A childhood terror rears its ugly head in USA TODAY bestselling author Anna J. Stewart’s latest Honor Bound romance.

Psychologist Allie Hollister is still haunted by the unsolved death of her childhood best friend. She never expects her past to meet her present when a young patient is abducted and the cold case is reopened. Allie knows she shouldn’t get involved, but the child’s uncle, firefighter Max Kellan, needs her as much as she needs him.

Once, Max simply wanted to put his past to rest; now he demands nothing short of justice. As he and secretive, sexy Allie track a lethal criminal, their chemistry is an undeniable adrenaline rush. Their attraction will be put to the test when they confront their most dangerous threat yet: the truth.

Before Allie realized what was happening, he reached out, caught the back of her neck in his hand and hauled her to him.

He bent his head and covered her mouth with his in one fluid move, so fast, so effectively, her mind spun.

She moaned. Or was that him? She couldn’t be sure, but she rose up on her toes, falling into him as she matched his kiss. Every synapse fired to life as the emotions of the day—terror, panic, uncertainty—melted under Max’s touch.

When he lifted his mouth, it wasn’t by much. When she blinked open her eyes, it took a moment to focus, and as she looked at him, it wasn’t humor she saw on his whisker-roughened face, in his curious brown eyes. It was her own confusion and uncertainty reflected back at her.

He barely moved, and the heat of his fingers brushing her neck may as well have branded her as his. “Suffice it to say this is something we might need to pursue once we work our way though this nightmare.”

* * *

Dear Reader,

It’s funny how we as writers deal with the characters in our heads. Sometimes we struggle to help them become who we need them to be. Other times, the character bursts onto the page pretty much fully formed and rather demanding. Such was the case with Dr. Allie Hollister. She’s the quiet one of this trio of friends, the analytical one, and some might say the coolest of the bunch. She thinks a lot. Perhaps too much.

A difficult childhood was made worse by the murder of her best friend twenty years ago, but it was the bond she formed with Eden and Simone that helped make her the woman she’s become. Allie’s a fighter, especially when it comes to the people she cares about. When Hope Kellan, one of Allie’s patients, disappears, she finds herself at a bit of a loss. But it’s her unexpected attraction to Hope’s uncle Max that really throws her.

Allie isn’t the only person Max threw for a loop. In my preplotting notes—and pictures—I thought I knew exactly who he was, what he looked like, what his temperament would be. Max, however, wasn’t having it. The hero I’d imagined as a polished, sullen, lost soul of a hero turned into the Max who showed up—quirky, scruffy, with one of those grins that you can’t help but respond to. And Allie most definitely responds. Oh, and so did I.

For the first time in Allie’s life, aside from her two best friends, she finds she has someone else willing to fight for her—and with her. Even better? She has something else to fight for: her own happily-ever-after.

Anna J.

Gone in the Night

Anna J. Stewart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Bestselling author ANNA J. STEWART can’t remember a time she wasn’t making up stories or imaginary friends. Raised in San Francisco, she quickly found her calling as a romance writer when she discovered the used bookstore in her neighborhood had an entire wall dedicated to the genre. Her favorites? Harlequins, of course. A generous owner had her refilling her bag of books every Saturday morning, and soon her pen met paper and she never looked back—much to the detriment of her high school education. Anna currently lives in Northern California, where she continues to write up a storm, binge watches her favorite TV shows and movies and spends as much time as she can with her family and friends...and her cat, Snickers, who, let’s face it, rules the house.

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For Allison Brennan

Never farther than an email away,

you’ve always believed.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Dr. Allie Hollister rounded the circular drive of the Vandermont home and parked behind two patrol cars. This part of El Dorado Hills might be considered one of the more affluent areas of the Sacramento Valley with its mini mansions, lake views and lush acreage, but at six in the morning, the winding roads and sporadic street lamps did not make for a relaxing drive.

It didn’t help that she was suffering the aftereffects of a champagne-heavy dinner at her foster siblings’ new restaurant last night. No doubt she’d used alcohol to compensate for the fact Eden and Simone, her two best friends, hadn’t been able to come with her. Not even two cups of coffee and a painkiller put a dent in the pounding in her skull.

“Dr. Hollister.” A fifty-something uniformed deputy with wary “I’ve seen everything” eyes and a too-tight lip line strode down the paved walkway and offered his hand once she’d climbed out of her mini-SUV. “I’m Deputy Sutherland. I appreciate you coming out. When Mr. and Mrs. Vandermont weren’t able to immediately get in touch with Hope Kellan’s parents or uncle, they insisted we call you. Not the end to their daughter’s sleepover they were expecting, I’m sure.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Between her suddenly attentive mother and finding herself embroiled in the opening of the cold case concerning her best friend’s murderer twenty years after Chloe’s death, it wasn’t as if Allie slept much these days. Right on cue, her cell phone chimed. Allie glanced at another text message. Obviously she wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep. Compared with yet another update on her parents’ upcoming anniversary celebration—how many reminders did she need to bring potato salad?—suddenly making the trip up to the foothills didn’t seem so bad. Not that Allie was thrilled one of her most challenging patients—nine-year-old Hope Kellan—had started what Allie had planned as a quiet Sunday at home with a jarring bang. “I’m just sorry Hope’s recent proclivity to running off had to take this turn. Shall we?” She pocketed her phone, hugged her arms around her torso and wished she’d worn more than a thin sweater over her pastel-pink pedal pushers and matching tank. Her mind was all over the place these days; she couldn’t seem to concentrate to save her soul. As someone who prided herself on keeping an eye on every aspect of her life, she was not coping as well as she’d like.

She aimed her gaze at the oversize glass-and-wood front door, quickly determining that her entire house would probably fit in the tiled atrium. She knew of the Vandermonts in passing; Matthew Vandermont was a big-time lobbyist while his wife was one of the top real estate agents in the region. She also knew they’d both come from very humble beginnings, which explained their dedication to providing the numerous scholarships at various private schools, including their daughter’s.

“Mr. and Mrs. Vandermont are with their daughter and her friends in the sitting room. Just there, off to the right,” Deputy Sutherland said. “My men are still trying to get a feel for the property. It’s more extensive than we expected, but we should be able to get an organized search underway soon.”

“How extensive exactly?” Allie stopped just outside the doorway to get her bearings. The home was elegant but with homey touches, family mementos, framed certificates of achievement, and photographs from vacations, events and gatherings that included not only the Vandermonts but their daughter’s friends, as well. Warm, Allie thought. Welcoming.

“There’s at least four acres of wilderness leading down to Folsom Lake,” the deputy explained. “And I do mean down. No fence line to speak of and the property lines are a bit skewed given recent construction projects. No telling what direction the girl might have gone in. I was about to call in reinforcements and have them bring up the search dogs to help.”

“Hope,” Allie said as diplomatically as possible. “The girl’s name is Hope and you’re right. More officers can’t hurt.” Self-doubt crept in around Allie’s practiced interaction with law enforcement. Had she misjudged Hope’s recent excitement about this long-awaited sleepover with her three best friends? Or had Allie been so distracted during their last session that she’d missed warning signs the little girl planned to run away? While Hope had become increasingly withdrawn in the months since her parents’ contentious separation had turned into a vicious custody battle, her spirits had lifted considerably with the arrival of her uncle Max. Other than her three best friends, talking about her hero firefighter uncle was the one thing guaranteed to bring a smile to her freckled face. “I’m sure your team will find her safe and sound,” Allie replied in an encouraging tone. “Hope is a smart girl. If she got lost, she’ll know enough to stay put until someone finds her.”

“At least we aren’t having to deal with harsh weather,” Deputy Sutherland agreed. “I’ll go make the call. You all right with them?”

