“Same thing, I guess. Sometimes a case keeps me awake.” He glanced at his watch. “You’re coming in at eight?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you rather come to the station now?” he asked. “I’m on my way.”
With a shake of her head, she said, “I’ll see you later.” She slipped into her SUV, slammed the door shut, and was driving out of the lot within seconds.
As the taillights of her Ford disappeared through the snow, he walked to his Jeep and got inside, where he stared at the closed door of Megan Travers’s apartment.
His mission here this morning hadn’t accomplished much, certainly not what he’d hoped. No “vibes” telling him what the hell was going on inside Megan Travers’s head on the night she’d disappeared. No special insight.
But maybe he’d gotten something much better by catching her sister off guard. Not cool and composed. Not ready. No neatly conspired answers. Over the years, he’d found that sometimes catching a witness or suspect by surprise was an easier path to the truth than a neatly composed, well-thought-out, and often lawyer-crafted statement.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Emma-Mae Frost peering through an opening in the curtains. Next to her, seated on the back of a chair near the window, was a massive silver tabby cat, suspicious gold eyes focused on Rivers, his tail twitching.
Rivers slipped into his SUV and headed for a drive-thru coffee kiosk, where he’d pick up a double-shot espresso, then he’d hit the gym before work and try to unravel some of the ever-tightening knots in this damned case.
CHAPTER 16
Rebecca had nearly done a quick U-turn and gone out the door when she’d found the detective in Megan’s apartment. After being caught at James’s house, she couldn’t believe that she would run into the cops at her sister’s home. What were the chances?
“You’re just no good at all this cloak-and-dagger stuff,” she told herself. She’d driven back to her home away from home in Riggs Crossing, at the Main Street Hotel, a building that had probably been built sometime near the turn of the last century and needed serious updates.
Currently the hotel, like the rest of the town, was decorated for the holidays. A fourteen-foot Christmas tree dominated the lobby, and the massive reception desk was decorated with a lighted garland. Cedar boughs swept up the staircase, and piped in Christmas music wafted through the lobby.
Rebecca beelined up the stairs.
Her nerves were shot.
Too little sleep.
Too many worries.
Too much drama. If she wasn’t so concerned about Megan, she would have wrung her younger sister’s neck. How many messes was Rebecca supposed to clean up for her sibling?
She didn’t want to think about it as she stripped out of her clothes in the closet-sized bathroom and stepped into the shower, where the spray was little more than a mist. Thankfully the water was hot.
James.
His name came floating to her, unwanted.
She frowned, despising the fact that she was forced to deal with him again. She couldn’t avoid him, not until Megan was located. “Buck up,” she said as she poured shampoo into her palm. She hated the fact that she’d been thrown back into contact with him, and wished to high heaven that she could return to her normal life in Seattle, where she worked in marketing for a high-end bridal boutique, whose owner, Angelica Alfonsi, was hoping to expand from Seattle to San Francisco and L.A. She lathered her hair, rinsed off, and let the hot water drizzle down her back. This wasn’t the first time Megan had gotten herself in trouble, not by a long shot, but so far, this was the worst.
Unless Megan, in true drama-queen fashion, was just hiding out somewhere while her older sister worried herself sick and interrupted her life all for the sake of . . . what? Megan’s need to be the center of attention? Her desire to hurt anyone whom she perceived was out to get her?
Meaning James?
“For the love of God,” she whispered. Certainly, her sister wouldn’t be so self-involved that she would want everyone close to her and now the police to be thinking the worst and frantically searching for her. Even Megan couldn’t sink that low.
Or could she?
“Don’t go there.” She turned off the spray, toweled off, and pulled on her bathrobe. As she did, she thought of Detective Rivers.
What the hell was the detective doing lurking in the middle of the living room in the dark like some kind of burglar?
The whole thing was weird.
Rivers had been standing in the darkened room of Megan’s apartment when she’d opened the door. His eyes had been closed, his head tilted toward the ceiling, his hands in his pockets; the sight of his shadowed form had given her a shock.
What the hell had he been doing?
Having a religious experience? He’d scared her half to death. Worse yet, the apartment manager had showed up and had been armed and . . . well, maybe not all that dangerous. Still, Rebecca had nearly had a heart attack—make that two—in the span of five minutes.
Everything about this was nuts.
Her mind circled back to James again.
She scrounged a clean pair of jeans and a sweater out of her suitcase and thought that she was lucky James hadn’t accused her of breaking and entering.
Yet.
But then maybe squeezing through a dog door didn’t really count.
She hadn’t stolen anything, but hadn’t really learned anything either.
She pulled on fresh underwear and her jeans as she thought about the man she’d once thought she’d loved. James Effing Cahill. Did every damned thing have to circle back to him?
Unfortunately, in this case, the answer was yes.
She snapped on her bra before returning to the bathroom. She started to comb out her damp curls. Did she really believe that he was a kidnapper? A potential murderer? She caught sight of her reflection in the still-foggy mirror and saw that she was actually shaking her head.
“Denial,” she accused, pointing the tip of her comb at the image in the mirror. “It’s a
