Quietly he stole into the bathroom, trying to shower away his conflicting feelings, eventually turning the water to cold. It didn’t help, so once shaved and dressed, he decided to walk off some of his tension. As he left the room, he looked at her, committing the vision to memory before he stepped outside.
The storm that had swept in with such ferocity had departed, leaving only quiet. Leaves and downed branches littered yards, but the street was clear.
Callville was sleepily awakening as well. A young man yawned as he unlocked the front door of the gas station. And from the café, the strong, invigorating smell of brewing coffee saturated the air.
Brad thought about Gillian’s intuition—that something about this girl’s disappearance was amiss. Gillian was a damn fine agent and he trusted her instincts.
However, studying the small town, he couldn’t see any obvious aberrations. Callville was a picture-postcard version of rural America. If there were secrets behind the gingham-checked curtains, they were hidden well.
Brad strolled over to the café, taking the opportunity to study the semirolled-up main street. Once in the diner, he slid into a Naugahyde-upholstered booth and ordered coffee. The thick stoneware mug warmed his hands but didn’t reach the cold pit in his stomach. The pit was caused by fear. Fear that he and Gillian were destined to be apart. Knowing he needed to hide that from her, Brad drank a second cup, hoping it would quell the feeling.
Watching the customers straggle in, Brad didn’t see anyone suspicious. Just the regular assortment of everyday people. He figured most of them knew one another, especially since their greetings consisted mostly of grunts and nods.
Accepting another refill, Brad stalled as long as possible. But he’d seen enough surreptitious glances to know he’d begun to attract attention. His and Gillian’s presence would no doubt travel the grapevine soon, but no sense giving the locals a head start.
When he returned to the motel room, he knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Gillian called out.
Brad turned the knob cautiously. He wasn’t sure he could handle another glimpse of Gillian’s shapely legs.
Brad didn’t know whether it was relief or disappointment he felt when he saw that she was dressed for the day.
Gillian had her bright face on. Apparently she was choosing to act as though nothing had happened. “Checking out the local haunts?”
“And the townsfolk,” he drawled wryly.
She didn’t look at him. “Anything we can use?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. You want some breakfast?”
“Just coffee.” She stuffed those seemingly innocent pajamas into her bag. “But if you’re hungry—”
“Nah. Coffee’s fine. We can get it to go.”
“You read my mind,” she replied, still too brightly. “I’d really like to get started interviewing Holly Brewster’s family and friends.”
Checking out at the office, they collected coffee to take along. Settled into the car, he inserted the key in the ignition. Before he could turn it, Gillian put a restraining hand on his.
“Brad, I don’t want you to think this changes things between us.” She glanced down. “What ended our marriage…well, that hasn’t changed, either. We have to work on the case, but—”
“That’s all,” he finished for her, knowing he was tight-lipped, not caring.
“Don’t be mad. I just thought we—”
“I think we’ve thought enough. Let’s get going.” He started the car, accelerating so that the engine noise would drown out the need for conversation.
They drove without speaking for several minutes, leaving the town behind and passing rolling acres of farmland and woods. She thought nothing had changed. He wished she was privy to his heart. Then she might not be so sure.
Her voice broke the uncomfortable silence. “Apparently this vic didn’t live in a conventional neighborhood.”
If she could focus on the case, he could, too. “Not unless there’s a new community built out here.”
There wasn’t. Houses were scattered far apart, each appearing to sit on at least several acres of land. Brad watched mailboxes for the number the deputy had given him. He slowed down. On one the name Brewster was mostly scratched out, replaced by Wright. “I think this is it.”
After Brad parked on the gravel shoulder of the road, they both studied the house. It wasn’t run-down, but it wasn’t especially inviting, either. The yard was nondescript, lacking the color of flowers. The house was covered in green siding, making it blend into the landscape.
As they got out of the car, a large dog barked in warning.
Brad glanced at Gillian. It would be difficult to sneak past a dog of that size with a volume to match.
It didn’t seem to matter. No one was roused by the dog’s fussing. They had to knock twice before the door creaked open. The middle-aged woman eyed them warily. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Brewster?” Gillian asked.
“It’s Wright now,” the woman replied, still looking suspicious.
Gillian showed her badge. “We’re here about your daughter.”
“Holly?” For a moment the woman looked hopeful, but the light in her eyes faded when a man called her name from inside the house.
“Is Mr. Wright home?” Brad questioned.
She nodded.
“May we come in?” Gillian asked in a tone that suggested there wasn’t an option.
Reluctantly, Marion Wright pushed the screen door open and stepped aside.
Brad caught Gillian’s gaze. Most parents would be anxious to speak to someone who might be able to help them locate a missing child.
“Who’re they?” Floyd Wright asked belligerently when he spotted them.
“FBI,” Gillian replied calmly. “Mr. Wright?”
“Yeah. This about the girl?”
The girl. Now, that was a warm term. Brad checked his immediate anger.
“It’s about Holly,” Gillian replied, turning to Mrs. Wright. “We have a few questions.”
“We done told the deputy what we know,” Mr. Wright answered for his wife.
