TWO

Melbourne Airport, Florida

Lisa Baxter, a savvy businesswoman with a sharp eye for detail and a penchant for order, dreaded the prospect of air travel. The mere mention of it sent shudders down her spine. She hated the airport. The long lines, the lack of privacy, the constant hustle and bustle of people of all walks of life merging and mingling—it was overwhelming. She hated being wedged in a tiny seat between strangers who felt entitled to take up more room than their own, and she couldn’t stand the unfamiliar, unpredictable movements of the airplane as it bumped through the sky.

But most of all, she dreaded the people. They always seemed far too loud, far too intrusive, and far too eager to strike up a conversation. Even when Lisa was content to sit in silence, they seemed to sense her unease and take it as an invitation to talk. She wished more than anything that she could just disappear into her own mind and forget about the rest of the world.

The airport was an overwhelming mixture of noise, bright lights, and distracted travelers. Lisa made her way through the bustling crowd, searching for an out-of-the-way spot to sit down and collect her thoughts. Everywhere she looked there were blinking screens, loudspeakers making announcements, and people hauling suitcases behind them. The air was filled with the scent of disinfectant as the hum of fluorescent lighting buzzed overhead. Despite the soothing familiarity of it all, Lisa couldn’t shake the fear that flew in with her ticket—a fear of what had happened in the sky before and what might happen again, when she had been on a plane to Denver and they’d had to do an emergency landing. She hadn’t flown since then. She didn’t trust in the airlines or the airplanes or even the pilots.

As she stood in line for check-in, her gaze landed on something strange—a duffel bag lying forgotten near her feet. It seemed oddly out of place where it was, and Lisa felt her heart begin to pound as she studied it warily. Who owned it? Why was no one standing near it?

She stared at it for a long time, while waiting in the line.

Nobody stepped forward to claim the duffel bag, and Lisa tiptoed nervously toward it. She bent over cautiously, half expecting something hazardous to jump out at her.

“Excuse me, officer,” Lisa called out. “There’s some abandoned luggage over there. I’m not sure who it belongs to.”

The security officer approached her, one hand already resting on the gun at his hip. She showed him the bag. He gave the duffel bag a wary once-over, assessing it for any signs of danger.

And then his face dropped as he spotted something. A dark red mark on the zip on one side. It looked wet. Drenched in something. He looked up and locked eyes with her as they both realized what it was. Blood.

THREEBILLIE ANN

“I want the house.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing as I looked up at Joe. “Excuse me?”

He nodded, his lips tight. “You heard me.”

I narrowed my eyes. Did I just hear him right? “What do you mean you want the house? Where will I live with the kids?”

Joe and I were having another heated argument, the likes of which we had been having almost every day since we had started to discuss the logistics of our divorce. He had agreed to move out and had gotten a condo downtown, not far from our family home. Meanwhile I had been staying with the children in the house. We were sitting in the living room, me on the worn leather sofa we’d chosen together when we moved in, and he in the armchair that had originally been his father’s, but had quickly become his own favorite. The room was bathed in a soft light, and the air was thick with a tense silence.

I was the first to break it.

“What do you mean you want the house?” I repeated, incredulously, barely recognizing my own voice.

Joe didn’t flinch. “I want the house,” he replied, his voice resolute. “What’s so hard to understand about that?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I love this house. It was my dream home when we bought it. I’ve always wanted a canal front house, and you know it. I want to get a boat and have it back there. I want to go fishing from time to time.”

My heart raced. This was not the Joe I knew. There was something different in his voice, something determined. His eyes were locked on mine, searching and pleading. I felt a sickening wave of panic wash over me and the room began to spin. I know I was the one who ended our marriage, but did that mean he got the house in the divorce?

“Joe, I—”

He cut me off. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want the house.” His voice was soft but unrelenting.

