Jill swallowed hard, and forced a crooked smile.
“Yeah, well, I knew I was marrying a cop.”
“Still, I’m not very good at balancing work and home. You were right about that and—”
Leaning forward, she silenced him with a kiss. His hand reached around to cup the back of her head, and the kiss deepened before Alex finally pulled away.
“Shit,” he said, looking at the bedside clock. “I’ve got to get going.”
“I think I’m going to work from home today,” Jill said as she eased back against the pillows.
Surprise flashed across Alex’s face.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“Just tired.” She rested her hand on his, hungry for physical contact. “Any chance you’ll be home for dinner tonight?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said with a smile.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” she promised.
“I like the sound of that.”
And with a squeeze of her fingers, he was gone.
19
“The bastard didn’t just evaporate,” Alex growled, head tilted back as he stared at the stained, pockmarked ceiling tiles. “We must have missed something. Let’s go over it again.”
Jackson sighed, rubbing his hand across the stubble on his cheeks.
“Honeywell’s long gone. He hasn’t been to work in days. We have people watching the house, but so far, nothing. Did you get much from his computer?”
Alex laced his fingers behind his neck and shook his head.
“Like Kris said, the guy’s no dumbass. He kept his data files on a thumb drive, the kind you plug into a USB port. Probably took it with him.”
“Or maybe he threw it down a storm drain.” Jackson’s expression was grim as Alex continued.
“Either way, it’s a dead end. We found a steganography program, along with some more traditional photo-editing software.”
“Steg-a-what? What the hell is that?”
“Steganography,” Alex explained, “is a technique used to embed one message inside another. In ancient times, it was used by the Romans and the Greeks. Terrorists sometimes use this technique to exchange information. Pedophiles also use it to send pictures of their latest conquests to their network of like-minded souls.”
“Sick fucks.”
“But I’m guessing that Honeywell didn’t plan this all the way through.”
“True. It took time to empty his bank accounts,” Jackson said, inspecting Honeywell’s bank records. “He needed traveling money. But where’s he going?” Jackson’s look was pensive.
Kris Thompson burst through the door looking wide-eyed and pale. Dressed in a baggy sweater and jeans, she looked like she had spent the last two weeks cramming for exams. The dark circles under her eyes underscored the solemn expression on her face, making the hair prickle at the back of Alex’s neck.
“There’s a girl missing in Medford, Oregon.”
She handed Alex a copy of a police report. He skimmed the details, giving Jackson the highlights.
“Kayla Miller. Eighteen. She’s a waitress at the Brown Bear Café. She disappeared two days ago after her shift.”
“Any suspects?” Jackson asked, holding his hand out for the report. Alex handed it to him.
“Not so far. They’re looking into her ex-boyfriend. Her friends say he was an asshole. Threatened her.”
Jackson rubbed his chin, staring at the report.
“She fits the profile,” Kris said, looking grim.
Alex nodded and rubbed his eyes.
“If Honeywell was headed to California, Medford’s along the way.” Alex straightened in his chair. He plucked a sheet of paper out from amid the stack piled on the conference table. Tapping it with his index finger, he continued. “That’s where he did his certification for his mechanic’s license. We need to find out more about his life there. Who did he hang out with? What did he do in his spare time?”
“You think he’d be dumb enough to go back there?”
Alex shrugged.
“It’s a logical choice. His money will run out soon. He’s got to find work. Only he’s going to have to do it under the table. He needs connections. The farther away, the better.”
“Do you think he’d be dumb enough to pick up another girl?”
“He already got away with it once. Why wouldn’t he do it again?”
Jackson studied the police report on Kayla’s disappearance with narrowed eyes and pursed his lips.
“Let’s call Medford, find out if they have any more leads on Kayla.”
Jackson nodded.
“There’s more,” Kris said. “I did a property-records search. Honeywell’s uncle owned a hunting cabin in Winthrop.”
Alex and Jackson traded sharp looks.
“Let’s call the locals.”
Jackson visibly winced at the suggestion. He met Alex’s stare with a hard one of his own.
“We handle this ourselves. If he’s there, we can’t risk scaring him off.”
“I hear you, man,” Alex said, slapping Jackson’s shoulder. “But Natalie may still be alive. We’ve got to act fast.”
After coordinating with the Winthrop sheriff’s department, Alex and Jackson assembled a small team to head over the mountains. In addition to Alex and Jackson, there were two forensics technicians and their gear packed into an SUV.
“All set?” Alex asked as Jackson fell into step beside him.
“Ready as we’re going to be.” Jackson nodded and turned toward the lead forensics tech. “Got everything we need?”
“If there’s anything in that cabin, we’ll find it.”
Alex’s stomach clenched. A memory of Natalie flashed through his head. She was three years old and wedged into the stands beside Abby at a high school basketball game. Her voice could not be heard over the roaring of the crowd, but Alex caught a glimpse of her face, speckled with sticky cotton candy as she cheered him on.
Stealing a glance over at his partner, Alex could read resignation in the set of Jackson’s jaw. The news of the Winthrop cabin had fixed a scenario in his own head of a remote place where Honeywell could do what he wanted, with no one around to stop him. Climbing into the vehicle, he hoped that they were both dead wrong.