Allie peered into the sitting room that glimmered in the same glitz and glamour as the outside façade. “I’ll be fine, thanks. Mr. and Mrs. Vandermont.” Allie set her bag on the floor by the door. The sitting room was decked out in hues of gold and white. The lush carpeting, glass coffee table, enormous French glass doors leading to a backyard with a pool and that large expanse of land reminded Allie of the house Simone, one of her own best friends, had grown up in. Sophisticated, rich. Isolated. But again, where Simone’s house had all been for show with nary a hint of emotional attachment, here she saw a celebration of family. As detached and remote as Simone’s parents had been, the Vandermonts exuded concern and warmth as Allie approached them. “Thank you for calling me. I can only imagine how worried you must be.”

The last words nearly froze in Allie’s throat as she focused on the three girls sitting between the handsome couple. She’d seen photographs of the girls, of course. Mercy, Portia and the Vandermonts’ daughter, Willa. Hope talked about them incessantly during their sessions, something Allie herself could relate to given her own relationships with her two best friends. But seeing the three of them here, together, without Hope...

She had to remind herself to breathe.

“Hello, girls.” Allie didn’t recognize her own voice as she rounded the table to crouch in front of them. Willa, all thick blond hair and debutante blue eyes, clung to her mother in a way that made Allie question who was comforting whom. Mercy, a strawberry blonde, conveyed a familiar edgy defiance that Allie could see masked a good amount of fear. And then there was Portia. Allie blinked as she took in the girl’s slight frame, pale complexion and a pixie cap of dark, dark hair. Allie touched the edge of her own cropped cut. Unease bubbled inside her. “I’m Dr. Hollister, but you can call me Allie. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“We know who you are,” Mercy told her as Mr. Vandermont tightened his hold on a trembling Portia. “Hope talks about you a lot. She likes you.”

“I like her, too.” Allie couldn’t shake her apprehension. Having the three of them look at her as if she held all the answers had her relying on her years of education and training as a psychologist. That was hard enough. But, together, they also reminded her of one of the worst days of her life.

Allie took a slow, deep breath and pushed the past where it belonged: out of reach.

Keeping everyone involved calm and focused until Hope was found was the order of the day. That, and finding Hope, was all that mattered.

“The girls are the ones who suggested we call you,” Mrs. Vandermont said, her round, kind face easing Allie’s mind. With blond hair, a clear genetic connection to her daughter, she was dressed in gray yoga pants and a T-shirt, pedicured red toes stark against the white of the carpet. It was evident by Mrs. Vandermont’s expression that she was focused on the girls—all the girls. “Thank you for driving all the way up here. I’m sure we’re overreacting and that this is just a matter of Hope getting lost—”

“Please don’t give it another thought, Mrs. Vandermont.” Allie held out her hands to Mercy, who, as far as Allie could tell, was trying her best not to rely on the support her friend Willa was attempting to provide. She squeezed Mercy’s hands tight in a silent gesture of understanding. “I’d always rather have someone overreact than assume. Deputy Sutherland is going to be bringing some additional help to search for Hope.”

“I should make some coffee, then.” Mrs. Vandermont squeezed her daughter’s shoulders before she pushed herself to her feet. “That would be all right, wouldn’t it?”

“More than all right,” Allie said. “Girls, would it be okay if I talked to you about what’s happened in the last day or so? Just in case there’s something the police officers need to know.”

“Dad?” Willa leaned over to look at her father. “You can go help Mom. We’ll be okay.”

Mr. Vandermont glanced at his daughter with more appraisal than disapproval. “Are you sure? Mercy? Portia? You, too?”

“We’re sure.” Mercy let go of Allie’s hand to wrap a solid arm around Portia’s frail shoulders. Portia twisted her hands together and gave a weak nod.

“I won’t ask them any questions,” Allie explained at the hesitant expression on his face. As a certified children’s therapist trained to treat kids who had been or were going through traumatic experiences, she wasn’t allowed to pose any. But she could give them an opening to talk. In Allie’s experience, listening was the most important thing she could do. “I promise, if we run into any issues, I’ll come and get you.”

“All right.” Mr. Vandermont kept his blue eyes pinned on the three girls as he raked restless hands through his hair and followed his wife out of the room.

Allie stood up and walked the few steps to the padded straight-back chair at the end of the coffee table. She needed some distance; she needed to see how they were with one another, on the off chance something was going on here other than a friend who had wandered off. “Hope has been telling me about this sleepover of yours for a while,” Allie told them. “She was very excited about it. Were you all, as well?”

All three girls nodded.

“It would help if you could tell me everything you did. What time you all arrived,” Allie said, nudging the conversation where she needed it to go.

“Around five,” Mercy said. “Hope was late, but that’s because she’d gone to the movies with her uncle before he dropped her off. He stayed for a little while, talked to Mr. and Mrs. V. and then we had pizza for dinner.”

“We don’t order pizza very often. Mom doesn’t think it’s good for us,” Willa interrupted. “But it was for my birthday, so she made an exception.”

“Did it have mushrooms on it?” Allie asked in almost a whisper. “My friend Eden hates, and I mean hates, mushrooms. And you know what? Whenever we order it, we make sure to order with mushrooms. Just so we can watch her pick them off.”

Willa and Mercy both laughed a little. “I don’t like peppers,” Mercy said with a watery smile.

“Vegetables on your pizza means it’s healthy.” Portia’s eyes filled. “That’s what Hope always says.”

Simone said the same thing. “I bet you watched a movie.”

“That one where the girls go chasing ghosts with lasers and stuff,” Mercy said as Willa sniffled. “Mr. V. fixed up the tent over by the trees so we could feel like it was a real campout. Her mom made us s’mores in foil for dessert.”

“Campout?” Allie’s heart stuttered to a stop. “You slept outside last night?”

“Uh-huh.” Mercy nodded. “We thought it would be fun and different. Mr. V. even went out and got us a tent—”

“This was a last-minute decision?” Allie’s thoughts threatened to race, but she pulled back, tried to distance herself. “What made you think of that?”

The three girls glanced uneasily at each other. Finally, Willa shrugged. “We all agreed, but it was Hope’s idea. She said she’d seen something about it online and that it sounded fun.”

“It was fun,” Portia whispered. “Until it wasn’t.” Willa and Mercy nodded, but Portia’s big brown eyes shifted to the floor.

“What is it, Portia?” Allie leaned forward, letting the other two girls take a bit of a lead. “I promise, anything you say here, none of us will be mad. We all just want to make sure Hope is found safe. Okay?”

Portia didn’t look convinced.

“Por.” Willa reached across Mercy’s lap and held out her hand. That Portia immediately grabbed hold conveyed the strength of friendship among these girls. “What’s wrong?”

Portia’s chin wobbled. “I heard Hope get up. I should have gone with her, but I didn’t want to. It was cold.” The last few words came out in a sob. “I’m so sorry! I should have been her friend and now she’s missing and it’s all my fault.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as Willa tugged on Portia’s hand. Mercy moved to the side as they settled Portia between them, hugging their arms around her.

“I didn’t hear her.” The alarm in Mercy’s wide eyes told Allie she wished she had.

“That’s because you were snoring,” Willa said.

“I do not snore!” Mercy countered and brought a trembling smile to Portia’s face; the goal, Allie realized when she caught a silent exchange between Willa and Mercy.

Allie barely heard them over the roaring in her head. For the first time in as long as Allie could remember, the security she found in her clinical world crumbled. She clenched her fists to cling to the trained detachment that allowed her to do her job. Words that should help them seemed to have gotten trapped somewhere between now and twenty years ago when another nine-year-old had disappeared. During another birthday campout.

Chloe.

Allie squeezed her eyes shut, snapping them open again when she heard Willa speak.

“None of this is your fault, Portia.” Willa hugged her friend close. “We should have all gone, just as we promised.” Willa turned pleading eyes on Allie with a pained expression that might haunt Allie for the rest of her days. “We made a pact when we first met. We’re sisters. Where one goes, we all go. Except we didn’t. And now one of us is gone.”

Allie stared at the three of them, huddled so closely together she couldn’t determine where one ended and another began. Her own arms ached from her tightened fists. Her throat burned from trying to swallow. Her skin had gone icy, as if she wasn’t ever going to be warm again, and yet part of her, the tiniest part, clung to the thin thread of hope that this situation wasn’t what it seemed to be.

