She stepped into the first bedroom just to get away from the sight of Rachel’s body as the ME’s assistant Jayne covered Rachel’s face respectfully.
Jayne and Tony would be moving Rachel soon.
To the morgue. To Jules Brockman and Mia Stephenson and Gia and the rest.
There was only one place Rachel was going now.
Jac pulled in a deep breath. She ignored the copper scent of blood surrounding her.
She had to focus. Had other things to think about.
Jac heard the sounds of a gurney being carried up the stairs of Rachel’s home.
She closed her eyes and pushed her personal feelings away.
She opened her eyes. Jac had work to do now.
Ava. Ava had just turned four. It was her room Jac suspected she was in now. The toys were all dog themed. Stuffed animals littered the place, but they were neat. Arranged on shelves and above the bed. There were no toys out of place, not like Emery’s room where everything was always strewn everywhere. Emery was always in too much of a hurry to put her toys away.
The first thing Ava had asked Jac had been if Jac had a dog. Ava wanted her own dog more than anything else in the world, but her father said no. She loved the neighbor’s little dog. Ava had told her all about Sadie, the mutt.
Perhaps Rachel had straightened the room as she’d tucked Ava in the night before. Jac stepped closer. Tried to look objectively.
The bed didn’t look slept in.
Rachel had been dead since about midnight.
Where had Ava slept?
Jac stepped back out into the hall as they were lifting Rachel onto the gurney. Blond hair was just visible at the top of the body bag. Tony finished zipping her in, as Jayne started fastening the straps.
Jac had seen similar sights before. None…none had hurt like this. Jac struggled to breathe for a moment as she watched the body of her friend being wheeled away. She had to control herself, or she’d be off this case before she could blink.
She hadn’t known Rachel that well. She’d have to keep reminding herself of that if necessary. The only thing she could do for Rachel now was find the person who had killed her.
Olivia, the seven-year-old, had the room across the hall from her sister.
The parents’ bedroom was at the opposite end of the hall.
It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that the girls had slept in Olivia’s room—or their parents’.
Little ones of that age bracket often had nightmares. They went looking for the people that loved them, to reassure themselves that they were safe.
Emery did. The times she’d spent the night with Jac, there had been a nightmare or two.
Olivia and Ava probably had nightmares, too.
Olivia’s room reminded her of Emery’s. The walls were painted a similar shade of pink.
Jac had helped Emery and Max pick it out and paint Emery’s room two years ago, erasing the sweet baby yellow that Max’s mother and sister had painted it six years before when Max and Emery had first moved to St. Louis.
Emery had been thrilled with her big-girl room. Now, there were USA softball team players on Emery’s walls and American Girl posters. And paintings Emery had done that Jac thought were good for her age.
There were no such decorations on Olivia’s walls. The artwork was tasteful and sedate.
It didn’t shout little girl to Jac at all.
There was a familiar character printed all over Olivia’s pillow. The bedspread was of the highest quality. Very feminine.
Emery would sneer at something that girly in her room.
Olivia’s room was as immaculate as her younger sister’s. Just as showroom decorated.
That stood out.
The entire house was in perfect condition. Nothing seemed out of place, which was odd in a house with children.
The only thing out of place had been Rachel.
And the blood.
Nausea threatened; Jac pushed it away.
Olivia’s math book was spread out over the small white desk in the corner. Jac looked at it for a moment. She’d helped Emery with problems out of that same math book a year ago. Jac used a pencil to open the book to the front cover, to the names of the previous students. Just to see. Just to not see Emery’s name written there.
She flinched at the line before Olivia’s.
Timothy Dennis’s name was listed above Olivia’s in super neat block printing. One of Ed Dennis’s twins had used the textbook before.
Olivia’s handwriting was far neater and more precise than Emery’s left-handed scrawl would probably ever be.
But there were horses doodled into the margin of the open notebook.
There were horse paintings on Olivia’s wall, too. Tasteful reproductions of popular prints. The lamp base was an elegantly carved horse.
Olivia’s bed hadn’t been slept in, either.
Jac had one more stop to make.
The Sturvins’ bedroom.
Rachel had apparently been alone in the house. The girls hadn’t been in their beds. Most likely, they hadn’t even been home.
Jac prayed they hadn’t been home to see their mother like this.
Their father was on a business trip, setting up an IT consult two states away. That had been confirmed with some of the neighbors before Jac had even gotten to the scene.
Someone had those girls.
Or knew exactly where they were. It was possible Rachel had been killed and her daughters taken.
Or Ava and Olivia had been killed elsewhere. Or the girls had been the targets and had been whisked away to be trafficked hundreds or thousands of miles away.
Jac had seen that very thing time and time again with the CEPD.
“I’m going to find them, Rachel. I promise.”
Rachel and Paul’s bedroom was just as neat as the girls’.
It had a cold feeling to it that Jac couldn’t put her finger on.
Everything was lined up exactly. It was orderly. Perfect. As if it was on a home-decor website. A showpiece. Absolutely nothing was out of place. An elegantly staged home ready to be shown by only the most successful real estate agents.
Jac liked her own home neat, but this…this was almost extreme. The couch in the living room barely
