’t know if she bought that assessment.

Although he was handsome—tall, blond and tanned, angled facial features—Sophia found herself thinking that the detective had him beat. A thought that made the color rise in her cheeks. She glanced at Thatcher from the corner of her eye. He was straight-backed and concentrated on the approaching man. She doubted he was thinking about how she might be more attractive than Officer Whitfield or any of the other women in the station.

“Detective,” Richard said, extending his hand. Thatcher shook it, though there was a stiffness to it. “And you must be Sophia. Your pictures don’t do you justice.” They shook hands. “I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”

“Yes, let’s talk about those circumstances.”

“Of course, let’s sit.” Richard was at least smart enough to know that sitting behind his desk while the two of them sat in chairs on the other side was not the best move. If this had been a business meeting, he would have been the man in charge, but this was an investigation and Detective Thatcher was the one calling the shots. Richard instead situated himself on one of two leather love seats at the far side of the room.

Sophia and Thatcher took the one opposite, the small furniture making their legs touch. She made a point not to look at him as he leaned forward, slipping into detective mode. She also tried to ignore how her heart sped up at his closeness. At the station she had been at the man’s throat but now he was pulling at her concentration. She didn’t need distractions right now. Lisa couldn’t afford it.

“Let’s jump right into this,” Thatcher started. “You called Sophia Hardwick on Tuesday morning around six-thirty asking for the whereabouts of her sister, the woman you’ve been dating for over a year. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“When she told you she didn’t know, you told her you would take care of the situation. Again, is this correct?” Richard nodded. At each question his jawline tensed. “Sophia says that her sister never made it to see her. You found this out, so that puts Lisa Hardwick unaccounted for since Sunday morning. That’s four days, not even including today, that Lisa has been missing.” Slowly, Richard nodded. “So tell me, Mr. Vega, why the hell you didn’t call us or file a missing-persons report?” There was no mistaking the anger in Thatcher’s voice—nor the hidden accusation beneath his question. Having the whole situation recounted had a similar effect on Sophia. She wished she had as much experience as the detective at spotting a lie or pressing on a weak point to get the right information. Instead she kept her mouth shut and decided to follow whatever lead the man next to her would take.

Richard kept his face calm, not at all surprised at the question or its parallel series of thoughts. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked between them.

“I had a potential client come in Saturday night. It was a last-minute announcement but I wanted to show this person that I could be flexible and that I was very interested in taking on his business. If he agreed to work with me, then I could get him to participate in or donate to the Culpepper Fund-raiser this year.”

“The what?” Sophia had to ask.

“It’s a fund-raiser scheduled for next week. I started hosting them a year after I moved here. The town buys tickets while various organizations hold different auctions to raise money. It’s also a banquet of sorts—champagne, food and music.”

Sophia’s eyes widened as she remembered where she had heard about that before.

“That’s where Lisa met you.”

“Yes, the first one she came to she picked it apart, saying the vendors had ripped me off and that she could do it better if she was in charge.” He smiled. “I thought she was joking but Details did a great job last year.”

It was Detective Thatcher’s turn to raise his eyebrow. “Details? Why does that sound familiar?”

“It’s an event-planning business Lisa started when she first moved to Culpepper,” Sophia responded. It was also one of the reasons that they had drifted from each other.

“Got it. Now continue, Mr. Vega.”

“Lisa helped me host a very small, informal gathering here in the house with said potential client and a few of my employees.”

“And does this potential client have a name?” Thatcher asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I’d like to keep that confidential, if you don’t mind. We don’t want any rumors going around before anything is official.”

“I do mind,” the detective said with seriousness. “But we can get back to that later.” Richard didn’t miss a beat as he continued.

“We stayed up well into the next day. However, Lisa turned in early and left early. I, on the other hand, ashamedly slept in until almost noon. She had left me a note saying she was heading to the birthday party and would call when she made it. I turned my mind back to the potential client’s entertainment needs as well as business and before I realized it, it was Monday.” He balled up his fist. “I didn’t question the fact that she never called until Monday night after my guest left. I called her and got her voice mail.” He switched his gaze, now intense, to Sophia. When he spoke his anger was palpable. “I assumed you would have called if she hadn’t shown up. I just thought the silence was the two of you doing some sisterly bonding thing and Lisa just forgot to call. Why didn’t you call when she didn’t show up?”

Sophia’s face flushed red—a mix of embarrassment, guilt and anger.

“Lisa and I haven’t been on the best of terms this past year,” Sophia almost spat, trying to defend herself. “You should have known that. She didn’t tell me she was coming, so when she didn’t show up I assumed it was on purpose.”

There was a heated silence, not at all like the thoughtful one she seemed to share with the detective when they were sorting through new information. This was weighted. This was bogged down with ill feelings and regret.

“Continue, Mr. Vega,” Thatcher said, commanding the two of them to snap out of it. Richard looked back at the detective and let out a loud breath.

