“Shanna, we got a hit on one of the prints at the crime scene,” the lab technician said.

“Who is it?” she asked eagerly, glancing at Quinn beside her. An identity would get them one step closer to finding the killer.

“This is going to be a bit of a shock,” the technician continued. “We have a set of fingerprints matching a child who’s been missing for fourteen years.”

A child? Missing for fourteen years? No. Oh, no. Her stomach twisted. She grabbed the edge of the doorframe for support. “Who?”

“Your sister. Skylar Dawson.”

Skylar. It was Shanna’s fault her little sister had been kidnapped fourteen years ago. Her fault that her parents had divorced, destroying what was left of their family. After fourteen years of not knowing anything, those fingerprints meant that Skylar was alive!

But her sister’s prints were found at the crime scene, which made her one of the many suspects in Quinn’s half brother’s death.

Dear Reader,

I’ve always been fascinated by the forensic work of crime-scene investigators. Science was my favorite subject in college, and I’m impressed at how tiny microscopic details can assist in capturing the bad guys. As a result, I decided to make CSI work the focus of my next few stories.

Shanna Dawson carries a secret guilt—she knows it’s her fault her younger sister was kidnapped fourteen years ago. Shanna believes Skylar is likely dead, even though the FBI has never found her, and becomes a CSI investigator to help bring other victims the closure she’d never have.

Campus police officer Quinn Murphy is no stranger to guilt, especially when his younger half brother is murdered at a college party. When Shanna’s missing sister’s fingerprints show up at Quinn’s brother’s crime scene, he decides Shanna’s sister is the missing link to his brother’s murderer.

Past secrets, guilt, love and faith are the main themes in Proof of Life. I hope you enjoy Shanna and Quinn’s story. I’m always thrilled to hear from my readers, and I can be reached through my website at www.laurascottbooks.com.

Yours in faith,

Laura Scott

Give thanks to the Lord for He is good;

His love endures forever.

—1 Chronicles 16:34

Proof of Life

Laura Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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This book is dedicated with love to my son Jon. I hope you know how proud I am of the kind and generous young man you’ve become.

ONE

Crime-scene investigator Shanna Dawson paused on the threshold to gather her bearings. The dilapidated four-room house reeked of stale beer, cigarette smoke, greasy fast food and the rancid horror of death. As a CSI, she was more accustomed to the latter than the former.

The interior of the house, located a few blocks from Carlyle University, a private college outside of Chicago, was a pigsty; fast-food containers, smelly clothes, dirty dishes and empty beer cans were strewn everywhere. Talk about a CSI’s nightmare.

For a moment she imagined the kids who lived there. The victim, Brady Wallace, was a young college student who shared the place with three other guys. Yet despite the mess, she imagined this was the type of place the so-called popular kids would gravitate to for parties. A college student’s version of fun and excitement.

Not hers, though. During her four years of college she’d never been invited to student gatherings. The party scene had never appealed to her. She was too serious, too introspective to indulge in lighthearted activities.

Fun hadn’t been a part of her world in a long time.

Suppressing a sigh, she got to work. There was so much evidence to collect, she’d easily be here for hours. As she walked through the foyer and into the living room, she overheard two cops arguing.

“This is a homicide investigation, Murphy. Campus police don’t have jurisdiction over homicides.”

“I know. But this incident occurred on my turf. Give me a break, Nelson. The victim is my brother.”

“Half brother,” the detective corrected.

“Brother just the same.” The campus cop, Murphy, was stubborn. After a long moment where it seemed the homicide cop wasn’t going to give in, Murphy sighed and scrubbed a hand along his bristly jaw. “At least give me the courtesy of keeping me informed of the details of your investigation.”

Murphy snagged her attention, mostly because he was the victim’s half brother and because he didn’t look much like the local campus cops she was used to. And not just because of his tall, broad-shouldered good looks. His body appeared to be pure muscle, and he wore his wheat-blond hair military short. His face wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense but bore deeply worn grooves of experience, as if he’d carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. His green eyes held the shadows of a deep pain she could relate to. She was inexplicably drawn to him, as if he might be a kindred soul, but she forced herself to turn away, examining the crime scene.

Brady Wallace’s body was lying on the floor, in the walkway between the living room and the kitchen. His bright red hair was matted with blood, the left side of his skull concave where it had been crushed. A heavy marble rugby trophy was lying on the floor beside him, the four-by-four-inch base covered with hair and blood. She imagined microscopic evidence would confirm the blood and tissue matched the victim’s scalp.

The position of the body was distinctive. Why was he lying on the floor, in the walkway between the living room and kitchen? Had he run from his attacker? Or had he been on his way to the kitchen for something to eat when someone clubbed him from behind?

And who could hate a college student enough to kill him?

Brady was young, barely twenty. The callous waste of a young life always upset her. She’d grown up believing in God, but over the years had drifted away from the church and her faith. And at times like this, when she faced the hard edge of death, she really couldn’t understand God’s plan. What had this kid done to deserve death? She couldn’t imagine. Feeling slightly sick, she glanced back over at the two cops who’d fallen silent as they’d registered her presence. She forced a professional expression on her face as she faced their curious stares. “Who found the body?”

“One of his roommates, Kyle Ryker.” Murphy’s face was bleak as he scanned the room. “Four boys live here—the victim, Brady Wallace, and three others—Kyle Ryker, Dennis Green and Mark Pickard.”

“They must have had a party last night,” she murmured with a wry sigh. Saturday nights were big party nights, so she shouldn’t be surprised. “I’d hate to think the place always looks like this.”

Murphy grimaced and lifted a shoulder. “It’s not much better on any other day. But you’re right—they did have a party, one that apparently lasted until the wee hours of the morning. According to Kyle, Brady was alive at four in the morning, when Kyle went upstairs to crash for what was left of the night. When Kyle came down to get something to eat from the kitchen about nine-thirty, he tripped over Brady’s body.”

As Brady’s half brother, Murphy obviously had a personal stake in solving this crime. She felt a tug of sympathy. She knew better than anyone how difficult it was to deal with the violent aftermath of a crime that hit too close to home.

“I’m Detective Hank Nelson.” The older cop, wearing the ill-fitting polyester suit coat, quickly introduced himself. “And this is University Campus Police Officer Quinn Murphy. I’ll be taking the lead on this homicide investigation.”

She understood the implied order and gave both men a brief nod. “Shanna Dawson, crime-scene investigator. My boss, Eric Turner, will be joining me shortly. If you gentlemen wouldn’t mind stepping outside, I’d like to get to work.”

The two cops exchanged a long look as if debating their right to stay, but in the end they both turned and headed for the door.

“Officer Murphy?” she called, before they could both disappear.

He turned toward her, his eyebrow raised questioningly. “Yes?”

“I’d like to talk to you later, if you have time.” She knew Detective Hank Nelson would do the full investigation into all aspects of Brady’s life, but she was curious to know more about Brady. Her methods might be somewhat unorthodox, but the more she understood the victim, the better job she’d do with her investigation. As the victim’s brother, Murphy would be a great source of information.

