THE HIDDEN SEASON

A LAKE MYSTERY AND SUSPENSE THRILLER

PI NIA CARTER THRILLER SERIES

BOOK 3

DAN PADAVONA

GET A FREE BOOK!

I’m a pretty nice guy once you look past the grisly images in my head. Most of all, I love connecting with awesome readers like you.

Join my VIP Reader Group and get a FREE serial killer thriller for your Kindle.

Get My Free Book

www.danpadavona.com/thriller-readers-vip-group/

1

Late August draped the back roads of Upstate New York in a deep indigo twilight, a color that hinted at summer’s reluctant farewell. Kit Stratton steered her aging SUV down roads lined with dense pine trees and sleepy farmhouses. The headlights cut tunnels of light through the night. These rural roads always seemed deserted at this time of night, and there was a comforting stillness to it. Though tonight Kit’s mind refused to relax.

Her vineyard, Stratton Estates, lay tucked just outside of Duskwood, its rows of grapevines descending toward the lake. For years, the vineyard had been her labor of love and a legacy she’d built with her late father. But this year was different. As she veered onto Canandaigua Road, she remembered the financial statements her accountant had compiled.

The last few seasons had been brutal. A wet spring delayed bud break, and a dry spell in early July left some of her younger vines gasping for water. Now harvest season beckoned, demanding every ounce of her energy, every moment of her time. From monitoring sugar levels in the grapes to deciding when to call in the pickers, her work in the next few weeks would be critical. Get the timing wrong and the fruit would be overripe or immature. Either would ruin the year’s vintage.

She eased off the gas as a deer darted across the road. She tapped the brakes. The animal served as another reminder of how fragile life could be. On these winding back roads, and in a business that balanced on a knife’s edge, everything could go wrong.

A farmhouse glowed in the distance. As she passed the structure, her thoughts buzzed with tasks that couldn’t wait—spraying for mildew in the vineyard, since the humid August nights were a breeding ground for disease, tightening trellises to prevent the clusters from sagging onto the ground and rotting, and calling the local distributors to confirm orders. There was no point in producing wine if no one was willing to stock it.

Of course, there was the nagging reminder that the bank was expecting a payment soon.

Stratton Estates hung on by a thread. In theory, she had enough fruit to produce a decent vintage, but she always dealt with labor shortages and she wasn’t sure if she could afford to hire enough help for the harvest. The grape-picking machines were too expensive to rent, and hand-picking would be slow unless she doubled her workforce.

And then there was Sebastian Lacroix.

Kit tightened her grip on the steering wheel. The slick entrepreneur had been circling her vineyard like a vulture, waiting for the perfect moment to swoop in with an offer to buy her out. He ran several wineries, which were more factories than farms, and he’d made it no secret that Stratton Estates would fit neatly into his growing empire. The idea of selling disgusted Kit. This vineyard wasn’t just dirt and vines; it was her soul poured into the soil. But if things didn’t turn around soon, she wouldn’t have a choice.

The headlights caught a sharp turn, and Kit slowed the SUV as the road narrowed, twisting between forested slopes. The sky above was full of stars, their reflection dancing across the dark surface of Duskwood Lake.

Every decision felt heavier this year. What if the sugars were too low? What if the grapes had sunburned in the late-season heat? Even with her experience, variables existed beyond her control, and this year seemed determined to test her.

Despite the stress, Kit felt a swell of pride. She’d kept the vineyard running after her father died. Through droughts, frosts, and floods, she’d stood firm. This was her land. And even if Lacroix and the bank thought they could bully her into giving up everything she loved, she wasn’t ready to quit. Not until they pried the pruning shears from her hands.

Fate had granted her a respite. Two days ago, she’d received an undisclosed deposit into her account. It wasn’t life-changing money, but it might help her survive the year.

Except the money wasn’t hers. She didn’t accept handouts, nor did she want to depend on the money, knowing the bank could recognize the error and reclaim the deposit. Yet when she’d approached her account manager about the transaction, he played dumb, claiming the money had come from one of her clients. So she rolled the dice and used the money to pay part of the loan, just enough to keep the sharks from snapping at her legs.

Kit lowered the window, letting the cool night air sweep through the SUV, the smell of pine and damp earth filling her lungs. The dog days of August lay in the rearview mirror, and the chill settling over the land reminded her that fall was less than a month away. Soon the vines would turn gold and red and signal the end of another growing season. It was her favorite time of year, when the vineyard became a patchwork of color. It reminded her why she fought so hard to keep the business afloat.

She was just a few miles from home when the dashboard lit up with a warning.

Low tire pressure.

"Just great," she said, glancing at the gauges. The last thing she needed was a flat tire. Had she run over a nail?

If she hurried, she would reach the town of Duskwood in ten minutes. But the repair shops had long since closed, and there was no guarantee the car would make it.

Then she heard the flap-flap-flap of a flat tire.

She eased the SUV onto the shoulder and pulled over beside a gap in the trees. Gravel crunched under the tires as she came to a stop.

Kit stepped out and went around the car to examine the tires. It wasn’t long before she located the culprit. The driver’s side front tire lay flat against the shoulder.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, calculating her options. She could limp the car to the vineyard, but it was risky. Losing control of the SUV was a troubling possibility. Even if she reached the vineyard, driving on a flat would destroy the wheel. She could change the tire there, if the rusty jack in the trunk hadn’t seized from disuse.

The forest went silent. No crickets, no frogs. It was as if the night waited to see what she would choose.

A motor made itself heard before a car emerged from the dark. Kit squinted into its blinding headlights. She was in the middle of nowhere, and a stranger on an empty road at this hour could be a blessing. Or a danger.

The car slowed. She couldn’t see the driver’s face because of the high beams. The brights blinked twice as the vehicle rolled to a stop. She shielded her eyes as the driver’s window slid down.

“You need help?” The man’s voice was smooth, friendly enough, but with a hint of weariness, like he’d been working all day.

Kit hesitated. “I’m not sure what to do. Got a flat, and my jack’s probably too old to do any good.”

The driver switched off the headlights, leaving only the glow of his interior lights. She still couldn’t make out his features. He was just a man with a ball cap pulled low over his face. The hum of his engine was the only sound.

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Not at all.”

Kit stepped aside as the man crouched beside the driver’s side tire. He ran a hand over the bolts, then tested one with his fingers. “Mmm, yep,” he said. “These bolts are rusted on tight. There’s no way I’ll get these off without the right tools.”

“I’ve got a tow service I could call.”

The man shook his head, standing and dusting his hands on his jeans. “If they’re anything like the local shops, you’ll be waiting a good two, three hours for someone to come out. Long night ahead.”

Kit glanced at her SUV. The thought of standing here alone in the dark, waiting for a tow truck, was far from appealing.

The man tilted his head toward his car. “Tell you what, I’ll give you a lift. Where do you need to go? I’ll get you there, no problem.”

But she didn’t know this man. “Thanks. but I’ve got it under control.”

“Suit yourself.”

He leaned against his car door, looking her over as if assessing her stubbornness. Then he offered a disarming grin. “Look, I understand. Strange guy, middle of the night. But the nearest gas station is, what? Eight, ten miles away? I’m headed toward town, anyway. I’ve got a wife and kid back home. Miss them every time I take these late-night drives.”

His tone was light, almost brotherly. Her gut told her not to trust a stranger, but the day had left her sagging. She was tired. Tired of fighting Sebastian Lacroix and the bank.

She shifted her weight, still unsure.

“Look,” the man added, as if reading her mind. “How about this? I’ll leave you here and call the police after I reach the cell coverage. It shouldn’t take long. Then you don’t have to climb into some creeper’s car. Deal?”

Kit looked down the dark, empty road. This man seemed sincere, and she didn’t relish waiting alone for a police cruiser to arrive.

Maybe she was being paranoid.

“Are you familiar with Stratton Estates?”

His face brightened.

“Seriously? I’ve been out there countless times with my family. Your pinot noir—top-notch stuff. And that 2016 vintage? Easily one of my favorites.”

Kit’s mouth hung open. Few people, even locals, knew enough about her vineyard to mention specific vintages.

The man smiled. “My name is Ryan, by the way. I’ve stopped by your tasting room twice. Never thought I’d happen across the genius-in-charge. Small world, right?”

“Very small.”

“You have a beautiful spot out. Quiet, peaceful. If I didn’t live up by Seneca Lake, I’d probably stop by more often.”

Kit softened, the tightness in her chest loosening. The fact that he was familiar with the vineyard added a layer of comfort.

“Well, Ryan, thank you for the kind words about the wine,” Kit said.

Ryan gestured toward his car. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the vineyard. You don’t need to spend the night stranded out here. Maybe you can repay me with a tour someday?”

“Anytime. I really appreciate your kindness.”

She climbed into the passenger seat of his car; the interior was warm and comfortable. Ryan closed her door, got behind the wheel, and eased the car back onto the road. As the forest rolled past, she told herself she’d made the right decision.

They drove without speaking as she checked her phone. Just as Ryan had said, she couldn’t find coverage this far from Duskwood.

“Are you a wine lover?” she asked, searching for a conversation starter.

“I didn’t use to be, but my wife got me interested. All those Finger Lakes tasting tours, you know?”

“Ah, yes. Those tours keep us in business.”

“I bet.”

The sign beside the road announced that Duskwood was eight miles away.

“I’m so glad you enjoy the pinot noir. That’s my favorite. How often do you come to Duskwood?”

“A few times per month. I commute from our home in Naples to Manlius, where I work.”

She stared. “Naples? I thought you said you live on Seneca Lake.”

He cleared his throat. “Did I? I meant I live near Seneca Lake.”

The car veered right at an intersection. This wasn’t the way to Stratton Estates.

She glanced at Ryan, forcing calm into her voice. “Hey, you missed the turn. Stratton Estates is back that way.”

He didn’t answer.

“Did you hear me?”

Ryan’s lips curled into a knowing smile, one that sent ice through Kit’s veins. Four clicks sounded as the automatic locks engaged.

She tested the door handle, but it didn’t budge. She tugged again, harder this time.

“What are you doing? Let me out.”

“Relax, Kit. We’re just taking a little detour.”

“Please, stop the car.”

He chuckled, as if enjoying her growing terror.

A scream clawed its way up her throat. She threw herself against the door, slamming her shoulder against the obstacle, but the lock held. The road stretched into darkness, with no houses or passing cars in sight.

“You really shouldn’t waste your energy,” he said.

Tears stung her eyes. She screamed, hoping against hope that someone would hear her.

Kit knew she was going to die.

2

Gloaming fell over the back roads.

Nia Carter followed the instructions from the GPS. This was the first time she’d visited this public pier at Duskwood Lake, where Officer Eli Mitchell was waiting. Their relationship was still uncharted territory. She’d helped him solve two investigations, and she couldn’t deny the connection she felt whenever he was near.