“When I still hadn’t received any word by Tuesday morning, I decided it wasn’t just Lisa’s forgetfulness. The phone call with Miss Hardwick here just confirmed it. I left work and began looking for her, only to come up empty.”

“Why didn’t you call us?”

Richard sat up straighter. “At first I thought...” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I thought that Lisa had left me, using Sophia’s party as an excuse to disappear.”

“Why would she leave you?”

“Over the past year, I’ve grown to trust Lisa more than I’ve ever trusted anyone else. She has become not only a woman I care about, but a confidante.” At this admission, Richard for the first time seemed uncomfortable with what he was saying.

“She knows secrets about you,” Thatcher said.

“Not only personal, but professional. Secrets my competitors would pay big for. Secrets that could undo everything I’ve worked for my entire life. I’ve had much worse attempted by people who want my money or business before.”

“Lisa wouldn’t do that, though.” Sophia spoke up with certainty. “From what I know, she has been very happy with you.” Richard’s intense expression softened at that.

“I couldn’t rule it out entirely. So I called in a few favors and had her phone traced.” He didn’t bother acting sheepish. “I found it.”

He shared a look with Detective Thatcher. It sent a chill through Sophia.

“And?” she prodded.

Richard stood and went to retrieve a box under his desk. He presented it to Thatcher. The contents made Thatcher’s brow furrow. Sophia was almost afraid to look but she had to be strong. She had to be strong for Lisa.

Holding her breath she peeked in.

“Is that it?”

Richard nodded, frowning deeply while Thatcher pushed around the several pieces of what once was a cell phone. Sophia felt her stomach drop.

“Before it was smashed, I was able to follow it to the main road, just past Tipsy’s Gas & Grill.” Sophia looked at Thatcher questioningly.

“It’s a family-owned gas station and mini-restaurant off of the main road,” Thatcher explained. “Busiest gas station in town.” He motioned to Richard to continue.

“When I went to where it last was turned on I found it scattered along the side of the road.” He sent another significant look to Thatcher.

“I’m assuming you already tried to salvage the SIM card inside? To recover any pictures or—”

“None of it could be saved.” Richard dropped back into his seat. “I couldn’t even find the remnants of the card.”

“So, what does that mean?” Sophia asked.

“It means,” Richard began, running a hand through his hair, “that either Lisa doesn’t want anyone to find her or someone doesn’t want us to find Lisa.”

* * *

THE AIR SEEMED to zip out of the room—leaving behind an unsettling silence. Braydon felt Sophia tense next to him. It was a response he was familiar with when bad news was flitting around.

“Did you find anything else?” Braydon asked. He wanted to know if Richard was aware of the other missing women.

“I called the hospitals and even morgues in the neighboring cities looking for her or a Jane Doe who matched her description, but nothing came up.” He pulled out a card and handed it to Braydon. “I even hired two PIs from this firm to search the cities.”

“You hired out-of-town private investigators before you contacted your local PD?” Braydon said incredulously.

“I hired them to stay out of town to find her. Culpepper is small. I had faith, if she was here, that I’d run into her.”

Braydon was fighting the urge to yell at the very rich, very pompous man in front of him. If he had just called the police when he first realized Lisa was missing, it could have made all the difference, but instead he wanted to handle it himself. He had as much pride as he did wealth.

“You still should have filed a report,” Sophia barked out, breaking her silence. “Did you ever think ‘What if she didn’t run away?’ ” Braydon could tell her composure was cracking.

“Of course I did. I’m not an idiot.”

“Well, you could have fooled me!” Under different circumstances, Braydon would have smiled at Sophia’s brashness. She didn’t bottle up her emotions—she let them pour out instead. The two of them would have kept on, but Braydon had had enough.

“Do you know Trixie Martin or Amanda Alcaster?” Braydon watched the man’s facial expression closely. He could see wheels turning but there was no concrete recognition of either name.

“Not personally. The Alcaster name sounds familiar, but what has that got to do with Lisa?”

Braydon took a breath. Sophia’s hands fidgeted across her lap. He wanted to hold them still, to keep her worries at bay. Personal experience had taught him that as long as a loved one was out there in trouble, no one, not even he, could quell all worries. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to, though. He cast another look at Sophia; the realization that he wanted to make sure she was okay was an odd one. He’d only known her for two hours at best and yet he empathized with her completely.

“They were reported missing today,” he said, squaring his shoulders. Richard’s brow furrowed, his frown deepened. Braydon balled his fists again, his body winding up. “This is why you let us know when something like this happens. This is why you call the police. It doesn’t matter if you’re taking time off of your job to locate Miss Hardwick because it’s my full-time job to do that. I help people for a living, Richard.” Braydon wasn’t yelling. In fact, his voice had taken on an eerie calm. That calm voice indicated how furious he was that Richard had not reported the disappearance of Lisa. The missing woman who had a sibling drowning in a sea of worry—one beautiful woman desperate for answers. Professionalism was dialing his volume back but it wasn’t diluting his intensity. “Now let me do my job and tell me everything else you found out or I’ll arrest you for impeding an investigation.”