“Are you all right, Dr. Hollister? Allie?” Mercy asked as Allie rose to her feet and walked to the French doors.

Allie heard her as if from a vast distance. “I’m going to go see where you all were sleeping last night. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She pulled open the door, stepped out onto the patio and walked quickly around the pool. She could hear the girls calling her from inside the house, but she didn’t stop. Not as she hopped over the low-lying bushes. Not as she slipped and slid her way down the slight hill to the clearing ahead. She could see the outline of the red-and-blue tent situated beneath an outcropping of healthy pine and willow trees.

Her breathing came in short bursts, as if she had to remember to inhale. The brisk morning air felt tainted with gloom, the heaviness pressing down on her as she kept her eyes pinned on the tent, resisted the pull into the past. She started to run, as if she could leave the memories, the sensation of panic behind. But she knew the emotions had settled inside her chest another early morning twenty years ago.

She skidded to a stop at the edge of their campsite, her toes damp from the early-morning moisture. Four cloth folding chairs, water bottles stored in holders, the gooey remnants of the foil-wrapped s’mores lay amid wadded-up sleeping bags peeking out from the zippered tent flap.

An odd keening erupted into the air and only as Allie turned in a slow circle, did she realize the sound came from her. She covered her mouth. Haunting little-girl whispers and giggles echoed through time and sent chills racing down her spine. “Not again. Oh, God, please, not again.” She bent double, her stomach rolling as she dropped down to the ground. “This can’t be happening.” The date. What was the date?

“Dr. Hollister!” Deputy Sutherland, along with a handful of deputies, followed the same path she’d taken moments before. “Dr. Hollister, are you all right?” He hurried over and grabbed her by the arms to haul her to her feet.

“No.” His demanding question pierced the fog in her brain. Now wasn’t the time to break down. Now wasn’t the time to lose control. She needed to get a hold of herself. Disconnect. Separate herself from the nightmare unfolding around her. Hope, she told herself. Hope was all that mattered. And yet... “Is there any sign of Hope?”

“No, ma’am.” An officer who introduced himself as Deputy Fletcher shook his head. “We’re about to expand the search. My officers already went through this area—”

“She won’t be here.” Allie shook her head and only then did she see the concern on the older deputy’s face. “She’s gone.”

“Gone? You mean you think she went down to the river?”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” She took a step back, focused on the tent.

And the solitary plant situated on the ground.

Violets.

Allie walked forward, knees wobbling. Every impulse coursing through her urged her to discount the pot and spilling flowers. A coincidence, she told herself, but as she, Eden and Simone had learned in the last few months, there were no coincidences.

She took a shaky step forward and then another.

Every cell in Allie’s body screamed out as she remembered that night, the following days before their friend’s strangled body had been found.

In a field of violets.

Allie touched a hand to the hollow of her throat. “Chloe.”

“Hope,” Deputy Sutherland corrected. “Dr. Hollister, if you think we need to be searching elsewhere—”

Allie shook her head, got to her feet and pulled out her cell phone. She pointed at the deputy while it rang. “You need to get your team back here, but no one should touch anything. Not a thing, do you understand?” Allie’s hands shook. When the deputy didn’t move, she shot into command mode. “I think we’re standing in a crime scene. I’m a special consultant with the Sacramento PD, Deputy. I also work extensively with the FBI, so believe me when I tell you you’ll want to do as I suggest. Now.”

“Ma’am.” The hostility was expected; clearly he wouldn’t appreciate being told what to do in his own jurisdiction. “What exactly is going on?”

Allie held up her hand to silence him. “Lieutenant Santos? It’s Allie Hollister.”

“Allie?” The shock on the other end of the phone didn’t surprise her, nor did the distinctive sound of rustling sheets and murmured voices. “Hang on. We had a late night with the kids.”

Allie pressed her lips tight and wrapped her free arm around her waist.

“Ma’am?” Deputy Sutherland’s tone strained to the point of snapping. “Would you please tell me what’s going on?”

“Hope didn’t run away,” Allie whispered. She returned her attention to the potted plant, resisting the pull once again to fall solidly into a past she’d been trying to climb out of for two decades.

“Allie?” Lieutenant Santos came back on the line. “This can’t be good news if you’re calling me before seven on a Sunday. What’s going on?”

“You need to get Cole and Jack and get up to—” she recited the Vandermonts’ address, grateful that she could request two detectives who were friends “—as soon as you can. One of my patients, who was staying overnight at a friend’s house, went missing in the last few hours.”

“That’s out of our jurisdiction, Allie. As much as I’d like to help—”

“Hope Kellan is nine years old. She was camping with her three best friends. Now she’s missing.” Allie’s eyes burned. “But this isn’t just about Hope.” She took a deep breath and uttered the words that would turn her nightmare into reality. “It’s about Chloe Evans.”

Chapter 2

Max Kellan missed a lot of things about Florida. Late-night boat parties, fire-emblazoned sunsets, that ocean-tinted smell that wafted along the shoreline after a summer rainstorm. Humidity? That obnoxious gift of nature didn’t come close to making his list, not when it meant his morning jog required a before-sunrise start time. Too bad that in the weeks since he’d moved to the upscale suburb of Sacramento, California, he’d been unable to reprogram his brain to allow for mid-to late-morning runs.

His feet pounded in familiar 7:00 a.m. rhythm as he focused on his breathing, felt the cool morning air wicking away the sweat building on his face and arms. His lungs burned in that familiar five-mile, pressing-himself-too-far kind of way.

Pushing his limits, embracing the aches and pains, forcing himself to feel reminded him he was still alive.

Having spent most of his thirty-three years on the strict, self-imposed routine that acted partly as life-preserver, Max didn’t feel inclined to abandon the regime. Yep. He’d had more than enough change to even think about ditching his schedule. Working out cleared his head, helped keep it clear. It had been a rotten six months. Max ducked his head in a useless effort of avoiding the wave of depression that threatened him. Near as he could tell, the only good thing to come out of the last year was his brother’s suggestion he make a fresh start of things.

Leave it to Joe to tell him the truth: that he’d wallowed too long. It was time to get up off the mat and fight back. But what to fight for? That was the question. What did an ex-firefighter do when he walked away from everything he knew? Come out to California, obviously. Plenty of space for him to live his life, Joe had said. A life on his own terms for a change.

With strings attached, of course.

Max grinned. As if he’d ever call his brilliant, beautiful, willful niece Hope a string. He’d been crazy about her from the day she was born. She was his video-chatting buddy, his email pal; they even competed against each other in that online game about birds destroying pigs. The few weeks during the summer she’d come out to visit him were what he looked forward to most. It didn’t matter how bad a day he’d had—seeing Hope’s face, hearing her voice, put everything in perspective. And now he got to see her every day.

If moving out here made his niece smile again—even a little—what was packing up his shattered life compared to that? The visible change in Hope since her parents’ less-than-amicable separation physically hurt him. His niece needed security, familiarity. With her father’s hectic travel schedule and her mother’s lack of parental interest, Hope needed reminding just how much she was loved.

All the things Max and his brother had growing up. Until they didn’t.

Taking up residence behind a country club had never been in Max’s plans. He was as blue collar as they came. His kid brother had gotten all the brains and earned his status by turning his ideas into a freaking fortune. Who was Max to complain when his new digs came with an amazing, inspiring jogging view?

He rounded the corner, picking up the pace as he headed for the driveway, his body already humming in that way it had when it knew he was nearly done with his daily overexertion. Coffee. Max’s blood pumped in anticipation. He needed coffee, stat.

He gave a cursory glance to the sedan parked on the street in front of one of those dinky wannabe SUVs. As if his appearance had triggered their release, two people climbed out of the sedan and approached him. He stopped jogging, planted his hands on his thighs and bent over, took slow, deep breaths to bring his pulse down to normal. He pushed his too-long hair back when it fell over his eyes. “Can I help you?”