What if things didn’t work out? She had a sixteen-year-old daughter to consider. Maya adored Eli, and the feelings seemed to be mutual. The last thing the adopted girl needed was a messy breakup that left her without a father figure.

Wait, was Eli like a father to Maya? Had they grown that close?

The road opened up as she neared the lake. Eli had promised a quiet evening on the water, and after a long day Nia was ready for the tranquility. Investigating infidelity cases, digging into financial fraud—those were the bread and butter of her business. But today had been a grind. Phone calls, dead leads, and a lot of legwork had yielded little progress.

Now she just wanted to sit back, inhale the lake air, and enjoy a few hours away from work. And maybe see where things stood with Eli.

Nia had once thrived in New York City, where she’d worked as an NYPD officer. But after a string of difficult investigations, including the unresolved disappearance of a young boy named Jamal, city life had become too much. She needed a change to reclaim her sanity. That was how she found herself in Upstate New York, working as a private investigator.

At first, she thought the quiet of Duskwood and the surrounding towns would be boring. But life here surprised her, and not always in good ways. The recent hunt for a Hollywood stalker had dragged Nia back into the danger she wanted to leave behind. And it had forced her closer to Officer Eli Mitchell.

The road dipped, and the lake shimmered in the moonlight, a silver expanse cradled by dark hills. As Nia rounded a bend, she spotted Eli’s truck in a dirt-and-stone lot. The glow of the boat’s cabin light drew her attention. Tonight the water was as smooth as glass.

Eli was waiting for her, just like he’d promised. He was reliable and strong, qualities Nia wasn’t used to. It was going to be a good night. With Maya hanging out with their neighbor Janet, it was just Nia and Eli, the lake, and a few hours of peace. She needed this. Something told her Eli did too.

Nia exited the car and followed a grassy path down to the dock. Wooden planks creaked under her boots. The night was cooler near the water, and a gentle ripple spread across the lake’s surface. Eli worked, tightening lines and securing gear. The boat wasn’t large—just a simple rental, enough for a small group to enjoy a night on the water.

Eli glanced up and grinned. “I was starting to think you bailed on me.”

“Got caught up in a financial fraud investigation,” she said. “I was tempted to bail, though, if only to see how sad you’d get.”

Checking the ropes one last time, he’d chuckled. “Oh, I would’ve been heartbroken. Ruined my entire weekend.”

He wore jeans and a faded gray t-shirt, the sleeves clinging to his biceps in a way that didn’t escape Nia’s notice. He moved easily, working the lines and checking the boat’s equipment with a precision that came from years of habit. Eli was at home outdoors.

“Nice setup,” Nia said, stepping onto the boat and swaying a little as it bobbed beneath her sneakers. “What do you need me to do?”

“Hmm,” Eli said, pretending to consider. “You could pass me that cooler, or you could just sit back and admire my technique.”

“Oh please,” Nia said, rolling her eyes but handing him the cooler anyway. “I’m not here to inflate your ego.”

As he took the cooler, their fingers brushed. The touch sent a spark through her body. Eli seemed to notice too, though he played it cool as he slid the cooler under one of the bench seats.

“Are you sure you’re not just dragging me along to play first mate?” Nia teased, resting against the railing as Eli checked the fuel.

He gave her a sideways glance. “Well, you do look pretty good for a first mate.”

Nia scoffed, but she couldn’t keep herself from smiling. “I swear, Eli Mitchell, you’ve got a line for everything.”

“I say it like I see it.”

There was something calming about watching Eli prepare the boat. She wasn’t used to quiet times.

In the sky, an airplane flashed red and white.

“I could get used to this,” she said, mostly to herself.

Eli looked up from adjusting the anchor. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” She lifted her chin at the expanse of water. “Let me guess. You’re one of those guys who never follows the map and always gets where he’s going.”

“Not always. Sometimes I like to get a little lost.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment the banter faded into something that seemed like more than friendship. Several years ago, they’d investigated a missing heiress. The case had blown up and left them at odds. But time healed all wounds.

She looked away and fixed her hair, which cascaded in black curls past her shoulders.

“We’re good to go,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“Give me a second to find a seat. I don’t want to fall over the side.”

“Why not? I’ll save you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Eli cast off the lines, hopped aboard, and started the engine. As they pulled away from the dock, Nia stretched out on the seat and relaxed.

The boat glided over the smooth waters. For a moment, it felt like she had left all her stress between the stars and the dark waters.

“How was your day?” Nia asked.

Ugh. That sounded too much like a cliched discussion between a husband and wife. Eli kept one hand on the wheel, his profile sharp against the night.

“Same old. Another exciting day of patrol shifts, traffic stops, and a lot of paperwork. A DUI arrest kept me at the station way past my shift yesterday. Today I responded to a drunken domestic dispute. Exciting stuff.”

“The glamorous life of a police officer.”

The humor in his eyes dimmed. “It’s not all bad. Though I get the sense some of the guys would rather I not step into anything bigger than a parking ticket.”

Nia shifted in her seat.

“Why not? You closed more high-profile cases than the detectives.”

“You know how it is.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Don’t take it personally. Cops don’t like outsiders coming in. Especially not private investigators with skills. And, well, you know Chief Moretti. He’s not the puppy-dog type.”

“Moretti gave us such a difficult time during the Jessica Hartley investigation.”

“He’s old school. If it’s not a badge, it doesn’t belong in his town.”

“And what about you?” Nia asked, tilting her head. “Do you think I belong?”

Eli didn’t answer right away. “I think you’re good at what you do,” he said at last. “But you don’t play by the same rules, Nia.”

It was an honest answer, and Nia respected that. She had been at odds with law enforcement long enough to know where she stood in Duskwood. But hearing it from Eli stung.

“I always respect the rules. But when the standard procedures fail to protect people, I find other ways.”

“Yeah, and that’s where we run into problems.”

She leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees. “I don’t need Duskwood PD’s approval. But I need to know if you’re on my side, Eli.”

He cut the engine. The boat drifted in the middle of the lake. Water lapped against the hull as Eli turned to face her.

“I’m on your side, Nia,” he said. “And I’ll do anything for Maya.”

The honesty in his voice left Nia feeling exposed. This wasn’t just banter anymore. This was the truth she had been avoiding.

“We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”

“I can be patient.”

Patient to be a father figure to Maya or in his desire to further his relationship with Nia? Both?

“So can I.”

Eli fired the engine, breaking the moment. As the boat moved forward, Nia reached into the cooler and pulled out two bottles of soda, the condensation wet against her palms. She tossed one to Eli, who caught it with one hand.

“Careful, it might explode,” she said.

He gave the bottle a cautious shake and popped the top. “I think we’re safe.”

Nia took a sip. The sweet fizz danced on her tongue.

“What’s the latest on Cam Miranov?” Nia asked, steering the conversation toward safer waters. They had rescued Cam from the woods along Wolf Lake, where a stalker had tossed the college student into the frigid water.

“I checked in with him a couple of days ago. The kid is doing great. Fully recovered, back at school, and even made the Dean’s List. Not bad for someone who spent a few nights lost in the woods.”

“Tough kid.”

“Reminds me of someone I know,” Eli said.

She lowered her eyes, but the compliment wasn’t lost on her.

“His aunt Autumn is keeping a close eye on him,” he continued. “At least he has a support system. Not every kid gets a second chance.”

Cam’s parents were both dead, and Janet’s friend Autumn was the boy’s only family.

Nia stared across the water, thinking about the case that had led her to Jessica Hartley’s stalker.

“Speaking of second chances,” Eli said, shifting the conversation, “do you think you’ll ever give this place a second chance? Duskwood, I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been here for several years now. Even bought a house and started a successful PI business. Just wondering if you ever think about the big city.”

“New York? No way.”

“You never think about going back?”

Nia thought about Jamal all the time, but she wasn’t about to tell Eli. He was the boy who’d vanished from the streets of New York City while Nia patrolled with the NYPD.

“Maybe,” she said, keeping her tone light. “Depends on whether Duskwood decides to play nice.”

“I’ll speak with the mayor. Maybe he’ll throw you a parade.”

They drifted in comfortable silence for a while, the boat swaying on the water. Nia leaned her head back, letting the night wash over her.

Eli tapped his bottle against hers. “Here’s to surviving another case.”

Nia tapped her bottle in return. “Here’s to not getting eaten by sharks.”

“Uh, Nia. You’re on a freshwater lake.”

“Piranhas? Killers in hockey masks bursting out of the water?”

“Must you always expect the worst?”

“It pays to be prepared.”

He turned the wheel, and the boat floated eastward. From there she could see the lights of town.

And in the distance, an estate rose above the water like a monolith—Sebastian Lacroix’s mansion.

3

Morning light streamed through the kitchen windows and over the countertops as Nia cracked eggs into a mixing bowl. Bacon sizzled as she flipped a strip. Luna and Madrid, Nia’s dogs, scampered through the room and raced to their food bowls.

Maya had to leave for high school at eight sharp, and Nia still needed to convince her to eat more than a granola bar on the way out the door. The Venezuelan girl was becoming a typical American teenager. She counted every calorie and judged her worth against the figure in the full-length mirror.

Maya strolled into the kitchen, wearing a loose sweatshirt, shorts and sneakers, her hair tied in a messy bun. She plopped into a chair and scrolled through her phone.

“Morning,” Nia said, stirring the eggs. “How about an actual breakfast today? Scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast?”

Maya glanced up, skeptical. “Do I have time?”

“You do if you don’t take forty minutes deciding how to wear your hair.”

“Touché.”

As Nia prepared the meal, her thoughts drifted to that mansion she’d seen from the water. Sebastian Lacroix was a wine magnate whose shadow darkened Duskwood and the entire Finger Lakes region. He owned more vineyards than anyone could count, and his reputation was shrouded in suspicion. Nobody trusted the mysterious man. His offers always came with strings attached, and Nia knew better than to get tangled in those strings.

Her hands worked on autopilot, cracking eggs, whisking, and adding a dash of salt. Her memory spiraled back to the day she’d saved Lacroix from a gunman. Days later, he’d stunned her with an offer to pay for Maya’s college tuition, a gesture as generous as it was unsettling.

She’d refused him, of course. Charity wasn’t something Nia would accept, especially from a man like Lacroix. Accepting his money would put her in his debt. One day he would come to collect.

How would she afford college tuition? This was a mountain she didn’t know how to climb. She stirred the eggs with a little too much force, splashing some onto the stove.

“What’s going on with you, Mom?” Maya asked.

“I’m rushing because I don’t want you to show up late,” Nia said, wiping the stovetop clean.

She plated the scrambled eggs and bacon, setting them in front of Maya with a slice of toast. Maya gave her a look, but Nia pointed a spatula at her daughter. “Eat. You need the energy.”