It turned out that Richard was almost as clueless as they were. Apart from the cell phone, he hadn’t found any evidence of blatant foul play or anything that pointed to Lisa running away. He had instead kept eyes and ears out for the woman he loved, hoping above all else that everything had been a misunderstanding. She hadn’t run. She hadn’t been taken. Braydon knew better than to cling to such false hope. If someone dropped off the face of the earth for four days, there was something wrong. Like kicking an addiction, admitting there was a problem was the first step.

Richard Vega hadn’t handled that step well.

They wasted little time in unnecessary back-and-forth before Braydon told Richard he needed to see the exact place where the cell phone had been recovered. As far as they knew, it was the last place Lisa had been—tied by electronic tracking and hard evidence. If he could see it with his own eyes, then maybe he could see more of what had happened through hers.

“Am I riding with you or him?” Sophia asked as Richard pulled his car out of the garage. Like most houses on Loop Road it had more square footage than the resident had known what to do with.

“You can ride with either,” Braydon said, watching Richard for any signs of fleeing. He didn’t think the wealthy man would run, but he couldn’t be too sure he wouldn’t. Just because the whole town seemed to love the upstanding, well-groomed businessman, didn’t mean Braydon was going to put his faith in Richard’s good intentions. “We’re all going to the same place.”

Braydon walked over to the 370Z and inclined his head down to meet Richard’s gaze.

“It should go without saying but if you try to leave or do anything suspicious, I’ll find you and arrest you.”

“I understand.” He responded without hesitation. “I assure you that you now have my full cooperation.”

“Good.” Braydon patted the top of the car and went back to his truck. He was surprised to see Sophia already sitting in the cab with the air conditioner blasting. “How did you turn the car on?”

She remained still as she answered, her eyes closed in the cold air stream. “I used the key. You know, the things that people use to start cars?”

“Your sarcasm is noted, but what I meant was how did you get my keys?”

“You threw them on the dash here.” She opened one eye, watching as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Not the best hiding place.” He shifted into Drive and began following Richard out onto Loop Road.

“Tom says I have a nasty habit of doing that.” Being a cop in Culpepper had seemed to activate an invisible barrier around the truck. No one wanted to steal or strip down his vehicle. The townspeople knew better. “That still doesn’t give you the right to turn it on.”

“Listen, it feels like it’s over 100 degrees in this place. I needed some air and I needed it fast.” She closed her eyes again and let the air conditioner push against her face. It was flushed from the heat, he could now tell. There were patches of red across her soft skin, though she was still attractive.

“That outfit isn’t helping,” he observed.

“And that is also noted.”

They dove into a small silence. Sophia’s perfume was slowly filling the space of the cab. He marveled at the contrast between its airy sweetness and her hard resolve.

“I’m surprised you didn’t want to ride with Richard,” Braydon admitted. “I thought you two would want to catch up.” She had picked him, a stranger, over someone she knew of and who had close ties with her sister. Plus, that man had been Richard Vega. He could charm his way out of a jail cell faster than Braydon could lock the door. Another reason why he hadn’t yet arrested the man. Though, he would in a heartbeat if he needed to.

Sophia snorted.

“Remember when I said Lisa and I weren’t on the best terms this past year?” She motioned to the sports car in front. “Meet Richard Vega. He was the hammer to our nail.”

Braydon glanced over at her. “What happened?”

Sophia turned her head so fast that her bun released the rest of her hair. “It’s none of your business,” she snapped.

“It is if you want me to find your sister, I need all of the details pertaining to her and Richard.” Her anger seemed to fade.

“Why? Do you think Richard had something to do with her disappearance?”

Braydon thought about it before he answered. Richard certainly had the means to make a person fall off the radar but there had been an unmistakable concern that had covered every word and movement when he spoke of Lisa. “I personally think the only thing he’s guilty of is being a prideful son of a bitch, but I don’t want to rule him out, either. So, if there was a fight between all of you, there could potentially be a motive.”

She went back to fidgeting with her hands.

“I really don’t think that has anything to do with what’s happening....”

“A good detective can’t leave clues half-uncovered.” He prodded with a gentler tone, “If we’re going to find your sister, I need all of the information.”

She put her hand up to the vent and quieted. The past wasn’t a pleasant place to frequent, he knew that, but sometimes it was a necessity. He remained patient and watched as Richard turned off Loop Road and onto a connector that would get them to the main one. His red little car could easily outrun the truck. Braydon imagined the only reason he was going the speed limit was to avoid pissing him off any more.

Sophia sighed, touching her face with her now-cold hand.