Cops. The blazer one man wore wasn’t the only giveaway, nor was the badge on the waistband of his jeans or the uniformed deputy right on his heels. Despite this guy’s congenial expression and California-boy good looks, Max had spent enough time around the police to identify one from thirty paces.

The deputy behind him, however, appeared barely old enough to shave, with that fresh-faced blue-eyed optimism still shiny and new. Max tilted his head. He’d give it another year, two tops, before he tarnished. He shifted his attention to the woman shuffling about as she climbed out of her car.

She barely reached the detective’s shoulder. Jet-black hair that curved over her ears and brushed over concerned brows, along with the pale pink pants and shirt reminded Max of those flitting-fairy animated movies Hope was so nuts over. Not his type, Max told himself, trying to recall the face—and figure—of the last woman he’d dated. Instead, all his mind could come up with was this smiling pixie of a woman.

“Joe Kellan?” the seasoned cop inquired.

“My brother’s on a business trip.” Max didn’t have as easy a time catching his breath as he usually did. Probably because his pulse was beginning to hammer in an unsteady rhythm. “What’s this about?”

“You’d be Max Kellan, then.” The detective scanned the area as he approached. Between the steady hand on his badge and the serious tone in his voice, Max’s skin prickled.

“That’s what my driver’s license says, Officer.” Grudging respect didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy ribbing the boys in blue. He planted his hands on his hips and let his gaze return to the woman as she joined them. Any thoughts he might have had about aiming a smile at her faded as he caught the uneasy glimmer in her eyes. Wow. Max took a sharp breath. He’d never seen such dark eyes before, eyes that reminded him of the deepest dives he’d taken in the Keys.

“I’m Detective Jack MacTavish. This is Officer Bowman and Dr. Allie Hollister. Do you mind if we go inside?”

Doctor? Max’s smile vanished. “Not until you tell me why you’re here.” Cops and doctors on the doorstep first thing on a Sunday? Alarm bells Max hadn’t heard in months, had hoped he’d never hear again, clanged in his head. “Is Joe in some kind of trouble? Did his plane—”

“As far as we know, your brother is fine,” Detective MacTavish said. “We’ve been unable to get in touch with him or his wife. We’ve also been trying to reach you for the last few hours—”

“Yeah, my cell phone’s charging. It’s insi—” The words he planned to speak vanished from thought. “What is this about? Wait.” He searched his memory, eyes pinned to the woman’s face as she very lightly, almost imperceptibly, flinched. “Dr. Hollister. I know that name. You’re Hope’s shrink.”

“I’m her therapist, yes.” Dr. Hollister’s eyes narrowed in a way that told him she didn’t appreciate the moniker. “Please, Mr. Kellan—”

“Max. It’s Max. Tell me what’s going on.” His heart picked up speed, racing faster than it had at any time during his jog. His entire body went cold.

“Please.” Dr. Hollister took a step toward him. “Let’s go inside so we can talk. It’s about Hope.”

He dug in his pocket for the house key. Once inside, he managed to hold out until they had closed the door behind them. “Tell me.”

He leaned against the wall and stared blankly at the three people in his brother’s foyer. He focused on Dr. Hollister, daring her to blink, to look away. She didn’t blink. Nor did he see anything other than cool detachment in her stoic expression.

“Your niece has been missing for at least four hours. The Vandermonts contacted us when they realized she was gone from their property. We’ve been searching ever since,” Detective MacTavish said. “We still have people searching for her as we speak.”

“How could she have disappeared?” He bent double, bracing his hands on his knees as his stomach rolled. “Are you sure? How can you be sure? The Vandermonts were home when I drove her up there last evening.” Everything had been fine when he’d left. Hope had been so happy and excited, she’d run off without even saying good-bye.

Good-bye.

“Let’s go sit down, Mr. Kellan. Get you something to drink to calm your nerves.”

“I don’t need to sit down.” His spine stiffened against the fear coursing through him. Hope missing? How was that possible? He pushed off the wall, walked to the kitchen and poured himself the coffee he’d been looking forward to for the last mile. Once it was swirling in the mug, all he could do was stare down and feel himself fall...falling...

“What are we looking at? A kidnapping for ransom? A stranger ab—” He dropped his chin to his chest, unable to complete the thought. He needed to find some logic here, something to grab onto like the plans made to combat a nasty out-of-control fire. But where was logic when a child was missing? When there wasn’t anything other than complete and utter panic.

“We’re considering every possibility,” the detective told him, but he found the statement far from reassuring.

“My brother—”

“Mr. Kellan. Max.” Detective MacTavish stood across the counter from him while Dr. Hollister remained just inside the doorway, those eyes of hers scanning the room like a laser beam. “I realize this is difficult, but we need to know if you’ve heard from your niece since you dropped her at the Vandermonts’ yesterday evening.”

“Um, yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She sent me a text message before she went to sleep. It’s our routine.” Max spun in a circle. Where had he left his phone? “Here.” He pulled it free of the charging station and handed it over. “There’s a picture of her with her friends. I think they were eating s’mores. It’s all over her—” He couldn’t think. Why couldn’t he think? He stared down, transfixed, at the grinning image of the only person who brought him a modicum of joy these days. “I need to call my brother.”

“Please.” Detective MacTavish nodded, but Max could tell the cop was humoring him.

Max dialed, clenching his teeth so tight his head ached. “Voice mail. Typical. Joe, it’s me. Call me back. Now. It’s about Hope. She’s...” He scrubbed his hand across his forehead. Missing? Dead? Gone? His chest hurt from breathing so hard. “Just call me back, man. Please.” He clicked off, let out a sound that might have been a laughing sob. “Can you believe my brother’s invented some of the most advanced technology on the market and half the time he forgets to turn on his cell?” He tossed the phone on the counter, barely noticing when the detective picked it up. He needed to move, to think. To do something, anything.

“You haven’t heard from Hope since she sent you that picture?” the detective asked.

“No. You said you’re considering everything. That means she might have gone off.” Was she out there? Alone? God, he hoped she was alone. But she could be freezing. Hurt. Scared. “I know there’s some pretty thick wilderness around the home. I didn’t think it was anything—”

“Again, we aren’t ruling anything out,” Detective MacTavish said. “We have sheriff’s deputies searching the property around the Vandermont home. We also have officers going door-to-door in case anyone saw anything or anyone suspicious in the area in the last few days. Do you have other contact information for your brother besides his cell number?”

“Yeah.” Max returned to the mug, watched the steam swirl up but still couldn’t bring himself to drink. “Yeah, he wrote it down and stuck it on the message board.” He walked around the detective to the recessed desk, pulled the paper off the corkboard. “He’s been working on a merger with a Japanese company interested in his latest invention, app, something I don’t understand.” Joe with all his big ideas that always paid off. Out to change the world, make it better. For everyone. For Hope.

“Do you know where we can find Gemma?” Dr. Hollister asked.

“She said she was going to a spa until Joe got back.” Because his morning wasn’t going bad enough, now he had to think about Hope’s mother. “Joe wanted her to go with him, thought maybe they could work out some of their issues. She refused. Big knock-down, drag-out fight the night before he left. Nothing violent,” he added when he realized the impression that statement would make. “Joe would never hurt either of them. But things have been difficult between them. As I’m sure she knows.” He glanced at Dr. Hollister, who gave a nod of agreement. What was wrong with the woman? She knew Hope; she’d been treating her. Why did she look as if she didn’t want to be bothered to be here?

“Do you know what spa Mrs. Kellan was going to?” Detective MacTavish asked.

“Honestly, I don’t pay much attention to anything Gemma says.” Max blinked. “And no, before you ask, I haven’t heard anything from her since she took off. She knew she wouldn’t have to worry about Hope with me around.” Guilt walloped him in the gut.

“I’d agree with that assessment,” Dr. Hollister said as she flipped through something on his phone. “Gemma isn’t the most hands-on parent, but if she stayed local, I’d lay odds on the Camellia Day Spa off Fair Oaks Boulevard, Jack.”

“We’ll have one of our officers work on tracking her down,” Detective MacTavish said. “May we have your permission to search your cell phone and the house? Maybe there’s a chance someone picked her up and dropped her off here late last night.”

