Maybe Izzy purchased a bus ticket and was now curled up against the window, dozing as the miles ticked by. It was a nice image—nicer than most of the alternatives.
But if Izzy paid for such a ticket with cash, Cassidy had no way to trace it.
Cassidy had to park several blocks away from William’s apartment complex, and during her walk, her flip flops scraping the sidewalk, she checked her phone for updates, but there was nothing from Alice or Martin and only a few more missed calls from unknown numbers. If I don’t find Izzy, these reporters will have a field day, she thought. First Costa Rica, then this. Her skin prickled at the thought of what Izzy’s disappearance would do to her career. The media will be the least of my problems. She shoved her phone back into her pocket, then hugged herself. C’mon, Izzy, she begged. Show yourself.
The exterior design of William’s apartment screamed 1980s with its diagonal woodwork and chocolate-brown paint. She climbed the open stairway, the freeway noise increasing with each step and a breeze sifting through the leaves of the oak-tree canopy lining the street.
She checked the number again and found William’s apartment, unable to ignore the mash of anger and anxiety churning low in her belly. Her knock rattled the flimsy door. She took a full breath, forcing it into her stomach while she waited, listening for sounds. Finally, footsteps neared.
The door opened and when William saw her face, his expression stiffened.
“Dr. Kincaid,” he said, his voice thin. “Uh, hey,” he added.
Cassidy thought of the many times she had interacted with him in the field. He was quiet, thoughtful, not brilliant by any means but meticulous and careful. Overall, a good student, a decent kid.
“I’ve been calling you,” Cassidy said, barely able to keep the fury from her words. “Why haven’t you answered?”
“Uh,” he said, his mouth open, like a fish, while his eyes wandered. “Just . . . busy.”
“Let me in, please,” Cassidy said, stepping forward. “It’s about Izzy.”
He stepped back, uttering something that was either “sure” or “shit.” A dim light over the range illuminated the kitchen. A single pot with dark brown drips down the side occupied the front burner and a few dishes were gathered by the sink. Cassidy noted the couch, TV, and coffee table which held several empty glasses and an apparatus that was most surely a bong. Cassidy had already detected the scent of marijuana and wondered how much William had already smoked.
“Uh, pot?” he asked, seeing her notice the bong. He went to the table, slid a lighter from his pocket, and picked up the device. With a sheepish grin, he offered them to her.
“No, thanks,” Cassidy said.
To her surprise, William settled onto the couch, lit the bong, and inhaled.
“Where’s Cody?” she asked.
Still concentrating on the hit, he shrugged.
Cassidy walked around the couch and settled on the edge of the coffee table. “William, I need your help.” The image of him undressing Izzy flashed through her brain. “I know about the video.”
“You do?” William replied, pale smoke curling out of his mouth.
“Izzy’s missing.”
“She is?” William said, his eyes going wide.
Cassidy wanted to slap him. “Yes, now put that down and start talking.”
William set the bong down, his eyes darting away. He clenched and unclenched his fingers. “It was Cody’s idea, you know.”
Cassidy crossed her arms. “How did Izzy feel about it?”
“Feel about what?”
“About . . . any of it!” Cassidy exclaimed. “Being with . . . both of you . . . being filmed.”
“Did you watch it?” William replied, looking horrorstruck.
Cassidy paused. “I saw some of it.”
“Oh, man,” William breathed. “You’re not going to tell my girlfriend, are you?” He pinched his forehead. “She’s gonna be so pissed.”
“William!” Cassidy cried. “Forget about you for a minute, here, okay? We’re talking about Izzy. She left the van in Biggs Junction and got a ride to Bend, Oregon yesterday. I’m trying to figure out where she is now.”
William was silent for a moment, and Cassidy tried to be patient as he processed.
“She was into it,” William said in a quiet voice. “I’ve never done . . . anything like that before. But I think Cody had. Or at least he’d thought about it.”
“Did Izzy know you guys were recording it?”
William nodded, his face looking haggard.
Cassidy reeled in her surprise.
“Cody kind of talked her into it, but she was game.”
“Did she agree to Cody uploading it? To making money off it?”
“I don’t know.”
“C’mon, William,” Cassidy said.
He glanced up, his eyes glassy in the dim light. “Really, Dr. Kincaid.” He shook his head. “It all kind of happened fast. We were dancing, and she was kind of coming on to me, then to Cody, and then, at the dock, Cody said he had one of those cabins. That we could hang out there instead of going back to camp.”
Cassidy frowned. “This is at the resort? The last night of field camp?”
William nodded.
With a jolt, the memory clicked into place. The sounds coming from the window of the lake cabin.
Cassidy remembered the air so fresh and everything quiet. Until she had passed that cabin—the noises, the pale light from inside the room. Oh fuck, she thought, gripping the edge of the coffee table for support.
“And then what?”
“I dunno.” William swallowed. “We talked. We partied a little more. Then Cody was kissing her. Then Cody asked if she’d like to . . . kiss me too. He took a video of us, and . . . at first, she was pissed. She made him delete it. But then, he told her how hot it made him, watching me and her. At that point she tried to leave, but Cody went after her, and when they came back, everything was cool.”
Cassidy tried to sit calmly but it was so hard to imagine. Her brain wouldn’t put the pieces together. She kept imagining what was going through Izzy’s mind. Had she known what she was getting into? Or had she