“It was over money,” she started. “And we never really had a fight. It was more of a buildup of things we didn’t say. My dad died when we were little and Mom worked full-time while doing odd jobs along the way to support us. The years went by and we could see her trying to not blame us for her having to work so hard, but eventually the resentment set in. Lisa and I picked up the slack and looked out for one another—encouraged good grades, gave each other rides to work and helped take care of everything else. Lisa was my older sister, but she didn’t raise me—we raised each other.” Her voice shook and Braydon had to look to see if she was crying. Her head was bent, her fingertips suddenly fascinating. “Lisa has always been the prettier, more charming sister. As we got older, she was handed more opportunities, but she never really took them. That is until she started dating Richard. He offered her a world on a gold platter and she just took it. No questions asked. We spent years working so hard to make something of ourselves and then it was like she took the easy way out.” Her voice softened. “We never fought about it—I never said those exact words—but she picked up on how I felt.”

“And that was?”

“Anger...with a touch of resentment.” Her face flushed red. “Saying it out loud seems stupid, especially now with everything going on. I should be happy for her, but Richard was just a hard pill to swallow, I suppose. Still, I don’t think that has anything to do with her disappearance. The times we did talk this past year, she seemed genuinely happy.”

Again, Braydon was surprised by the woman next to him. Just like that she had not only told him a personal story, but she had admitted her true feelings about it. He understood her stubbornness; however, it was the ease at which she told the truth that made the younger Hardwick sister more and more intriguing.

“Does your mother know about Lisa, then?” He couldn’t remember her bringing the woman up in detail before. Surely she would have been there.

“No.” She didn’t elaborate and Braydon didn’t push her. The way her body tensed like the string on a bow, he knew he had hit a deep nerve. Her openness apparently had its limits.

“What about you, Detective? Any family drama to share?” Sophia said it as a joke, something to lighten the dark mood, but she couldn’t have picked a worse topic. Years of experience saved his composure. He smiled and shook his head.

“Nothing worth talking about.”

Chapter Three

Richard took them west on Highway 20, following the slight curve of the two-lane until they passed Tipsy’s Gas & Grill on the left. Sophia was surprised at the appearance of “One of the Best Eats in Culpepper” gas station/eatery. It was bigger than she had imagined—the original convenience store attached to another building, twice its size. She didn’t know if it was the city girl in her, but she hadn’t expected it to look as cozy as it did. Her stomach growled at the idea of Tipsy’s advertised fried shrimp. The last thing she had eaten was a granola bar the night before.

They drove a few miles past Tipsy’s before Richard turned on his blinker and pulled to the shoulder. Thatcher followed, the moment of vulnerability on Sophia’s part gone. Why had she given him so much detail about Lisa and herself? Why did he need to know about their childhood or the fact that a part of her had started to resent Lisa? Maybe it was sleep deprivation. She hadn’t been able to sleep all that well since Richard had called.

That was it. She’d blame it on that and not the mysterious man next to her.

Richard pointed at the tall grass a few feet from the road. They followed him, examining the area around it for something he might have missed. There was nothing.

“I’m going to call over a car and have them sweep farther back.” Thatcher walked to his truck and pulled out the radio to make the call. Sophia and Richard kept to the grass.

“I’m sorry,” he said, using his foot to move some rocks around. If it was meant to make him look vulnerable, it wasn’t working. “I should have kept you updated. I was too caught up in finding her.”

“You should have called the cops.”

“Sophia, just because I chose not to call them doesn’t mean I didn’t have people looking for her.”

“You mean the private investigators?”

“They aren’t the only ones.”

Sophia gave him a questioning look.

“I’m a very wealthy man with a lot of friends. I have contacts that operate outside of the police purview.” He turned his body so his back was facing the cars. “I know people who don’t get stopped by red tape.”

“What does that mean?”

“Cops sometimes slow down investigations.”

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.” Sophia crossed her arms over her chest. The tip of her heels sunk into the ground. “You don’t want the cops looking for Lisa because you have ‘friends’?”

He made a frustrated noise.

“I’m just saying, there are reasons why I didn’t call the police in the first place.”

“You said you didn’t call because you thought she just ran off?” A feeling of alarm was starting to rise within her. “Are you saying you knew she didn’t just leave?”

There was the underlying implication again. A man with that much money, good looks and charm—though she didn’t see it—could get away with a lot. If he had “friends” like he claimed, couldn’t he use them to help him... Help him what? Dispose of Lisa?

Just thinking it sent a chill through Sophia.

“No, it’s just— We were so happy, Sophia. I didn’t think she just left.”

Sophia dropped down to a whisper, eyeing Thatcher’s back as he talked to the dispatcher.

“You lied to us,” she said in a rush.

“I didn’t lie. There was a moment where I wondered if she had gone on her own accord but, you know your sister, she wouldn’t do that.” She felt her defenses flare—of course she knew her sister. Even though they had grown apart didn’t mean she had forgotten her.

“So, who are these friends of yours? Where are they?”

