LITMIR.BIZ

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the distress in his eyes was something shrewd and slimy. But it didn’t mean he had anything to do with Haley’s disappearance.

      From the outside, to the media, Haley was the perfect, all-American teenager and her family the new normal: divorced, one parent remarried, visitation rights for the other. To the world, family and friends were grieving and searching as hard as they could for Haley.

      But up close, there was a strange dynamic in this household. And there was clear animosity between the Varners and Bill. Where did Haley fit in? How many secrets did this family have?

      “We should go.” Evelyn nodded at Linda, who reluctantly released Sophia’s hand.

      It was time to dig as deep as they could into the people closest to Haley, and see what they could unearth.

      * * *

      How the hell had his life come to this?

      Quincy Palmer stared into the cracked mirror in the station’s dingy bathroom, and didn’t like what stared back at him. Sure, he looked pretty much the same on the outside. Same grooves alongside his mouth and across his forehead that had worn deeper and deeper with age. Same thick beard, just more white in it now. It was his eyes that bothered him.

      He’d stopped meeting his own gaze in the mirror three months ago.

      No one else seemed to have noticed the change in him. It probably said a lot about the strength of his personal relationships, and he tried to see it as a positive. If no one else could see the difference, no one would wonder what had caused it.

      The bathroom door opened behind him, and Quincy looked up, nodded into the mirror at one of the newbie officers and walked out the door. Back into the buzz of the station.

      Things were crazy with news of the Haley Cooke note being released to the media. What had the parents been thinking?

      And what the hell had happened to Haley? The case was weird enough on its surface, but he was the only one here who knew how hard it should have been to grab Haley Cooke.

      Because he’d had his eye on her for three months. He’d been watching her closely—stalking her, by the legal definition. It had been his job to make sure she didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, and if she did—say, if she showed up at the police station—it was his job to take her statement. Then to make sure that statement disappeared.

      Twenty years on the job, and he’d never taken a payoff. Never taken a bribe. Never looked the other way.

      And then this mess. They’d found his one weak spot, the one thing that would make him throw away twenty years of dedicated service to a job he believed in so much he’d given everything for it. Given his marriage, given his relationship with his son, given all his free time. It had become his life.

      If this came out, though, it wouldn’t matter that he’d had nothing to do with Haley’s disappearance. And it really wouldn’t matter that he’d done his damnedest to find her.

      Because he knew they’d make him take the fall.

      * * *

      “That family is hiding something,” Evelyn told Sophia as they walked into the police station.

      Sophia had fumed the whole drive back, but now she just seemed dejected. “Everyone in this case is hiding something.”

      “What happened? What did you learn?”

      The deep voice made Evelyn jump, and when she turned, she saw Quincy Palmer rushing toward them. His pale face was flushed, blotchy red above his heavy beard.

      “I don’t know,” she told Quincy, wondering if his own cases ever took him out of the station. “But my guess would be some kind of abuse. Either the father or the stepfather.”

      “Really?” Sophia stopped walking, and turned to face her.

      Evelyn nodded. “But honestly, with this much scrutiny on the case, with this much media attention, I doubt a seventeen-year-old girl could stay under the radar if she had just run away. I think someone made her disappear. Maybe it started with her going willingly, maybe not. Either way, at this point, chances are, we’re not looking for Haley.” At Quincy’s deep frown, she said apologetically, “You know the statistics.”

      Sophia nodded, her shoulders slumping. “We’re looking for her body. I know. But I’ve learned all about this girl. Everyone I talk to loved her—her classmates, her teachers, her neighbors. They all say the same thing. Haley was nice to everyone she met. This is a sweet kid, with a bright future. I want her to beat the odds.”

      “So do I,” Evelyn said. “Maybe she will.” She tried to sound upbeat, but the fact was, she’d handled too many missing-persons cases.

      More than half a million people were reported missing every year in the US alone. The first twenty-four hours were crucial, the first forty-eight the most likely time to make a live recovery. After a month, the chances were practically nonexistent. Especially when the victim was a beautiful teenage girl.

      It wore her down, being asked to provide profiles on case after case where the victims would probably never come home. Sometimes, all she could hope for was to bring some closure to the family left behind. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe they could really find Haley, give her back that bright future.

      No matter the outcome, she vowed to help find the answers Sophia had been so desperately searching for over the past month. She didn’t care how many secrets she had to expose to do it.

      Sophia and Quincy looked back at her, both solemn and serious.

      “What’s next?” Sophia finally asked, her upbeat tone sounding forced.

      Before Evelyn could answer, a plainclothes officer raced down the hall, her eyes bright with excitement as she skidded to a stop in front of them.

      “Detective Lopez,” she panted. “We just got a note.”

      When she took a breath, Sophia asked, “What sort of note? Someone else claiming to have knowledge of Haley’s—”

      “No. Not a whack-job letter. This one matches the handwriting from the note you brought in yesterday.”

      “What?” Quincy barked. “The note Haley left in her bedroom? That means—”

      “This is from Haley. She’s still alive.”

       4

      Of all the agents in the Washington Field Office, what were the chances he’d be paired with Jimmy Drescott? Kyle wondered as the Supervisory Special Agent in charge of the Civil Rights squad introduced them.

      Kyle had spent the morning filling out paperwork, before finally making his way into the WFO’s bullpen. It looked a lot like the field office in New York where he’d started his FBI career in counterterror, years before joining the HRT. Really, it resembled any other office building in the DC area. Only this particular office happened to be populated by men and women carrying Glock pistols.

      “Mac,” Jimmy said, using the nickname Kyle had been given by the HRT. Jimmy stood slowly as the squad supervisor glanced back and forth between them, having just brought Kyle over to introduce him to his new team.

      Apparently he’d just missed the rest of the group—two were testifying in court and the other four were out on a case. So, just Jimmy Drescott waited in the Civil Rights squad’s little corner of the bullpen.

      “You two know each other?”

      “We’ve met,” Kyle said, holding out his hand. The last time he’d seen Jimmy, the man had been lying under a big fir tree in Evelyn’s front yard, a near-fatal knife wound slicing through his neck.

      “You moved out of Violent Crimes?” Kyle asked. That was where Jimmy had been assigned the last time they’d met, working a case that Evelyn had consulted

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