“Of course.” He came over to hand her his campus police business card. “Call me when you’re finished processing things here.”

“I will.” She pocketed the card and watched him leave. When she was alone, she picked up the camera around her neck and began to record the initial evidence of the crime scene.

Quinn Murphy would mourn his half brother’s passing, but at least he had the comfort of knowing what happened. Maybe not the who or the why, but the rest. All some families knew was that a loved one had disappeared. They never knew if their loved one was dead or alive, at peace or living in some awful situation, praying for salvation and longing for home.

Shanna took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking off the painful memories of the past. She’d made it her mission over the years to bring families closure. To bring the comfort of knowledge. The peace of acceptance. Today she’d collect every possible clue, piece together as much of the puzzle as she could until she discovered who killed Brady Wallace and why. She’d do whatever was possible to help Brady’s family begin to heal.

Even though there were many wounds that never could.

“It’s going to take us forever to dust for prints,” her boss pointed out in exasperation. “The kids had a party on Saturday night, and there were probably at least fifty people in and out of this place. How on earth are we going to isolate anything useful?”

Eric was right—this was a long shot for sure. “The police are interviewing the roommates, trying to get a list of party attendees together. I believe this is personal, likely someone with a grudge against Brady.” She glanced around the filthy room, imagining how the events might have played out. “I have a hunch this kid knew his attacker. To have this happen after a party doesn’t come across as premeditated, but more like a crime of opportunity, as if Brady was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Using the trophy to bash in his head could have been a simple act of rage or revenge. I’d like to start by dusting Brady’s bedroom and the living room for prints.”

Eric let out another sigh. “It just seems like a lot of effort for very little payoff. But you’re right, the logical place to start is the bedroom and crime scene.”

She nodded and went back to work. Her back ached from being hunched over for the past several hours, but she ignored the discomfort, concentrating on finding the proverbial needle in the haystack.

As she worked, her mind drifted to Quinn Murphy. Had he broken the distressing news of Brady’s death to the rest of his family? Considering Brady had a different last name than him, she assumed they shared a mother rather than a father. Did Brady have other siblings? Were they huddled close right now, drawing love and support from each other?

She dragged her mind from things that didn’t concern her, satisfied when she managed to find a few isolated prints on the rugby trophy, as well as other parts of the room. She did better up in Brady’s room, where there was less clutter. Her boss grimaced but helped her collect the beer cans to check for prints. By the time they were finished, they’d probably have more suspects than they’d know what to do with.

Suspects that may or may not lead to the identity of the killer, since there was no guarantee Brady’s murderer had left prints at the scene. Still, they didn’t have much else to work from. Hair fibers were as much of a nightmare as dusting for prints because of the number of people who’d been in the house, not to mention that Dennis Green’s cat shed like crazy in a house that had rarely if ever seen a vacuum.

Running all the fingerprints and hair fibers would take time, so she sent the strips and samples off to the lab for the techs to start working on, prioritizing the ones from the trophy and Brady’s room. At the very least, they’d discover if any of the partygoers had criminal records.

Outside, she paused at her car, glancing down at Quinn Murphy’s card, debating whether to talk to him now or to go home first to shower and change. She was hungry, having worked the crime scene for almost eight hours straight.

Home first, she decided. Then she’d contact Quinn.

She pulled up to her house, pausing at the mailbox on her way into the driveway. Sometimes she became so lost in her active cases that she forgot to pick up her mail. Today was Sunday, but had she picked it up yesterday? She didn’t think so. When she opened the box, she found it was jammed full. As she pulled everything out, a small white envelope with her name printed on the outside, with no postage stamp or return address, made her heart pound heavily in her chest.

Another note. The third in the past two weeks.

She stared at it for a long minute, wishing it was nothing more than a figment of her imagination. But of course it wasn’t. She headed inside the house. Even though she was tired and hungry, she used her own kit to dust for prints. She wasn’t surprised not to find any.

She hadn’t found prints on the previous two notes, either.

Trepidation burned as she opened the envelope flap. Slowly she withdrew the single piece of paper. The message was brief: “I’m coming for you.”

Four little words. She dropped the card, struggling to breathe normally as fear clogged her throat. So far, each of the notes she’d received bore a different message.

Guilty as charged.

I’m watching you.

I’m coming for you.

Her knees went weak and she sank into a kitchen chair, struggling not to let fear overwhelm her. Who was doing this? And why? She wanted to think it was some person’s strange idea of a joke, but the sinister tone of the notes wasn’t easily shrugged off.

Which is exactly what the creep intended. He wanted to scare her. He wanted her to panic. Only a coward would send anonymous notes in the first place. And since she didn’t have any men in her life, hadn’t so much as had one significant long-term relationship, this had to be connected to her job.

She’d gone through all of her most recent cases, trying to figure out which one may have caused someone to fixate on her. The most likely case was one that had wrapped up two weeks ago, garnering her some media attention. Shanna usually preferred to work behind the scenes, but in this case, the investigation of a well-known cardiac surgeon’s murder had cast her reluctantly into the limelight.

The trial had been difficult but her evidence had been solid, and in the end her testimony had caused the jury to find the surgeon’s ex-wife, Jessica Markoviack, guilty of murder. But Jessica couldn’t be the stalker, since she was currently serving a life sentence in an all-female state prison.

A friend of Jessica’s, perhaps? If she remembered right, Jessica had a boyfriend, a guy named Clay Allen who hadn’t been involved in the murder, at least according to the evidence. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of doing the deed. She needed to go back through her case notes, to refresh her memory of the guy’s background. He was a viable suspect, someone who had a reason to carry a grudge against her.

Fear gave way to anger as she rose to her feet. Maybe it was time to bring the police into this. The first two notes had been creepy but not outright threatening.

I’m coming for you.

She ground her teeth and turned her back on the note. She’d call the police, even though she knew there was little they could do. Hadn’t she already tried to trace the origin of the white cards herself? There was nothing special about them, they were commonly stocked in every office supply store in the area.

Leaving the white card smudged with dark fingerprint powder on the table, she headed down the hall to the bathroom. First she’d shower, and then scrounge around for something to eat. It was only seven-thirty, and she still wanted to interview Quinn.

Focusing her attention on Brady’s death would help her to ignore the eerie feeling of someone watching her, no doubt already planning his next move.

Quinn Murphy read through the extensive list of names of all the kids who’d attended Brady’s party. The letters blurred and he had to blink to focus.

He rubbed his eyes, forcing himself to stay awake, even though he’d been up for the past thirty-six hours straight. There were already forty-one names on the list, and he was certain there were more that had been forgotten. Kids who’d come only for a few minutes, or those who blended into the woodwork to the point no one ever remembered.

Had the murderer stood back, watching? Waiting for the right moment to strike? He had no way of knowing. Wishing there was at least one solid lead to go on, he picked up the list again. Brady’s girlfriend’s name was glaringly absent. Anna Belfast had gotten hysterical when he’d told her about Brady’s death. No college student, even one in the theater program, could be that good of an actress.

