Heavy footsteps stopped outside the door. The light bulb overhead clicked. Harsh yellow light filled the closet. She pulled her knees close, shriveling back into the shadows.
“Time’s up, Jill,” he said in his rumbling baritone.
Despite her steely resolve, thin tendrils of fear unfurled in the pit of her stomach, and she knew he was right. The game was over. And he had won. Again. Hatred burned in her eyes as she stared at the heavy beige boots encasing his size-twelve feet.
Sam parted the clothes. The hangers squealed against the metal rod, reminding her of fingernails on slate. The sound made her teeth ache.
She could smell his sour mash breath, and a wave of nausea rolled through the pit of her stomach. Tears threatened, and she forced them back behind a frozen wall. Like a caterpillar, she withdrew inside her icy cocoon to a place far beyond, where he couldn’t touch her.
“Were you looking for this?” he asked.
Master Sergeant Morris dangled a twenty-two caliber sub-compact pistol from a thick finger. Jill’s gaze shifted from the gun to the grotesque smile on his broad face and back again.
The gun. Yes. Every night as he opened her bedroom door, she’d thought about the gun, and pictured a bullet hole centered between his thick black brows. But as usual, he was two steps ahead.
Like Jesse James, he spun the pistol around his finger and tucked it neatly into the back of his fatigues.
“You like games, do you?” he asked.
“Not as much as you,” she said, in a voice that sounded steadier than she felt.
His cruel lips flattened into a thin line. Jill remained perfectly still, her face a stony mask. Sam hunkered down. His meaty hands snaked toward her. Hot fingers slithered around her neck. She shuddered and waited for them to constrict, squeezing off her airway. But they didn’t tighten. Goosebumps dimpled her icy skin as he caressed the long column of her slender throat. Their eyes locked, and as much as she wanted to, she refused to look away.
Never again, she promised herself. Never again would he touch her like this. He would pay. Somehow this sick game would end.
And no matter what the cost, she would win.
1
Jill Shannon stood with her feet planted shoulder width apart and focused intently upon her mark. Target acquired. Shoulders relaxed, she squeezed the trigger of the 9 mm Glock. The acrid smell of cordite filled her head.
A cocky smile crossed her face as she stole a quick glance at her husband through the thick lenses of the protective goggles. Pressing the button to retrieve the target, she admired the tight grouping of holes that obliterated the center of the bull’s-eye. Dead-on balls accurate, as Master Sergeant Morris used to say.
Alex Shannon kept his eyes trained forward as he completed his round. His grouping was good, a little to the left of Jill’s perfect aim. He lowered his gun and cast a crooked, self-deprecating smile in her direction. “You know, you’re pretty good at keeping my ego in check,” he said as he pulled out his earplugs.
“I’m glad to hear that I serve some purpose,” she said, removing her goggles.
“Like that’s the only thing.”
“A little healthy competition is good for a marriage,” Jill said, her smile widening in appreciation of the ironic inflection in his voice. “Besides, you can’t be all that bad. They still allow you to carry a badge and a gun.”
“Yeah, that helps.”
“Girl’s got a point, Alex,” a deep voice rumbled from behind.
“What are you doing here on a Sunday morning?” she asked.
Jackson Levy was a bear of a man, six foot three, and still built like the linebacker he was back in his college days. Alex was no small guy, but next to Jackson, he looked like an undernourished middle-grader.
“Thought I’d get a little shooting in while the wife is at yoga. My own Zen moment, so to speak.”
Jill masked her surprise. Last she heard, Jackson and his wife, Michelle, were separated. If Alex knew about their reconciliation, he hadn’t let on. Of course, that was nothing unusual. They didn’t talk about work. Truth was, they didn’t talk about much at all lately.
“Sometimes I worry about you,” Alex said with a grin.
“Me? What about the two of you? If this is your idea of a date, then …” With a cocked eyebrow, Jackson let the words trail off. Stepping forward, he clamped his huge hand onto Jill’s shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “How are you doing, girl?”
