Cold Case, Hot Accomplice. Carla Cassidy

      “We aren’t sure. When was the last time you saw or spoke to her?”

      Zooker frowned and pulled on the end of his long salt-and-pepper beard. “It would have been three weeks ago. I was at the Roadside Stop delivering some of my furniture to Miss Marlene and Miss Sheri when Mrs. Marcoli approached me and ordered a piece from me.”

      “Was she expecting you today?” Steve asked.

      “Not specifically. I told her I would deliver it once it was ready, and I’d planned a trip into town so I decided to attempt to deliver it today. If she isn’t here, I can always come back another time.”

      “You’re here now so you might as well drop off whatever you brought. Have you been paid?” Roxy asked.

      Abraham nodded. “I was paid in full when your aunt ordered the piece.” He backed away from the door. “I’ll be right back.”

      Steve turned to Roxy. “What’s the story?”

      “He’s one of the Amish who have been given permission to work with the English. He makes beautiful wooden furniture that Marlene and Sheri sell at their place, and he also has made several quilting racks for Aunt Liz.”

      Steve knew that the Amish community closest to Wolf Creek was a progressive order. Although they used no electricity and continued the old tradition of traveling by horse and buggy, he’d heard that some of them were allowed running water in their homes and many did a brisk commercial trade with businesspeople in town. They had large farms and ran a dairy operation, and their horses and buggies and wide-brimmed straw hats were common sights in town.

      Although Steve had been out to the settlement many times in the past, he had never met Abraham Zooker before.

      “I get a lot of my cheese and dairy products from Abraham’s brother, Isaaic,” Roxy explained.

      By that time Abraham had returned, carrying a beautifully crafted quilt display rack. Steve opened the door to allow the man to set the piece inside the kitchen. “She paid me for two, so there is another one that I should have ready in a couple of weeks,” he said.

      “Why don’t you hold off on that one for now,” Roxy said, her eyes a simmering cauldron of emotion as she ran a hand lightly over the smooth wood of the piece. “I’ll get in touch with you when it’s time to start making the other one.”

      “Your aunt is ill?”

      “She’s missing. She hasn’t been seen since yesterday morning,” Steve replied.

      “I will pray for her,” Abraham said.

      “I’d appreciate it if you’d ask around your community whether anyone has seen her in the past twenty-four hours,” Steve said.

      “Of course. We’ve always cooperated with authorities whenever necessary,” Zooker said. He looked at Roxy, his blue eyes once again softening. “I’m sorry for your worries, and I hope your aunt turns up well.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Zooker,” Roxy told him. Steve noted the hint of tears in her eyes.

      It stunned him. In the past twenty-four hours he’d seen her combative and rude, anxious and fearful, but he hadn’t seen tears.

      As Abraham Zooker left, Roxy closed the door and leaned against it weakly, the glistening tears more pronounced as she stared at the quilt rack.

      “Aunt Liz bought a rack and made a wedding ring quilt for Marlene when she got married. I’m guessing this one was in anticipation of whenever Sheri or I get married, even though I’ve told her a thousand times I have no intention of that.” The tears that had shimmered in her eyes released and trekked down her cheeks. “Where could she be, Steve? What could have happened to her?”

      Steve knew he was about to take his life in his own hands, but he’d never seen a woman who looked more like she needed to be held than Roxy looked at that moment.

      Knowing the danger, but unable to stop himself, he reached out and pulled her into an embrace. She stiffened against him and he tensed, expecting a knee to his jewels or a jab to his jaw, but instead she relaxed into him as a deep sob escaped her.

      He tightened his arms around her, trying not to notice the press of her full breasts against his lower chest, how neatly her head fit just beneath his chin.

      She felt good; she felt right in his arms, but she allowed it for only a handful of heartbeats and then she stepped back from him and swiped the tears off her cheeks.

      “Wow, that won’t happen again,” she said, her voice filled with an appalled regret. “I never cry, and I definitely never cuddle.” She raised her chin defensively.

      “Fine, then we’ll just chalk that up to you having something in your eye and we accidentally bumped into each other,” he replied drily.

      It was obvious that the last thing Roxy Marcoli wanted was to appear vulnerable in any way. The angry defiance he sensed in her would hold her in good stead in the days to come. Hopefully it would fill up part of the space inside her that otherwise would be screaming in fear, dying of anxiety.

      Steve knew very well the maelstrom of emotions flooding through Roxy, and he also knew her body and mind could only endure the high state of anxiety for so long.

      She was with him now because she was in the first stages of disbelief and fear. Eventually, if Liz Marcoli wasn’t found, Roxy would have to figure out how to resume her life and work around the hole in her heart until some sort of closure was finally granted.

      Steve was still waiting for closure in his own missing-persons case, and in the absence of that closure he’d adopted the laid-back “surfer dude” attitude to hide his own fear and pain. The day that his ex-girlfriend had kidnapped his son had been the moment Steve’s world had shattered. That had been two years ago, and during that time Steve had never stopped looking for the little boy he loved more than anything else on earth.

      “So what happens next?” Roxy asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

      He gave himself a mental shake. He had to stay focused on this missing-persons case.

      He walked over to the counter where Liz’s purse was and looked inside. He pulled out her cell phone, punched a couple of numbers and frowned. “The history of incoming calls has been deleted.”

      “So we don’t know who might have called Aunt Liz early Friday morning,” Roxy said flatly.

      “We’ll drop the phone off at the station. Frank not only does magic with finding people—he’s also a rock star at getting this kind of information. The calls might be deleted from the phone, but the cell phone company will have the records.”

      “And after we drop it off at the station?”

      “Next we go talk to Patricia Burns. You told me yesterday that she was your aunt’s closest friend. Maybe she’ll know something about your aunt that you don’t know.”

      Roxy shot him a tight grin. “Doubtful, but we have to do what we have to do.”

      What was happening? Steve asked himself minutes later when they were back in his car after dropping off the phone at the station and heading to Patricia Burns’s house. What was he doing with Roxy like a mouse in his pocket, gnawing a tiny hole in his sanity?

      He should have done the professional thing and sent her on her way that morning in the station. He wasn’t sure exactly how he had become we. He had two perfectly good partners to work with, and he didn’t need another one. He especially didn’t need one who’d felt so right pulled tight against his body, one who sent his adrenaline rushing whenever her eyes snapped with fire.

      As soon as he interviewed Patricia Burns, he was taking Roxy right back to her car at the station and carrying on alone. He’d promise her frequent check-ins, but he needed to get her out of his pocket.

      Patricia Burns lived two blocks away from Liz Marcoli in a neat ranch house that was identical