Anna won the lead role of Hannah in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers and had done a performance at the theater starting at seven o’clock the night of the party. She’d been irritated that Brady hadn’t come to see her and claimed she’d refused to go to his party afterward, choosing to attend a cast get-together after the show instead.

Her alibi was solid, confirmed by several other theater students. Although the suspicious part of his mind insisted there was likely time for her to come to Brady’s party after the cast get-together had broken up. Had Anna come to the party to find Brady with another girl? Her roommate, Maggie Carson, also had a role in the play and claimed Anna had come home right afterward, but there was a chance Maggie had lied to cover for Anna. Or Anna could have slipped out even later, after her roommate fell asleep.

Sweet little Anna didn’t seem to be the type to bash Brady in the head, but her on-again, off-again relationship with his little brother was enough to keep her on the suspect list.

They didn’t have the official report confirming the time of death, but the coroner at the scene had estimated it to be somewhere between five and seven in the morning.

His phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He frowned. The number wasn’t one he recognized, but he answered it anyway. “Murphy.”

“Officer Murphy, this is Shanna Dawson. I’m sorry to call you so late, but the crime scene took much longer than normal to process.”

“I’m not surprised.” He could easily believe that going through the party mess had taken several long hours. He glanced at his watch and realized it wasn’t as late as it felt—just eight-thirty.

“If you’re still available, I’d love to talk to you. But if you’d rather wait until tomorrow, I’d certainly understand.”

He pursed his lips, thinking fast. The polite thing to do would be to wait until morning. Shanna had to be as exhausted as he was. But he also knew he wouldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest until he’d done everything possible to find Brady’s killer.

“Tonight is fine.” He didn’t want to let her off the hook, and there was always the chance she’d give him some details on what they’d found. “Where would you like to meet?”

There was a slight pause before she responded, “I’ll meet you at Karly’s Kitchen on Dublin Street.”

“Sounds good. I can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks.”

He actually made it in fifteen, but Shanna must live even closer because he found her already seated at a booth, nursing a cup of coffee. He slid in across from her, glancing up as the waitress approached. “I’ll have some coffee, too, thanks.”

Shanna’s face was pale and drawn, as if she’d taken Brady’s death as personally as he had. With her wavy dark hair, alabaster skin and wide blue eyes, she reminded him more of a kindergarten teacher than a CSI. Maybe it was the air of innocence clinging to her. He’d thought most law-enforcement types became hardened by the brutal evidence of violence, but Shanna’s personality didn’t seem to have that distinctive hard edge.

She summoned a smile. “How are you?” she surprised him by asking. “Is your family doing all right?”

Amazed that she cared enough to ask, he sat back in his seat. She couldn’t know he wasn’t really a part of the family, not in the way she’d meant. His mother had pretty much abandoned him when she’d divorced his father, but over the years he’d made an effort to mend the rift between them, especially once his father died. No matter what, though, he was still an outsider. His mother had found a new life with her second husband, James Wallace, and his half-siblings, Brady and Ivy, were the joys of her life.

And now Brady was dead.

He’d given his mother the news, taking the brunt of her anger and frustration as she railed at him. Knowing that she would have preferred if he was the one who’d died instead of Brady was difficult to ignore.

“I—my mother is taking Brady’s death pretty hard, as you can imagine.” He tried to soften his gruff tone. He didn’t hold a grudge against Brady, even though the kid had been offered every opportunity possible to succeed in life. More than Quinn had been given, that’s for sure. But Brady was basically a good kid.

As Quinn had gotten older, he’d understood how his very presence reminded his mother of her dismal marriage to his father. A fact that was indirectly his fault, since she’d only married his father because she’d gotten pregnant with him.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Shanna surprised him again by reaching across the table to touch the back of his hand in a simple gesture meant to offer comfort. “I’ll do everything possible to find Brady’s murderer.”

“I know.” He was impressed by her staunch dedication. And her empathy. Shanna looked young, barely twenty, although he figured with her training and experience she must be at least in her mid-to-late twenties. She was beautiful, her long wavy hair framing a heart-shaped face. The flicker of awareness annoyed him; he was here to help solve Brady’s murder, nothing more. “Thanks.”

She began the drill, asking about his half brother’s life, going over all of Brady’s friends and roommates. He gave her everything he knew, which wasn’t all that much, since Brady had resented having his older half brother as a campus cop. Brady had kept his distance from Quinn as much as possible. Especially after Quinn had been the one to bust one of Brady’s parties a month earlier.

If he’d known about this party last night, he would have busted it, too. And then maybe his brother would still be alive.

Just another reason to feel guilty. Although it wasn’t like he was sitting around doing nothing. He’d been investigating a potential sexual assault on a young female student instead.

He pulled his mind to the matter at hand. He told Shanna everything he knew, although it wasn’t anything different from what he’d told the detective. Still, working with Shanna as they reviewed the list of kids who’d attended the party made him feel as if he were part of the investigation instead of an innocent bystander.

At ten o’clock, she yawned so wide her jaw popped, and he realized he’d selfishly kept her up long enough. “It’s late—we’d better go.”

She nodded, signaling the waitress to bring their bill. He knew she intended to pay, but he took the bill from the waitress anyway. “My treat.”

Shanna frowned. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Please, I want to.” She couldn’t know how much he’d needed to talk to her tonight, to be involved at least this much in the investigation. Besides, he couldn’t get into the idea of allowing a woman to pay. Call it old-fashioned, but he didn’t care. He stood, waiting for her to precede him out of the diner.

Outside, there were only a few other cars in the postage stamp-size parking lot. His SUV was on the far left end, but she turned toward the right, where a red Toyota Camry was parked next to a row of bushes.

“Thanks, Quinn,” she said, formally shaking his hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Sure.” Her hand felt small and fragile in his and he released it reluctantly. He followed, intent on making sure she got safely into her car. She only took a few steps though, before suddenly stopping.

She whirled around, coming back toward him. She grabbed his arm in a tight grip. “Do you see him?” she asked in a low, urgent tone. “Do you see the man standing next to my car?”

“Man?” He peered over her shoulder, not seeing any sign of a person, male or otherwise. Had her exhausted mind played tricks on her? “Relax, it’s okay. I don’t see anyone.”

“Are you saying I imagined him?” The sharp edge to her tone made him lift a curious brow.

“No, I believe you. But I don’t see him now. Maybe he disappeared behind those bushes.”

Abruptly, she let go of his arm, swinging back to stare at her car. “He’s gone. I can’t believe I didn’t get a better look at him.”

Her tone was fierce and brave, but he noticed the slight trembling of her hands. He didn’t blame her for being scared; there was no acceptable reason for a man to loiter around a woman’s car at ten o’clock at night. Even if she had imagined the guy, he figured she was entitled after such a long day. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“I’m fine.” She started toward her car with a firm stride, but didn’t protest when he caught up to her.