Maya rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion but picked up her fork. “Don’t lie to me. You’re worried about something.”

“College.”

Maya paused mid-bite. “Mom, we talked about this. I’ll figure it out. Scholarships, financial aid, whatever.”

“Maybe you could start at a community college. There’s a great little school in Harmon.”

The girl’s face twisted. “That school is a block from gang territory. Uh, no. Not Harmon CC.”

“I want to give you every opportunity. But Cornell’s tuition is⁠—”

“Ridiculous. Yeah, I know. Mom, I don’t need to graduate from Cornell. There are plenty of affordable colleges, such as the schools in the SUNY system.”

“It sounds like you’ve been researching options,” Nia said.

“Facts. I spoke with my guidance counselor about Geneseo and Binghamton.”

“And?”

“He thinks I’m a good fit. Plus, their tuition is a sixth of Cornell’s.”

Maya was smart and capable, but scholarships wouldn’t cover the girl’s expenses. There was room and board to think about. Plus a meal plan.

Nia’s work as a PI wasn’t exactly lucrative. She knew Maya deserved a better plan, but she didn’t know how to build one without compromising her pride and principles.

Lacroix’s offer flashed in her mind again, unbidden. She hated the temptation it represented. How easy it would be to call him, to say she’d reconsidered. No way.

“It’s not like we have to rush,” Maya said. “I have plenty of time to apply for scholarships. And I can pick up work downtown.”

“Doing what?”

“I don’t know. Rachel said I could work as her assistant.”

Rachel Foster was a journalist who wanted a part in Nia’s investigative business. Or maybe the woman was angling for scoops.

“We’ll talk about Rachel’s offer.”

“When?”

“After school.” Nia ruffled Maya’s hair and kissed her temple. “Finish up. The bell waits for no one.”

Nia drove Maya to school. The air smelled crisp, hinting at the change in seasons, though the heat of late August lingered.

Maya lounged in the passenger seat, tapping a message. Did kids ever put away their screens? As they cruised through Duskwood, Maya glanced over with a mischievous smile.

“Is Eli coming to dinner again tonight?”

Nia gave her daughter a double-take. “Again?”

“He’s been over a lot lately.”

Nia suddenly realized Eli had eaten supper with them several times over the past two weeks. What surprised her was how much she didn’t mind. Dinners together felt natural. Comfortable.

“I’ll talk to him,” Nia said. “But he’s really busy at the police department. I doubt he’ll have time.”

“He seems to make time.”

“Don’t start.”

Nia cruised into the school’s parking lot.

Maya unbuckled her seatbelt. “You know, I like it when Eli comes over.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yeah. He has a sense of humor. And you seem happier.”

Nia didn’t respond. Eli, the straight-laced cop, had a sense of humor? Hmm. Maybe he did.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Nia said. “I can’t guarantee Eli will be free tonight.”

The girl grabbed her backpack and opened the door. “He’ll show up.”

“Have a good day, psychic,” Nia said as Maya hopped out of the car.

Maya waved before jogging toward the entrance and blending into the swarm of students. Nia waited until her daughter disappeared through the doors.

A familiar twinge settled in her chest—part pride, part worry. Maya was growing up so fast, and every day brought her one step closer to adulthood. The conversation about college had served as a warning bell, reminding Nia how little time she had to figure things out.

Nia had more than enough on her plate today. She shifted into drive.

4

Phones rang inside the Duskwood Police Department bullpen. Eli Mitchell sat on the edge of his desk, flipping through case notes while Officer Jenkins rifled through a stack of incident reports at the neighboring desk. A ceiling fan lazily spun, barely stirring the stink of printer toner.

"What’s the word on that hit-and-run off Route 22? Are you still waiting on the traffic-cam footage?" Jenkins asked.

Eli flipped to a note buried deep in his file. "Yeah. The highway cams went down on the night of the accident, so we’re relying on statements from two half-drunk witnesses who can't agree on the color of the car."

Jenkins snorted. "Classic. Sounds like a headache."

"You have no idea." Eli rubbed the back of his neck and scanned the report again. "What about that domestic you got called to yesterday?"

"Messy. I arrested the husband. The wife swore she would drop the charges, but she was black and blue from head to toe."

"Hate those cases."

"Tell me about it." Jenkins leaned forward, lowering his voice. "How is Nia?"

Eli glanced up. "What about Nia?"

Jenkins shrugged. "It seems like you two have been spending a lot of time together. That Jessica Hartley case brought you closer, huh?"

"She’s been consulting on a couple of cases."

“Yeah, yeah. Just consulting, right? You’ve been over there, what, three times this week?”

Four times, but Jenkins didn’t need that information.

“And?”

“A guy doesn’t swing by that often just to consult.”

Eli gave Jenkins a warning glance. "Drop it, Jenkins."

"Hey, no judgment, man. I think it’s great. Nia is a sight for sore eyes."

“Easy, brother.”

“And she’s a helluva PI.”

Nia was definitely that—sharp, determined, and sometimes reckless, but with a heart that was bigger than the Finger Lakes. And Maya. God, Eli adored that girl. The teen was smart and funny, with a resilience you didn’t encounter every day. She’d never had a father.

“You’re not denying anything,” Jenkins said. “I guess there’s a spark.”

Tossing the file on his desk, Eli threw Jenkins a dry look. "You really have nothing better to do?"

Jenkins grinned. "Not really."

Eli crossed over his arms over his chest. It seemed there was always an excuse to visit Nia and her daughter. At first, it had been work, follow-up on cases, and loose ends from Jessica Hartley’s ordeal. But somewhere along the way, his feelings had shifted.

Dinner at Nia’s house with Maya. Boat rides on the lake.

Before the Cecila Gray missing person’s investigation had spiraled out of control, Eli believed Nia was the woman he could grow old with.

Okay, maybe that was a stretch. But he’d wanted more than a friendship.

Then they’d spent too many years without speaking to one another.

Jenkins clapped him on the shoulder, breaking Eli out of his thoughts. "Don’t fight it, man. Life is too short."

Eli gave a half-smile, but his thoughts churned. Jenkins wasn’t wrong. Perhaps it was time to stop pretending Nia was only a friend.

After Jenkins headed out on a call, the bullpen quieted, leaving Eli to finish his report in peace. The rhythm of typing filled the room, but it didn’t last long. The front desk clerk poked his head around the corner.

“Mitchell, got a civilian here who wants to talk to an officer.”

Eli set aside his work. “Okay, send them over.”

A wiry fellow in his late fifties with a weathered baseball cap perched on a tangle of gray hair shuffled in. His clothes seemed to have seen too many days under the sun, and his skin was deeply tanned, suggesting he spent most of his life outdoors. There was an air of impatience about him, as if he wasn’t used to waiting for anyone.

“You Mitchell?” the man asked, his gravelly voice tinged with an upstate drawl.

“That’s me. And you are?”

“Charlie Winslow,” the man answered, gripping Eli’s hand in a firm shake. “I’m a regular at Stratton Estates. You know, the winery? Something’s not right over there, and I need you to check on the owner.”

Eli motioned toward a chair, but Charlie shook his head and stayed on his feet. His gaze shifted around the room, as if he didn’t have time to sit.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Winslow?"

“The winery has been closed for two days. Completely shut up, doors locked. Nobody’s answering the phones. That ain’t normal. Kit Stratton runs a tight ship.”

“It’s possible she went out of town on business. It happens.”

“Not now. This is peak season. You don’t just close up shop, not when the harvest is about to hit. Hell, you’d lose half your customers. Kit wouldn’t do that, especially not without making a public announcement. She would have at least put a sign on the door.”

Eli tapped his pen against the edge of his desk. The guy had a point. If it really was the busy season for the vineyard, it made little sense for Kit Stratton to vanish.

“Maybe she had an emergency?” Eli suggested.

“I thought about that,” Charlie said, adjusting his hat. “But I’ve known Kit for years. If something came up, she’d tell a neighbor. She’s not the type to leave people in the dark. And it’s not just me who noticed. Other regulars have tried calling too, and no one’s getting through.”

Eli studied Charlie for a moment. The guy seemed concerned, not someone who’d come down to the station on a whim.

"Have you noticed anything unusual around the estate lately?" Eli asked. “People who shouldn’t be there hanging around the grounds?”

Charlie scratched his chin. “Can’t say I’ve seen anything. I tried knocking on the door this morning. Didn’t see her SUV. The van she uses for transporting wine was parked out back, but nobody answered, not even her workers. It’s like everyone just up and disappeared.”

An uneasy feeling settled in Eli’s gut. He knew Stratton Estates by reputation. Kit Stratton was a respected figure in the community, though she kept to herself. And Charlie was right: This was a critical time for the vineyard. Something didn’t compute.

"You convinced me. I’ll swing by the estate and check out the grounds."

“Appreciate it, Officer. If there’s trouble, I know Kit would want someone looking out for her.”

Eli grabbed his radio. "I'll head that way soon. In the meantime, if you think of anything else, call the station."

Charlie tipped his hat as he headed toward the door. Eli watched him leave.

He reached for his phone. Much as he didn’t trust that reporter Rachel Foster, she got along with Nia and might know something.

Eli dialed Nia’s number.

5

As Eli drove to Stratton Estates, he tapped the button on the cruiser’s steering wheel to call Nia. The phone rang twice before her voice came through the speaker.

“Eli, I was just thinking about you. What’s up?”

“Thinking about me, eh? I’m not surprised.”

She chuckled. “Easy, Casanova. You usually call when you need information on an investigation, so you might ask me for help.”

“You know me too well.” Eli leaned into a turn as the cruiser curved along a dense tree line. "You hear anything about Kit Stratton closing her vineyard?"

Nia paused. "Stratton Estates? No. Why?"

"Got a visitor at the station. He’s a regular customer. The guy claims the place has been locked up for two days. No answer to phone calls either. Her truck’s parked there, but nobody’s around."

“Did you try calling?”

“Yep. All I got was a message that listed their business hours.”

"That’s strange. This is her busiest time of year. Even if she had an emergency, she’d leave someone in charge," Nia said.

"My thoughts exactly." The road straightened, and Eli pressed the accelerator. “I’d hate to ask, but do you think Rachel Foster might have inside knowledge? Nothing happens in Duskwood without that woman finding out.”

“You really want me to ask Rachel?”

Eli grimaced. "Yeah, well, I was hoping you might."

"You know you’re going to have to talk to her eventually, right?"

"Do I have to, though?"

“Come on, Eli. You and Rachel need to bury the hatchet already. She’s good at what she does and, believe it or not, she might actually help you figure out what’s happening at the winery.”

Eli exhaled, his irritation simmering just below the surface. “She skewered our department in the press without bothering to speak to me.”