“All you need to know is that they are doing whatever they need to do to find Lisa.” He stopped there and didn’t make any sign of elaborating other than maybe using the whole “I’ve already said too much” excuse for keeping silent. In his black suit, the sun shining bright around them, Richard Vega looked a lot more threatening than he had in his home. He was shorter than Thatcher but had a solid body frame with muscles hidden beneath his custom-made suit, a gift from his personal trainer no doubt. Sophia wasn’t a string bean or anything. She had muscles, too. They were just a little harder to see. Work had become hectic in the past two years. Going to the gym had been low on her priority list. That didn’t mean she was completely defenseless.

Now, standing so close to a man she hardly knew but was admitting freely that he had connections that didn’t pay heed to law enforcement, she was second-guessing if she could really hold her own and defend herself if needed.

Maybe her face showed the new sense of trepidation she was feeling. Thatcher tilted his head slightly to the side when their eyes met. His own expression was heavily guarded.

“A car should be here soon. They’ll sweep this area again and then go farther back, just to make sure,” he said. “If there’s anything out here, they’ll find it.”

He brought his gaze to Richard now. There was no mistaking he was in detective mode—his feet spread apart, his back straight as a board, determination seeping through his stance.

“Now,” he went on, “I’m going to have to ask you to come down to the station, Mr. Vega.”

Richard seemed taken aback. Anger flashed across his face.

“I’ve already told you everything. Shouldn’t we be using our time more wisely?”

Thatcher crossed his arms. Sophia couldn’t help but think about how handsome he was in that moment. No-nonsense, authoritative, and all wrapped within a rock-hard body. She would have liked to meet Braydon Thatcher under different circumstances.

“Richard, I’m not giving you a choice. You’re coming to the station.” Thatcher pointed to his sports car. “The only decision you have to make is which car you ride in to get there.”

Sophia rode with Thatcher again as they went back to the station. Richard had opted to ride in his car, barely keeping his cursing below his breath, while the detective had spent a good five minutes once again warning him against fleeing.

“Are you going to arrest him?” Sophia asked as soon as they pulled onto the highway.

“Yes.”

“Why? Can you do that?” Sophia asked, adjusting the air so that it was blowing on her face again. Florida heat didn’t agree with her. Thatcher’s teeth ground together, his jaw muscles clenching. Whatever he had learned had upped his aggravation level exponentially.

“We just got word that a colleague of Vega’s has been going around asking people about Lisa, using the man’s name as an unofficial police badge.” He turned to her, nostrils flared. “That’s impeding an investigation.”

Sophia jumped up and down in her seat once. It caught Thatcher off guard but she didn’t care. She repeated her recent conversation with Vega. It didn’t improve his mood. When they pulled into the station’s parking lot, he turned to her with a silent ferocity.

“I want you to go in there and answer every question we have about your sister.” Having been given the instruction made her want to run the other way, but she knew it had to be done. “And, Sophia.” He grabbed her hand. “I swear to you that I’ll find your sister and bring her back safely.”

The station seemed to stand at attention when Richard Vega walked in with Thatcher close behind, watching with expressions of interest mixed with disbelief. Even Cara looked up from her computer as the two men marched into the interrogation room.

Sophia wanted to follow them but doubted Richard would say anything else without an attorney—one dressed to the nines and with a bank statement that would be too good for the town of Culpepper. She instead was guided into Thatcher’s office where she sat with a sigh. Back to the drawing board, she thought, crossing her legs like the dignified woman she hoped she appeared to be.

“Give us a minute,” Detective Langdon said, popping out of the room before she could object. It wasn’t as if she had any pressing matters to deal with or anything. Just because she had bonded with Thatcher during their field trip didn’t mean her impatience would keep its head down. She waited for a few minutes, with tried calmness, until only Thatcher breezed in.

His thick eyebrows were furrowed—his lips thinned in contained anger. He sat down behind his desk and ran a hand through the dark mass of hair. The obvious frustration he was feeling put Sophia further on edge.

“Well?” she prompted. “What did Richard have to say?”

“That he won’t say anything else until his attorney arrives.” Well, she called that one. “But, I hadn’t expected anything different. With the amount of money that man has, I’m surprised he even talked to us as much as he did.” A sigh rumbled out.

“So, what now? Do you want me to go talk to him? I can try to—”

Thatcher held up his hand to silence her.

“Right now you need to answer some questions about your sister.”

“Fine.”

They were able to slip into the civil roles of detective and citizen as Thatcher asked a series of questions that would help him form a “psychological profile” on Lisa. Even though they believed Lisa hadn’t disappeared on her own accord, Thatcher had to still get a feel for the woman’s mental and emotional states as well as any health issues she might be experiencing. Sophia did her best to answer each question in an objective manner, but, the truth was, she couldn’t be sure how happy Lisa had been before the disappearance. Nor could she tell the man in full confidence that her sister had been upset.

“In general Lisa has always been an optimist,” she confessed. “She always smiled and had something nice to say growing up—compliments on the tip of her tongue at all times. It’s part of the reason why she charms everyone she meets.” Thatcher raised an eyebrow but lowered it before she continued. “Like I said before, the times I did talk with her she seemed genuinely happy while here in Culpepper.”