A small white card with her name printed on the outside was stuck beneath the wiper blade on the driver’s side. Obviously, her mystery man wasn’t her imagination after all.

She gasped in shock and stopped short, staring at the evidence.

“Don’t touch anything,” he ordered. “We need to call the police, see if we can get some fingerprints off this.”

“Don’t bother.” Her tone was matter of fact.

“What do you mean, don’t bother?” What sort of CSI expert was she? “Why not?”

“Because I’ve gotten several others just like it, and he hasn’t left any prints yet.”

TWO

Quinn wasn’t happy when Shanna insisted on driving home, but he followed right behind her as they went the couple of blocks to her house. She lived in a nice, if older, suburb of Chicago, where the houses were small and the lots even smaller, yet well-groomed. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, anxious to get to the bottom of this.

The brief glimpse of fear in Shanna’s eyes tugged at him. He’d seen the same haunted expression in the young freshman’s eyes last night, after the attack. His stomach squeezed. He didn’t like the possibility of Shanna suffering a similar experience. Thankfully, the mystery man had only left a note and hadn’t touched her.

Some people felt that campus police officers weren’t the real deal, hiding from the true crime that stalked the city streets. He’d done his stint as a city cop for over six years. Now he preferred to proactively protect the younger, innocent college kids rather than taking criminals off the street, knowing there was always another cop eager to take his place.

He pulled into Shanna’s driveway right behind her, and hurried out of his car to stop her from going inside. “Stay back. I want to check things out first.”

She pushed his hand away. “I’m a trained law-enforcement officer,” she protested.

“Yeah, but I’m armed.” And he’d noticed she wasn’t, at least not at the restaurant. She had carried a gun while she was investigating the crime scene as all CSIs were required to do. But knowing she was a trained officer didn’t matter. For some reason, this woman raised his protective instincts to full alert.

She stared at him for a long minute and then took a step back, allowing him to take the lead. While she hovered behind him, he took the key from her fingers and ventured inside. The layout was a simple ranch design; the side door entered into the kitchen. The front door opened into the living room, and then there was a short hallway leading to the bedrooms.

The light over the kitchen sink was burning bright so he swept his gaze over the room, listening intently. His gut told him the place was empty, but he went through each room anyway, just to make sure.

When he finished, he headed back to the kitchen. Three notes were sitting in the center of the table. He leaned over, read them and then looked up at her askance. “Have you called the police about these threats?”

She winced and shook her head, her arms wrapped around her torso as if she were cold. “Not yet. I was going to, though. That last one came today. I mean, yesterday.” She frowned. “Actually, I don’t exactly know what day it came, because I sometimes forget to pick up the mail.”

“So you received a note and still drove out to meet me tonight?” His fingers curled into helpless fists at her foolishness. “Are you crazy?”

Her shrug was nonchalant. “Working on Brady’s case helped keep my mind off my problems.”

A stalker wasn’t just any old problem. He was tempted to snap at her, but realized Shanna was a trained law-enforcement agent, just like he was. She could take care of herself.

So why did he want to do that for her?

Because he was tempted to pull her into the shelter of his arms in a gesture of comfort, he forced himself to stay where he was, keeping a safe distance between them.

“Do you have any idea who’s sending these?” he asked in a low tone. “A jilted boyfriend? Someone at work that you refused to go out with?”

She made a strangled sound. “No. I haven’t been seeing anyone, no ex-boyfriends. No one’s been bothering me. My personal life is dull and uneventful. To be honest, I’ve already concluded the notes have to be related to one of my cases.”

He shouldn’t have been relieved to know there wasn’t a man in her life, just as he shouldn’t have noticed how vulnerable she’d looked when she’d admitted the boring details of her past. Why was such a pretty woman leading a dull and uneventful life? Her personal life was none of his business, but he wanted to know just the same. He kept his voice firm. “You need to call the police.”

“You’re the police,” she joked weakly.

“Shanna.” He moved closer, lifting his hand to brush her hair away from her cheek. “You know I don’t have jurisdiction here. You need to call this in, before this guy gets too close.”

For a moment she simply stared at him with something forlorn in her gaze, but then she pulled back and straightened her shoulders. “Don’t worry. I won’t let him get to me.”

He wanted to believe her. But that hint of vulnerability made him hesitate. Maybe because he was a pushover for a woman in distress. Yet she seemed just as determined to stand alone. A part of him admired her independence while another part of him was annoyed at her stubborn foolishness.

“Are you going to call the police?” he asked for the third time.

“Not right now. It’s late. I’ll wait until the morning. This isn’t an emergency and there isn’t anything they’re going to be able to do about the notes tonight. Especially since I can’t even give them a reasonable description of the suspect.”

He knew she was right, but that didn’t make it any easier for him to leave. He glanced around her small living room. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine.” The underlying steel in her tone finally convinced him.

“Okay, but do me a favor.” He held her gaze, imploring her to listen to reason. “Close and lock every window.”

She grimaced and nodded. “I like having the cool fresh air from outside coming through the windows, but I’ll manage without for tonight,” she reluctantly agreed.

He waited until she’d gone through every room, closing and locking the windows. Standing in the kitchen, his gaze continued to linger on the notes.

Who could have sent them? And why? Someone who liked to play games, obviously. Mind games. The thought caused a sick feeling to settle in his gut.

“All set?” he asked when she came back toward him.

“Yes. Thanks for following me home.”

“You’re welcome.” He forced himself to walk toward the side door. “You have my cell-phone number. Promise you’ll call if you need anything.”

She smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

He told himself she was right. She would be fine. Outside he paused and listened, satisfied to hear the dead bolt click into place. He headed toward his car, glancing back to look at her house. She’d shut off most of the lights, except maybe the one in her bedroom, which he couldn’t see from the street.

He slid behind the wheel and backed out of her driveway, intent on going home when he saw a car moving slowly down the street. Too slowly. Heart thudding in his chest, he pulled over to the side of the road, holding his breath as he waited. The car passed him by, turning into a driveway several houses down. The garage door opened, and the car disappeared inside.

“Idiot,” he muttered to himself. He was exhausted, had been up for over forty hours straight, but he couldn’t just go home.

Shutting off the car, he pulled the key out of the ignition and leaned his seat as far back as it could go. He cracked the windows so he could hear better, knowing he was going to spend the night here, watching over Shanna, despite her refusal to accept his help.

He was too tired to drive anyway.

Slouched in his car, he stared at Shanna’s dark house, wondering about her. Why was she so alone when she lived in a nice neighborhood that seemed like the perfect place to raise a family? The pain shadowing her eyes hadn’t all been from the notes, he was certain. Yet as much as he wanted to protect her, she seemed just as determined to brush off his help.

Rubbing his eyes, he briefly wished for peace rather than being haunted by the demons in his past. His dad had been a city cop for years. Hunting drug runners, witnessing armed robberies and murders, had taken its toll. His dad had turned to booze, ignoring the abuse he’d inflicted on his body until one day Quinn had come home to find his dad crumpled on the bathroom floor, lying in a pool of blood.

