The Longest Silence. Debra Webb

belongings as well as her cell phone are still in her room. Her car is still in student parking, just like Tiffany’s. Unlike your niece’s, this girl’s confidential contact insists that something is wrong. Since this student has no history of failure to show up for class or of disappearing for a couple of days without telling anyone, her parents have already been contacted. The chief over at campus security, Ed Buckley, has started the missing person protocol.”

      “Are my niece and this other student friends? Classmates?”

      Phelps reached for a manila file on his desk. He opened it and pushed it toward Tony. “As far as we can tell, they don’t know each other. Had no classes together and look nothing alike. No friends in common. About the only trait the two share is that they’re both students who maintain a steady four point oh.”

      Tony studied the file. Vickie Parton was eighteen. Her black hair was one of those feathery short cuts and her eyes were hazel. Other than being model thin, Parton and his niece had nothing whatsoever in common—on the outside.

      Phelps scrubbed a hand over his somber face. “No one has seen or heard from her since her final class on Friday afternoon.”

      Tony pushed the folder back toward him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

      Phelps nodded.

      “You know,” the chief said, stopping Tony at the door once more, “I can already tell I’m not going to like you, LeDoux.”

      Tony shifted to face him. “If it makes you feel any better, I was just thinking the same thing.”

      One corner of the older man’s mouth quirked. “But if you can help, I’ll pretend for as long as it takes.”

      Tony gave a nod. “Sounds like a plan.”

      As he moved along the corridor, Tony gave himself a mental pat on the back. He might be out of the game but he hadn’t lost his touch. He would find Tiffany. If his niece had been harmed in any way, whoever did the deed better hope the locals found him before Tony did.

      Antebellum Inn, 11:00 p.m.

      “I wanted you close.”

      Tony dredged up a smile for his sister. “Saved me the trouble of looking for a place.”

      Angela LeDoux Durand looked so damned much like their mother with her fair skin and dark hair and those oddly pale eyes, more gold than brown. Sometimes even her voice made him have to look twice to ensure their mom wasn’t talking to him. Tony had inherited his lighter hair and darker eyes from their father. Right now, his sister’s eyes were filled with worry and fear—the same worry and fear he felt churning in his gut.

      “I was afraid you’d be angry.”

      Tony tossed his bag on the floor of the room. “Why would I be angry?”

      Ang had been to Milledgeville several times to see Tiffany. She’d stayed at this historic inn every time, which was why she’d automatically called in a reservation on the way here. Only this time she’d reserved a room for him, as well. Not a problem. Really. He and Ang had always been close. As kids they’d been inseparable. Even as teenagers they’d shared many of the same friends. Adulthood hadn’t changed that—at least not until recently. Sharing the news of his divorce with his sister had been relatively easy; the career crash and burn, however, was a whole different ball game. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in her eyes. She’d always looked at him as if he was a hero, starting the day he’d kicked nine-year-old Lacon Turner’s butt for putting gum in her hair.

      He did not want to fail her or Tiffany now.

      Ignoring his question, she gestured to the room at large. “I knew you’d need some privacy. I hope this works.”

      The pool cottage was behind the main house with its four guest rooms. A narrow rear yard, small parking lot and the pool stood between the cottage and the back steps of the hundred-plus-year-old home. The cottage accommodation was bigger than the rooms in the house and had its own kitchen. His sister had been right about the need for privacy. The last thing he wanted right now was for her to start worrying about his personal issues.

      He gave her a nod. “It’s perfect.”

      She summoned a weary smile. “Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

      She’d insisted he replay verbatim his meeting with the chief of police. To prevent the hysteria he noted beneath the surface of her carefully controlled expression, he’d done as she asked—except for the news about the other girl. He loved his sister and he would do anything to find Tiffany, but there were some things civilians didn’t need to know.

      Civilians? He almost laughed at himself. You’re a civilian now, dumb ass.

      Maybe so, but he’d seen things. There were things he couldn’t erase from his brain—things that haunted him every single hour of every day of his life. Those things were what really scared him where Tiffany was concerned.

      Don’t go there yet.

      Before his sister could go, he pulled her close and hugged her tight. “We’ll find her, Ang. I promise.”

      She cried for a minute. He squeezed his eyes shut to hold back his own emotion. He had to be strong for her and for Tiffany.

      Tony stood at the door and watched as she crossed the property, returning to the main house. The night air had a chill to it. Once Ang was inside, he closed and locked the door. He plugged in the laptop Ang had carried in for him. The damned thing had been in the trunk of his car since the day he walked out of his office. The box of personal possessions from his office was still in his trunk, too. He hadn’t cared about looking at any of it. The few scattered personal items he’d kept on his desk were just a reminder that he’d screwed up. The photo of his ex-wife he’d shoved into a drawer months ago. The bag of peppermints he’d recently started using to conceal the alcohol on his breath. The keys to the house that was no longer his. His ex got the house and the dog and his best friend—who hadn’t really been a friend at all as it turned out. Tony had gotten nothing. Didn’t matter. He didn’t need anything. The townhouse he moved to suited his needs and friends were overrated.

      Enough about the past. His new motto was to live in the moment.

      He closed the blinds and dug into his bag where he’d stashed the pint of bourbon he’d found in the trunk—ironically in the box of personal effects from his office.

      He opened cabinet doors until he found the mugs. A mug in hand, he made himself comfortable at the table. He fired up the laptop. While it loaded, he poured himself a healthy serving of bourbon. He’d been dying for a drink all evening.

      The first sip burned like hell. But the promise of that burn allowed him to begin to relax. He downed another swallow and focused his attention on the laptop screen. Time to see what his niece had been up to on social media. He may have walked away from his career with the Bureau’s Behavioral Analysis Unit but he still had a few valuable contacts.

      Even when the police had officially listed her as missing, it would take time to unlock all the barriers that prevented law enforcement from seeing what Tiffany had been doing online and on her cell phone the final days and hours before she disappeared.

      Tony intended to know as much of that as possible before he closed his eyes tonight.

      The chief had made a reasonable point when he mentioned Tiffany’s occasional disappearing acts. Tony got that. But this time was different. He trusted his sister’s instincts far more than he did those of Chief Phelps.

      There were necessary steps that had to be taken before determining Tiffany’s status. As with unlocking her phone and social media accounts, each step required time.

      If she was in trouble, time represented one of the biggest threats to her staying alive.

       5

      Milledgeville

      Wednesday,