“We don’t always ask the same questions,” Brad told him. “Humor us.”
Floyd Wright didn’t look amused. He lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke in their direction.
Gillian consulted the file. “I understand that you last saw Holly about six o’clock on the evening of the seventeenth. Yet you didn’t report her disappearance until noon on the eighteenth. Where did you think your daughter was that night?”
Mr. Wright snorted. “Doing what she always did.”
“And what was that?”
“Staying out all night with trash.”
Mrs. Wright’s eyes watered briefly, but she didn’t rebuke her husband.
Gillian briefly met Brad’s gaze. “Mrs. Wright, do you have any reason to suspect Holly might have run away?”
Mrs. Wright looked at her husband, then down at her hands.
“Girl was pregnant,” Mr. Wright told them with what seemed to be a degree of satisfaction.
Gillian glanced between the Wrights. “Are you certain?”
“No,” Mrs. Wright said, finally speaking for herself. “But she was dating this one boy a lot. I was worried—”
“All my wife ever done was worry about that girl. Good riddance, is what I say.”
Mrs. Wright slipped a crumpled handkerchief from her pocket and wiped at her eyes. Clearly she didn’t share her husband’s opinion.
“The boy’s name?” Brad asked.
“Luther Freeman,” Mrs. Wright replied.
Gillian asked a few more questions, collected the most current picture of Holly and concluded the interview.
“I’ve never seen a better case for running away,” Brad told her as they drove down the road.
“That poor woman.”
“She doesn’t have to stay with him,” Brad replied, having wondered the entire time why Mrs. Wright did.
“Some women don’t co
nsider that an option.”
But Gillian had. She’d walked away quickly, bloodlessly.
But there wasn’t time to dwell on that. Or his resentment that she wanted to forget last night.
Quickly they drove to the next addresses in the file. Interviews with Luther Freeman and Holly’s friends cemented their opinion that this girl had run away. Although they had been reluctant to admit it initially, the girls confessed that Holly had confided her wish to leave home and Callville forever. They weren’t certain she was pregnant. But she was definitely unhappy. Luther was less forthcoming about the pregnancy, but confirmed that Holly had spoken frequently about leaving home.
Since she was under eighteen, Gillian called the bureau, requesting that Holly Brewster be put in their national search bank.
“Nothing about this girl fits with the other two,” Gillian mused. “Rural versus suburban, tight neighborhood versus isolated farm country, the ages. And the case in Tyler wasn’t identical to Tamara’s or Katie’s.”
“Thinking they aren’t connected?”
“I’d like to check in with the task force, see if they’ve run down any more disappearances on the carnival’s route.”
Brad put the car in drive. “Yeah. I’d hate to be wasting time that might make the difference for Katie and Tamara.”
Gillian nodded her agreement, then flipped open her phone.
Learning that the team hadn’t made any more connections with the carnival, Brad agreed with Gillian that they should return to Houston.
The car ate up the miles. Still, the time seemed to drag since they hadn’t been able to dissolve the strain between them.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Gillian said finally.
“They’re pretty grim.”
“I can take it.”
But Brad wasn’t as certain he could verbalize them. “I was just thinking about how scared those kids must be.”
“They’re so young to be away from their parents, everything they know.”
“And I’m wondering if Tamara’s still alive,” Brad admitted. “Or even Katie.”
“Yeah.” The one word sat heavily between them.
In the quiet that followed, Brad thought about something else that had been bothering him.
Gillian seemed to sense his worry. “What is it, Brad?”
“Thinking about the pregnancy thing with this teenager.”
“Oh?”
Brad glanced at her, wondering if he should continue. A strange note had entered her tone. “Do you want to talk about this?”
“Sure.”
“If she was pregnant, do you think Holly should have told her boyfriend?”
“Yes.” Gillian’s voice was still strained. “Parenthood is too important not to be discussed thoroughly.”
So it was. “Gillian…” But he couldn’t find any other words, not any that didn’t sound lame.
The previous tension seemed mild in comparison to the charged atmosphere in the close vehicle.
And they weren’t even halfway to Houston.
WHEN THEY WERE FINALLY back in the city, Gillian’s cell phone interrupted the terse silence just a few miles from the station. It was her partner, and Savino’s news wasn’t good. As Savino talked, she urged Brad to drive faster. Briefly telling Brad what was going on, she parted with him at the precinct house.
Hell had more than broken loose. Their investigation was splashed all over the media. Although the local news outlets had reported Tamara Holland’s and Katie Johnson’s disappearances, they had now somehow learned of the two other cases. Speculation that there was a serial killer on the loose in Texas filled the televisions, newspapers and radio broadcasts. Parents were bringing their children inside and locking the doors. A fearful, expectant mood seized the city.
The fact that the publicity had exploded was yet another thorn between Gillian and Brad. When she phoned to tell him the extent of the damage, he thought she’d overridden his concerns and released the details to the press. She hadn’t.
Combined with the tense end to the morning, Gillian didn’t think she could handle much more personal turmoil in addition to the case.
After speaking with Shawn and Debra, Gillian felt sure neither had leaked the story. The other two possibilities were Vicki Campbell and Roger Turner.