He’d called 911 but had already known it was too late. According to the coroner, his dad had been throwing up blood from some burst blood vessel in his esophagus, and had literally choked on it before he’d died.

The memory haunted him ever since.

Quinn had always avoided alcohol, but then he went a step further, giving up the stress of being a city cop to join the university campus police force. His mother had wanted him to get out of law enforcement altogether, claiming his dad’s job had ruined their marriage, but he couldn’t do it.

There was a part of him that needed to know he made a difference in the world, no matter how small and insignificant it may be.

His attraction to Shanna, though, forced him to remember all the reasons he veered away from relationships. He wasn’t a safe bet, and not just because of his family history of alcoholism. He knew from firsthand experience that women wanted a man who came home every night. Men who weren’t in danger. Men who didn’t obsess over their work. Even as a campus cop, he’d been drawn on by gang members with guns more times than he could count. Most recently by two idiots who decided to rob the corner coffee shop.

Leslie had left him, just like his mother had left his father. Proving he was better off alone.

With a sigh, he let his head fall back against the seat rest, unable to prevent himself from closing his eyes. He’d stay here outside Shanna’s place, making sure she called the police to report her stalker first thing in the morning. Once he was satisfied she’d taken steps to assure her safety, he’d go back to working Brady’s murder investigation where he’d left off.

Finding out who’d killed Brady had to remain his top priority.

Shanna didn’t sleep very well; the slightest noises kept waking her up. All because she’d let the creepy stalker get to her more than she’d wanted to admit.

At least she’d held it together in front of Quinn. He was too attractive for her peace of mind. Not handsome per se, but definitely ruggedly attractive. On top of that, he’d been nice, supportive. Not that she needed his help.

What she needed was action. Today she’d get a full investigation going on this note-writing guy, whoever he was. Stalking was against the law, as were threats. She’d find this guy and hand him over to the police the first chance she had.

With renewed determination, she took a quick shower and spent a few minutes blow-drying her hair before heading to the kitchen, intending to brew a pot of coffee.

As she walked past the entryway to the living room, she happened to glance through the large picture window overlooking the street. She froze, her heart leaping into her throat when she noticed the SUV parked directly across the street from her house. The car stood out because her neighbors across the street were elderly and didn’t drive. Fearing the worst, she grabbed her cell phone and almost punched the numbers for 911 when she realized why the car looked familiar.

It was the same car that had followed her home last night. The vehicle belonged to Quinn. Flipping her cell phone shut, she crossed over to the picture window in time to see Quinn yawning and stretching his arms over his head. While she was staring at him, he glanced toward her house, capturing her gaze. For a moment, the strange connection between them seemed to shimmer in the air.

Had he really slept out there all night? She was touched by his chivalry but was determined not to read more into his actions than the situation warranted. Uncertainly, she opened the front door. Was she supposed to invite him in after the way he’d slept in his car to protect her?

He climbed awkwardly from the car, his limbs obviously stiff from the cramped seat. But then he came straight toward her, meeting her halfway. “Morning, Shanna. Did you sleep well?”

She tried to act nonchalant. “Better than you, I’d be willing to bet. Quinn, it was very sweet of you to sleep in your car, but I told you I’d be fine.”

“I know, but I was too tired to drive,” he said, glancing longingly over her shoulder. “Is that coffee I smell?”

“Yes.” She felt bad about the exhaustion shadowing his features. As uncomfortable as she was having him there, the least she could do was feed him. “Come on in, there’s plenty to share.”

He followed her inside, crossing the living room to the kitchen. He took a seat at her table, and she could feel his gaze on her as she filled a mug from the coffeemaker. She couldn’t help feeling self-conscious with him there, maybe because she’d never had a man in her house. Ever.

She carefully set the mug on the table, thankful she didn’t spill. “Ah, do you like eggs? Because I have to tell you, there isn’t a huge variety of food to choose from.”

“Eggs would be great.” His stomach rumbled loudly, as if reinforcing his need for food. He flashed a sheepish grin and her heart did a funny little flip.

She squelched the reaction and quickly threw together scrambled eggs and toast. The sooner she gave him food, the sooner she could send him on his way.

When he’d finished the first cup of coffee, he came over to get a refill. His closeness was enough to rattle her, and she burned her thumb on the edge of the frying pan. She swallowed a yelp, thrusting her thumb under a stream of cold water. This was ridiculous; there was no reason to be nervous.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine.” She forced a smile. “The eggs are just about ready.”

“Thanks.” He carried his mug over to the table, and she handed him a plate full of eggs and toast. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Quinn spoke up. “You’re going to call the police when we’re finished with breakfast, right?”

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. The man sounded like a broken record. “Right.”

As soon as she finished her meal, Shanna gave in and pulled out her cell phone. Considering she’d worked all day Sunday, she could afford to be a little late to work this morning. She had to look up the non-emergency number in the phone book and briefly explained her situation when one of the officers came on the line.

“They’re sending someone over,” she said, hanging up a few minutes later. “They asked me to leave the card from last night under the windshield wiper.” She hadn’t touched the note, figuring the cops would want to see exactly where the guy had left it.

“Good.” Quinn sat back, sipping his coffee as if he wasn’t in a hurry to leave.

“The police are on their way, Quinn. There’s no need for you to stay.” She carried her dirty dishes to the sink, cleaning up the remains of their breakfast mess. “You need to go home, get some decent sleep.”

“How long before you get anything back from the lab?” he asked, ignoring her blatant hint urging him to go. “On the fingerprints and hair fibers?”

“We have lots of evidence to sift through. I’m afraid it will probably be awhile.” She understood how anxious he was for news, any news. She’d been on his side of the waiting game. It had only been in recent years that she’d learned how patience was a virtue. “I promise I’ll get in touch with you if we come up with anything.”

He glanced at her. “You know I’m not really involved in this investigation, except peripherally. All of your evidence needs to go to Hank Nelson.”

“I know.” She wrung out the dishrag and turned toward him, resting her hip against the counter. “But you’re the one who knows the students on campus, right? Hank has to keep you involved in the investigation to a certain extent. Maybe we do have to give all the evidence to the lead homicide detective on the case, but I see no reason why the crime lab wouldn’t cooperate with the campus police, too.”

He smiled and shrugged. “Hank probably won’t like it, but I’ll take anything you can give me.”

His appreciation warmed her heart. After the way he’d slept in his car, just to protect her, this was the least she could do in return. Besides, the homicide had taken place on his turf. She’d expect the same consideration in his shoes.

Their gazes locked, and for a moment she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t deserve to feel this attraction to him, but she couldn’t look away. If she were honest, she’d admit she intended to keep him in the loop because she wanted to see him again, not just because of professional courtesy.

The ringing of her doorbell echoed through the house, breaking the moment. She swallowed hard and pushed away from the counter, crossing over to the living room to open the front door.

The officers who stood there had their respective IDs ready, which she carefully inspected before allowing Officers Kappas and Jones inside.