“That was years ago. She’s been trying to make it right ever since. And she hears things faster than we do. If something’s off at Stratton Estates, she’ll know.”

“She drives me up a wall, you know that?”

“That’s why you two are perfect for each other.”

Amusement laced Nia’s tone, which only annoyed him more.

"Fine. I'll call her. But if she takes anything I say in confidence and prints it in the newspaper, it’s on you."

“I’ll take full responsibility. Just play nice.”

Eli disconnected the call. He didn’t want to talk to Rachel Foster, but Nia was right. Rachel always knew more than she should, and it was time to set old grudges aside.

He dialed Rachel’s number before he could talk himself out of it.

The phone rang. Once. Twice. Then Rachel answered.

"Mitchell? To what do I owe the honor?"

This was going to be a long day.

“I’m looking for some information?”

“From me? I didn’t think I was still on the Duskwood PD’s favorite caller list. What happened? Finally run out of parking tickets to issue?”

“Rachel, I don’t have time for your nonsense. Just listen.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t be so sensitive. I thought we were buddies now. This is me being friendly.”

“Feels more like you’re twisting a knife in my back,” Eli muttered.

She exhaled dramatically on the other end of the line. "All right, all right. I’ll be nice. What do you need?"

“Something weird is going on at Stratton Estates. The place has been closed for two days, no one's answering the phone, and Kit’s delivery van is out back. I figured you might know something.”

Rachel paused, her usual snark replaced with genuine curiosity. "Kit Stratton’s vineyard is closed? During harvest season?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." Rachel's tone softened into something more thoughtful. “Could be a personal emergency. Maybe a family issue or health problem?”

"Thought of that already."

"Could be a labor dispute. She’s been vocal about not wanting to sell her land to Lacroix, and rumors have been swirling about financial problems. Maybe the bank finally came knocking?”

“I thought of that too.”

“If you say so, Sherlock. Maybe she just needed a break from this mess of a town. If I were in her shoes, I’d go on a wine-tasting trip. Somewhere warm and glamorous.”

“And told nobody?”

“Fair point.” Rachel was silent for a beat, then said, “I haven’t heard anything, but I can meet you at the vineyard. We’ll investigate together.”

“No, this is a police matter.”

“Too late, Mitchell. See you there.”

The line went dead before Eli could get another word in. He stared at the console in disbelief, then slapped the steering wheel. He could already picture Rachel waiting with a smug grin at Stratton Estates. She would have a notebook in hand and questions he didn’t want to answer.

He would handle Rachel. But first he needed to find out what had happened to Kit Stratton.

Eli pulled into the driveway of Stratton Estates, cutting the engine as the dust settled. The vineyard sprawled in neat rows, a patchwork of green vines heavy with grapes waiting for harvest. A breeze whispered through the leaves, and the only other sound was the occasional chirp of a bird. Everything looked peaceful yet deserted.

He took a moment to assess the scene. No visible signs of forced entry on the main gate, which stood ajar. That alone set off a warning bell. Kit was meticulous about security. The gate was always closed during off hours.

At the end of the driveway stood the main building, an elegant two-story structure that served as both the tasting room and an administrative office. The architecture was rustic yet refined, with stone accents, large arched windows, and a porch adorned with hanging plants. The sign reading Stratton Estates swayed, as though unseen hands had set it in motion.

Eli radioed dispatch. "This is Officer Mitchell. I’m on site at Stratton Estates. The gate was open, but no immediate signs of disturbance. I’m conducting a preliminary check. Will keep you posted."

“Copy that,” the dispatcher responded.

Eli exited the cruiser, clipped a flashlight and notebook to his belt, and adjusted his radio. He approached the entrance, noting that the windows were intact and nobody had forced open the front door. He pressed his ear to the wood. No movement inside.

He knocked. "Duskwood PD. Mrs. Stratton, are you in there?"

No answer. He gave it a few seconds, then tried the handle. It was unlocked.

That wasn’t right.

He eased the door open. Inside, the cool air carried the aroma of oak barrels and wine. The tasting room held rustic wooden tables and shelves lined with wine bottles. A small counter sat to the side with a cash register and menus, everything tidy and in place.

Eli checked the side office and storage room. He flicked on his flashlight and aimed it into the shadowed corners. The office looked lived in. A coffee cup sat on the desk, and an open planner displayed tasks for the current week. Kit had scribbled appointments, tastings, and meetings with vendors. If the woman had been planning to leave town, she hadn’t noted her travel itinerary.

He wrote: Tasting room doors unlocked. Office appears normal. No sign of forced exit or struggle.

Eli returned to the front door and surveyed the land. His boots crunched on the gravel path as he made his way toward the vineyard. The rows of grapevines were long and orderly.

He kneeled at the edge of the first row and ran his fingers along the dry soil. Nobody had run the irrigation sprinkler. A vineyard this size couldn’t afford a day without water, especially not after a stretch of hot-and-dry weather.

The dispatcher’s voice came through the radio. “Mitchell, any updates?”

“Nothing yet. Tasting room is empty. The doors are unlocked. The vineyard looks like it hasn’t been watered in a couple of days.”

He continued walking between the rows, searching for anything unusual. No fresh footprints. The workers hadn’t touched the vineyard in the last few days. It was as if Kit had closed her business and left it to the buzzards.

A loud snap deep in the vineyard made him freeze. He placed his hand on the butt of his firearm and listened. The noise could have been made by an animal. Or someone watching him.

He had little time before Rachel arrived, and he wanted to cover as much ground as possible before she started peppering him with questions. What did Nia even see in Rachel anyway? The reporter had a way of getting under his skin, always pushing boundaries and acting like she was the smartest person in the room.

Eli shook off the thought.

Focus, Mitchell.

He followed the rows of vines toward the equipment shed at the rear of the property. A sliding door hung ajar. Eli drew his flashlight again and pulled the door open, the metal groaning in protest.

Inside, farming tools hung off the walls, but the tractor and vineyard sprayer were absent. It wasn’t unusual for a vineyard owner to rent out the equipment when it wasn’t in use.

An engine approached. Eli straightened and scanned the horizon. The noise grew in volume as a vehicle turned into the driveway.

Rachel Foster had arrived.

6

The reporter tromped through the vineyard as if she owned the place. She wore dark jeans, a leather jacket, and an expression that was equal parts curiosity and mischief.

“Nice of you to wait,” Rachel called.

Eli set his hands on his hips. “Watch where you’re walking, Foster. Don’t disturb the evidence.”

“So, this is a crime scene?”

“If it was, I wouldn’t let you anywhere near it.”

“Aw, come on. You’d miss my sparkling personality.” She adjusted the strap of her crossbody bag and glanced at the rows of vines. “Give me the scoop. You think Kit Stratton went missing, or is this some elaborate wine-tasting event?”

Eli gave her a flat look. “I verified the report that the winery has been closed. No sign of Kit or any staff.”

Rachel looked over the rows with a thoughtful expression. “You know what this reminds me of? The Cecilia Gray case. Woman disappears, vineyard involved, and⁠—”

He cut her off with a warning glance. “Don’t make connections that aren’t there.”

“I’m just saying it wouldn’t be the first time Duskwood has seen something weird at a winery.”

“Look, Foster, I don’t need you creating stories to sell more papers. If you want to be helpful, stay out of the way. Let me do my job.”

“Relax, Mitchell. I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your stellar detective work.”

Eli bit his tongue and decided it wasn’t worth engaging further in this argument. “Is that a dig? You know I’m not a detective. We have got a missing person. If you’re just here to sensationalize a disappearance, go back to your desk.”

“I’m not. Kit’s a good person. If something happened to her, I want to know. Just like you do.”

Eli studied Rachel, trying to determine if she was being genuine. “All right,” he finally said. “But don’t touch anything. I mean it.”

“Scout’s honor.” Rachel held a hand in a mock salute.

The reporter had a sense of humor; he had to give her that much.

Rachel followed him through the vineyard. “What have you found so far?”

Eli pointed toward the shed at the far end of the vineyard. “It appears rented out some machinery.”

“You don’t think it was stolen?”

“Kinda hard to make off with something that big without half the town finding out.”

“Need a journalist-slash-part-time-detective to help?” she asked.

“No. What I need is for you to stay put and not hurt yourself.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mitchell. I can take care of myself.”

“Please. You didn’t even realize Jessica Hartley’s stalker trailed you to Devereaux’s place.”

“Ugh. I wish you wouldn’t mention Devereaux. What a creep.”

They trudged through the vineyard. Eli knew better than to trust Rachel, but his instincts told him she might be useful.

“You really have it in for that guy,” Eli said.

Rachel kicked a rock as they squeezed between rows of grapevines. “Devereaux is a snake. Everyone knows it. He drives vineyard owners to bankruptcy and swoops in to buy their land for pennies on the dollar.”

“If you’ve got no proof of that, Foster, it’s just gossip.”

“Gossip with teeth. Have you forgotten what happened to my family? I’ve spoken to owners whose businesses went under after Devereaux pressured their suppliers or muscled them out of distribution networks. Their equipment gets lost in transit, or permits take months to go through, right until bankruptcy papers are filed. Then, poof! Devereaux swoops in, buys their vineyards, and adds them to his portfolio.”

“If that’s true, where’s the paper trail?”

“Now you’re thinking like Sherlock Holmes, Mitchell. The trick is to follow the money. You’ll find Devereaux’s hands in more deals than you’d expect.”

Eli stopped walking and turned to her. “Stratton Estates. They’re having financial trouble, right?”

“That’s the word on the street,” Rachel said. “Kit Stratton’s vineyard struggled all season. I know for a fact that she was under pressure to sell, and the most likely buyer was—surprise, surprise—Sebastian Lacroix.”

“How did you get that information?”

“I talk to people. They tell me things.”

“Or you pry it out of them.”

Rachel didn’t deny it. “Look, I’m just saying it’s worth digging into. Stratton Estates got itself into financial hot water, Devereaux started circling, and now she’s gone. If that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is.”

Eli rubbed his chin. If the bank had Kit Stratton in its crosshairs, perhaps she’d abandoned the ship and left behind her identity.

“You think she disappeared on purpose?” Eli asked.

“I believe someone made her disappear.” Rachel crossed her arms. “Devereaux’s not exactly known for taking no for an answer.”

Feeling the tug of suspicion, Eli considered her words. “If Kit was facing foreclosure, maybe her creditors stepped in and forced her hand.”

“Or Devereaux sicced his banker dogs on her. You ever think about that?”

"If you're right, find me the paper trail."

“I’ll help, on one condition,” she said.

Eli groaned. “Here we go. What is it?”

“You let me ride shotgun on this investigation. No more brushing me off.”

“No promises, Foster,” Eli said after a measured look.

“Come on, Eli. I helped you catch a killer.”

