Daniel was by Stella’s side in a split-second, offering a hand up. The older woman’s cheeks flushed as she accepted his hand and he helped her to her feet.
“Thank you, Daniel,” Stella said with as much dignity as she seemed able to muster.
The dog jumped up and down at Daniel’s feet.
“Berkley, no,” Stella chided like she was scolding a kid. “Get off that nice man’s pants.”
The flurry of activity seemed to rattle Stella’s already on-edge nerves. A couple of real tears broke loose, dripping onto her cheeks. She sniffed them back. “I’m sorry. Everything’s just a mess and I miss my girl.”
This close, Daniel recognized the scent of alcohol on her breath. He glanced at Clara who seemed to notice too.
“Come on in. He’ll settle down in a few minutes,” Stella said before closing the doors to the office. Her gaze locked onto something on the rug through the glass. “Dammit.”
“What?” Clara asked, looking stunned based on Stella’s reaction. Pure panic washed over the older sister’s features.
“Berkley! Not again.” There was anger in her voice now. Surprisingly, a few more tears sprang down her cheeks as she stalked into the next room and back with a roll of paper towels tucked underneath one arm and a bottle of some kind of carpet cleaner in the other.
She practically ran into the office and dropped to her knees next to a small yellow spot on the light carpet.
“I should’ve known better. It’s my fault. Bad, Berkley,” she practically barked at the little fluff ball who immediately charged into the entry way. He ran a few circles around Daniel’s feet and then darted toward Clara, who bent down to scoop him up.
She caught him on the fourth try as Stella squirted then blotted, squirted then blotted.
A river of tears trailed down her cheeks as she cursed the little dog and then herself.
The woman seemed emotionally unstable and under the circumstances he couldn’t fault her. But there seemed more to the story. She had dry eyes a few minutes ago but put on a show for the two of them when they’d first arrived. And now the dog urinated in the home office and she practically unraveled?
Daniel glanced around at the office space. A neat desk was in front of him. Everything had a place and seemed to be in it. In fact, it had that pristine look of a showroom rather than a real working office.
“It’s Timothy’s and he doesn’t like the dog to be in here. Says it’s the only place in the house he can get away from—” Stella glanced up with a look of shame, like she’d just overshared.
“Where is he?” Clara asked. Her spine went ramrod straight every time the man’s name was mentioned.
“At work, like every normal person at this hour,” Stella bit back.
Daniel had seen people freak out over a lot of things in his day, but if this woman rubbed the carpet any harder her knuckles would bleed.
Chapter 9
Stella looked up at Daniel. “What branch of law enforcement do you work for?”
“I’m freelance,” Daniel said, helping Stella to her feet. She reeked of breath mints and alcohol. She walked a straight line, though, and her speech wasn’t slurred. She didn’t give away any other signs of hitting the bottle, which meant she was a practiced drunk.
Daniel thought back to what Clara had told him in the truck about Timothy accusing Ashlyn of drinking his alcohol. Now he wondered if Stella was a closet drunk. It was nine-thirty in the morning and she’d already hit the bottle.
He couldn’t imagine the horror of a child going missing. One minute the kid had been on vacation with a friend, the next…nothing. No information. No cooperation. No daughter.
So he gave Stella a little leeway on the day drinking.
Couldn’t say he’d do the same thing if he was in her position but he’d want his mind to stay sharp. He’d spend every waking hour searching for his child. He’d keep going until he found her, answers, or was killed in the process.
But then everyone dealt with life differently.
There was nothing about the woman that made him believe she was somehow connected to the disappearance. The hollow cast to her eyes said she’d been grieving. He had no doubt that she loved her child even though her new husband seemed to take priority. Him, she seemed afraid of. He’d met her when she was her most vulnerable and the bastard had most likely taken advantage of that state. He seemed to be taking measures to isolate her from her daughter, from the world. It was a common trick among abusers and Daniel ground his back teeth thinking about the kind of men who got a rush out of hurting or controlling women.
He flexed and released his fingers a couple of times in order to quell the rising tide of anger inside him—anger that had no outlet.
“Please, sit,” Stella pointed to one of the chairs at a round wooden table in the eat-in kitchen when she had sufficiently rubbed cleaner into the spot. “Can I get either of you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Daniel didn’t sit. Instead, he stood behind a chair at the expensive-looking dark wood table.
Other than a handful of professionally-taken pictures sprinkled on side tables, there was no evidence that a teenager lived there. The place would pass the white-glove test of the pickiest snob. No taco night, beer and rowdy football parties here. This was more of a wine and cheese tray house. “I’d like to see Ashlyn’s room if it’s okay with you.”
Stella stopped on a dime. Her back was turned, so he couldn’t see her expression. He had a feeling he knew what it would look like anyway.
Clara seemed to study her sister’s reaction carefully. Given her line of work it was most likely habit that had her head cocked to one side and her gaze intent on Stella. Clara seemed to be taking every movement
