Then she left the bathroom, and I watched her climb back into bed, crawling under the covers. I shook my head, cleaned up the vomit in the toilet bowl and flushed. I couldn’t believe her. For a second, I felt like she understood the seriousness of the situation, but apparently, she didn’t.

Yet as I left her room, I couldn’t help feeling devastated by her comments. They were hurtful.

Tom called as I walked down the stairs, to get my keys and go to the station. I had asked him to go check out the pediatrician’s office for me, and to ask if either of the two children were Bryan Henderson’s patients.

“Neither of them was in their files,” he said. “I spoke to the nurse there and she searched in their system to see, but their names didn’t pop up. Not Emma or Cassandra.”

I walked outside, slamming the door shut behind me, leaving a note for Joe, telling him to let Charlene sleep and to walk Zelda before leaving for work. I had taken the younger kids to school, because I knew Charlene was in no state to go today.

“That can’t be right,” I said, feeling frustrated and disappointed. I had been so certain that Bryan’s job was the missing link. Now where did that leave me? Back to square one? Was Doyle going to confront me today? Demote me? Or just take me off the case? Who was going to get Emma back to her mother then? I wondered if I could convince him to let me keep searching for her. Seeing how scared Marissa was, I knew the girl had to be in danger. She needed to come home to her mother.

THIRTY-NINEMARISSA

Two can play that game.

Marissa had been taking it lying down all of her life. Never complaining. Never putting up a fight. Well, those days were over now. It was time for her to stand up for herself. To show the world what she was made of.

She didn’t own much. She could barely provide for herself and her daughter. She had no influential friends either, or even friends who could help her. And she knew she couldn’t trust the police. They were useless and hadn’t proven her otherwise so far. But she had her wits. She was smart. And she was stubborn. Once she set her mind to something, she didn’t rest until it was accomplished. She hadn’t always been like this, but lately, she had discovered that side of herself, and that’s what she used when planning her next move.

To get Emma back.

She parked her bike outside of the house where she had seen a little girl in the window, for a couple of days, keeping an eye on every movement inside, writing down every time someone left and when they came back, making sure to keep her distance so no one would see her. Soon she had prepared an entire schedule for their daily life, and now it was time to see when she could make her move.

Marissa dug deep into her resolve and started making plans. She had a few ideas, but she wanted to make sure they were airtight. After days of researching, plotting, and planning, she settled on a strategy.

As she stood in the street, watching the house, she felt a sense of satisfaction. This was her revenge. She had lost Emma, and now it was time to take her back. She had planned every detail, every move, and every step. She felt alive with power, ready to strike at any second she got the chance.

Finally, the moment arrived. The last person left the house. She hurried toward the front door, her heart pounding with excitement and fear.

She had brought everything she needed with her. A small hammer and a mask to cover her face. She slipped on the mask, and then smashed in a window next to the front door with the hammer. She waited for a few seconds to make sure that no one in the neighborhood, or inside of the house—in case she had miscalculated, and they hadn’t all left—reacted to the sound of glass being smashed. Nothing happened, and she figured the coast was clear.

It was dark inside, but she could see well enough. She walked through the living room, taking note of everything she saw. The pictures of the children, with their parents, some of them only with the dad, while fishing or going hiking. She paused for a second and studied them, feeling her heart drop even further.

Then she remembered why she was there.

She looked toward the stairs, where the children’s rooms were and the master bedroom. But then she spotted the backyard through the kitchen window.

The shed.

Where no one can hear her cry or even scream.

Heart throbbing in her throat, Marissa went through the kitchen and headed toward the back door leading to the long yard, gasping lightly at the sight of it, while placing a hand on the handle.

She opened the door, then walked outside on the back patio, spotting the shed all the way at the end of the backyard. It was covered by bushes and tall trees, but she knew it was there. Taking in deep, calming breaths to keep herself composed, she approached it, heart knocking against her ribcage, and hands shaking in fear.

FORTYBILLIE ANN

“I can’t believe every lead is a dead end,” I muttered, feeling my frustration rise.