“Search whatever you want,” Max said. “Hope hasn’t been here. I’d know. I don’t sleep much.” Maybe never again.

“Hope told me you’re living in their guesthouse,” Dr. Hollister said as she returned the phone to the detective.

“Officially, yes, but I moved in here when my brother left so I’d be close to Hope. The guest room is on the other side of the stairs. You’re wasting your time questioning me.” But he knew they had to. How many child abductions led to relatives or friends of the family? Frustration began to swirl. “I should be out there trying to find her.” He couldn’t just sit—or stand—around and wait. He needed to be doing something.

“We are doing that, believe me.” Detective MacTavish left the room with a gesture that he’d soon return.

Max stared at the doctor, anger boiling inside him as he pushed aside those warm, fuzzy feelings that had descended out on the street. The last thing he needed in his life again—in any capacity—was a useless doctor. “Stop looking at me like I’m a specimen under your microscope, Doc. I won’t lose it completely.” He gripped the edge of the counter, leaned over and squeezed his eyes shut. “Not yet, anyway.”

“I haven’t used a microscope since college.” She walked over and picked up his coffee, carried it over to the sink and dumped it out. She searched the cabinets, pulled out another mug, one of the ones Hope used for her hot chocolate, and filled it with coffee. “Here. Drink.”

He wrapped both hands around the white ceramic, his eyes falling on the cartoon princess frolicking with her animal friends. “Why did you do that?”

“To give you something of hers to hold on to.” Dr. Hollister pressed her hand over his for a brief moment, long enough to warm him in conjunction with the coffee. “We’re going to find her, Max. We’ve got a lot of smart, dedicated people who are going to help us. Jack and his partner? You won’t find better. We just need you to be here when she comes home.”

“Easy for you to say, Doc. I bet you don’t feel what I’m feeling.”

“You’d be surprised what I feel.” Her faint smile was anything but bright. “And it’s Allie, please. Doc sounds a bit clinical.”

“All doctors are clinical.” He sounded harsh. He didn’t care. Couldn’t let himself care. The only thing that mattered was Hope. “What if she’s run away again? She’s been doing that lately. It’s one of the reasons I moved out here.”

“If that’s what’s happened, we’ll find her sooner than later.”

“But you don’t think that’s what this is,” Max countered, daring the doctor to claim otherwise.

“She’s well aware she can trust you,” she said after the briefest of hesitations. “I’ve seen a marked improvement in her since you came to stay. She’s spoken about you often during our sessions. She loves you. Worships you, as a matter of fact. Her hero uncle Max who fights fires and saves people. I think I actually saw stars explode in her eyes talking about you one day.”

“Twist the knife deeper, why don’t you.” Max drank more coffee, surprised at how soothing the jolt of caffeine felt. The last thing he needed to dwell on was Hope out there waiting for him to find her, which he couldn’t do as long as he was stuck in here. Not that leaving was an option. What if a call came in...

His arms shook as his muscles clenched. “For the record, I don’t fight fires. Not anymore, anyway.”

Detective MacTavish reentered the kitchen.

“What?” Max’s spine went stiff.

“Crime scene unit is on its way. My partner is working on getting some FBI assistance while he’s up at the Vandermonts’ home. We want as many agencies on this as possible. The more we blanket the valley, the sooner we’ll find her.”

“Tell him to request Special Agent Eamon Quinn,” Allie said. “He’s out of the San Francisco office, but he’s one of their top experts in cases like this.” She flinched, as if afraid she’d said too much.

“Cases like what?” Max demanded.

“Missing persons,” Allie said quickly. Too quickly.

“Before this goes any further,” Detective MacTavish said, “I need to ask you something, Max.”

“Ask away.” What was it with these people that they were treating him with kid gloves? “I don’t have anything to hide.”

The detective glanced at Allie, who gave an encouraging nod. Max reined in his temper. Damned doctors always thought they knew best about everything.

“Given the custody fight over Hope,” Detective MacTavish said, “do you think it’s at all possible that either your sister-in-law or your brother could have taken her without telling you?”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Max set the mug down with a clack. “Seriously?”

“Very seriously. Allie’s filled me in on what she can—”

“Did she?” Max sneered. “Stretching those confidentiality boundaries are we, Doc?”

If his words hit an emotional target, he couldn’t tell. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment. Boy, she was one cold ice queen. “I told the detective what I could,” she said. “That your brother’s case has been contentious. Something I’ve been witness to in court on numerous occasions.”

“Joe wouldn’t do that to me.” Max couldn’t shake the sensation there was something more to this situation than he was being told. Or maybe he was overreacting. The last thing he could rely on these days was his own judgment. He’d never done well when people he loved were threatened. Situations like this always threw him into a tailspin and that’s when he made bad choices. Life-altering choices. “My brother wouldn’t set me up like this or use me. It doesn’t matter how much Joe and Gemma might loathe each other, he wouldn’t let me think Hope was in danger.” The very idea would have made him laugh if he could remember how.

“What about Hope’s mother?” Detective MacTavish asked.

“Gemma wouldn’t have any problem letting me hang.” Max grimaced. “We aren’t the other’s favorite person. We only get along for Hope’s sake. I’ve never trusted or liked her and she knows it.”

“Why don’t you trust her?” Allie asked.

He hesitated. No need to air that bit of dirty family laundry unless absolutely necessary. “Because my brother’s worth about three-quarters of a billion dollars and she didn’t pay him much attention until he hit the Fortune 500.” Aggravation built to the point of bursting. Max had long believed Gemma had only had Hope to ensure she would be financially tied to Joe forever. “Search the house, take my prints and DNA, hunt down Gemma, set up your phones or what have you, but I need to do something. I’ve got training. I can be out there looking—”

“We need you to stay close to home for the time being,” Detective MacTavish cut him off. “At least until we can get your brother or sister-in-law back here. You being around to answer any questions we might have is exactly the kind of help we need. Beginning with any friends of Gemma who might be able to help us track her down.”

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Allie’s too-soothing voice grated on Max’s nerves.

“I don’t need you,” he spat. “I don’t need anything other than for my niece to walk through that door and prove to me this is all some horrible mistake. So take your niceties and your platitudes and put them to use somewhere else. You find my niece.” He moved in on the detective, who straightened to meet him eye-to-eye. “And you do it fast. Or I’m going to do it myself.”

Chapter 3

It was strange, Allie thought, how time possessed a vicious will of its own. It sped up when you wanted to stretch out the memories and slowed to an agonizing crawl when all she wanted to do was push forward.

The hours that had passed since she’d sat before three terrified little girls felt like days, days she’d do anything to pretend had been a dream. Now, as she stepped inside Hope Kellan’s second-floor bedroom, the reality of the little girl’s absence hit her like an anvil.

She watched as the last member of the Sac PD’s crime scene unit snapped a metal case shut and left. The tech offered a strained, understanding smile as he did so. Never before had Allie put so much faith in the department she’d worked closely with and in the detectives heading up the case. She trusted them, absolutely and without question.

And yet...

Allie, of all people, knew there were no absolutes in life. Not where children were concerned. Not twenty years ago and not today.

She’d needed solitude; she’d needed quiet. Watching Max Kellan occupy himself with pacing, sitting, standing, and then repeating the pattern, pressed in on her. She understood how he felt; all she wanted to do was go out the front door, breathe in the fresh air and walk until she couldn’t walk anymore.

His panic, his concern, tasted bitter in Allie’s mouth as she tried not to surrender to the logic of what statistics said about how Hope’s disappearance would play out. The first twenty-four hours were vital—forty-eight, if they were lucky—but Allie was a realist; she knew the odds didn’t favor a happy reunion. Chances increased by the second that she’d be standing in another field, over another little girl’s body.

“Stop it!” She had to say it out loud, so she could hear it through her own ears. It’s what Simone or Eden would tell her, but they weren’t here. What she wouldn’t give for her best friends to be standing beside her. They were her support system, had been from the moment they’d met on the kindergarten playground.