The roads were dry as they started to climb into the foothills of the Cascades. Jackson’s cell phone went off, and the opening strains of the William Tell overture blasted through the tinny speakers. Alex cast an irritated glance over at Jackson, wondering what would possess someone to choose that particular piece of music for a ringtone. The phone fell mercifully silent as Jackson pushed the Talk button.
“Yeah, what did you find?” Jackson’s voice was tense and his eyebrows furrowed as he listened intently to what was being said on the other end. “Shit. What color and type?” He glanced over at Alex, angling the cell phone away from his mouth. “What kind of shoes was Natalie wearing the day she disappeared?”
“Camouflage Converse sneakers with pink laces, size seven,” Alex replied without missing a beat. He had been through the file so many times that the details of her appearance, including what she was wearing the last day she was seen, were burned into his memory.
Jackson relayed the information, and his expression darkened. His lips formed into a tight line as he instructed the local cops not to touch anything until they arrived. Dread pooled at the pit of Alex’s stomach, and he ran a hand across his eyes.
“What have they got?”
Jackson hesitated, glancing out the car window before he answered.
“They found a shoe matching the description of Natalie’s underneath the couch in the cabin.”
“Fuck. I’m guessing no sign of either of them at the cabin?”
Jackson shook his head
“They had an early dump of snow. Given the undisturbed conditions outside of the cabin, it doesn’t look like anyone has been in or out in the past few days.”
Alex stared out the window at the bleak afternoon sky.
The first clumps of snow clung to the evergreen trees as they passed. The engine growled as the SUV switched into four-wheel drive. They were still several hours away. Alex’s mind churned as he wondered what else they would find at the cabin.
“She may still be alive,” Jackson said, trying to inject optimism into his voice.
“Why the fuck would he bring her all the way to Winthrop if he had no intention of hurting her?” Alex asked.
Jackson fell silent, leaving Alex to dwell on his own morbid thoughts. What would he say to Natalie’s parents, to Abby, if he confirmed his current suspicions? He promised them he would find their daughter. What if she was dead? The painful thoughts clouded his mind. Pushing them firmly aside, he focused instead on Honeywell and how goddamned satisfying it would be to bring the bastard in.
Speeding through downtown Winthrop in a blur, Alex caught sight of the old western-style storefronts capped in snow. They traveled north east of the village until they reached Old Cabin Road. The eight miles of road between Winthrop and the cabin didn’t look remote on the map, but as the valley fell away in the truck’s rearview mirror, Alex sensed the isolation as the trees closed in around them.
Red and blue lights flashed up ahead, their glare reflecting off of the glistening snow. The SUV slowed. The local police had bottlenecked the road leading into the cabin. Presenting their badges, they pulled around the barricade, making the final turn onto Bear Fight Road.
The chunky wheels of the SUV fought to grip the icy path. Rocks jutted up through the crusty snow. The last nerve-racking mile of the journey cemented Alex’s conviction that Jerry Honeywell chose this isolated location for one reason only: so that no one would hear Natalie’s screams. He prayed he was wrong, but his every instinct told him otherwise.
Alex stepped out of the car and into snow that came up to his knees. Introductions were made between the local police officers and the Seattle contingent quickly. In their snow parkas and brown hats, the Winthrop officers looked like carbon copies of each other. Finally one of the officers led them inside.
The cabin was small and dark, with a main room that dominated the open space. One corner contained an ancient stove and refrigerator that showed no signs of having been used in years. A threadbare couch was shoved against the back wall of the living space. The bare floorboards squeaked with every step the officers took toward it. Alex crouched down to examine the faded orange fabric, frayed and dusty. His eyes watered, reacting to the musty smell in the air. Dust, mold—whatever it was—triggered his allergies. He blinked a few times and fought back a sneeze.
“Where exactly did you find the shoe?” he asked the police officer.
“Right there under the couch, shoved back about six inches. Probably didn’t see it before he left.”
Careful not to touch the surface of the couch, he looked underneath to see if there was any small piece of evidence that may have been moved when they fished out Natalie’s shoe. Aside from the deep trail the shoe had carved in the generous coating of dust, the area was clear. The forensics technician set his case on the floor and opened it, preparing to look for evidence.
“Did you find anything else?” Alex asked, glancing up.
“No, but we didn’t look really hard, either,” the Winthrop officer explained. “Didn’t want to disturb the scene. You know, just in case,” he finished awkwardly, glancing away.
Alex nodded, moving his eyes around the cabin slowly, searching for all the places evidence might be hiding. He squatted by an area near the couch. Small, dark spots looked like they had seeped their way into the exposed wooden planks of the floor. Could be blood. Gesturing toward the area, Alex caught the forensics tech’s eyes, his meaning acknowledged with a terse nod.
“Check the warrant. Let’s make sure we do everything right.”