“Murphy?” Jones, the taller of the two, frowned when he recognized Quinn. “Haven’t seen you since your old man’s funeral.” His gaze landed on Shanna, frankly curious. “I—uh—didn’t know you were involved with anyone.”

Funeral? Shanna glanced at Quinn in surprise, but then flushed when she realized the two officers assumed she and Quinn were a couple. “He’s a friend,” she said quickly.

The last thing she needed were rumors going around about her and Quinn. How embarrassing that would be.

“We were at Karly’s Kitchen last night when Ms. Dawson saw a man loitering by her car,” Quinn said, as if sensing her discomfort. “I didn’t see him, but we found a white envelope with her name printed on the front in block letters, stuck under her windshield.”

She was grateful Quinn cut to the chase, putting the interview back on track.

“Ms. Dawson has received other notes, as well.” He picked up the three notes she’d left on the counter and handed them to the officers. “Shanna, when did you get the first note?”

“Two weeks ago.” She explained how the first note had actually showed up in her mailbox down at the CSI lab. The message read “Guilty as charged,” so she hadn’t really thought too much about it. “I guess I figured the sender was just someone dealing with a lot of anger. The second and third ones, though, were in my mailbox here at home.”

Her personal space. Her haven.

“You dusted for fingerprints?” Kappas asked.

“I’m a CSI—of course I dusted for prints. Didn’t find any, though. I also tried to narrow down the source of the paper, but it’s carried everywhere.” She lifted her palms helplessly. “Really, this could be related to any one of my cases, although the one I just wrapped up, the Markoviack murder, is the most likely one.”

“Did the man by your car look at all familiar?” Jones took over the questioning.

“I only caught a glimpse, but didn’t recognize him at all.”

“You mentioned this being related to one of your cases, like the Markoviack murder. Why does that one stand out in your mind?” Kappas asked.

She quickly explained about the last big case she’d worked on, how her evidence put Jessica Markoviack in prison. Both officers exchanged a look and agreed that Jessica’s former boyfriend was a possible culprit.

“Where’s the fourth note now?” Jones asked.

She glanced at Quinn. “We left it beneath the windshield wiper. My car is in the garage.” Leading the way out the side door, to the detached garage where her Toyota Camry was parked, she gestured to the car.

The officers looked at the note, then used gloved hands to remove it from beneath the wiper blade. She took out her fingerprint kit and dusted both the note and the windshield for prints.

There weren’t any, just like the previous notes.

Jones opened the flap and removed the note. They crowded around to see what it said. “Next time, you’ll be alone,” Jones read out loud.

“I don’t get it,” Quinn muttered. “How did he know you were with me?”

She couldn’t suppress a shiver, fear congealing in the bottom of her stomach. “Because he’s watching me.”

Kappas and Jones exchanged a grim look. “I’ll recommend increased surveillance of this neighborhood, ma’am,” Jones said.

Sending a patrol car through every couple hours wasn’t going to prevent this guy from trying to get her, but she understood they were doing the best they could. “That’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” Quinn argued bluntly. “If this guy is watching you, he’ll know to hide from the police. You need a bodyguard. Or at least a comprehensive security system.”

“Maybe.” She didn’t want to admit his idea had merit. “I’ll think about it.”

Quinn looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead he turned toward the officers. “Anything else?”

“Ms. Dawson might want to find a friend to stay with for a while,” Officer Jones said. “Being here alone is asking for trouble.”

Friends? She almost laughed. The only real friend she had was Megan O’Ryan, and she’d recently moved to Crystal Lake, Wisconsin. Megan had just gotten married, and after everything her friend had been through, Shanna couldn’t bring herself to dump her own troubles on Megan’s shoulders. Megan had barely survived being strangled by a serial killer. Worse, the killer was someone they knew. Raoul Lee was a brilliant scientist. Now he’d spend the rest of his life in jail. The cops waited expectantly, so she nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The officers left, promising to be in touch if they found anything.

“I’ll follow you to work.” Quinn’s tone didn’t leave room for discussion.

His persistence was starting to annoy her. But rather than arguing, she gathered her work stuff together, including her shoulder holster. She sensed Quinn’s frustration as he stood watching her. Before she could get out the door, her cell phone rang.

She recognized Alan’s number from the lab. Setting her laptop case on the kitchen table, she answered the phone. “Do you have something for me, Al?”

“Yeah, uh, we got a hit on one of the fingerprints found at your college frat house crime scene.”

A hit on the fingerprints was good news. “Who is it?” she asked eagerly, glancing at Quinn. An identity would get them one step closer to finding the killer.

“Are you on your way here? Because I think we should talk in person.” He cleared his throat loudly. “The news is going to be a bit of a shock.”

His tap-dancing around the issue only irritated her. “Just tell me.”

There was a pause. “Shanna, we have a set of fingerprints matching a child who’s been missing for fourteen years.”

A child? Missing for fourteen years? No. Oh, no. Her stomach twisted, and little red dots swam in her vision. She grabbed the edge of the kitchen table and pushed the word through her tight throat. “Who?”

“Your sister. Skylar Dawson.”

THREE

Shanna blinked, staring up at Quinn’s anxious face looming over her. The kitchen floor was hard and unyielding beneath her back. Disoriented, she winced and lifted her head. “What happened?”

“You fainted.” Quinn’s gruff tone betrayed his concern.

“Fainted?” Embarrassed, she pushed up onto her elbows, her head throbbing. She must have hit her head on the floor.

“Let me help you up.” Quinn put his arm around her shoulders, supporting her weight as she struggled to her feet. Her knees still felt wobbly, so she sat at the kitchen table.

“What happened?” Quinn asked, picking up her cell phone from where it must have skittered across the floor. “One minute you were saying something about the fingerprint results from the crime scene, and the next you collapsed onto the floor.”

In a rush it all came flooding back.

Skylar. The pressure in her chest built to the point she could barely breathe. Her fault. It was her fault her little sister had been kidnapped fourteen years ago. Her fault that her parents had divorced, destroying what was left of their family.

“Shanna, breathe,” Quinn commanded in a sharp tone.

Feeling dizzy again, she obeyed, taking a deep breath before she did something stupid, like fainting for a second time. After a few minutes the room stopped spinning.

Forcing herself to meet his questioning gaze, she knew she couldn’t lie to him. Not now. Not about this. “The prints at the scene of Brady’s death match those of my sister, Skylar.”

Quinn frowned, perplexed. “Okay. Does your sister go to Carlyle University, too?”

“I don’t know.” She licked her dry lips. “Skylar was kidnapped when she was only five years old. Her case has remained unsolved. I haven’t seen her in fourteen years. No one has.”

Quinn’s jaw dropped, and he sank into the chair beside her. “You’re kidding.”

“No. I’m not.” The memory burned with a clarity that belied the passing years.

