With a sigh I said, “God, I hope not.”
“Should we file a missing persons report?” Candice asked next.
Brice and Dutch exchanged a look. “Yeah,” Dutch said, making the call. “It’ll throw some suspicion on Gwen, but it’s the right thing to do.”
“Wait,” I said, that same flash of anger lighting up my insides again. “Screw filing a missing persons report! We need to report Gwen’s kidnapping!”
Dutch reached out and took my hand. “Who’s going to step forward to say they witnessed the kidnapping, dollface?”
“Me. I can say that I was coming here to talk to Gwen and I saw her being pulled into a truck that looked like Dave’s.”
Dutch and Brice exchanged another look. “That would be perjury, Cooper,” Brice said. “And I can’t let you do that.”
I rounded on him, all my anger and worry for Dave and now Gwen unleashing like hot lava from a volcano. “Fuck you, Brice! If I want to go on record to say that Gwen was kidnapped, I’m goddamn well gonna do it!”
Brice’s eyes narrowed and his jaw muscles bunched, but he kept his cool. Thank God. “I don’t doubt you’re capable of doing anything for a friend,” he said calmly, and with a hint of sympathy that just about broke my heart. “But, Abby, the second you’re caught in that perjury, I won’t ever be allowed to use you in another federal case again. And APD will discover your lie, because when they investigate, they’ll hear from the neighbor right next door who not only saw Dave’s truck in the driveway, but also caught a clear look of you and Candice pulling up here at four thirty—a full twenty minutes after the truck left. And he’ll also say that he saw you two go inside with no sign of Gwen anywhere around. That’s what he told me when I knocked on his door, and that’s what he’ll say to the police.”
I ducked my chin in shame. Tears welled in my eyes and the floor blurred. “Sorry,” I choked out.
A gentle hand landed on my shoulder. “It’s cool,” Brice said. “I understand. Really. There’s nothing I want more than to find Dave and Gwen, but you risk playing fast and loose with the resources devoted to finding them by setting up a lie that they’ll quickly untangle. And then they’ll wonder why you lied to them, and maybe they’ll devote some resources to trying to find out what you’re hiding. It’s all a distraction from the objective, which is to find Dave and Gwen. Soon.”
I wiped my cheeks and shuffled forward, placing my head in the center of Brice’s chest to let him know I really was sorry. He gave me a brief hug—something uncharacteristic for my very always-keep-it-professional boss—and said, “Come on. Let’s lock up the house and call in the missing persons report.”
• • •
Candice was the one who called in the report, for which I was grateful, because I wasn’t feeling so good after leaving Dave and Gwen’s house. I think I’d been drained from so many clients, and tapping into the violence that’d happened to Gwen afterward was sort of the capper of a craptastic day.
On our behalf Dutch declined Brice and Candice’s invitation to go out to dinner, which Oscar had readily taken. “Abby needs some peace and quiet tonight,” I’d heard him say. I’d all but shut down in the car, like a computer that was trying to reboot while taking in only the faintest outside signals. Payton and I had that whole introvert thing in common.
We got home and Dutch held the door for me as I shuffled inside. The pups met us at the door, and little Tuttle squirmed and wiggled at my feet until I picked her up and cuddled with her.
Eggy, meanwhile, stood in front of Dutch and gave three loud, demonstrative barks. “Someone’s hungry,” I said, grinning down at my little guy.
“How come he always barks at me when he’s hungry?” Dutch said, picking Eggy up with one hand and carrying him into the kitchen.
“He knows you’ll give in first,” I said, following behind with Tuttle.
Dutch set Eggy down in his bed by the stove and got busy with the dog bowls, dog food, and a couple of quickly scrambled eggs. My pups love eggs, and Dutch always puts a little goat’s milk and coconut oil in the scramble to really give them a nutritious boost. Eggy and Tuttle have two of the shiniest coats you’ve ever seen.
After setting down dinner for the pups, Dutch opened a bottle of red, poured us each a glass, and got to making us dinner. I sat numbly in a chair while he threw some spiralized zucchini noodles into a pan for me, and some pasta on to boil for him, while also heating up his famous meat sauce, which he’d made a few days earlier.
“Hey,” I heard him say after a while.
I shook my head, realizing I’d been staring off into space. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
My lower lip quivered. “Not so much.”
Dutch threw the towel he’d been wiping his hands on over his left shoulder and came to me, lifting me out of the chair to hug me. “We’ll find them, Edgar. We will.”
“I’m as afraid of that as not finding them,” I confessed. “I mean . . . what the hell is going on, honey?”
“I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out. And if there’s anything we can do to help them out of this mess, then we’ll do that too.”
“Promise?”
“Pinkie swear.”
“I take it back.”
“You take what back?” he asked.
“I don’t love you sometimes. I love you all the times.”
Dutch chuckled. “Me too, dollface. Me too.”
Chapter Nine
After a fitful night’s sleep for me, there was an early morning knock on our door. Dutch and I were in the middle of getting ready for work, after doing our part to conserve water by showering together; hence, we were both naked at the time of the door knock. While Eggy and Tuttle barked crazily in the foyer, my hubby and I did rock/paper/scissors to see who’d have to answer the door.