“Was there a particular reason she moved to Culpepper?” Sophia sent him a questioning look. “I only ask because you said the two of you were very close until this past year.”

A smile crept across her lips before she could stop it.

“Her moving to Culpepper had nothing to do with our relationship. Lisa and I were the best of friends—annoyingly inseparable.” Sophia hesitated on the past tense and sobered. “But Lisa hated Atlanta. I couldn’t blame her for leaving. She was passing through Culpepper on the way to a wedding almost two years ago when she said she fell in love with the town. She moved a few months later.”

“And you didn’t follow?”

“No, but she tried really hard to get me to.” Lisa had in fact boxed up Sophia’s room while she’d been at work. She’d just smiled when Sophia had started yelling.

I’m not moving, Lisa!

Why not? Your stuff is already packed! she’d reasoned. Sophia had found it annoying then, but now she couldn’t stop the ache in her heart.

“I don’t blame her,” Thatcher said under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I meant I don’t blame her for not liking the city. I’m not a big fan, either,” he said with conviction.

“It’s not too bad,” Sophia defended. “It can be lonely at times and the traffic leaves more to be desired, but the opportunities are great.”

“Lonely, huh? I take it you aren’t married, then.” It wasn’t a question and his eyes stayed down on his notes. Sophia picked at invisible lint on her pant leg and tried to keep her voice even.

“Not that it matters to this investigation but, no, I’m single.” A blush rose fast to her cheeks. Thatcher looked up. She had only meant to say she wasn’t married, not divulge that she was single and had bouts of loneliness.

“What about you?” Sophia wanted to stick her head in the sand. She had blurted the question in an attempt to save face. She had to give it to the detective, he answered without skipping a beat.

“No, I’m not married. Now, are there any health issues Lisa has that we should be worried about?” The change in subjects left her speechless for a moment, but still able to feel the heat in her cheeks, she finished the rest of his questions without any more awkward outbursts.

“The other two women who are missing...” she started after he closed his notebook.

“Amanda and Trixie.”

“Are their families being asked the same questions?”

Thatcher nodded.

“Amanda’s mother and Trixie’s boss are in the other rooms with Tom and Cara.” His cell phone started to vibrate against the desktop. The noise made Sophia jump. He didn’t notice as he read the message.

“What happens now that I’ve answered your questions?”

“Now we are going to go to each missing woman’s house and place of work.” He stood and stretched, his biceps rippling at the motion.

“All right.” She started to stand but he stopped her.

“By ‘we’ I mean Detective Langdon and myself. You can’t come this time and that’s final.”

“Then what do you want me to do? Sit here and twiddle my thumbs?”

“We have an all-points bulletin out on all three women. We have good men and women on the job, Miss Hardwick. You need to stay out of Lisa’s house until we’re done with the search but after that you can go wherever you please. There’s a diner down the road that has a great dinner special or you can stay here until we’re done with each search. It’s really up to you at this point.”

Sophia chewed the inside of her lip. Thatcher took her silence as compliance.

“I’ll let you know when we’re done at Lisa’s.”

The detectives left soon after while Sophia remained behind. She wanted to snoop to fill the void of helplessness within her but decided against it—she was in a police station after all. Cara, as she was told once again to call the officer, showed her to the restroom and then the break room. Unlike the many cop-related clichés found on TV, there were no doughnuts or cream-filled pastries. Instead she walked a block over and ate a burger at Sal’s Diner, all the while fighting the heat and humidity. Worry had taken her healthy eating habits and thrown them clear out the window. The walk back was more sluggish but she couldn’t deny she felt better having eaten.

An unfamiliar car was parked two spots next to her own when she rounded the station, though it didn’t take long for her to guess it belonged to Richard’s attorney. The BMW was black and slick and probably worth more than she made in two years. She hurried inside to see the new suit but was stopped by another man she hadn’t seen until now.

“Miss Hardwick,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Captain Jake Westin.” They shook—his hands were rough and large.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” The man wasn’t much taller than Sophia, but he exuded authority through his uniform and impeccable posture. She placed his age in the upper fifties.

“I wanted to let you know that we’re doing everything we can and we’ll find your sister.” His small smile wasn’t charming but it was infused with confidence. She nodded and thanked him. “I’m afraid I can’t talk long. I have a meeting with Mr. Vega and his attorney.”

“I understand,” she said before shaking his hand once more. Though his grip was solid, she couldn’t help but compare it to Detective Thatcher’s. “Let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“Will do.” He turned and then disappeared into the conference room—all blinds were closed over the windows. If Cara and another cop hadn’t been in the room with her, Sophia would have pressed her ear against the door to listen.

The Florida sun raged on as the hours dwindled into night before Sophia finally left the station. She had stayed around to see what would happen with Richard, but Captain Westin hadn’t come out of the room by the time Thatcher had called to give the okay to go back to Lisa’s house. She had even waited another half hour but decided it was a lost cause for the moment. With Richard’s attorney in there, the man had probably not even spoken yet. She said a quick goodbye to Cara and headed to her car.