Allie had been trying to stand up for herself against a second grader who wanted the bright blue plastic ball she’d gotten for her birthday, but she soon found herself flat on her back on the cement.

Next thing she knew, Simone Armstrong and Eden St. Claire were standing over her, hands stretched out for her to take. They hauled her up, introduced themselves and then their friend Chloe Evans, who had been standing behind them. Chloe, with her excitement-tinged, wide-green-eyed uncertainty, crooked pigtails sticking out on either side of her head. Her clothes hadn’t matched, not even a little, Allie remembered.

That day Simone had helped Allie straighten her new pink dress and sweater while Eden retrieved Allie’s ball—before being sent to the principal’s office for kicking the second grader somewhere Allie later learned was vastly inappropriate.

They’d been picking each other up off the ground ever since.

Times like this, as she stared at the youthful optimism of Hope Kellan’s bedroom, Allie envied people like Max Kellan.

Where other people became jittery and restless when faced with a traumatic situation, Allie pulled into her tiny, tiny shell like a petrified, silent turtle.

Call it professional training or life experience, it was part of what had kept her sane all these years. Today, for the first time, the calmness seemed to be pushing her to the brink.

When her cell phone buzzed, Allie answered without thinking. “Dr. Hollister.”

“Well, there’s a surprise. I thought for sure I was going to get your voice mail.” Nicole Goodale’s cheery voice dropped Allie into the quicksand of her youth, exactly the last place she wanted to dwell. “I just wanted to thank you for coming last night to the soft opening of Lembranza. We really appreciate the family support.”

“It was my pleasure, Nicole.” Allie rubbed the space between her brows. If there was one talent her foster siblings, Nicole and her brother Patrick, had picked up during her three years as one of Allie’s parents’ “projects,” it was Allie’s mother’s bad sense of timing, unfortunately. “The meal was fabulous and it was great to see both of you again.” Funny how, after more than fifteen years and sporadic contact, Nicole seemed inordinately determined to make up for lost time. Not that Allie minded. Nicole and her brothers were among the few bright spots in her childhood.

“Glad to know we earned your seal of approval. I also wanted to check in and see if everything’s okay with you.” The concern in her foster sister’s voice dropped another weight of guilt onto Allie’s shoulders. She hadn’t wanted to go last night and had even contemplated cancelling at the last minute, but if she’d done that she never would have heard the end of it, especially from her mother.

“Everything’s fine,” Allie lied. “I’m just dealing with a problem with one of my patients at the moment. Sorry if I sound distracted.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Nicole said.

“Serious enough,” Allie said. “And I hope I wasn’t too much of a downer last night at dinner. There’s just been a lot going on.” Being stalked by the monster responsible for murdering your best friend didn’t make for emotional stability. “But it was great to reconnect.”

“Seeing you again made us realize how much we’ve missed you,” Nicole said. “And you’re right, things have been...” Her voice trailed off and Allie flinched. “It’s been a rough few years trying to get Mom settled and, well, the rest of what happened.”

She did know. Of the three Goodale kids who had stayed with Allie’s family while their mother underwent in-patient treatment for severe psychosis, Tyler had been the youngest and, even to Allie’s young eyes, the most fragile. She hadn’t been surprised to hear years later that he’d eventually developed the same issues as his mother and been committed to a long-term psychiatric facility. “Tyler was always very nice to me.”

Allie shivered and looked down at the pale pink carpet. Tyler had been so considerate, so attentive. Especially after Chloe’s death. He’d followed Allie around, offering to help, to talk. He’d paid attention to her, listened to her, which was more than her own parents had done. Sitara and Giles Hollister had been wrapped up in their own lives, their own ideas, and had chalked Chloe’s death up to “one of those things the universe gives us as a test of character.”

It was only now, years later as a practicing therapist, that she realized the damage they’d done; but walking away completely would have felt hypocritical given her professional dedication to healing families. Besides, no one could work guilt like Sitara Hollister. But Tyler? He’d been her savior.

Whenever Allie recalled the quiet times she and Tyler spent in the ramshackle tree house her father had built, eating peanut butter sandwiches and playing board games, she smiled. A little.

“Well, we all have to move on, don’t we,” Nicole said. “I’ll check in with you again soon. If only to remind you to bring your famous potato salad on Sunday.”

Allie sighed. “Ma called you, didn’t she?”

“She thinks you’re ignoring her texts.”

That’s because she was. “Yeah, well, I’ll answer the next time she calls.” Like Allie had the wherewithal to deal with her mother today. “Thanks for checking in on me, Nicole. I’ll see you soon.”

Allie called on every ounce of courage that had abandoned her the second she’d stepped foot in the makeshift campground at the Vandermonts’. This wasn’t her. She didn’t flounder. Yet here she was, spinning out of control as if someone had pulled the floor out from under her. Adding her wacky and emotionally scarred family to the mix only made her rotate faster.

Where was the control she’d based her entire life on? Control that had been slipping away from her for months? Ever since Eden had begun receiving her “reminder” gifts. As if any of them had gone a day without remembering Chloe’s murder.

Never had it occurred to Allie that Chloe’s killer would target someone Allie cared about, other than Simone and Eden. Why would she, given a motive for Chloe’s murder had never been uncovered? Chloe’s case had simply been designated cold, attributed to an individual passing through who had taken advantage of a young girl out on her own in the middle of the night.

For decades the police and even Chloe’s family, who had moved away long ago, had assumed it was a random act.

Except it hadn’t been.

Allie should have been more aware as far as Hope was concerned. The physical similarities between Hope and Chloe were part of the reason Allie had been so determined to help the little girl. She didn’t need another therapist telling her the dangers of transference. Chloe hadn’t been given a long, happy, stable life. Allie wanted that—maybe too much—for Hope Kellan.

And by doing so, she had inadvertently put the little girl in danger.

When was Allie going to learn that whenever she let feelings get involved in any decision, trouble followed? All the more reason to take the offer of a new job, a new start, seriously. Allie’s stomach clenched. Moving on would mean leaving Simone and Eden behind—her real family. But they didn’t need her as much. Eden was happily married and Simone was practically on her way down the aisle.

Starting over, doing something that scared her both professionally and personally—that was a good idea, wasn’t it?

Once Hope is home, she told herself. Then she’d talk about it with them. Besides, they were going to have enough to deal with once the press found out Chloe’s case had been reopened recently when Chloe’s missing tennis shoe had been delivered to the police. Now, here they were, with another missing girl in frighteningly similar circumstances. Allie could only imagine the resulting spin accusing the police department of endangering valley residents by keeping the information quiet.

Allie shivered. She didn’t want to think about how the public—especially Hope’s uncle Max—would react to that.

She recognized a time bomb when she saw one and Max Kellan was tick-tick-ticking his way through life.

His life wasn’t any of her business. But given his rather shaggy appearance; the long, sun-tipped, dark blond hair that seemed to be in a race to his shoulders; the permanent five-o’clock shadow; his open hostility upon learning of her profession? Allie felt safe in assuming he’d had a difficult go of things lately. Still, there was something oddly appealing about him. Maybe it was the chiseled features of a man who could have stepped out of an action movie. She caught herself imagining how her fingers would get lost in the thick length of his hair. Her reaction to him was curious. Unusual. Which only increased her fascination.

When she looked into those swirling brown eyes of his, she found something familiar, something unsettling that she found in the mirror every morning: the man was haunted.

She also saw a man in need of care and compassion, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Add all those elements together and sharing her suppositions with Max about Hope’s kidnapping could very well set up a reaction of furious proportions.

For now, as far as the connected cases were concerned—as far as Max was concerned—she’d keep her mouth shut.

If she’d expected to find some peace in Hope’s bedroom, it was keeping its distance. Allie saw hints of designer elegance, Hope’s mother’s influence given her penchant for materialistic show-woman-ship. But Gemma’s taste extended only as far as the deep layers of pink-and-white striped wallpaper and detailed crown molding decorating the high ceiling.