Rachel had a point. As much as it pained him, he owed her.

“I’ll keep you in the loop,” Eli said. “But if you step out of line⁠—”

“Yeah, yeah. You'll cuff me yourself. Now let’s find out what’s really going on with Kit Stratton before someone else ends up missing.”

Eli shook his head, regretting this temporary truce. Deep down, he knew Rachel might be right. Devereaux’s name kept popping up whenever a vineyard owner vanished.

But could Eli prove the region’s most powerful magnate was a murderer?

7

Kit Stratton curled on a threadbare couch with her arms wrapped around her knees. The cushions sagged with years of use, the fabric rough against her skin. Dust motes floated through beams of sunlight. The room smelled of mildew and stale air, and the faded wallpaper, once floral, peeled in curling strips, exposing yellowed plaster. A blank television sat in the corner. Its screen remained dark and silent, as useless as the old rotary phone hanging on the wall. The phone no longer worked. She’d checked.

The walls swallowed every sound. Heavy curtains hung to either side of the windows, framing her view of the outside world. The countryside stretched endlessly. Freedom might be just a few miles away, but it felt as distant as another planet.

She pressed her forehead against her knees and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the panic threatening to strangle her, but the memory of the ride with the man who called himself Ryan came rushing back.

Ryan.

That was the name he’d given her when he stopped to help on the side of the road. But it hadn’t taken long for Kit to realize she’d made a terrible mistake by getting into his car. The smile and easy laugh had been an act. She was certain that Ryan wasn’t his real name, and he obviously didn’t have a family waiting for him at home. Those were just lies to lure her in, and she had fallen for them.

Then his car door had locked, and Kit knew something was terribly wrong.

After she’d stopped screaming, he’d pulled over.

“Relax,” Ryan said, his voice oddly soothing, as if he were trying to calm a restless animal. “Everything is going to be fine.”

Then he reached for her, and before she could scream, she felt the sting of a needle sliding into her arm. Panic flooded her system. She tried to fight him, kicking wildly, but the drug acted fast. Her limbs turned heavy, her vision blurred.

“Shh,” he whispered as she slumped in the seat, helpless. “It’s better this way.”

The last thing she remembered was the sound of the motor as he drove her into the night, far from everything she knew.

And now, here she was. In a house she didn’t recognize, with no idea how far she was from safety, or if anyone was looking for her.

Running was futile. She knew that now. The first time she’d tried to escape, he’d caught her before she reached the door. The punishment was swift—a warning to never try again. Kit glanced at her wrists, the skin still raw where the zip ties had cut into her when he dragged her up to the second floor. She had spent two days recovering from that lesson. No one was coming to save her.

The creak of footsteps drifted up from the first floor. He was close. She could hear him moving around downstairs. Sometimes he whistled an unfamiliar tune, off-key and unnerving.

She didn’t know where exactly she was, but she had seen the rolling hills and dense trees when he’d first brought her here. Somewhere in the countryside, far enough from Duskwood or any other town for her screams to go unanswered. There were no neighbors to run to, no traffic sounds, not even the buzz of a passing plane.

Her throat tightened with unshed tears, but she refused to cry again. Crying wouldn’t help; it would only give him satisfaction. She needed to be smart. She needed to survive until she could figure out a way to escape.

A door opened then closed with a soft thud. She tried to regulate her breathing, forcing herself to remain calm. Sometimes he left the house and walked around the grounds. She could watch him from the window, always wondering what his plan was. He didn’t fear leaving her alone because he could see if she burst from the house and tried to run.

There had to be a way out. She just hadn’t found it yet.

Her gaze wandered to the window across the room. The handle appeared to be fused shut. It would take more than just a shove to force it open.

Footsteps approached the base of the stairs. Her muscles tensed, every fiber of her being on high alert. She knew he liked to come upstairs when he got bored. He enjoyed sitting across from her, watching her like she was a specimen under a glass jar.

And she knew what happened when he got bored for too long.

The steps grew louder. Closer.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the couch. The upholstery frayed under her nails.

He was coming.

8

Eli waited in Chief Moretti’s office with his hands folded in front of him. The chief busied himself with paperwork, signing his name at the bottom of three pages.

The walls were cluttered with old case files, plaques, and photos, remnants of the chief’s long career in law enforcement. A fan on the desk oscillated, stirring the humid air.

At last, Moretti responded. "Stratton Estates? You’re telling me you want to poke around a vineyard because they aren’t open?"

"It’s more than that, Chief. Kit Stratton has been off the grid for two days. She has a business to run, and it’s the time of year when these wineries make their money."

Moretti’s brows pulled together in a skeptical frown. "No missing persons report, no sign of foul play. You sure this isn't just a rich lady taking a lavish vacation?"

"For the record, I don’t believe Kit is wealthy. I spoke to a regular visitor. He says it’s unlike the winery to close without notice, especially at this time of year. We both know how hard it is to make a vineyard profitable."

"And you think this visitor is reliable?"

"I verified that the place isn’t operating. But the doors weren’t locked. Wherever Kit Stratton went, she didn’t plan to leave for long."

Moretti tapped his fingers on the desk. "Eli, we have half a dozen open cases, a town full of tourists, and a skeleton crew. We don’t have the officers to chase every hunch."

"I’ll work the case alone if I have to," Eli said. "Give me two days. If I come up empty, I’ll drop the investigation."

"Deal. But you work it by the book. No surprises, no off-the-record crap, and no pulling anyone else off their assignments. You want to run this down, fine. But do it on your own time, and you keep me updated."

"Understood."

"And listen." Moretti pointed a finger at him. "First step: Contact her family and friends. See if anyone knows where she is. Check bank activity, credit cards, and social media. If you find a selfie of her in the Bahamas, you’ll know there is nothing to worry about."

“True.”

" And if she really is missing, I want you to check for voluntary disappearance. Stress and financial problems can make people walk away from their lives without telling a soul."

"I considered the possibility," Eli said.

"You have forty-eight hours, Mitchell. Find evidence of a crime, or the case is closed. Got it?"

"Got it, Chief."

Eli returned to his desk and thought about his next steps. As he sat down, Officer Jenkins looked up from his computer.

"You look like someone just handed you a pile of paperwork and told you it's due yesterday," Jenkins said.

Eli rubbed the back of his neck. "Moretti gave me the go-ahead to look into Stratton Estates. The catch is, I promised to find evidence within forty-eight hours, and I’m working solo."

Jenkins let out a low whistle. "Ouch. That’s brutal. What’s the game plan?"

"Same as always. Check Kit Stratton’s contacts, financials, and search for signs of a voluntary disappearance. If nothing turns up, I’ll walk away."

"Wish I could help, Eli, but I'm buried. Another shift like this, and they'll have to drag me out of here in cuffs just to get me some sleep."

Eli snickered.

"Here’s an idea," Jenkins said. "Why don’t you bring in Nia? You two make a good team."

“Are we talking about investigating or something else?”

“Both.”

"Yeah, but you know how it is. Moretti and half the department don’t trust her. They think she’s a loose cannon, and they’re still pissed she cracked the Hartley case."

"So what? They don’t have to know. Nia gets results."

Eli’s eyes fell to his desk. It wasn’t just Nia he was worried about.

And what happens if they find out I’ve been working with Rachel Foster?

An hour later, Eli stopped his cruiser in front of Nia’s house. Her new SUV was missing from its usual spot, so she wasn’t home.

He got out of his cruiser and adjusted his belt. He was about to knock when the door swung open, and Maya appeared, still in her school clothes, with a backpack slung over one shoulder.

“Eli.” Maya’s face brightened. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“I stopped by to see your mom, but it looks like I missed her.”

“She’s working a job,” Maya said, stepping aside so he could come in. “She’ll probably be back in an hour or two. Want to hang out for a bit?”

Eli wondered if he was overstepping his bounds. Maya was growing on him, but what would Nia say if she found out he was playing father?

"Sure. I have a few minutes."

“Come in.” Maya dropped her backpack by the door and flopped on the couch. “How was your day?”

Luna scampered over to sniff Eli’s shoes while Madrid lounged in a doggy bed.

“Busy.” Eli leaned against the wall. “Yours?”

Maya gave a mock-exhausted sigh. “School was school. We’re just getting into the swing of things, and it’s already a lot.”

“I don’t miss high school.” Eli chuckled. “Or college, for that matter. Any interesting classes this year?”

“Actually, yeah. I’ve got this class called The Law and You. We’re learning about criminal justice stuff, like how police work and what our rights are. It’s pretty eye opening.”

“Are you interested in law enforcement?”

“Maybe,” Maya said, giving a casual shrug but clearly intrigued. “It’s more interesting than I thought it would be. I mean, what you do seems pretty exciting. And scary sometimes. Do you think you could tell me more about your job sometime?”

“I’ll do you one better. How about a ride-along?”

Maya’s eyes widened. “Seriously? You would let me do that?”

“Sure. We do it all the time with high school students. You’ll get to ride in the cruiser and see what a typical day is like. Maybe even help with paperwork if things are slow.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“Don’t get too excited. Most of the time, all I do is drive around town and watch for speeders.”

“Is it true what they say about police officer and donut shops?”

He bent his head back and laughed. “It’s a cliche, but I love a glazed donut straight out of the oven.”

“Mom is going to freak out when she hears about this,” Maya said.

“I’ll make sure it’s all cleared with your mother.”

The teen clicked her tongue. “She’s such a control freak sometimes. But yeah, a ride-along would be the bomb.”

Eli pushed off the wall. “Well, tell your mother I stopped by.”

“Are you coming for supper tonight?” Maya asked, her tone hopeful.

“I’ll try,” Eli said. “Things are a little busy at work.”

“Mom is talking about making pasta,” Maya added with a grin that told him she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Pasta, huh? I’ll see what I can do.”

Maya gave him a wave as he headed back to the door. “Okay. Tell your chief we said thanks for loaning you out tonight.”

“Nice one, Maya. I’ll be sure to mention it.”

As he walked back to his cruiser, warmth spread through him. His relationship with Maya seemed to grow every time he saw her.

And it felt right.

9

Nia’s day had been long, filled with tedious, gritty work. Private investigation was far from the thrilling chase most people imagined. She absently calculated how much longer it would take to get home.

Her case today involved a workers' compensation fraud investigation for a local insurance company. A man named Fran Talbot, a machine operator, had filed for benefits, claiming a debilitating back injury. On paper, he couldn’t even lift a gallon of milk. In reality? Nia was fairly certain he was running his brother-in-law’s landscaping business under the table.

She’d spent most of her afternoon doing surveillance—a key part of the job, but never a glamorous one. The task required patience, precision, and the ability to seem like you weren’t looking. Nia had parked her SUV down the street from Fran’s house, windows cracked to keep the interior from turning into an oven. Her phone was propped on the dash, recording footage through the windshield.