“Keeping out of trouble.”
“Looks like you kicked your man’s butt.”
“It’s not the first time,” Alex said, giving Jackson a sidelong glance through narrowed eyes. “Jill’s stepfather was Special Forces. She learned to shoot before she could drive. I don’t need to hear any shit from you about my marksmanship.”
“Well, I’ve got a lot riding on your shooting ability. I’ve got to know that you have my back. Maybe I need to take Jill here along with me instead.”
“Not a chance,” Alex said. The response was fast. Automatic. Jill bristled at the proprietary note in his voice. Before she could respond, he continued.
“There’s a big difference between shooting a paper target and a perp. I haven’t let you get shot so far, and believe me, that’s no small feat given the massive target you present.”
Jackson’s wide lips parted in a good-natured smile. “Maybe a bigger target is what you need if you plan on hitting anything.”
“Don’t push your luck, or I might just shoot you myself.” Jackson laughed, and Alex cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll catch you later. I’ve got to take Dirty Harriett here to the airport.”
Alex clapped a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. Jill could still hear his deep, rumbling laugh as she handed in her gear at the desk.
She didn’t miss the appreciative glance she got from the clerk behind the counter as she signed out. If Alex noticed, he showed no outward sign. Was he used to the male attention she attracted? Did he still look at her that way? Did he still look at her at all? Over the course of their five-year marriage, they had slid into a routine. Or was it a rut, she wondered.
“What time’s your flight?” he asked.
“Noon.”
“Why so early?”
Jill followed Alex out of the range and down the long, narrow hallway toward the locker room. Her heart pounded in double time as she considered the question, but she kept her voice light.
“I’ve got a project review first thing in the morning and I still have to work on my slides.”
Alex glanced at her. He still looked like a college student, his short hair cut away from his angular face and a light growth of stubble on his cheeks. Subtle lines carved their way into the corners of his eyes and lent him an air of experience, falling just short of the war-weary look common to most detectives.
The expression in his golden brown eyes gave her pause. Was he growing suspicious of her frequent trips to the Bay Area? The recent expansion of her role at work provided a plausible excuse for all the time spent away from him. But still.
“I guess we should head straight home then. You don’t have a lot of time to get ready.”
Unaware that she had been holding her breath, she exhaled in a soft sigh. Her long strides kept pace with his as they walked side by side, hands not touching. Jill changed the subject and followed him into the locker room.
“Did you talk to Captain Lewis about the presentation he asked you to do for the conference?”
Once a year, police chiefs from across the country got together to discuss the new strategies and techniques their departments employed. This year, Alex had been asked to present his groundbreaking work on a suite of cybercrime tools. Jill glanced up. Alex’s expression was guarded.
“I thought we talked about this already.”
“Did we?” Jill asked, eyes wide, feigning ignorance.
“It’s a political bullshit assignment. I’ve got better ways to spend my time.”
Jill frowned. It was exactly the type of an
swer she expected. Tactical. Alex seemed maddeningly oblivious to the types of opportunities that came his way. If only he possessed an ounce or two of ambition.
“Come on, Alex. You’re a smart guy. You know there’s more to it than that. Think of the doors it could open for you.”
“For me? Are you sure it’s me we’re talking about here, because if it is, you know where I stand. All I want is to get back into homicide. Are you sure we’re not talking about what you want?”
“That’s not fair,” she said, controlling her irritation with effort. “The cybercrimes unit has been waiting for a guy with your talent. Think of all of the good you could do.”
“Great, so I can put a dent in identity theft instead of tracking down murderers. Hell of a trade-off, don’t you think?”
“Forget it,” she said, and waved a dismissive hand.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them, and Jill could feel the weight of his stare as they entered the locker room. She deliberately avoided his gaze. There was no point. At times like this, there was no talking to him. The widening gulf between them felt less like a fissure and more like the great divide.