Dutch lost. Quelle surpreez, please. I mean, the guy continually plays these games with a psychic. What does he expect?
Still, as he hastily wrapped his lower half in a towel, I threw on a robe to peek out from the kitchen. Dutch must’ve known I was trying to hide, because with a wicked glance over his shoulder at me, he threw open the door to reveal the caller.
“Detective Grayson,” I said, somewhat curious to see her on my front steps.
“Hell—oh!” she said, her eyes going from me to the Greek god in the towel in front of her. Did I mention that Dutch takes amazing care of himself? Did I also mention he’s got the body of a Chippendales dancer? No? Well, that’s unusual. I totes like to brag about it.
Dutch grinned. “Good morning, Detective,” he said. “What brings you by?”
Grayson’s cheeks flushed bright red and she shut her eyes, turning her head away from Dutch and back over to me before she opened them again. “I’ve been assigned to the Roswell case,” she said, her words clipped and pronounced with perfect diction.
Gee, it was like she was trying to compose herself or something.
I grinned at her too. I clearly remember the first time I saw Dutch shirtless. I don’t remember much after he’d taken his shirt off—I mean, that part’s fuzzy. Maybe because my thinking brain had traveled straight south to my vajayjay. I gave Grayson props for being able to speak at all, much less remember why she’d stopped by. “Come in, Detective,” I said. She walked forward and once she’d passed Dutch, she widened her eyes and mouthed, Wow! at me.
My grin got bigger. I know, right? I mouthed back when Dutch turned to shut the door.
We offered Grayson some coffee (I didn’t think she’d want my caffeine-free tea—call it a hunch), and I shooed Dutch back into the bedroom to put on some clothes before he gave someone a heart attack. Grayson’s cheeks bloomed again, but she clinked mugs with me after he left the room. “Sorry to come by so early,” she said. “I wanted to catch you two before you both left for work.”
“Has there been a d
evelopment?” I asked, all humor leaving me.
“Maybe. But first I want to ask you about a report that came across my desk this morning. Is it true that Dave McKenzie’s wife has gone missing?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering how she connected that report to me.
“Your business partner filed the report and named you as a witness to the disappearance. I understand you were headed over to the McKenzie residence yesterday for a meeting with her and when you arrived, she was gone from the house, but her purse, keys, and phone were left behind?”
“That’s true.”
“Ms. Fusco said that you feel that Gwen has been kidnapped against her will.”
“That’s also true,” I said, because it was.
“Why do you think that?”
I tapped my forehead. “My Spidey sense says so.”
Grayson’s mouth quirked. “Two years ago I wouldn’t have given that Spidey sense of yours much credit. Nowadays, I’m the last person to dismiss it.”
I felt my shoulders relax. I hadn’t realized I’d tensed up since we started talking about Gwen until Grayson confessed she had faith in me. Given all the years I’ve faced down unbridled skepticism from the law-enforcement community, it was a damn nice change.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No need to thank me. You’ve proven yourself a few times over. I’m a believer.”
“Yeah, well, thanks anyway.”
Grayson held up her coffee cup and we clinked mugs again. “What can you tell me about what happened to Gwen?” she asked next.
I grimaced, recalling that punch to the face I was certain Gwen had received. “I think she may have known her kidnapper. I think she let him in, and when she was least expecting it, he clocked her hard. She went down to the floor, he dragged her up while she was still dizzy and disoriented, before she could even cry out for help, and he took her out of the house and away with him.”
“That’s pretty specific,” Grayson remarked.
“When I was in the kitchen trying to home in on Gwen, I just happened to be standing in the exact spot where she got sucker punched. The violence of it left an imprint on the energy and it wrapped itself around me. In essence, I was able to feel what she felt, but perhaps not the full force of the blow.”
“Yikes,” Grayson said. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”
“I imagine it was way worse for Gwen.”
“Noted. Okay, so do you think it was her husband who punched her and took her away?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Dutch came into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. I could tell he’d heard most of our conversation by the subtle supportive look he offered me. I was so grateful for him in that moment. Sometimes I just feel all filled up with love for him. I mean, I’m not the easiest person to live with, let alone love, and during stressful times like these, well, I’m even tougher to be around. But Dutch never wavers in his unconditional love and support for me. In that, he’s my anchor. He steadies me and allows me to take a deep breath and focus on the information without feeling overwhelmed by it. “It wasn’t Dave,” I said, tapping my forehead again. “But I don’t know who it was.”
“You said it was someone she knew,” Grayson pressed.
“May have been someone she knew,” I corrected. “There was a degree of excitement that Gwen expressed right before she was clocked. I can’t account for it, or the fact that there was no sign of forced entry, other than she might have known her kidnapper and let him in.”
“But wouldn’t she be excited to see her husband?” Grayson said, not letting go of her theory.
“She would, absolutely,” I conceded. “But, Detective, if Dave showed up at home and said, ‘Babe, we gotta go, right now!’ Gwen would go. She wouldn’t need to be subdued by a sucker punch. She would’ve gone with him.”