Hope wasn’t a girlie-girl, not completely, anyway. She was a kid who threw herself into all different things, from science experiments to hip-hop dance classes, to horseback riding lessons that had been her mother’s idea. She liked playing dress up as much as baseball. She could catch and throw as well as she could decimate the makeup counter at the local store. Despite the sadness and withdrawn behavior that had brought Hope to Allie’s office, she’d maintained her spark, however dim; but enough for Allie to gently blow on and reignite.

Allie wasn’t so egotistical to believe Hope’s transformation was all on her. Max Kellan had played a significant role in pulling Hope out of the darkness surrounding her parents’ divorce.

Allie’s toes scrunched in her flat thin-soled shoes as if afraid of taking a step farther inside. She pushed past her reservations and forced herself to scan the walls lined with kitten and puppy posters and a boy band Allie had only heard of in some of her other patients’ sessions. Like the Vandermont home, Hope’s bedroom contained several photographs of the four young girls, all with the biggest, happiest, brightest smiles possible.

Allie could only hope they’d be able to smile like that again.

She wasn’t sure she ever had.

Allie walked over to the bay window, sat on the padded cushion stacked high with books ranging from classic children’s stories to the latest young adult novels.

“Let me guess.” Jack MacTavish’s voice had Allie glancing to the bedroom door. “Uncle Max drive you out of your comfort zone?”

Allie managed a slight smile. “Not really. I thought maybe being in her space would help me somehow.”

“How do you think he’s doing?” Jack strode in and scanned the room in that seemingly casual way he had of absorbing every detail.

“I’d say he’s hanging on by his fingernails.” Allie got to her feet, realized there wasn’t anywhere else to go. She sat down again. “Have you heard anything from Cole yet?” As much as she liked Jack, she’d known Cole Delaney, Jack’s partner and Eden’s new husband, for most of her life. She missed his solid presence despite acknowledging he was needed elsewhere.

“He’s still up at the Vandermont house with the lieutenant, bringing Agent Quinn up to speed. Quinn, I kid you not, arrived by helicopter like some movie superhero. Cole did say the girls are asking for you. They want to know if there’s anything they can be doing.”

“There isn’t.” All they could do was wait. Which was, of course, the most difficult thing anyone could do in this situation. “It makes more sense for Cole to talk to them, see if they noticed anyone strange in the last few weeks. Or if Hope told them something she’s been keeping to herself.” As if Allie could admit out loud that being around the girls felt like a physical knife to her heart.

Jack lowered his voice. “You think this has been in the works that long?”

“This took planning, Jack.” Far longer than Allie liked to consider. The idea that Hope was the one who suggested the campout niggled at the back of her mind.

“You’re still convinced this is connected to Chloe’s case.”

“You saw the flowers.” Allie had yet to erase the image out of her mind. “If it isn’t connected, why leave it at all? Hope and Chloe could be twins. The red hair, the quirky personality, the friends.” Allie felt her breath catch. Only now did she realize how being around Hope eased some of the pain she’d carried most of her life. And now? She scrubbed her hands down her arms. Now it was as if she was stuck in a horrific rerun of the worst episode of her childhood. “I know I’m supposed to try to keep an emotional distance, but I don’t think that’s possible. We’re all out on the ledge on this one, Jack. I’m not entirely sure what to do.” And that was her greatest fear: that she’d do something wrong and cost a young girl her life.

“You’ll do what you always do. You’ll keep us from falling.” Jack squeezed her arm. “You’ve got a good support system with Eden and Simone. Speaking of which, Cole called Eden and filled her in. She’s driving back from Portland. She should be in Sacramento by tonight.”

“More like this afternoon given the way she drives. I should call Simone,” Allie murmured. “I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to break her cone of happiness.”

“I’d say break away, but then I’d be the one emotionally invested.” It was Jack’s turn to offer a thin smile.

Allie inclined her head. Jack’s ego had taken a healthy bashing a few weeks ago when Simone reunited with her ex-husband, something none of them saw coming, least of all Jack, Simone’s on-again, off-again Friday-night date. That Jack rolled with the punches and, in some odd way, had become friends with said ex, Vince Sutton, proved just how nice a guy the detective was. “You need to stop looking so hard, Jack. Your someone is out there. She’ll pop up when you least expect it.” Or, as was the case for Eden and Simone, when it was incredibly inconvenient.

“Yeah, don’t know about that. I’m running out of options.” He came over and sat on the window seat beside her. He turned that charming, eye-twinkling grin on her. “Unless you’re open to—”

“You really don’t need me to remind you that you’re like my big brother, right?” Allie said, appreciating the lighthearted banter.

“Ugh.” He fell against the wall and clutched his heart as if she’d shot him. “And here I was finally recovering from Simone’s ‘you’re a great guy’ and ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech. I guess taking you for a weekend ride in my new car is out of the question.”

Allie chuckled.

“I don’t mean to interrupt.” Max Kellan’s shotgun voice made Allie jump, her face flushing for no reason other than he’d caught her being hit on, however ineffectively. “Your fellow detectives were able to track my brother down. Joe took an early flight and should land at Sac Metro in the next fifteen minutes. They have officers waiting at the gate to bring him home.” His amber-specked brown eyes shot disapproval, first in Jack’s direction, then in hers. “As you were.”

“Now, hang on—” Jack got slowly to his feet. Allie grabbed hold of his arm and shook her head.

“He needs to be angry at something,” she murmured. “It gives him focus.” On something other than fear.

“Then let it be me. You don’t deserve it.”

Didn’t she?

“Max, I could use your help going through some of Hope’s belongings.” Allie leaned around Jack. “Are you up for that?” She didn’t really need his help, but he needed a distraction and she needed to know more about this man who could prove vital when it came to finding Hope.

“You serious?” Jack’s brow furrowed.

“Go back downstairs. Check in with Cole. And see if you can track down Simone and Vince. I’m guessing we might need their input on this.”

“More detectives?” Max asked.

“More help,” Allie explained and hoped it would suffice.

“While you’re at it, see where we are with tracking down my sister-in-law,” Max added. With his arms folded across his torso, he resembled one of those Roman statues declaring battle, this time with the well-meaning detective.

“I’ll check.” Jack glared at Max. “Ease up, hose monkey. Allie’s one of the best assets you’ve got in this.”

“Hose monkey?” Allie asked Max once Jack was gone.

“One of the nicer things cops call firefighters.” It wasn’t until Max looked at her that she saw the reluctant respect glistening in his eyes. “What is it you’re hoping to find in here?”

Just like Allie, Max didn’t seem in a rush to step into Hope’s room; he’d probably feel more comfortable if the room was on fire. “You know her better than anyone. Is there anything that seems off to you? Things that aren’t familiar?”

Maybe little gifts she’d been sent like the mementos Allie, Eden and Simone had received over the past few months. Notes. Pictures. Flowers. Every one of them a stark reminder of when they’d lost Chloe and that her killer hadn’t been forgotten.

Or that he hadn’t forgotten them.

“Hope’s a pretty open kid.” Max finally moved inside and peered behind the door at the filled-to-the-brim bookshelf. “She’s a terrible secret keeper. I don’t like the idea of snooping through her stuff.”

“If it helps us get a handle on exactly what’s going on, I doubt she’d mind.”

“What about her laptop?” Max gestured to his niece’s desk.

“Tammy, the head lab tech, will go over that. Hope doesn’t maintain any social media presence that I know of.”

“Yeah, Joe doesn’t allow it. One of the benefits of being in on the expansion of the internet. He keeps it as far away from Hope as possible.” He ran his fingers along the spines of her books. “I suppose you think that’s too restrictive, too controlling.” He glanced at her, the accusation clear on his face.

“I can see both sides of that argument, but, as I don’t have children, it’s not necessarily my place to say.” Except in the confines of her office.

“Of course not,” Max sneered. “Fixing the messes people make of their kids keeps you employed.”

Allie’s chest tightened. “Forgive me for dropping all the psychology on you, but that’s what we in the business call projecting. And Hope isn’t a mess.”

“No, but her parents are.”