Alex dialed the combination, then handed her a jacket before pulling on his own.
“Listen, Jill, I’m not that guy. Besides, you’ve got enough ambition for both of us.” His voice was soft, and he shot her his best boyish smile in an attempt to take the sting out of his words. “If it helps, Jackson has been pushing me, too.”
It didn’t help. She brushed past him and left the locker room. Ambitious? Hell yeah, she was ambitious. Spending her high school years dirt-poor and in foster homes was inspiration enough to excel. Alex’s Norman Rockwell upbringing didn’t instill him with the same needs.
Half way to the exit, Alex’s cell phone rang, eliminating the need for further discussion. She pushed open the heavy doors and stepped out into the brisk morning air. Thick, gray clouds choked out the sun, and though it wasn’t raining yet, it soon would be. She could feel it.
Jill stayed two strides ahead, carving a path through the parked cars toward the silver Jeep Liberty. The lights flashed as Alex unlocked the door.
“When?” As he spoke into the phone, the change in his tone was instantaneous, sharp, and suddenly all business. Jill turned. The expression on Alex’s face was serious. “When was she expected home?”
What now? Here it was, a cool fall Sunday morning, and they couldn’t spend an hour alone without a call. She knew what came next. An emergency. An excuse. And she would be finding her own way to the airport while he rushed off.
Shaking her head, she opened the door and climbed inside the Jeep.
“Have you called the police yet?” Alex asked as he settled behind the steering wheel, the cell phone still pressed to his ear. With a quick flick of his wrist, he consulted his watch. “I’ll be there in twenty-five minutes.”
Hanging up, he glanced over at Jill. Concern was clearly etched into the lines around his mouth.
“That was Abby Watson. I mean Nelson,” he corrected with a quick shake of his head. “She got married.”
Jill’s lips twitched in recognition. An unpleasant stab of surprise shot through her.
“Abby Watson. Your ex-girlfriend?”
“Her sister is missing.”
Technically Abby was still in the picture when she and Alex first started seeing each other. There weren’t many wives who felt comfortable with an out-of-the-blue call from a long-lost girlfriend. Fiancée, Jill amended. And she was definitely not among them.
“And so she called you?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and folding her arms across her chest.
Alex lifted a hand off the steering wheel in a shrug. “I’ve known the family a long time. I’ll drop you off at home before I head over to her parents’ place to see what I can find out.”
His hand stalled as he reached out to start the engine, and he paused, as if a new thought had suddenly occurred to him. “I won’t be able to take you to the airport.”
“I’ll call a cab.”
Jill shifted her gaze out the windshield and felt a cold knot of resignation form in her gut. Duty came first for Alex. Always had. But having him rush off to his ex-girlfriend’s rescue was somehow worse. A stab of resentment flared. She pulled in a deep breath and released it slowly.
It didn’t matter. Soon she’d be on a plane headed for California. She could forget all about the argument, the phone call, Abby Watson, and everything else. By the time she landed, this would all seem so very far away.
2
After dropping Jill off at the house, Alex broke more than one traffic law on his way to the Watson’s place. Halfway across the Aurora Bridge, he placed a quick call to Jackson, part of the missing child unit, to get permission to talk to Abby’s parents. Hanging up, he glided to a halt beside the curb and stepped off onto the cracked street.
For a moment, he thought about Jill. She’d be away all week on a business trip, and he hadn’t really said good-bye. He stuck a hand in the pocket of his favorite jeans and pulled out a cell phone, but before he had a chance to dial her number, the door swung open, and he found himself looking up into Abby’s stricken face. Alex’s heart skipped a beat.
How many times had he stood in this very spot waiting to see her? Now, here she was. Same petite build, same wavy blond hair, same bright blue eyes. She looked like a young Meg Ryan standing on the wide front porch in faded blue jeans and bare feet. The only thing missing was the playful glint in her eyes.