“Even after hearing what he did to the Roswells and their staff?”
I sighed. Grayson didn’t know Dave like we did. I tried to remind myself of that before answering. “Dave didn’t murder the Roswells or their staff.”
“We have a bloody handprint that says different, Mrs. Rivers.”
“Please call me Abby,” I reminded her. “And the bloody handprint only says that Dave was at the scene sometime between the time of those murders and the time that Candice and I discovered the bodies. It doesn’t definitively prove that he did it. And Gwen would undoubtedly think the same thing. She knows and trusts her husband.”
“Like you two, right?” Grayson said, pointing back and forth to Dutch and me.
“Yes,” Dutch said. “Right now, we still have faith in Dave.”
Grayson nodded, but I couldn’t tell if she believed us about Dave’s innocence. Maybe she’d seen too many “great” guys turn out to be scumbags, but I was still strongly rooted in my belief that Dave couldn’t, wouldn’t, and didn’t murder anybody. Nor had he physically assaulted his wife.
“Am I correct to say that you believe that Gwen’s kidnapping is connected to the murders at the Roswell house?” Grayson asked next.
Dutch and I exchanged a look. “Yes,” we said together.
“And somehow Dave McKenzie is mixed up in all of this too,” she said.
“Yes, but we don’t understand how he’s connected, yet,” Dutch said.
“What’s your theory?” she asked him, because, as a fellow law-enforcement official, he would’ve worked one out by now.
Dutch took a sip of his coffee and shrugged. “Officially?”
Grayson made a face. “No,” she told him. “My staff sergeant told us about the Chinese espionage angle you Feds are working, and we all know that’s crap.”
“Still,” he said, “that’s our official theory. But because I like you, Detective Grayson, I’ll give you my unofficial theory, which is that Dave was at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he witnessed something that scared the shit out of him, and he went into hiding. Maybe the guys who murdered the Roswells and their staff saw Dave before he got away, then tracked down his wife to use as leverage for him to come out of hiding.”
Grayson cocked an eyebrow. “That sounds like the plot of a movie.”
“I know. But it’s a theory that fits with both the facts and what I know about Dave as a person.”
Grayson set her coffee cup in the sink before she said, “Okay. Thank you for your time. I’ll let you two get on with your day. If you come across any other information on Gwen’s whereabouts, give me a call.”
After she’d gone, I turned to Dutch and said, “I don’t have any ideas left about how to find either Dave or Gwen.”
Dutch reached for me and pulled me close. “Me either, dollface. But that doesn’t mean something new won’t turn up. All we need is one good lead.”
I closed my eyes and pressed my cheek against his chest. He was warm and smelled amazing, so I spent a moment filling myself up with his scent and his warmth for strength and courage. “How many clients today?” he asked me.
“Only five. My sixth had to reschedule and I kept the hour free.”
“What time are you done, then?”
“Um . . . two o’clock.”
“Good. I’d like you to take the afternoon off and come back home to put your feet up and read a good book. You need to recharge, babe. I can tell you didn’t sleep well last night.”
“I look that bad, huh?”
“You couldn’t look bad if you tried,” he said, kissing the top of my head.
“Can you be this amazing for the entire rest of our marriage?”
“I will if you will.”
“Deal, cowboy.”
• • •
Later that day, after seeing my last client to the door, I found Candice in her office, studiously bent over her laptop. “How’s it going?” I asked.
“P
erfectly crappy,” she grumbled. “I’ve called all of Gwen’s contacts. No one’s heard from her.”
“How’d you get a list of her contacts?”
Candice held up Gwen’s phone. “This fell into my purse by accident.”
“Candice!”
“What?” she said. “I’ll give it back to her as soon as she shows up.”
“Aren’t the police looking for it?”
“Maybe. I told Grayson I’d leave it on the counter for her, and then I made sure to lock Gwen’s door. Without another search warrant, she can’t get back into that house, and as she’s only got our word to go on that Gwen was kidnapped, she can’t get another warrant without some hard evidence that Gwen was taken against her will, or that something violent took place in that house.”
“So the police haven’t been back to Dave and Gwen’s home since we were there yesterday?”
“Nope. Or maybe they were there and couldn’t get in. Either way, the phone won’t turn up missing for a while.”
I took a seat in one of Candice’s office guest chairs. “I don’t have any new ideas about how to find either Gwen or Dave.”
Candice eyed me keenly. “Hey, do you believe they’re together?”
I blinked. I hadn’t actually used my radar to pin that down yet. Taking a moment to focus, I was surprised and frustrated at the answer that came back to me. “Yes,” I said. “They’re together. But I don’t know where.”
“Are they being held against their will?”
I focused again. Candice had perhaps unwittingly asked the perfect question. “Yes!” I said. “Yes, they’re being held against their will. Or they’re being held in check. Someone is using Gwen against Dave.”
“Why?”
My eyes flew open. “Because of what Dave knows.”
“What does Dave know?” Candice asked next. She was leaning forward over her desk, intently focused on my answers.