Lost. Helen R. Myers

the pleasure.

      11

      4:12 a.m.

      Michaele couldn’t sit for more than a minute or two at a time. Ever since Jared had left, she’d been moving from room to room, window to window, stopping every few minutes, tempted to reach for the phone to call and ask for an update. Surely it had been long enough to do that now?

      She glanced at the kitchen clock and uttered a deep-throated groan. No wonder she ached all over; she’d been awake for almost twenty-four hours. But no way did she dare lie down at this stage; even if she could fall asleep—which she doubted—she would never be able to rouse herself again in time to reopen the garage.

      “This has to end,” she muttered. “It has to.”

      She wondered again at why Jared had cut short their conversation. Sure, she’d heard Curtis on the radio, but that didn’t mean it had been about Faith. But what other reason could he have, not to have called her back by now?

      That’s it, Ramey. You’re overdosing on self-importance—

      At the sound of a vehicle, she immediately dashed to the kitchen door. Yanking it open, she saw that it was indeed Jared’s patrol car. For one instant her heart lifted with hope—only to plunge when she saw the empty passenger seat. She felt a strange sense of disconnection, until he started up the stairs; then she noted his expression was as ominous as she’d ever seen it. Except the time…

      “What is it?” she demanded.

      He didn’t reply, not until he was inside. How she held on to her temper, she didn’t know; probably because of his appearance. He looked as though he’d been rolled in mud and again in weeds.

      “We haven’t found her,” he finally announced.

      “Then why do you look as though you did, but can’t find the stomach to tell me?”

      “Because we do have…something. Her car.”

      Once, when she was thirteen, Buck had punched her in the belly. After she lost her lunch, Michaele had knocked him cold with the empty bottle at his feet, and when he’d come to, she’d vowed that if he ever touched her again, she’d have him arrested, and she and Faith would take their chances with foster care. Jared’s announcement brought that sickening pain back. Only, this time she couldn’t afford to lose it, not in front of him.

      “We had a call from Pete Fite,” he continued. “His dogs woke him. When they refused to calm down, he figured he had another coyote or worse after his stock.”

      “That doesn’t make sense. Her car at Pete’s place?”

      “The tags and VIN number check out. Also…Hell,” he muttered, looking as though he’d prefer to be anywhere but here. “There’s no other way to do this, but say it straight out. Her purse was in there, too.”

      Her mind refused to register what he was saying. She heard the words, but their meaning somehow would not pass through the icy morass that had shut down her brain.

      “Maybe you’d better sit down,” Jared told her.

      “You’ve been searching the woods out there, haven’t you?” she said with dawning realization. “Looking for her body.”

      “There’s every reason to assume she’s alive.”

      “You searched the woods!”

      “We had to!” His equally testy reply reverberated through the house. That seemed to shake him as much as it did her, and although he placed his hands on his hips, he said more calmly, “What you need to take comfort in is knowing we found nothing. There’s no evidence of violence—not in the car, not anywhere.”

      That wasn’t comforting at all. “So she was forced. Taken away at gunpoint.”

      “Damn it, don’t make this harder on yourself than necessary.”

      “You took fingerprints and—what do you call them? Trace samples?”

      “We brought in John Box. He got a few prints. As good as they are, I suspect they’re Faith’s—and yours.”

      The slight delay in adding her name made Michaele lift her chin. “So now I’m a suspect in my own sister’s disappearance?”

      “Of course not. The point is aside from those prints and a little red ore on the driver’s floor mat, it’s as spotless as if she had just washed the thing.”

      “She did. Yesterday. She’s very proud of that car. Should be, considering what it cost.” The crass comment made her grimace. “What about the steering wheel?”

      “Clean.”

      “You mean, except for her prints and mine again, right?”

      “No, it’s been wiped down.” That revelation triggered her queasiness again. “The caller.”

      “Maybe.”

      “What now?”

      “I need you.”

      They weren’t new words to her. He’d said them before; in fact, they were his usual “call to duty” whenever he phoned to say he had a vehicle in need of a tow. But tonight they sounded different, somehow…and stirred emotions too complex to deal with.

      “Good,” he said, when she didn’t respond. His gaze moved over her face. “I was afraid I was going to have to fight you about this. I’m glad you don’t want to go out there. I’ll call Cuddy and tell him to get Bendix. It’ll go over better if he phones—”

      She clamped her hand over his on the phone’s receiver, and held him still. “Don’t even think it!” Of course, it was merely a token gesture, but she had to try.

      “It’s the best way to go in this case,” he told her.

      “That clumsy ox isn’t putting his paws on my sister’s car.”

      “Could you please let me save you from having to do this?”

      “You didn’t let anyone hide anything from you when you lost Sandy.” His warm breath on her face made her release him and take a step back, but she didn’t yield on her argument. “This is my job.”

      “You’ve got the wrong wrecker. You’ll need the rollback for the Firebird.”

      Seeing that he knew he’d lost this round, she grew calmer. “Which is at the garage and directly on the way.”

      “You’ll wake Buck.”

      “Fat chance.”

      “I’ll talk to Bendix and watch him like he was on the Ten Most Wanted list. He’ll have to be careful, and under the circumstances I’ll bet he’d have no problem with dropping off the car at your place. C’mon, Mike. For once, don’t turn this into a twelve-round championship fight.”

      Is that how he saw this? To her, it wasn’t about stubbornness, it was about being a professional—dependable and efficient. But as she rubbed her sweating hands against her hips, she was reminded of what she was wearing.

      “From what I heard today on the police scanner, Bendix’s already had a pretty full day. Give me a minute to change, and I’ll be ready to go.”

      As she started for the stairs, he blocked her way with his arm across the doorway.

      “No matter how hard you try to prepare yourself, this isn’t going to be like a normal call.”

      “I thought you said there’s nothing there?”

      “There isn’t. That doesn’t mean it’s an easy scene to look at. Everything reverberates with more questions than answers, as though someone stood there and set a scene.”

      “Premeditation.”

      “No,