Gillian didn’t think Vicki would do anything that might compromise the investigation.
That left Roger Turner. Gillian suspected he would love to be at the center of a high-profile case. He hadn’t liked being shunted off to do the same work as the other detectives on the team. She also guessed Roger had thought he’d be the one appointed to head the task force.
But she didn’t have any evidence that he was involved with the leak.
It was equally possible that a member of the press corps had overheard a discussion or intercepted a cell transmission. Either way, they were now up against a rapidly diminishing deadline.
CHAPTER TWELVE
LATE THAT EVENING, Gillian reached Brad’s apartment in record time. Despite the pressing severity of the developments in the case, Gillian’s thoughts had strayed to Brad again and again.
Considering the events of the previous evening and their tense day, she only wanted to escape. She couldn’t blow the case by remaining with Brad. Her bags were still in his apartment, and she wanted to retrieve them. The menace of an unknown intruder paled next to the prospect of reliving her past one moment longer. And if she spent another night in Brad’s arms, she would be too tempted to forget how monumental their differences were.
He’d left the door unlocked. Once inside she greeted him, then headed to the bedroom, emerging with her bags. “Thanks for the hospitality, Brad. I’m very grateful.”
He frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Going home.”
“But that’s not safe.”
“I’m sure our perp’s too occupied by the media assault to worry about me.”
“Gillian, you’re not being logical.”
She increased the grip on her bag. “Brad, I need to go home.”
“Then I’ll go with you.”
Gillian shook her head, not trusting herself to spend another night with him. “If I run into any trouble, I’ll call you.”
Brad opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “You can argue the rest of the evening, but you’re not going to change my mind.”
His lips thinned, and she felt pangs of regret. Knowing she couldn’t give in to them, she left his apartment and drove toward home. Alone in the car, she gave in to the weariness plaguing her.
Despite the fatigue and strain, she realized she missed Brad. Stopped at a red light, she passed one hand over her forehead. How could she have been so stupid? She should have known that spending so much time with Brad would reopen not only wounds, but the feelings she still had for him.
And making love with him…that had been the monumental folly.
Once home, she parked in her space, a bit reluctant to go in now that she’d arrived. She thought of the warmth of her parents’ home or Teri’s. Despite her assurances to Brad, she couldn’t risk leading the perp to her family. She loved them too much to put them in danger.
Opening the car door, she walked to the rear of the Eclipse to get her bags from the trunk.
“Hello,” Brad said quietly, standing on the other side of the car.
Startled, she stared at him for a moment. “What—”
“Let’s check out your apartment. Then, if you insist, I’ll leave you alone.”
She guessed that meant he’d stake out the apartment from outside. Not knowing what to do with Brad, yet glad to see him, Gillian nodded. “Okay.”
One eyebrow inched upward at her acquiescence. “Why don’t we go inside before we get the bags out of the trunk?”
It sounded as though he’d already made up his mind that her apartment would be unsafe. But Gillian didn’t argue the point.
Entering the apartment, everything appeared normal. Gillian turned t
o Brad to make that announcement and saw his face change. Following his gaze, her stomach dropped. The video camera she’d had installed in the living room mantel clock was gone. The tiny camera had blended very well in the piece, its disguise nearly perfect. She was chilled to think that someone had studied her apartment so well they’d been able to find the camera.
She and Brad pulled their guns at nearly the same instant. He motioned with his head toward the bedroom. Hugging the wall, they entered cautiously. But the room was empty. The video camera directed toward the French doors in the bedroom was gone, as well.
Gillian swallowed the lump in her throat. The break-in itself didn’t unnerve her, but the violation did. What had the perp touched? Examined?
Immediately she thought of Tamara Holland and Katie Johnson—innocent, helpless. “He’s devious…cold…” She couldn’t voice the enormity of her reaction.
Brad angled his face toward her. “Gilly, we have to run this latest info through the bureau’s computers.”
“I was thinking that, too. Maybe we’ll hit a match.”
“We have to keep this guy off the scent,” he mused aloud. “Because he’s obviously enjoying the hunt. We can take your car back to the precinct lot, get a cab, then pick up my car once we’re sure no one’s following us.”
Gillian swallowed. She knew what Brad left unsaid. He didn’t want to lead the perp back to his apartment. Then they wouldn’t have a safe house. “Okay.”
The ride to the precinct and then back to her apartment was remarkably quiet, broken only by Brad’s terse instructions to the cab driver. They took a circuitous route that would be difficult to follow.
Once back at the apartment they climbed into Brad’s SUV, where he’d stowed Gillian’s bags. She was surprised when he didn’t head back toward his place.
“Are we being followed?” She discreetly pulled down the visor to glance in the mirror.
“I don’t see anyone.” Brad turned again, the fourth time in as many blocks. “But the guy who broke into the apartment was good. He may have an equal talent in tailing cars.” Opening his cell phone, he punched in a telephone number. He asked his father to drive to a nearby mechanic’s lot, briefly explaining why he needed to borrow one of their cars. He also asked that his father take a cab home before they arrived.
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