On Skylar’s first day of kindergarten, her mother had insisted Shanna take her sister all the way inside the elementary school to meet the kindergarten teacher. She was older by five years, so Shanna had agreed. As they’d approached the school, she’d discovered a bunch of her friends were playing kickball on the older kid’s section of the playground, farthest from the building.

“Shanna!” Toby Meyers, the boy she secretly liked, had waved and shouted to her from the game. “Hurry up, we’re losing. We need you on our team.”

Thrilled that he’d noticed her, and that he’d wanted her on his team, she’d dropped Skylar’s hand. “Just go inside the building there, Skylar, okay? You’ll see Mrs. Anderson, the kindergarten teacher, in the first classroom.”

“But Shanna,” Skylar protested, hanging back.

“Just go!” Impatiently, Shanna had given Skylar a little push and then turned away, rushing over to join the kickball game already in progress. Toby made room for her in the lineup to kick next.

She’d taken her turn, kicking the ball with all her strength, sending it sailing over the heads of all the kids. With Toby cheering her on, she’d rounded the bases, making it all the way home to score.

They hadn’t won the game—the bell had rung and they’d had to quit—but Toby’s cheering had echoed in her head for the next hour. Until the school principal, Mrs. Haggerty, had tapped her on the shoulder, taking her out of her fourth-grade class to the office.

“Shanna, when did you last see your sister?”

Skylar? Guiltily, Shanna realized she hadn’t even thought about her sister since hurrying off to the kickball game. “This morning, when I walked her to school.”

“Did you take her inside to see the teacher?”

Numbly, Shanna shook her head no.

“She’s not in the kindergarten class.” Mrs. Haggerty looked extremely worried. “Your mother is on her way here. I think we’d better search every classroom. Maybe Skylar got lost and is hiding somewhere.”

Shanna felt sick, knowing her mother would be so angry that she hadn’t taken Skylar all the way inside the classroom as she’d been told to do. Mrs. Haggarty had hurried away to begin searching for her sister, but she’d just sat in the principal’s office, afraid to do anything, hoping and praying they’d find Skylar hiding as they thought.

But her little sister hadn’t been hiding. Nobody had seen Skylar anywhere around the school. Shanna had been the last person to see her sister alive and well.

Now she was gone. And it was all her fault.

“Here, drink this.” Quinn thrust a glass in her hands.

Blinking at him, she willed the guilt-laden memories away. She took the glass and drank, reveling in the cool water soothing her throat. “Thanks. I’m fine.”

“No!” Quinn’s tone was sharp. “You’re not fine. You’re pale, as if you’re going to faint again.”

“I won’t,” she protested. She refused to faint again; once was certainly bad enough. She needed to pull herself together. The reality of the situation finally sank into her brain. Her sister’s prints were found at the scene. After fourteen years of not knowing anything, those fingerprints meant that Skylar was alive. Alive!

Closing her eyes, she bowed her head and probed the depths of her soul, dragging out the faith she shouldn’t have given up on, praying for the first time in years. Lord, thank You for showing me that Skylar is alive. And please guide me. Give me the strength and courage to find my sister.

“Shanna?” Quinn’s tone was anxious.

She lifted her head and forced a smile. “It’s a gift, Quinn. A true gift. After all this time, we finally found Skylar. I have to call my mother, to let her know the news.” And her father. He’d flat-out refused to talk to her when she’d tried to get in touch with him a few weeks ago, but surely he’d talk to her now.

“Whoa, wait a minute.” Quinn took her hand in his, halting her from surging to her feet. “Why don’t we wait until we know what we’re dealing with?”

“Are you kidding?” Shanna stared at him, tugging at her hand. “My sister is alive. Do you know how many years we’ve waited to know even that much?” She was ashamed to admit she’d thought the worst. That Skylar was lying dead and buried in an abandoned field somewhere. At any moment she’d expected the police to uncover her bones.

God, forgive me for losing faith. Forgive me for believing Skylar was dead.

“Yes, she’s alive. But we don’t know where she’s been for all these years. And I highly doubt she’s going by the name of Skylar Dawson. Besides, her fingerprints were found at a crime scene, which makes her one of the many suspects in Brady’s death.”

Skylar a suspect? No, it wasn’t possible. But Shanna slid back into her seat, the sick feeling in her stomach persisting. No. There was no way she believed her long-lost sister was a murderer. “Skylar didn’t hurt your brother.”

Quinn’s glance held a trace of sympathy. “Maybe not, but take a moment to think this through. What can you really tell your mother at this point? You don’t know what name Skylar is using these days. We don’t even have a photo yet. Why don’t we go through the names of the kids who were known to be at the party? We can get their ID pictures from the school, and you can see if any of the girls look familiar.”

She had to admit, his idea had merit. And she had enough vacation time to get out of doing the routine lab work. Besides, now that her sister’s prints had been found, Eric would remove her from actively working the case.

“Maybe we can even get a younger picture of your sister to perform a computer aging process,” Quinn continued. “Once you know Skylar’s current name, you’ll have really good news to tell your mother.”

She bit her lip and nodded, knowing he was right to take things slow. But she wanted to find Skylar now. Her patience was nonexistent after fourteen years. “My mother has a computer age-progression image of Skylar—it’s posted on the website for missing children. But first I still need to go to the lab. I need to find out exactly where Skylar’s prints were found.”

“I’ll go with you.” Quinn released her hand and rose to his feet.

She stood, taking her phone from his hand. Skylar’s prints were found at a college house. How ironic to know Skylar was here at a local university, only twenty miles from home after all these years.

Did Skylar remember her? Or their parents?

She almost hoped not, because that would mean Skylar had suffered, missing her home and her family while being taken somewhere else.

Her stomach clenched as the worst-case scenario flashed through her head. She dearly hoped that Skylar’s life since she’d been gone had been decent and good.

Not dark and twisted.

Quinn kept a wary eye on Shanna as he drove to the CSI crime lab. Her face was still pale, but she looked a little less fragile than she had lying cold on the floor of her kitchen. She’d taken years off his life when she’d fainted like that. Although, after hearing her long-lost sister’s fingerprints were found at Brady’s crime scene, he certainly understood why she’d reacted the way she did.

He couldn’t imagine how awful it must have been to lose a younger sibling to a kidnapping, never knowing if she was alive or dead.

Dead. Like Brady. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Quinn knew he should be heading over to his mother’s offering his support, rather than sticking close to Shanna’s side, but he couldn’t in good conscience leave her alone. Besides, staying with Shanna meant he might get more information related to Brady’s case, which was what he wanted.

Satisfied with his decision, he turned his head from side to side, trying to ease the kinks from his neck. He wasn’t interested in Shanna’s mysterious past unless it had a direct bearing on Brady’s murder. Although for the life of him, he couldn’t see anything but a random connection. But if Skylar disappeared fourteen years ago, she would be nineteen now. Just a year younger than Brady. Interesting.

Pulling up in front of the state crime-lab building, Quinn glanced at her. “Is it okay if I come in with you?”

“Sure.” She glanced at him in surprise. “We’ll register you for a visitor pass.”