Hours passed. People came and went from the neighborhood. A UPS driver made deliveries, kids rode bikes, and a woman walked a dog. But no sign of Fran. She’d begun to wonder if the entire afternoon was a bust when movement caught her eye.

There he was. Dressed in work boots and a back brace that looked more for show than support, Fran had loaded a riding mower onto a trailer with the ease of a man who hadn’t missed a day at the gym. Nia’s camera caught every second.

Once he pulled away in a truck bearing his brother-in-law’s landscaping company logo, Nia followed, staying just far enough to avoid raising suspicion. She tailed him to three different job sites, snapping photos of him hauling bags of mulch, lifting stone pavers, and bending in ways no man with a severe back injury should be able to.

She spent the rest of her afternoon documenting the activity. Timestamps, photos, and notes detailed her findings. Surveillance required meticulous attention to detail, and the insurance company would expect a clean, comprehensive report. Her own back ached from sitting in the SUV, and sweating for hours made her sticky and irritable.

Finally, she’d wrapped up her surveillance by returning to Fran’s neighborhood just in time to see him roll up to his house, acting like a man coming home from a hard day’s work. He kissed his wife, waved to a neighbor, and limped up the front steps for effect.

Nia smirked, knowing the footage would be damning. It wasn’t the most thrilling case, but it paid the bills. She still had to upload the photos, organize her notes, and write the report.

Now she just wanted to get home. Exhaustion settled into her muscles as she looked forward to eating pasta with Maya. And maybe Eli.

Nia felt a twinge of guilt at how much she’d thought about Eli lately. It had been so long since she’d let someone into her life. Maya had never had a father figure. Could Nia trust Eli?

As she rounded a bend in the road, her phone buzzed on the dash. She glanced at the caller ID. It was Eli. She smiled despite herself, already knowing Maya had told him to come for dinner.

With the sun beaming through the windshield, Nia pressed the call button and answered. “Hey, Eli. How’s life at the Duskwood Police Department?”

“Depends on how you define ‘life.’ I left Stratton Estates about an hour ago.”

That piqued Nia’s interest. “And?”

Eli exhaled, as if already tired from recounting it. “The place was deserted. No sign of Kit Stratton. As my visitor said, the winery has been closed for two days, which is problematic. No vineyard owner would shut down in late August unless something serious happened.”

“And the staff? Anybody there?”

“Nope. I called the few numbers I could find and got nowhere. I spoke to Moretti about digging into the situation, but he wasn’t thrilled. He agreed to give me forty-eight hours. I’m not sure I can prove Kit Stratton is in trouble. If I can’t, the case gets closed.”

“Forty-eight hours?” Nia asked. “That’s not much time.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Me and my big mouth. But that’s all Moretti will give me. He thinks I’m chasing shadows.”

“Typical. What do you need from me?”

He was silent for a beat. “I was actually thinking of looking into her financials. The idea that Stratton Estates is in trouble keeps popping up. It’s worth following, and maybe the paper trail will tell us something.”

“How was working with Rachel?”

“You had to ask.”

“I know how much you love reporters.”

“She hasn’t changed much,” Eli said. “Same snark, same determination to poke her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“But you’re working together?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re working together. More like I’m sharing a few details, provided she proves her worth.”

“I take it Rachel has a few theories?”

“Sorta.” Eli let out a huff. “She’s already convinced Sebastian Lacroix is behind Kit Stratton’s disappearance. No evidence, just gut feelings.”

“That sounds like Rachel.” Nia turned onto the back road that led to her house. “Maya mentioned you stopped by earlier.”

“Yeah. I told her I’d try to make it for dinner tonight. I just need to swing by my place, take a shower, and change.”

“Dinner at five,” Nia said. “Don’t be late. It’s pasta night. If you snooze, you lose.”

“Wouldn’t dream of missing out.”

There was a smile in his voice. Nia’s heart performed an unexpected flip.

“See you soon, Officer Mitchell.”

“See you soon, PI Carter.”

The call ended, leaving Nia with a strange sense of anticipation as she pulled into her driveway. She teased her hair in the mirror.

Why was she acting like this? It was just macaroni and meatballs, not fine cuisine in an upscale restaurant.

As she crossed the front lawn, she spotted Janet next door, standing on her porch with a watering can, tending to the potted herbs she kept in neat rows along the railing.

“Janet,” Nia said. “Are you busy tonight? Why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Janet straightened and wiped her hands on her apron, smiling warmly but shaking her head. “Oh, thank you, sweetheart, but I have a pot of soup simmering on the stove. You know me. I hate to let fresh vegetables go to waste.”

Nia squinted at her neighbor, knowing full well what was really going on. Janet never turned down invitations to pasta nights.

“Soup, huh?”

Janet gave her an innocent look that didn’t fool Nia for a second. “What? I’m just trying to stay ahead of the autumn chill.”

“Right.” Nia smiled. “Or you’re just giving me and Maya some space? You don’t have to do that, you know. It’s just Eli.”

“Oh, honey, you don’t need a nosy lady like me hanging around. Besides, it’s good for you.”

“What’s good for me?”

“To have more in your life than investigations,” said Janet.

“If you change your mind, there’s always a spot at the table for you.”

Janet saluted Nia with the watering can. “Thanks, but I’ll leave tonight to the three of you. Have fun, and tell Maya I said hello.”

“I will.” Nia waved and hurried to her front door, creating a task list in her head.

She had just enough time to wash up—and she needed it after today—then chop a salad and boil the water.

Inside, the house was redolent of garlic and onions. Maya had helped prep the dinner. Nia kicked off her shoes, set down her bag, and found her daughter in the kitchen.

Maya looked up from a pan of vegetables she was stirring on the stove. “Was that Janet?”

“Yes, it was.” Nia grabbed a dish towel and tossed it over her shoulder. “I invited her, but she made up some excuse about soup on the stove.”

“She’s totally giving you alone time.”

“I thought the same thing.”

“Which reminds me, I can keep Janet company after dinner if you want privacy.”

“Why would I want privacy?” Nia asked.

“Oh, no reason. I’m sure you and Eli have lots of case stuff to talk about.”

“Not that much.”

“But you’re excited for Eli to come over, right?” Maya asked.

“Maya.”

“What? I’m just saying…”

“Focus on not burning the vegetables, kid.”

Maya laughed and turned her attention back to the pan.

After showering, Nia poked her head inside the bedroom closet and stared at the collection of casual clothes on hangers. She tapped her foot. Why was she nervous? She’d had dinner with Eli plenty of times before.

She thumbed through the options. A soft gray sweater, a simple navy blouse, a maroon flannel. All perfectly fine. Comfortable. Normal. But none of them felt right.

“Get a grip,” she told herself as she yanked a white shirt off the hanger.

She pulled the shirt over her head and inspected herself in the mirror. Casual, neat, and presentable. Perfectly normal. Yet the longer she looked, the more it seemed wrong.

With a sigh, Nia grabbed the hem and yanked it back over her head. A pile of rejected shirts formed at the foot of the bed.

She gave herself a mental shake. Eli had seen her in everything from sweatpants to work slacks. He was coming for pasta, not a fashion show. This wasn’t a date.

Right?

“Ugh.” She scrubbed a hand down her face. Maya would have a field day if she caught on to her mother’s indecisiveness.

Finally, Nia settled on a dark green V-neck that flattered her without trying too hard. The dogs slept on the bed with disinterest as she slipped into her favorite jeans and twisted her damp curls into a loose bun. Casual, comfortable, and done. Show time.

She checked her phone. Eli would be here in thirty minutes, and she still needed to heat the sauce and get the pasta boiling. Time to move.

The smell of garlic lingered as she pulled a pot from the cabinet and filled it at the sink. As the water heated, she turned her attention to the sauce. Maya had done a decent job prepping, but the sauce needed a little more salt. Nia stirred the pan, inhaling the aroma of tomatoes and herbs.

She glanced at the table. Plates were set. A bottle of red wine waited near the center, along with candles she hadn’t planned to light. Now, though, she wondered if she should. It might make things cozy. She struck a match.

No. Not a date. Just pasta with a friend.

But she didn’t blow out the candles either.

10

Two minutes before five o’clock, Eli’s voice came from the entryway as Maya ushered him inside. Nia gave her reflection in the window a once-over.

“Smells amazing in here,” Eli said.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Nia said, stirring the sauce and tossing a glance toward the stove. The pasta water was boiling. Perfect timing.

As the tomato sauce popped and bubbled, a splash landed on her V-neck. She dabbed it away with a washcloth, thankful she hadn’t chosen the white shirt.

Eli appeared at the threshold to the kitchen, freshly showered, his dark hair still damp and curling at the edges. He wore a simple gray henley and jeans. Some people made casual look good. Nia wasn’t so lucky.

“I’ll grab the bread,” Eli said, heading for the counter where a baguette waited. “Where’s the knife?”

“Drawer next to the sink.”

Nia checked the water and gave the pasta one more stir before dropping in the macaroni. “You don’t have to help, you know.”

“Can’t help it. Part of my charm.”

Maya popped into the kitchen then, a whirlwind of teenage energy. “Is dinner almost ready?” she asked, eyeing the simmering sauce.

“Easy, Maya,” Nia said. “I know this is your favorite, but try to contain yourself.”

The girl plucked a piece of bread from the cutting board.

“Hey, thief,” Eli teased, flicking Maya’s arm gently with the edge of a dishtowel.

Maya grinned and popped the bread into her mouth. “I’ll be in my room working on homework until dinner’s ready,” she mumbled around the bite, then darted out just as quickly as she’d appeared.

Nia had noticed the exchange between Eli and Maya. A quick, conspiratorial look had passed between them. She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “What was that?”

Eli’s hands paused over the bread. “I might have asked Maya about doing a ride-along, and she might have agreed.”

“A ride-along? Like in your patrol car?”

Eli gave a casual shrug. “Yeah. She wants to see what it’s like and get a feel for the job. It’s harmless. She’s taking a law class this semester, so it makes sense.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about this.”

“Maya is curious, Nia. You know how smart she is. She’ll probably get an A.”

Nia chewed her bottom lip. A ride-along.

She trusted Eli, but the idea of Maya riding through Duskwood, encountering criminals, gave her pause. It was a safe town—usually—but police work wasn’t predictable.

“Eli, I know you will look out for her, but she’s still a teenage girl. What if something happens?”

He stopped slicing the bread and turned to face her, resting his hands on the counter. “I’ll follow all the protocols. No high-risk situations. She’ll stay in the car.”

“I just... it’s a lot to think about.”

“She’s starting to look up to me, Nia,” Eli said.

That was the heart of it, wasn’t it? If she let Maya do the ride-along, it would only deepen the bond forming between Eli and her daughter. What if Nia and Eli’s relationship blew up the way it had during the Cecilia Gray investigation?