I felt my throat close up with emotion. I was also sick of the fighting. This was one thing we could agree on. We had both changed in the last year and the house was no longer ours. It was our past, a reminder of what had been and could never be again. I looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer. I was exhausted, sleep-deprived after having searched for a woman, Joanne Edwards, who disappeared two weeks ago. I hadn’t been able to sleep as thoughts of what might have happened to her kept lingering in my mind. I really didn’t need this right now.

Silence hung heavy in the air once again. I took a deep breath, gathering my courage, and met his eyes once more.

“I’m not giving you the house.”

I looked down at the papers in front of me unable to understand how we had come to this. For some reason we both believed we could do it without any lawyers, but now I was having my doubts.

“But I want it.”

“I don’t even understand. Where is this coming from? You haven’t said anything about the house before?” I asked.

“Just because I haven’t talked about it doesn’t mean it hasn’t been on my mind. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually,” Joe replied. “The kids and I need this stability. You can find another place to live, maybe even a better one. And it would work better for you during cases. But I want to raise them in this house.”

My heart felt like it was being squeezed. This was not what I had expected. I never imagined he’d want to stay here; I thought I’d end up living with the kids full-time. My work was busy, and yes there were times when I had to put it first, but I was perfectly capable of looking after the kids and giving them the security they needed. They weren’t little anymore, after all.

“Joe, I don’t think—”

“Think about it,” he interrupted. “You’ll get a good settlement, I promise. The kids will be taken care of, everything will be okay.”

I looked at him, feeling a mix of anger and hurt. “You can’t just demand the house like that. We’ve both put in equal amounts of work and money into it.”

“But I’m the one who loves it.”

I shook my head. Was this coming from a place of anger? Dealing with the news that I was gay had been hard for Joe, and I understood that, but I had hoped he’d be able to hold on to our friendship. Perhaps I’d been naïve.

Joe’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t think you understand. I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you that I want the house. And I’ll be damned if I let you stand in my way.”

The words hung in the air like a threat.

I shook my head. “No, Joe. I can’t agree to that.”

He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Then he got up. “Fine. Be like that. But I’m not giving up.”

As I watched him walk out of the door, I felt a sense of unease wash over me. Joe had always been stubborn, but I never thought he would be so unreasonable. We had agreed that the children should be with me for the biggest part of the time, and to try not to uproot them and make sure their lives didn’t change drastically. And now this? This was a whole new side of him I didn’t recognize. I knew he was having a hard time, but that didn’t mean he got to walk all over me. I felt guilty, yes, but I still had just as much right to the house as he did.

I gathered my papers and headed toward the kitchen. I needed a cup of coffee to calm my nerves. As I waited for the coffeemaker to spit it out, I looked around the kitchen. This was the house that Joe wanted so desperately. The house that we had built together. It wasn’t just a bunch of bricks and mortar to me. It was our home. A place where we had created memories and built a life together. With our three children.

I knew I couldn’t just give that up.

When I heard the doorbell ring, I put down my coffee and went to answer it.

My new boss, the new Chief of police, was standing awkwardly on the other side of the door. She had taken over the Cocoa Beach police station just a month earlier. Her name was Becky Harold, and she was a former Marine and Air Force pilot before she started her career in the police. I had heard rumors that she didn’t take any nonsense from anyone. She was a tall woman with short cropped black hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Detective Wilde, can I come in?” she asked.

I nodded and stepped back. I felt nervous for some reason. I had never had a Chief come to my house before. I had only met with her a few times since she got here, but I couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated by her. I could tell that she wasn’t someone to mess with. She had an air of authority about her; from her perfectly shined boots to the fitness watch on her wrist, she seemed in control.

I wondered if there was a problem. We had been working on a missing person case for a few weeks, but so far we didn’t have any significant leads. A woman, Joanne Edwards, had been reported missing after a night out with her coworkers, and I’d spent most of yesterday evening combing through the interviews we’d already collected. Nothing new stood out. Did the Chief have news? Or was she frustrated with me?

“O-of course, Chief Harold. What brings you here?”