Sophia’s adrenaline from the day’s events was also on the decline. She hadn’t lost her drive to find Lisa, in fact it felt stronger than ever knowing even Captain Westin was personally involved, but she couldn’t deny the weight of exhaustion settling on her shoulders.

She was practical enough to realize that she was no help to her older sister if she was constantly battling the droop of her eyelids.

Lisa lived in Pebblebrook, a neighborhood on the outskirts of town. It was a community of nice brick houses, man-made ponds and flowers galore. There always seemed to be a mother and her children walking the seemingly unending sidewalks—geared up to lose weight and release toddler-induced stress. When Lisa had moved into the neighborhood two years before, she hadn’t been able to hide her happiness. It was a giant leap above her last apartment.

Sophia drove on autopilot deeper into Pebblebrook’s belly with the soft sounds of a local talk radio show in the background. Since she didn’t have as much to contribute in the ways of police detection, she was already forming a proactive to-do list in her head.

Check Lisa’s house more thoroughly.

Go to Lisa’s work and search for a work schedule or appointment books.

Get an update from Detective Thatcher—

Her train of thought derailed. Thatcher’s voice when he promised to find her sister blanketed the ever-present fear inside her, comforting Sophia for the moment. She believed his sincerity—it was strong and determined. His blue eyes had pierced her own with a ferocity to undo all of the bad and replace it with the good. The reaction had been a lot more than Sophia had expected from the small-town detective.

However, the fact remained, Lisa was her sister, not his. He hadn’t grown up with her, cared for her, been there at the lowest points in life or the highest. He didn’t know that her favorite movie was The Little Mermaid or that she was deathly afraid of owls. He didn’t know about the scar across her ankle that she had gotten from falling off a swing set when she was nine or that, despite their rocky childhood, she had always been kind to their mother. Detective Thatcher didn’t know Lisa, so he couldn’t love her the way Sophia did.

No matter how dedicated he was to his job, he would never have the drive she had to make sure Lisa was found.

It was almost six by the time she pulled into 302 Grandview Court. The street was the farthest from the entrance to Pebblebrook, all houses backed up a thick stretch of woods, and all Sophia could hear were insects and frogs—the music of the South. The loud but subtle sound annoyed her, as it always had. In the city there were still the sounds of insects but car horns and loud neighbors drowned them out. Here, there were no such distractions.

Lisa lived in a single-family home that was a mix between contemporary and ranch-style. Alternating shades of beige and brown brick wrapped around the three-bedroom, two-bath home while a well-tended garden lined the entryway. Sophia didn’t know how Lisa had kept the plants alive and healthy. If it had been her garden, there would be more weeds than flowers and a lot less color—she just didn’t have enough patience to have a green thumb. The inside of the house, admittedly, made Sophia a little green with envy.

The entryway led past an open front room and into an open-floor-plan kitchen, dining area and living room. Off the kitchen was a hallway with the two guest bedrooms and a full bath; off the living room was the very large master bedroom and en suite. Plus a walk-in closet that was bigger than Sophia’s bedroom in her apartment. It wasn’t enough that the house was large, but it was also upgraded. Granite countertops, dark-wood cabinets, vaulted-and-tray ceilings with exposed wooden beams, and hardwood throughout. The house had been done to the nines. It was beautiful.

Sophia felt a stab of guilt as the green monster inside poked his nose up into the air. She should be happy that her sister lived in such a nice house—that she had such a nice life. However, Sophia couldn’t swallow the lump that Richard had had a hand in securing the house. It would have been different if he also lived there but he stayed in his mansion on Loop Road. Sophia may have lived in a tiny apartment but it was a tiny apartment she had earned, not been handed. Lisa, although older, had always skirted the line of earning things versus being handed them—something made easier by her good looks and charm.

Sophia sighed.

This was an old fight between the Hardwick sisters, a useless, petty one now that Lisa was missing.

Sophia grabbed her duffel and changed into a striped tank top, blue jeans and a pair of Nikes. Relinquishing the heels and stuffy pantsuit was a welcomed feeling. There was no boss here that she was trying to impress, no promotion she was chasing with professional work wear and impeccable posture. She was in a safe zone—one lacking work-related worry yet lined with stress-induced questions about Lisa’s future.

Packing had been quick and careless. She noticed the absence of her shampoo, razor and sleep clothes, though they hadn’t seemed too important at the time. She wondered if it was a note about her character that she hadn’t forgotten her work laptop. She rummaged through the bag until she found her cell phone charger. It wasn’t like anyone was anxiously awaiting her to text or call but with Lisa out there, she wanted it to at least be fully charged. She plugged the ancient phone into a wall socket before stretching wide.

Even though sleep had been a rational thought, Sophia couldn’t bring herself to settle down. All notions of getting some rest had evaporated. Instead she found the coffee and thanked the high heavens that there was enough creamer left for one cup. One very large cup. With the silky goodness sliding down her throat and warming her belly, she decided to search the house again.

