Cody rolled his eyes. “It’s gotten over two million views already. Do you know how much that’s going to bring in?” Cody replied. “A couple grand at least,” he answered. “And that’s only after 48 hours.”
“So, you’re telling me that a few thousand bucks was worth betraying her like this? Cody, you’re the reason she’s on the run right now.” The rage inside her was growing into a full-blown fury the way lava presses at the flanks of a volcano like Kilauea. “She withdrew three hundred dollars at the gas station but that will only get her so far. And if she can’t get more, she’ll have nowhere to turn. She left Bend this morning, but I have no idea where she is. What if she’s in trouble?”
He laughed. “You talk like she’s some sort of innocent flower or something.” He glanced at her. “You don’t really know her, Dr. Kincaid. I’m betting she’s fine.”
Cassidy rested her hands on her hips and swiveled away, thinking. They stood in silence for a moment, Cassidy listening to the sound of the cars hissing by on the busy street.
“I want you to take the video down,” she said.
Cody’s eyes narrowed.
“Or I’ll find a way to get it taken down.” Every muscle felt tense with anger and Cody’s denial of responsibility was only making it worse—so much so that her jaw began to ache from clenching her teeth so hard.
Cody shook his head, his lips a tight line. “Fine,” he said, not looking at her.
Cassidy realized her nails were digging into her palms. “If she contacts you, I want you to call me immediately,” she said. “I’ll come get her, no matter where she is.”
Cody looked up. “You’ve really missed your calling, Dr. Kincaid,” he said, a sly note in his voice. “How’d it feel when you found out the truth about your stepbrother?” he asked. “When he went from missing to dead?”
Cassidy rocked back on her heels.
“Did it give you ‘closure’ or any of that bullshit?”
Cassidy’s skin prickled. She thought of the many hours she had spent with Jay, grieving the loss of the stepbrother she had turned her back on. “Just call me if Izzy contacts you, okay?” she said while fighting to stay in the moment.
Cody watched her with a steady gaze that she could feel boring into her back as she turned and walked toward her car.
Once inside, she remembered William. Had he taken a taxi home? She tried to call him, but he didn’t answer.
Feeling exhausted, Cassidy drove toward the freeway, noticing a strip of hotels. After registering for a room in one of them, she climbed the concrete stairs to the second floor.
She had no idea what to do—tomorrow was her redeye flight to Hawaii and the work she had been anticipating for months. Izzy could be anywhere. So would Cassidy make her flight tomorrow, or would Richard insist she keep searching?
After a shower, Cassidy removed her contact lenses and slipped on her thick glasses, her eyes feeling red and raw. She flicked on the TV, knowing sleep would not come easy. Wrapped in a towel, brushing her hair, she channel surfed, hoping for an update on the eruption or something neutral, like a National Geographic or nature show, anything to help distract her mind, when something caught her eye on a news program.
The anchors wore grim expressions while a banner flashed below them.
Young woman found dead at California car show.
Cassidy upped the volume on the remote, her heart thudding.
“ . . . police report that she was shot multiple times,” a brunette woman in a yellow dress said into the camera. “Her body was found near the grounds of the annual Mt. Shasta Bike Rally.”
The screen flashed to an image of a dry field with people milling among rows of cars and motorcycles, their metal fenders shining under the late-evening sun. Then the image changed to show yellow crime scene tape strewn between two trees.
A new image popped onto the screen, showing a man with a bushy mutton-chop mustache in black sunglasses. “This is a family friendly event,” he said into the camera, his face somber. “Nothing like this has ever happened here.”
The camera switched back to the anchorwoman. Below her, a phone number asking for information about the dead woman crawled across the screen.
“In a surprising move last month, Oregon lawmakers . . . ” the male anchorman to the woman’s left began, but Cassidy stopped listening.
A tight coil of dread wrapped around her insides. Pictures flashed through her head: first of Izzy in her field camp getup: shorts, t-shirt, vest and hiking boots, her long hair pinned back in a ponytail, then dancing with Cody and William at the resort bar in her tiny shorts and off-the-shoulder blouse. Cassidy intentionally skipped past the images from Cody’s movie—quickly, before the sounds of Izzy’s pleasure reached her ears—and pushed on, seeing Izzy sneak out of the van in Biggs Junction, then hitching a ride somehow, her pocket fat with a roll of twenties.
Cassidy remembered the biker from the gas station, the way he leered at Izzy’s picture. It was easy to imagine Izzy climbing onto the back of a motorcycle like his. Cassidy heard the sound of the rumbling motor as it sped away and saw Izzy’s blonde hair whipping back over her shoulders. Izzy could easily have ended up in Mt. Shasta. Especially considering her state of mind—she would know her life had taken a major turn and she was now alone. What did she have to lose by jumping on the back of bike to go to a party?
My girl, my girl, don’t lie to me, tell me where did you sleep last night?
Then something goes wrong, and she ends up dead.
Fifteen
Cassidy rose from the bed and moved to the window, the glass a dark mirror. She ignored her fearful reflection and leaned