Before she could respond, Maya popped her head back into the kitchen. “I can’t wait anymore. I’m starving. And did Eli tell you about the ride-along?”

Nia gave her daughter a look. “He did. We’re discussing the matter.”

Maya grinned. “That means yes. Thanks, Mom.”

“What am I going to do about the two of you?” Nia muttered, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to decide right this minute,” Eli said. “Let’s eat before the pasta turns to mush.”

Nia drained the macaroni and Eli carried the bread to the table.

After dinner, Nia placed the dishes in the sink. Eli stepped in beside her.

“I’ve got this,” he said, taking a dish from her hand and nudging her aside. “You cooked, I clean.”

“You don’t have to. I have a system.”

“So do I. It’s called put the plates in the dishwater and hope for the best.”

Maya crossed her legs. “Wow, Eli. You’re, like, totally domesticated.”

“What can I say? I’ve had years of experience,” Eli said. “The dishes don’t wash themselves when you live alone.”

Nia held her daughter’s eyes. “Maya…”

“All I’m saying is he’s useful around the house,” Maya replied. “I bet he knows how to fix stuff too.”

“Don’t you have schoolwork?”

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me. And, yes, I’ll finish my homework.”

Rolling her eyes, Nia wiped the counter as Maya retreated toward her bedroom.

When the door clicked shut, the air in the kitchen shifted. It was just Nia and Eli now. Nia tried not to think about how easily Eli fit into their evening routine.

Eli rinsed the last plate and placed it in the rack. “There. A job well done.”

“Careful. You’ll spoil me.”

He dried his hands on a towel. “I’ll keep my good deeds to a minimum.”

They moved to the table, each nursing what remained of their wine. She could tell that he wanted to talk.

“I keep circling back to Kit Stratton,” Eli said. “I think someone took her.”

Nia set down her glass. “You believe she was abducted?”

“I do. But I can’t prove it yet. No signs of forced entry at her place, no ransom demands, no witnesses. And, technically, nobody has even reported her missing. All I have is a disgruntled customer who wants his wine.”

“Which means it’s not officially a crime.”

“She vanished without a trace.”

“What about her phone?” Nia asked. “Did you pull the records?”

“I requested them, but that takes time.”

“Well, time isn’t something Moretti is giving you,” Nia said.

Eli tapped the edge of his glass. “I’m not even sure she’s still in town.”

Nia leaned back in her chair, thinking aloud. “Start with the basics. Who did Kit talk to in the days leading up to her disappearance? Have you checked her emails, her phone calls, her bank transactions? If she used her credit card or withdrew cash, that will give you a trail.”

“I’ll follow up on that in the morning.”

“And the vineyard?” Nia added. “If she rented out equipment or made sales, there will be invoices and work orders. Those can give you an idea of who was working with her and when.”

“Good point. And I could check in with the vendors she deals with. Maybe someone heard from her.”

Nia tapped the table. “Also, her SUV. If she was taken, it likely started there. Did you get anything from the surveillance cameras in town?”

“Not yet. Jenkins is on it, but no hits so far.”

“And the security at Stratton Estates. Was it intact?”

“Nope,” Eli said. “I walked right in.”

“Did anyone tamper with the cameras or jimmy the locks?”

“Didn’t appear so.”

“Then maybe someone she trusted lured her away.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking.”

“Maybe she left for a meeting or had a family emergency,” Nia said.

“I’ll start with her vendors and anyone she did business with. There has to be evidence.”

“You’ll find it,” Nia said, her voice steady. “But you need to move fast.”

“Thanks for the advice, but I’m already down to…” Eli checked his watch. “Forty-three hours. I could use you on this case, Nia.”

"Why me?"

"Because we’re a great team. We caught Jessica Hartley’s stalker, solved the Cecilia Gray disappearance, and we didn’t kill each other in the process."

A smile tugged at the corner of Nia’s lips. “We exercised amazing restraint.”

“Yeah, right. The truth is, I couldn’t have done it without you. You see things I miss.”

Nia's smile faded, replaced by concern. “Does Chief Moretti know you'd be bringing me in?”

Eli shifted in his seat. “Not exactly.”

“Not exactly? As in, he has no clue?”

“Yeah. That.”

“You realize this could blow up, right? If Moretti finds out, he’ll lose it.”

“He’ll lose it anyway,” Eli said. “Might as well get results before he has a chance to yell about it.”

“Eli, you know how the department feels about me. Working together might not do you any favors.”

“I’m willing to take that risk. Seriously, I need you on this, Nia. I’ll handle Moretti.”

“And if we can’t find Kit Stratton before the clock strikes midnight?”

“We will,” Eli said firmly. “I believe in us.”

That simple assurance hit Nia harder than she expected. She looked away, trying to gather herself.

“All right,” she said. “I’m in. But if this goes sideways, you owe me more than just dinner.”

“Anything you want, Nia.”

She grabbed her phone from the counter. “We’ll need a plan. I’ll dig into her financials and see if I can track any suspicious activity.”

“That will be a great help,” Eli said. “And I’ll follow up with her family.”

“Are you going to tell Rachel Foster I’m on the case too?”

Eli scowled. “It’s just us. I’ll throw Rachel a few crumbs to keep her happy.”

“Don’t lock her out, Eli.”

“Give me a break. She’s a muckraker.”

“Stop.”

“Hey, am I asking too much of you? I realize you’re busy.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Nia said. “I’ll rearrange my caseload and make this work. See you bright and early tomorrow?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

As Eli opened the door to leave, Nia realized darkness had fallen. Kit Stratton was nowhere to be found, and the clock was ticking.

They had forty-three hours.

11

The clink of porcelain echoed through the kitchen. Kit Stratton placed two clean glasses in the cupboard. The hum of the refrigerator and the creaks of the old house were the only sounds in the room. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and draped it over her shoulder.

He hated it when she rushed. The man expected perfection—dinner on time, dishes stacked, and no sign of rebellion.

She glanced over her shoulder. Her captor moved around the house with no fear that she would flee. Since bringing her here, he’d shed the pretense of being Ryan, the kind stranger with a family. Now it seemed he saw her as his family.

In the dim light of the living room, she listened to his shoes clomping across the floor. He whistled a slow, tuneless melody, as he always did. The song never failed to send a shiver down her spine. Kit lifted her chin, forcing herself to keep moving, to play her part.

The rules were simple: Don’t anger him.

She adjusted the stack of plates on the countertop, making sure the edges lined up. If anything was out of place, there would be consequences. She’d learned that the hard way.

Kit no longer considered escaping. The first time had taught her never to try again. Her fingers drifted to the purple bruise on her wrist, the spot where he'd subdued her and yanked her back into the house. She squeezed her eyes shut. Crying wouldn’t help. It never did.

She heard him behind her now, a few feet away. The air shifted with his presence, and every hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She didn’t dare turn around. Instead, she busied herself wiping down the spotless countertop.

"That was a wonderful meal, Kit," he said. "You have a talent for this. A real homemaker. Not that I should be surprised. You make a terrific pinot noir, after all."

She forced a smile she didn’t feel and turned just enough to meet his eyes. He leaned against the doorway, arms folded, as if this was an ordinary evening.

"I’m happy you like my cooking," she said, hoping her voice didn’t betray the fear coiling inside her.

"It almost feels like we’ve done this before, doesn’t it? Like old friends."

Kit swallowed, gripping the dishtowel.

He wants me to pretend. He wants me to act like I love him.

Her captor stepped closer, and Kit struggled not to back away. His eyes gleamed with something she couldn’t quite decipher. Amusement? Control? Or maybe just the satisfaction of knowing she couldn’t leave.

"You’re learning to obey," he said, trailing his fingers along the edge of the table. "Smart girl. Not that you should protest, since we were made for each other."

Kit’s stomach churned, but she kept the fake smile plastered to her face. "I’m doing my best."

"That’s what I like about you. A wife should show obedience. That’s what my father taught me, and I will teach you as well."

His words made her skin crawl, but she kept her expression neutral.

“You’ve earned some rest tonight,” he said. “Go on upstairs. I’ll lock up.”

Kit hesitated for a moment too long, and his eyes darkened. The smile faded, replaced by a quiet warning.

"Unless you’re thinking of giving me trouble again?"

"No. No trouble."

“I didn’t think so.”

He disappeared down the hallway. Kit remained a statue, her blood pumping in her ears. She knew she should move and do as he said, but her legs refused to cooperate.

The sound of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed from the front door. He always locked the house at night, as if his job was to protect her from the world’s evils.

Kit’s feet carried her to the staircase. She couldn’t suppress the terror rising in her throat. One of these nights, she would say the wrong thing and upset him. Then she would pay the ultimate consequence. She wondered if he had done this before. If his other wives lay buried in the miles of wilderness that surrounded his home.

Upstairs, the guest room awaited her. The room held one window, a bed, a nightstand, and a single lamp. A room where she was meant to sleep, like a prisoner in a gilded cage. But it was better than sleeping with him.

She reached the top of the stairs and glanced down at the lower floor.

Just a little longer, Kit. Stay calm. Wait for an opportunity.

Below, she heard him hum that same unsettling tune.

No one was looking for her. She would never escape.

12

After dropping Maya off at school, Nia drove back to the house, sipping a lukewarm coffee. Dew clung to the grass, and the sun burned through a mist that hovered over the ground. She parked her car in the driveway and climbed the steps, hoping she could sneak in a few quiet moments before Eli arrived.

Inside, she kicked off her shoes and checked her email for any updates from her contact at the bank. While waiting for her response, she gathered her notes on Kit Stratton’s financial records and spread them across the kitchen table. A few items stood out, but they didn’t fit together yet, like pieces from different puzzles.

She was scrolling through her phone when the rumble of Eli’s cruiser approached. Nia read the clock. Right on time. She closed her laptop, tucked her notes into a folder, and greeted him at the door.

“I take it you didn’t locate Kit Stratton on your first night,” he said.

“Not quite,” Nia said, handing him a mug of coffee. “But I found a few clues.”

They settled at the kitchen table. Nia flipped through her notes. She handed Eli a page with highlights and scribbles in the margins.

“First off,” she said, “I dug into Kit Stratton’s mortgage situation. She refinanced the vineyard last year. Twice. The loan structure looks weird to me, but nothing about it screams illegal.”

“Maybe she was trying to stay afloat.”

“But refinancing twice in one year? It raised a red flag.”

Eli sipped his coffee and sat forward, scanning the papers. “What else?”

Nia pulled another sheet from her folder. “Kit was paying for agricultural equipment leases, but this part made no sense. She leased harvesting machinery last season. Okay, no big deal. But according to these records, she returned the machines early and still paid the full lease fee.”