He pushed aside the conflicting emotions he felt. Too much time had passed. They’d both moved on. They were different people now.
“Hi, Abby,” he said at last. He climbed the stairs leading up to the Craftsman-style house. He slid the cell phone back into his pocket.
“Thanks for coming, Alex,” she said. Her soft voice sounded strained with worry. “Mom and Dad are waiting.”
Alex followed her inside with a growing sense of trepidation. The last time he’d set foot in this house was five years ago, when he’d called off their engagement. Now Abby’s little sister was missing, and he was here to help.
Joyce Watson sat hunched over the kitchen table, staring sightlessly at the cup of coffee in her hand. Her silver-blond hair was scraped back into a ponytail, and she looked up at Alex, red-rimmed eyes brimming with worry. This was not the Joyce Watson he remembered, the woman who met them at the door after school with lemonade and a smile. The grim expression on her face told him all he needed to know about her state of mind.
“Would you like some coffee, Alex?” Tom Watson asked. He leaned against the kitchen counter wearing a white T-shirt and a worn pair of jeans. Tom had aged significantly over the past half-decade. His hairline had retreated to a graying wreath that topped his ears, the steely hue matching the rugged stubble that shadowed his ruddy cheeks.
“No thanks,” he said.
He wanted to hug Joyce. She looked so small and so scared as she sat hunched in her chair. He wished there was some comfort he could offer. But that was no longer his place. Instead, he seated himself across from Joyce and met her watery gaze directly. She didn’t smile. She held his gaze for a moment before looking away. Alex pulled out his notebook and addressed the family.
“Tell me about Natalie. What did she do yesterday?”
Tom cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and started.
“Nothing out of the ordinary, really. She went for a bike ride and did some studying up in her room. Joyce and I left the house around three. We went shopping at University Village and met friends at Piatti’s for dinner. Natalie planned to stay over at a friend’s house. When she didn’t show up at work this morning, they called here.”
Tom paused and rubbed his creased forehead. His anxiety was palpable. “We called her friend. Natalie never made it to their house. When she didn’t arrive, they assumed her plans had changed. We didn’t know what to do, where to start looking.” Tom glanced at his wife. Joyce continued to stare at her coff
ee cup, as if an answer might be found in its dark depths.
Alex nodded, jotting a few notes about the timeline and events Tom provided. “What’s her friend’s name?”
“Emily Jenkins,” Joyce looked up as she answered, and her hand fluttered to her bloodless lips.
“Didn’t she think it was odd for Natalie not to call?”
Joyce angled her head to one side as she considered the question.
“Emily’s what you might call a free spirit. She doesn’t have the same rules at home that Natalie does.”
She looked like she wanted to say more, but she stopped herself. Alex jotted a few notes, careful to keep his expression neutral. That Natalie typically called, but hadn’t, made an impression. As a detective in the Seattle Police Department, he was privy to details about the most brutal child-abuse cases. Although it was not his area of expertise, the stories seemed to infiltrate the department at every level, making it hard for him to tune them out. Making it impossible for him to not worry about Natalie.
Alex looked up to find all eyes trained on him.
“Where does she work?”
“At the coffee shop a few blocks away.” Tom’s smile was bittersweet. “She’s saving up to buy a new bike.”
Alex nodded. He’d want to follow up with the people she worked with to learn more about Natalie’s habits. Was she reliable? Were there any customers who took a special interest in her?
He could feel Abby’s eyes on him. He glanced up quickly, and forced a reassuring smile.
“What did you do after you called Emily?”
Joyce picked up the thread of the story. Her voice, normally soft and soothing, crackled with emotion as she began.
“We called everyone we could think of—friends, work—but no one had seen her. By the time Abby arrived, we were half out of our heads with worry. We called you.” Alex could see tears clouding her eyes as she looked away.
“Does she have her cell phone with her?”
“We think so. It’s not in her room,” Tom said. “We tried calling her, but she’s not answering. We’ve left a dozen messages.”
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