She went through each room much slower than when she had first blown into town, searching high and low for any clue that could peg a time frame or place Lisa had gone to. The detectives left the house in the same order they had found it, thankfully, and this time around she was able to note the details—the decorations that made the house innately Lisa’s.

The front room had been set up as an office. A desk and bookcase lined one wall while a bright blue love seat sat opposite. From first glance there was nothing that screamed, “This is where I went and this is who took me!” There was also no laptop, just a pristine area of minimal clutter.

Sophia opened the desk drawers and searched its contents. She found coupons for a clothing store two cities over, enough sticky notes to create a note-taking army, and bundles of multicolored pens scattered throughout. Lisa had always loved what she called “nontraditional” pens.

“They dare to be different!” she would say after signing a check with electric-green ink or writing her name in a birthday card with an annoyingly loud shade of fuchsia. It was a habit she had picked up in grade school and hadn’t been able to shake since. When Sophia was little she had been so angry with her sister that she’d replaced the colorful pens for a ten-pack of black and blues. To this day she had never seen Lisa so angry. The then-girl had turned such a bright shade of red, she would have probably liked to add it to her collection of odd inks.

Sophia took care to shut the drawers without snapping or pinching the writing utensils. If Lisa came back to find them busted open it would be another round of older-sibling rage.... She paused. When Lisa came back.

Picture frames and knickknacks lined the bookcase. From little elephant figurines to frozen scenes of Lisa, Sophia, friends she didn’t know and even Richard. The two of them were pressed together in an intimate hug—both smiling, both happy. Another pang of jealousy twisted in her stomach. She physically tried to tamp it down with her hand. There was no time or reason for her to be envious again.

The guest bedrooms were also unhelpful. They both housed a bed and night tables but were neat and orderly—no one had stayed in them recently. The guest bathroom told the same story as well as the pantry and refrigerator. Both were barely stocked. She moved through the living room, warily eyeing the yellow sectional and glass coffee table that was decorated with neon-colored candles, and once again was met with the master suite.

If ever a room could capture the essence of Lisa Gale Hardwick, it was this room. The walls were a light pink that traveled up and across the double-tray ceiling while white trim lined the two windowsills on either side of the bed. That bed. It was a king-size, another luxury Sophia hadn’t been able to experience yet, covered in a loud pink silk comforter with flowers of varying sizes sewn in. There were six fuzzy pillows piled high, all neon green, yellow, orange and pink. They were soft to the touch. Sophia smiled.

She remembered how annoyed she used to be at Lisa’s love for pillows. Even though their bedroom was small and they each had a twin-size bed, there always seemed to be more pillows than bedroom. The older Hardwick would pile them high during the day only to throw them on the floor between their beds during the night. It had driven Sophia crazy.

But you’ll sure thank me if you roll out of bed while you’re asleep, she would say. If that didn’t appease the younger, grumpier girl, Lisa would go as far as to demonstrate by rolling out of bed. She would laugh as the pillows cushioned the fall. See? I’m kind of brilliant. If this second attempt still didn’t work, she would tug Sophia down with her. No matter her mood, this always did the trick. She would laugh and feel the sisterly bond that connected them. Over the years it became a skit between them—an inside joke. Sophia hadn’t realized how much she missed those moments until now, staring at a much bigger bed, standing in a much bigger room.

Her lips went slack, the smile fading. She put the pillow back, wanting to stop the trip down memory lane and find the lost woman instead. If there were no clues to find in the house, she would just have to continue the search elsewhere.

The coffee was doing its wonderful job. It pumped energy throughout Sophia’s body like water down a twisty slide. The heaviness in her eyelids had been replaced by an almost nervous twitch as she hopped into her car and drove down the road, fingers drumming against the steering wheel along with an alternative rock song she didn’t quite know and her mind set on Details. Most of Culpepper were getting into bed, their heads heavy but hearts happy that Friday was only a deep sleep away.

The rest of the house search had been uneventful. There were no hints or clues to where Lisa had gone or why, but Sophia hadn’t been too surprised—the house looked barely lived in. If there was anything she had left behind it was either at her work or at Richard’s house. She didn’t know how either search would go considering Richard and his motley crew of “friends” had probably already gone through both, but she wanted to try. Once she went through Details, she would be giving Richard a call.

The sound of buzzing made Sophia swerve. Her heart thudded hard as she reached for her cell phone, expectations high. An unknown local number flashed on the screen.

“Hello?” she answered, hope pouring through the sound.

“Sophia Hardwick?” The hope that her sister was on the other end of the line evaporated as the man answered.

“This is she.”

“It’s Detective Braydon Thatcher, sorry to call so late.” A new feeling of alarm followed.

“Have you found Lisa?” She wanted and didn’t want an answer. What if they had found her and she was—

“No, but we’re working hard on that.” She let out a breath. “I wanted to—” There was a pause. Sophia pulled the phone out to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. “I just wanted to check in. How are you doing?”

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