Intrigued by what they might find out inside the crime lab, he followed Shanna as she headed to her buddy Al, the fingerprint analyst.

“Shanna?” A tall, thin middle-aged man hurried over. “I’ve been waiting for you. I ran these prints first thing this morning. Come here—you have to look at this fingerprint comparison for yourself.”

“I believe you,” she protested, going along with him anyway. She peered at the computer screen for a long moment as if afraid to believe the truth. “You’re convinced there’s no way this could be a mistake?”

“None.” Al went on to explain exactly which pattern in the fingerprint made them unique. “Despite the size difference between an adult and a child, they’re definitely the same.”

“What part of the crime scene did this print come from?” Shanna asked.

Al’s glance slid from hers and he grimaced. “Now, don’t be upset, but I found her fingerprints on both the rugby trophy and the desk in the victim’s room.”

She sucked in a harsh breath. Quinn crossed over to stand beside her, since it seemed she’d forgotten his presence. “Don’t jump to conclusions,” he warned. “There might be a legitimate reason for her prints to be on the trophy.”

“True enough,” Al chimed in. “We found a total of four prints on the trophy, one from the victim, one from your sister and two others. After we get all the kids identified, we’ll start getting copies of their prints in the system, to see what matches.”

Shanna nodded, although Quinn could tell she was badly shaken by the news. She asked, “Do you have anything else to go on? Any other fingerprint matches?”

“Not yet,” Al admitted. “I started with the trophy and the kid’s bedroom, and so far, your sister is the only match I’ve gotten from the database, aside from the victim’s, of course. Getting through the rest of the house is going to take some time.”

“I understand.” Shanna fell silent.

Al looked at her with sympathy. “I already informed Eric about this. He told you to take off as much time as you need.”

Shanna nodded as if she were still in a daze.

“Do you need to do anything else?” Quinn asked, putting a hand on her arm. “Or do we have time to head over to the admissions office of Carlyle University to look at photo IDs?”

“The admissions office,” she agreed. “Al? If you find anything else, please let me know.”

“I will.” The older scientist gazed at her with true concern. “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

A slight smile flitted around her mouth. “Thanks. Let Eric know I’ll be in touch later.”

Clearly, Shanna was close to Al, and he found himself wondering about her family as they walked back outside to his SUV. She’d mentioned her mother, but not her father. “This news is really going to shock your family, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she murmured, sliding into the passenger seat as he climbed in behind the wheel. “My mother always clung to the belief Skylar was alive, but my dad refused to even talk about her. My parents divorced a few years after Skylar’s kidnapping, mostly because of my dad.”

His heart squeezed in sympathy. “I know what it’s like to come from a broken home.”

“Maybe, but at least you know the breakup wasn’t your fault.” The faint bitterness in her tone surprised him.

Her fault? He shot her a quick glance. “Shanna, I’m sure your parents didn’t blame you.”

Her gaze was bleak. “Yes, they did. Because it was true. Skylar’s kidnapping was my fault.” She turned away, staring out the window. “You were right to hold off on telling my mother. I want to find my sister first. I can’t bear to raise her hopes for no reason.”

He reached over to take her hand in his. “Maybe looking through the student IDs will help.”

“I hope so,” she murmured. “I need to be able to give my mother that much.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. His cell phone rang, and he juggled the steering wheel, going against state law by answering it. “Hello?”

“Quinn?” His mother’s shrill voice echoed in his ear. “Where are you?”

“I’m following up on some leads from Brady’s case,” he told her, trying to ignore that she hadn’t bothered asking how he was doing. His mother tended to live in a world that was centered on herself and her second family. Not the mistake of her first marriage. “What’s wrong? Are you and James doing all right?”

“It’s been awful to sit here not knowing anything. We’ve been waiting for you to bring us some news.” Her tone was full of reproach.

“I wish I had some news to bring you, but I don’t.” He maneuvered the car around a turn with one hand, refraining from reminding her that Brady had been dead for just a little more than twenty-four hours. “Look, Mom, I have to go. I’m driving. After I go through the list of kids who were at Brady’s party, I’ll be in touch.”

“Call us the minute you find anything. We have an appointment at the funeral home this evening, but we don’t know when they’re going to release Brady’s body.” Her tone grew thick with suppressed tears.

Guilt swirled as he realized he should be making the funeral arrangements for her. “I’ll help you with the arrangements, Mom. I’ll find out when they’re going to release Brady’s body, and I’ll meet you at the funeral home when I finish here.”

“All right. I’ll let James know the plan.” His mother hung up. Fighting a surge of helplessness that he couldn’t do more, Quinn flipped his phone shut.

“I can look through the photo IDs myself,” Shanna offered in a low tone. “Sounds as if you have a lot to do at home.”

Selfishly, he didn’t want to leave Shanna. Not yet. Not until he knew whether or not she’d recognized any of the photo IDs as potentially belonging to her sister.

“I have time. Let’s go through the pictures first, see if anyone looks even vaguely familiar. For now we’ll use whatever aged photo your mom has posted on the missing children website.”

“Sounds good.”

Quinn parked in a no-parking zone, using his campus police tag to identify his car, and walked inside the main registration office with Shanna at his side. It was busy for a Monday, but within moments they were granted access to the library and the database where the computer records of all the college students’ information and photos were kept.

“Here’s the list of partygoers,” Quinn said, pushing the list in front of her. At least half the attendees were female. “Let’s start with these first.”

She nodded, and he typed in the first name on the computer. After a few seconds, the photograph popped up on the screen. Shanna stared at the image so long, he cast a concerned glance her way. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Shanna slowly shook her head. “It’s just that other than Skylar’s brown eyes, I don’t even know what to look for. Her hair could be any length, any color.”

“Brown eyes?” He raised a brow, peering at her. No contacts that he could see. “Yours are blue.”

“Yeah. Skylar takes after my dad. He has brown eyes. Mine and my mom’s are blue.”

“I see. We could narrow the search function to just those girls with brown eyes.”

“No.” She put her hand on his arm, stopping him. “I’d like to see them all, if you don’t mind.”

He hesitated, but then nodded. His time constraints weren’t hers. After all these years, Shanna deserved at least a couple of hours to get through the list. “Okay.”

One by one, she paged through the list of girls who’d been identified as attending the party. A few times she toggled back and forth between the picture of how Skylar might look now and the actual student photo, but in the end she sat back, slowly shaking her head.

“None of them look familiar.” Her dejected tone made him empathize with what she must be going through. “I thought …” She didn’t finish.

“Hey, we’ve only gone through the party list. There are thousands of other female student pictures to get through.” He didn’t have time to get through the rest now, but he could come back later, after the visit to the funeral home.

“Maybe.” Shanna lifted her tortured gaze. “Looking at these pictures is harder than I thought. I should recognize her. My own sister. The image should jump out at me, don’t you think?”

“Try to relax,” he soothed. “We still have time—”

“No! You don’t understand! It’s already been fourteen years. I have to find her, Quinn. I have to!”

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