Hidden In The Everglades. Margaret Daley

her?”

      His every word held such alarm that Kyra was drawn again to comfort Michael. She touched his arm, his bicep bunching beneath her fingertips. “The sequence of events doesn’t support that. You were seeing her in this house while I was going after the killer.”

      “Then where did she go?”

      “Good question. We need to find her.” As Gabe disappeared down the hallway, Kyra inhaled deeply, smelling Michael’s scent—musk and antiseptic. “While we’re looking around, try calling her first then start calling her friends, if she doesn’t answer her cell. See if she’s with one of them or they know where she would go.”

      “I can do that.” He dug into his pocket and withdrew his cell. “I also need to call my partner to tell him to cover for me for the next few days.”

      Kyra left him making the first call. She seriously doubted Amy was over at a friend’s, but it gave Michael something to do while they searched the house. The person she’d seen running from the murder scene was frightened. What had Amy witnessed? What did Michael’s sister know that caused the assailant to shoot at her? Could Amy ID the killer?

      When she entered the teen’s bedroom, Gabe closed a drawer. “I’m worried about Amy. If she witnessed a double homicide, the killer might not rest until he finds her.”

      “I agree.” Kyra strolled toward a pegboard with photos pinned on it. She surveyed the array. “I haven’t seen pictures of Amy since she was much younger. But this is definitely the girl I saw at the house.” She tapped her finger at a girl in a photo in the center of the board—two girls, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, huge smiles on their faces.

      “That’s Amy. I know that she has been in more trouble this past year than before, but I would never figure she would be involved in a murder even as a witness.”

      “Can you tell me anything about Preston? Why would someone want to kill him? Who is the other victim?” Kyra used the eraser end of a pencil to wake up Amy’s computer. Amy’s screen saver came blazing to life. A scene of a swamp—dark, eerie, with deep shadows except where a sunray burst through the thick foliage to light the murky water.

      “Preston is—was a bit on the wild side. I’ve seen Amy and him together around town. I’m not sure who the other guy is. He must be passing through. Wilson is working on that.”

      “Could he have been involved in drugs?”

      “Possibly. You think this is drug-related?”

      “You know that drug dealers have used the Glades to smuggle in their poison so it’s a very real possibility.”

      “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. A few years back I would have said Amy would never have been caught up in something like that. Now I can’t.”

      “Which means she could be in deeper trouble than just the police looking for her to question her.”

      “Yup. The killer could be after her as a witness or a drug deal gone bad.”

      “It won’t be the first time a murderer wants to silence a witness or a dealer wants to send a message about double-crossing him.” Noticing Amy’s internet server was still open, Kyra sat at the desk and punched some keys to bring up the girl’s email account. She clicked on the last message Amy sent. “Gabe, come look at this.” She peered over her shoulder at her mentor and glimpsed Michael standing in the doorway.

      Both men approached the desk.

      Michael hovered over Kyra to read, “I lost my cell at the cabin. He’s got it. Gotta get out of here. Hide. Meet me at our place.”

      THREE

      “He’s got her cell? Who? How?” Michael’s gut constricted. The throbbing in his head increased its tapping against his skull.

      “Don’t know.” Kyra’s gaze connected with Michael’s. “Who’s this person she’s emailing called skullandcrossbones?”

      “I would have said Preston, but he’s dead. I don’t know.” Why didn’t he? He’d tried to forge a bond with Amy, but—He couldn’t think straight with Kyra’s vanilla scent teasing his nostrils. When he’d been growing up, he’d fancied himself in love with Kyra, who thought of him only as Ginny’s kid brother. But what did a boy of fifteen or sixteen really know about love? He didn’t even think he had a good grasp on it now. Not after Sarah. He’d failed her when she’d needed him the most.

      Gabe frowned. “Maybe that’s something I could ask her friends.”

      “Let me do that. They might talk to me but not the police.” Michael remembered the short list of Amy’s girlfriends he’d called and the fact he’d gotten nowhere with them. They knew something and weren’t talking. But he had to do something to help Amy, and maybe after he pressed upon them the danger his sister was in, they would open up to him.

      Indecision shadowed the police chief’s eyes.

      “He might have a point. I could go with Michael. See if I can figure out who’s lying or telling the truth. I got pretty good at reading people while working as a detective in Dallas.”

      “Great, I’m glad you’re gonna help me. Our resources are stretched at best on a good day. This isn’t a good day. The officer who has some knowledge about computers is the one on vacation this week. He’s not even in town. That leaves me with only Wilson, Connors and Nichols.”

      “That’s also something I can help you with, Gabe. It’s a necessity in my job. If it’s okay with you and Michael, I can dig around and see what I can come up with on Amy’s computer.” Kyra peered from the police chief to him.

      Her professional facade had descended, but this side of Kyra was just as appealing as the one who had declared she would help him. For months Michael had figured he was in over his head with Amy, but it was official now. Although he was only thirty-three, he felt decades older than his seventeen-year-old kid sister. “I don’t have any problem with that. Chief?”

      “Nope. Then that’s settled. I’ll leave it here for you to do whatever you do.” Gabe headed for the door. “I don’t see anything else in here that could help us find Amy.” He paused at the door. “Michael, show me which way she would have come into the house the last time.”

      He panned the room, then joined Gabe in the hallway. “It had to be the back door through the kitchen.”

      “What’s Amy’s cell-phone number?” The police chief trailed behind Michael toward the kitchen.

      Michael gave it to him and added, “Remember she doesn’t have it with her.” He surveyed the floor for any red spots on the tile, then when he didn’t see any, he lifted his gaze to take in the rest of the room.

      “Or so she wants us to think. We only have her word that ‘he’ has it.”

      “You think she wrote that in the email because she knew she could be tracked by the cell’s GPS?”

      “It’s possible, but not probable,” Gabe said, followed by a humorless chuckle. “We might be able to track the person who took Amy’s cell if he has it as she said. I’ll get Connors on it.”

      “Turn the tables on the guy Amy is running from?”

      “Ain’t technology great.” Gabe winked and sauntered toward the back door.

      Michael certainly hadn’t had time to keep up with all the technology being developed—except in his field of medicine—with his work schedule. He was one of two doctors in a community with a large ratio of elderly people who needed a great deal of medical attention. And before he came back to Flamingo Cay, his life had been a living nightmare for the last year in Chicago. Still was. The image of Sarah at the accident that had taken her life continued to haunt him even after over a year. He hadn’t been able to save her.

      He wasn’t going to lose