Tom and Scott were sitting opposite me at my desk, the three of us desperate to find the thread that would lead us closer to a resolution. We had been going through the case and the evidence we had all morning, trying to connect the dots between the scattered information we had gathered. But nothing seemed to fit, no matter how hard we tried. We had no suspects in Cassandra’s disappearance—just her father acting strangely, but he was alibied. We had no new links to Emma, nothing to connect either girl to Bryan. No positive IDs for the blood in Ashley’s house. No surveillance cameras had brought up anything of interest—just Ashley and Bryan on a date at a local bar. And no one had heard from Marissa.

It simply wasn’t good enough.

I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me as I slumped in my chair. Tom and Scott exchanged a meaningful glance, and I knew that they felt the same as I did. We had to find something soon, or else this case would be lost forever.

And my career washed down the drain with it.

“What are we missing?” I asked. “What is it we’re not seeing?”

“I’ll tell you what you aren’t seeing,” sounded a voice from behind me. I turned and spotted the Chief. He was holding a piece of paper in his hand that he placed on the desk in front of me.

“What’s that?” Tom asked.

“I was curious,” Doyle said. “I couldn’t figure out how a woman like Marissa Clemens, with being a single mom and a nurse, with her income could afford to live where she did. So, I called the county and asked for some info.”

“And what did you find?” I asked and leaned forward to look at the piece of paper he had placed in front of me. Chief Doyle was looking at it over my shoulder, casting a long shadow.

I looked up at him. He smiled. I had always believed he was quite good looking. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with a booming voice and a stern demeanor. He had lost his wife some years ago, before he came to our station. People said he never got over it and hadn’t dated since. I still saw her picture on his desk when I was in there. They looked very happy together. It had been a home invasion. Some drug addict, looking for money, shot her in her own home.

It was a tragedy. One you could still see on his heavy burdened face, even if it was years ago.

“Is that what I think it is?” I asked.

He nodded with a smirk. “Yup. This is the deed to the house she lives in. She never paid a dime to live there. That’s your connection right there.”

I lifted the paper and stared at it to be completely sure I was getting this right.

“Then who did?” Tom asked, leaning forward.

I looked up and my eyes met his. “Pete Perez. Cassandra’s dad. He owns the house, but his name is also on the loan.”

“And he paid all the mortgages,” Doyle said, determined. “Something is going on between the two of them. But no matter what it is, then there is a connection, an important one. So, I guess we’re still working that angle, Wilde.”

Tom wrinkled his nose. “And why would he do that? Did he have an affair with her or something like that?”

I rose to my feet and grabbed my phone in hand. “A neighbor did say she saw a man come and go at Marissa’s house. Maybe it was him? I say it’s time to call him in for a little chat.” I paused and looked at my boss. “I thought you didn’t believe that Marissa Clemens had a child?”

“We haven’t found evidence that she didn’t either,” he said. “Plus, I believe in you. And your gut. That’s enough. You’ve done good work on this case so far.”

That made me smile. Chief Doyle had been head of the police department for nearly five years. He had a reputation for being uncompromising and by-the-book when it came to crime, but his resolute fairness was also well known. It wasn’t often Chief Doyle gave out compliments, so when he did, I could be certain that he meant it. And I was allowed to be proud of it.

FORTY-ONE

Then

Kitty woke up from a deep sleep, her head pounding and her chest heaving. The only sound was the faint thumping of her heart and the scratching of a branch against the walls on the outside of the metal shed. It was hot inside of it, almost unbearably so, and she was sweating heavily, her hair falling into her face, soaked.

Kitty heard a loud clank and the door to her room creaked open, flooding the small space with sunlight. She bolted upright in her bed, expecting to see Officer Damian and his piercing blue eyes staring down at her, as she had been accustomed to over these past many weeks, or was it maybe even months? She no longer knew. She couldn’t keep track. The only thing she knew was that he would come to her at least once a day, bringing food, and they would talk. Sometimes he would kiss her and hold her and tell her she shouldn’t be afraid. Other times he would slap her across the face and yell at her for making him do this to her, making him keep her like this.