Allie couldn’t argue that point. Joe Kellan, Hope’s father, avoided conflict at all costs, especially when it came to his wife. Whereas Gemma Kellan knew precisely what buttons to push to get what she wanted. The two were a seriously toxic combination and it adversely affected their only child.

Allie prided herself on being able to read people. It was, after all, a big part of her job. She could walk into a situation and assess the people involved from the start; give her a file and some background and she could, if necessary, get exactly what she needed from them, either child or adult. At the very least she could find a clue as to how to help.

But Max Kellan? Oh, boy. Allie brushed her fingers against the space just over her heart. For whatever reason, she couldn’t get a good read on him, and Allie didn’t do well in uncharted territory. The only thing she could be certain of was that he cared about Hope and he’d do whatever it took to bring his niece home.

And that might just be the most attractive thing about him.

As much as she hated keeping a family member in the dark, openly connecting Hope’s disappearance to any previous crime, especially a case as contentious as Chloe Evans’s unsolved murder, would only make finding Hope more difficult.

Allie and her friends had lost to this monster once already. She wasn’t going to lose again.

If that meant sticking close to an unknown entity like Max Kellan, so be it. She had enough psychological weaponry in her wheelhouse to keep both of them occupied.

“You don’t have any affinity for psychologists, do you, Max?” Turning the conversation into something productive could work to her benefit.

“Affinity?” Max pulled out a stack of books and peered behind it before he moved to the next shelf. “In my experience they enjoy putting people on edge. Like the way some of them use big words they think their patients might not understand.”

“Nice to know you’ve painted us all with the same tainted brush.” She did some more wandering and zeroed in on the small table behind the closet door where Hope kept a mix of little-girl and big-girl makeup. “Calling me a shrink was my first clue, in case you’re wondering. I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist.”

He snorted. “Like there’s a difference. They both mess with people’s heads.”

She arched a brow, locked her jaw. “Only one is a medical doctor with prescription privileges.”

“Noted. I won’t come to you for pharmaceutical assistance. You’re here to help find Hope,” Max said, his tone dismissive when she started to respond. “Not to go rattling around in the empty space between my ears.”

“And you seem determined to convince me you’re not exactly the sharpest tool in the box.” She found his self-deprecating attitude offensive. “Whatever issues you have with your previous shri—um, doctors,” she said, almost choking on the unfinished word, “it would be helpful if you set them aside for the time being. We don’t need anything else getting in our way.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” He stooped down and pushed open the bay window seat Allie had been occupying a few minutes before.

She really should write a book on people’s passive-aggressive tendencies. Some used them when making excuses for the paths their lives had taken, blaming everyone other than themselves for their choices. Normally she could ignore this behavior when it was aimed at her. With Max Kellan, however, she found his sarcastic dismissal irritating. “Guess I’ll need to find a way to embrace that nickname. What’s yours, by the way, Max?” She picked up a beaded necklace off one of the pushpins on Hope’s wall.

“My what?”

“Your nickname, call sign, whatever it is you fire boys call it. You all get one, right? Or do you choose your own?”

“We do not choose our own. And we certainly aren’t boys.”

“Clearly I need to be educated in the ways of the firefighter.” She watched the dazed expression vanish from his eyes as he narrowed his gaze at her. “Let me guess. Einstein? Hawking? Hmm.” She flicked open the square jewelry box on the dresser. Inside she found a collection of rainbow-colored perfume and makeup bottles. Huh. This one reminded her of one she’d had as a little girl. She picked up the pink vial. “Come on, Max, help a doctor out. What do your fellow firefighters call you? If you don’t tell me, I’m just going to keep guessing.”

“Entertain yourself all you like, if puzzling me out is going to keep that smile on your lips.” He walked around the bed and stood in front of her. Allie lifted her chin high enough that her neck ached. My goodness, but he is... Allie swallowed hard. Tall. And big. So very, very big. She smelled the freshness of the shower he’d taken, the ever-so-subtle hint of sandalwood and spice from his soap or aftershave. Even fully clothed in something as simple as jeans and a dark T-shirt, she could see there wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t toned, controlled. Given what she’d learned about him so far—early-morning runner, tightly wound, protective, judgmental bordering on accusatory—she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to herself she considered the man incredibly attractive and intriguing.

She blinked, her hand tightening around the bottle. Now she was the one who needed distracting. “Tell you what. If I guess your nickname, you have to tell me something about yourself absolutely no one else knows.”

He moved closer, lowered his voice. “And what do you give me when you guess wrong?”

Allie shrugged, refusing to be put off. “Name it.” Her eyes went wide as she realized her mistake. “I mean, um.”

He grinned. Not in a flirtatious or playful way as she might have expected or wanted. Instead she suddenly felt trapped in one of those crime novels she was so fond of—caught by someone with a nefarious if not alluring agenda.

“I wouldn’t have thought a smart woman like you would be into dangerous games, Doc. Making an offer like that? It’s asking for trouble.”

Allie cleared her throat. Was it just her or was it hot in this room? “Maybe I like trouble.”

“Or maybe you’re just looking for any means to distract me from what’s really going on.” He put his hands on his hips and stared at her intently. “I’ll settle for you answering any question I ask you honestly.” He stressed the last word. “You were right. I don’t trust doctors. Even pretty ones with big brown eyes and a tough attitude. But I do appreciate your efforts, Doc.”

Darn. Was that a smirk on his face as he stepped away? She couldn’t tell. Allie pressed her lips tight and took a long breath. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She shrugged and played the “aw shucks” card. She twisted the lid on the bottle, lifted it to her nose and breathed deeply. She gagged and covered her mouth.

“What?” Max was at her side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

Allie shook her head, her eyes watering as she tried to breathe around the suffocating, familiar aroma. “Just that smell.” The perfume she, Eden and Simone had given Chloe for her birthday a few weeks before Chloe disappeared. What was it doing here? Allie’s hand trembled. How had Hope gotten it? “I’ve always hated it.” Her head spun and she swayed, her knuckles turning white around the bottle.

Max moved in, his hands poised to catch her. She held out her arms, shifted her stance as if preparing to defend herself.

He looked startled for a moment, whether at his own instinctual reaction or at her immediate defensive posture, she couldn’t tell. Then his expression hardened and he glared, examining her as if she was now the one pinned under a microscope—what Max had accused Allie of doing to him earlier.

“I don’t believe you.”

That Max spoke so succinctly, so firmly, left Allie even more determined not to let too much slip about the possible connection between Hope and Chloe. “That’s not my fau—”

“I don’t believe a lot of what’s been going on today. There’s too much whispering, too much secrecy. You and MacTavish know a lot more than you’re saying and I’m betting the FBI isn’t too far behind on the information train. Everyone I’ve run into so far is walking around like they’re about to break something and I refuse to let that something be Hope. What’s going on, Doc?”

Allie couldn’t find the words.

“This is my niece’s life we’re talking about.”

The desperate plea in his voice had her swallowing a softball-sized lump of guilt. He was right. This was his niece’s life. Who was she to blame him for reacting like this? Why would he believe her when she said she was going to do whatever it took to bring Hope home? Why would he trust her? Why would he trust anyone? But she needed him to. “For the record, I’m well aware of what’s at stake, Max. Don’t believe for one second that I’m not.”

“Something else is happening here, Doc. Something you’re not telling me. Are you going to come clean or not?”

“There’s nothing to come clean about,” she lied. Would there come a time when she could be honest with him? Why did it matter? “Have you seen this perfume before?” She recapped the bottle and wished she hadn’t handled it so much.

“No. But I don’t keep up on my nine-year-old niece’s perfume habits.”

Maybe someone should have. Allie picked up the jewelry box. “I need to get an update from Jack. He should have spoken to his partner by now. Keep searching for anything you think might help.”

“I meant what I said before, Doc.” Max’s voice had her stopping at the door, but she didn’t face him. Not again. Not when she wasn’t sure she could continue the façade. “I don’t trust you. Whatever it is you’re hiding, I promise you, I’m going to find out. And I always keep my promises.”

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