Dropping his head low between his shoulders for a moment, Alex stood slowly. With a deep sigh he looked at the Winthrop officer. The man was older, a gold wedding band adorning his left hand. Underneath a dark, bushy mustache, his mouth was set in a grim line. Alex wondered if he had children of his own. Judging the man to be in his late forties, Alex figured that if he had kids, they might be around Natalie’s age.
“Do you have dogs?” he asked at last.
All eyes turned to focus on Alex, and the silence that followed the question was leaden with the words that no one wanted to speak. Finally the officer nodded.
“There are a lot of hunters in the area. I’ll make some calls.”
“We need to search the woods,” Alex said. With heavy steps, he crossed the room to stand in front of the water-stained kitchen sink. His jaw tightened as he glanced at the worn couch before turning toward the dirt-streaked window. His gaze drifted up the hill, settling on the dense line of trees that curved around the back of the cabin and climbed high toward the ridge.
The dogs went out first, and Alex could hear barking as he walked around the small cabin. A thorough search of the interior had turned up no other visible signs of Natalie. The forensics technician was busy lifting DNA samples from the couch. Hairs were bagged, stains were being sampled and cataloged, photographs were being taken, and there was growing certainty in Alex’s mind that they would find more evidence to link Honeywell to Natalie’s disappearance.
The crisp air stung his cheeks as he stepped out of the cabin with Jackson. Together they followed the path the dogs had carved up the hill. Neither man spoke as Alex felt his shoes soak through, and the cold began to numb his toes. The air was fresh, infused with the subtle scent of snow and pine trees. On any other occasion, Alex would relish being out in the woods. But now he burrowed his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and mentally plotted the dimensions of the ten acres of land belonging to Honeywell’s uncle.
How many times had Honeywell and his uncle hunted in these woods? How far could he drag a body up the hill?
Alex continued to follow the trail cut by the dogs. The paw prints drew them deeper into the dense line of trees. He was not sure how far they had walked when the sound of the barking grew frantic. The local police officers had come to a stop and stood pooled around a stand of trees, talking softly as they looked down into the snow. Their words were drowned out by the furious barking of the dogs.
Alex’s stomach clenched. He hunched his shoulders against the raw wind as he continued forward. The officers glanced toward the Seattle detectives, careful to avoid eye contact. The cluster parted as the two approached.
Jackson stopped first and looked down at the frozen ground, his bowed head dipping a fraction lower. Alex approached slowly, his eyes magnetically drawn to the spot where the dogs had concluded their search.
A surge of electricity raced along his nerve endings, and he fought to control the emotions on his face.
There, at the base of a tree, he could see blue fingertips poking up from beneath the thick blanket of snow, like the petals of a periwinkle crocus. The edge of a yellow “Livestrong” bracelet barely crested the crusty surface. His pulse pounded in his ears.
Natalie.
20
Tucked up against the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, the snowcapped finials of Liberty High School looked picture-perfect on this frosty November afternoon. With the help of the Winthrop Police Department, Alex and Jackson had made the rounds, interviewing some of the people who had known Honeywell back in the day, and this was their last stop.
The antiseptically clean smell of the school brought back distant memories of textbooks, backpacks, and basketball as Alex sat wedged into a student desk. Jackson stood leaning against the wall, arms folded across his massive chest, forgoing the opportunity to either destroy a desk while trying to fit his considerable frame inside its improbable dimensions or dismantling it on his way out. Alex stared down at a copy of Honeywell’s school records: mediocre grades, spotty attendance. Given what he already knew about Jerry, it was the type of account he had expected to see.
The principal had passed them along to Mrs. Nelson, a middle-ag
ed teacher with a freckled nose and thick glasses. She set an open yearbook on the desk in front of him. The shining faces of high school seniors peered out from the neat rows of photos. He picked Honeywell’s out in an instant. Middle of the page. Jerry’s face was partially obscured by a thatch of long blond hair. He did not smile for the camera; his face was devoid of expression.
“What can you tell me about Jerry Honeywell?” Alex asked.
The woman shrugged her soft shoulders, eyes looking past Alex, as if envisioning a teenage Honeywell. Her smile was distant as she spoke in a pleasant voice, subtly infused with a midwestern twang.
“There was more to him than what you’d find written in this file. He was a smart kid. You might not get that by looking at his grades, but he had an aptitude for language and arts.”
“How well did you know him?”
Mrs. Nelson shrugged, and Alex could see curiosity magnified through the thick lenses of her glasses. Even in a town this small, it would take a few hours for news of Natalie’s dead body to spread. Instead of satisfying her own interest, she answered the question.
“About as well as any of his teachers.”
“Did he have family?” Jackson asked.
“Mr. Gibson took him in after his father was imprisoned. Talk around here was that his father had killed his wife’s lover after catching them together. Crime of passion.” Her eyes flashed scandalously at the two detectives. This information dovetailed with what Alex already knew. Honeywell’s father had died in prison.”
“And the mother?”
“She abandoned Jerry a few months later. No one quite knew where she took off to. There was some talk about her shacking up with a new man. There was also talk about her mending fences with her family in Baton Rouge. They were wealthy, you know. They disapproved of Jerry’s father—maybe Jerry, too. Lots of talk, though no one knows for sure.”
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