“That could be a sign of financial trouble. Trying to cut corners after she realized she’d overextended herself.”

“Or she was liquidating assets because someone pressured her to,” Nia said. “But who? No obvious debts, no liens on the property. Just this weird behavior.”

“Sounds fishy, but it doesn’t give us much to work with. What else?”

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Nia said, pulling out one more note. “Kit canceled a large grape sale to a distributor two months ago. I talked to the distributor, and they were blindsided. Apparently, the contract was already signed, but she backed out without explanation.”

“That’s odd,” Eli admitted. “Did she lose the crop or something?”

“Nope. The grapes are fine. The vineyard was on track for a profitable season. So why back out? If you ask me, it seems like someone forced her hand.”

Eli set his mug down. “It’s a fine theory, but it’s just that—a theory. Anything linking it to Kit’s disappearance?”

“Not yet,” Nia admitted. “I followed these breadcrumbs, hoping they would lead somewhere, but I reached a dead end.”

“Something will connect.” He stood and grabbed his jacket. “All right. Play time is over. I want to know why she canceled the grape distribution and doubled down on the winemaking. I figure wine is more profitable. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She followed him to the door and slung a bag over her shoulder. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Wine is more profitable than selling off grapes, especially if you’re planning to bottle and distribute it yourself. But why the sudden change in strategy?”

He tilted his head. “Perhaps someone gave her a reason.”

“Like Sebastian Lacroix. You know how he operates. If Kit refused to sell her vineyard, it’s easy to imagine him putting pressure on her.”

“Lacroix again? You sound like Rachel Foster.”

“Blasphemy. Think about it. Lacroix is snapping up properties left and right. I bet Kit’s vineyard was high on his list. If she turned down a buyout offer, he might have used his connections to squeeze her and make her feel like keeping the vineyard wasn’t worth the fight.”

Eli opened the cruiser’s passenger door for Nia. “You think Lacroix forced her to cancel the grape sale?”

“No. My guess is she recognized how deeply in debt she’d gotten. Only a huge wine season would pull her out. And now she’s gone.”

Eli slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. “If you’re right, that means Lacroix wanted her land bad enough to play dirty.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“But playing dirty and making someone vanish are two different things,” he said. “We need proof to go after Lacroix. We can’t just accuse him based on one reporter’s conspiracy theories.”

“I understand. But the pattern fits. And you know what else?”

“What?”

“Kit was paying off two leases—one for grape harvesting equipment she didn’t even use. She had to be down to her last dollar. It wouldn’t take much of a push to knock her over.”

“That’s a hell of a story, Nia. You could write a dark mystery.”

“Yeah, well, I’d love to be wrong.” Nia adjusted her seatbelt. “But if Lacroix wanted the vineyard, and Kit stood in his way, maybe he paid someone to ensure she wouldn’t be around to fight him anymore.”

“So you agree with me. This is more than a missing person’s case.”

“I hope we’re not searching for a murderer.” Nia glanced over at Eli, curious. "Where are we headed first?"

Eli kept his eyes on the road. "The bank. I want information on those loans Kit took out.."

“If Kit was pressured financially, the bank might know who else had their hands in her business.”

“We might find a paper trail.”

“You think the bank will talk?”

He gave her a wry smile. “They’ll talk. They’re a small-town branch, and they’ll sing if I ask the right questions.”

“Especially if they think their name is about to show up on a police report.”

“Yeah, it’s amazing how cooperative people get when the police investigate their businesses.”

“The first loan was from a couple of years ago—standard business stuff for vineyard equipment.”

“Let me guess,” Eli said. “A short-term loan with high interest.”

“She must have been desperate.”

“We hold all the leverage. The bank won’t want their name linked to anything illegal. They’ll cooperate.”

13

As they entered the Duskwood branch of Finger Lakes Savings and Loan, a few customers lingered at the tellers' counters and the place held a stately silence.

A woman behind the counter greeted them with a rehearsed smile. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

Eli flashed his badge. “We need to speak with the branch manager about one of your loan accounts. Her name is Kit Stratton.”

The teller’s smile faltered. She glanced toward a door in the back marked Branch Manager. “One moment. I’ll let Mr. Paxton know you’re here.”

She hurried away, and Nia leaned toward Eli. “She didn’t appear happy to see us.”

“Let’s hope it’s more than terrible coffee,” Eli said.

The teller returned, a little paler, and motioned for them to follow. “Mr. Paxton will see you now.”

Mr. Paxton, a balding man in his mid-fifties, rose from behind his desk and adjusted his tie nervously. His office was too neat. The tidiness set Nia on edge, as if Paxton equated disorder with weakness.

“Officer Mitchell,” Paxton said, shaking Eli’s hand. “And Ms…?”

“Carter,” Nia said. “PI Nia Carter.”

“Please, have a seat.” As they sat, he clasped his hands on the desk. “What may I do for you?”

“We’re investigating Kit Stratton’s disappearance,” Eli said. “We understand she has a loan with your bank.”

Paxton’s polite demeanor hardened a touch. “I’m afraid I can’t share personal financial details. Client confidentiality, you understand.”

“We’re not asking for her social security number, Mr. Paxton,” Nia said. “We’re trying to make sure Kit is okay.”

Eli shot her a warning glance but picked up the thread. “Look, Mr. Paxton. She’s missing. And her business, her livelihood, shut down without warning. We need to know if something related to her loan could explain why she went missing.”

The manager ran a hand over his scalp. “I sympathize with her situation. I really do. But without a warrant, I can’t disclose any specifics.”

“Mr. Paxton,” Nia said, “do you know what it’s like to be grilled by detectives after someone goes missing? If something in your records could have saved that person’s life, but you didn’t share it?”

“This is highly irregular.”

“So is a closed vineyard during harvest season,” Eli said. “We need your cooperation.”

Paxton glanced at the door as if weighing his options. Finally, he rose to edge the door shut. He lowered his voice. “Look, I can’t give you documents, but I can tell you what I know—off the record. I’m only telling you this because Stratton Estates is a vital cog in Duskwood’s economy. And frankly, I find Kit Stratton to be honest and well-meaning.”

Nia looked at Eli. They would take whatever they could get.

“Stratton’s account has been in trouble for almost a year,” Paxton said. “She was on the brink of foreclosure a year ago, but she secured an extension.”

“Did she ever mention why she was having trouble?” Nia asked.

“She only said she needed time. But earlier this week, something strange happened.”

“Strange how?” Eli asked.

“She made a large payment toward the loan—enough to bring her current for the first time in years. It wasn’t enough to pay off her debt entirely, but it was a significant chunk.”

“Where did the money come from?” Nia asked.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. The payment didn’t come from one of her clients. It was wired in from an outside source.”

“Do you have a name on that wire transfer?” Eli asked.

Paxton hesitated. “Again, that’s information I cannot disclose.”

Eli cursed under his breath. “You’re telling me an unknown benefactor paid off part of Kit’s loan?”

“It looks that way. But I didn’t ask too many questions. For months, I had worried about foreclosure. Nobody wanted Stratton Estates to go under. When someone hands you that kind of money, you don’t rock the boat.”

“Did Kit speak to a manager after the payment landed in her account?”

“Yes,” Paxton said. “She looked relieved. Her business needed that money.”

“Do you know if anyone was trying to purchase Stratton Estates?” Eli asked.

“Are you referring to anyone in particular?”

“How about Sebastian Lacroix?”

Paxton removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. “I wouldn’t know.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Paxton, I assume you hear plenty of rumors regarding all these wineries and vineyards failing, and Lacroix stepping in to expand his empire.”

“I manage a bank and don’t involve myself with rumor and innuendo. Now, if that’s all you wish to know, our conversation is finished. I told you everything I know. If anyone asks, we never had this conversation.”

As they stood to leave, Eli shook the manager’s hand. “I trust you’ll reach out if you remember something significant about Kit Stratton’s account.”

“Someone paid off part of Kit’s loan,” Eli said as they reached his cruiser. “Then she vanished. That’s no coincidence.” He surveyed the traffic moving through downtown. “I want to find out where that money came from and who wanted to take her land.”

“Then I suggest you start with Sebastian Lacroix.”

14

Lacroix Manor was a sprawling estate tucked away on the outskirts of Duskwood. The driveway wound through vineyards, each row of grapevines as orderly as soldiers. At the end of the drive, the house stood like a monument to wealth and old-world charm. It was an elegant stone mansion, with ivy crawling up the walls and tall windows reflecting the late morning sun.

Nia studied the house from the passenger seat. “This guy really doesn’t do subtle, does he?”

“Nope,” Eli said. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Nia unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her notebook, and exited the cruiser.

Before Eli could knock on the door, it swung open. A tall, sharp-dressed man with slicked-back hair and a stiff posture greeted them.

“Good morning,” the man said. “We didn’t expect the police this morning.”

Eli flashed his badge. “I’m Officer Eli Mitchell with Duskwood PD, and this is Nia Carter. We need to speak with Mr. Lacroix.”

“We remember you, of course, Officer Mitchell.” The man bowed to Nia. “And you, Ms. Carter. However, Mr. Lacroix is unavailable at the moment. If you’d like to make an appointment, I can fit you into his schedule. How does next Thursday sound?”

“This isn’t a social call.”

The assistant smirked, as though he were explaining something to a child. “I’m afraid Mr. Lacroix’s schedule is quite full this week. He’s a very busy man.”

“Yeah, we noticed,” Nia said. “But we need to speak with him. Today.”

The assistant’s patience wore thin. “That won’t be possible. If you have questions, you can forward them to Mr. Lacroix through me.”

Eli folded his arms. “You expect us to believe that Mr. Lacroix has no time to speak with local law enforcement and the private investigator who saved his life? He might want to reconsider. Why is he so busy today?”

The man’s jaw tightened. “I assure you, Officer Mitchell, Mr. Lacroix’s affairs are not your concern. If you have evidence of a crime⁠—”

“We’ll let him know if we find one,” Nia said. “Right now, we need to ask him a few questions about one of his competitors, Kit Stratton.”

“I’m sorry. As I said, Mr. Lacroix is unavailable.”

The assistant started to close the door, but Eli blocked it with his foot.

“We have a missing person, and if you’re standing in the way of finding her,” Eli said. “That makes you part of the problem.”

The polished mask slipped as the assistant’s mouth twitched. “I don’t respond well to threats, Officer Mitchell. Now, if you’d kindly leave the premises⁠—”

Before the situation could escalate further, a velvety voice floated down from the top of the stairs.

“Now, now, Claude. Let’s not be inhospitable.”

Nia looked up to see Sebastian Lacroix descending the grand staircase. Dressed in a tailored navy suit, he moved with an effortless elegance, as if the air bent to his will.

“Mr. Lacroix, I didn’t think you would want these people to interrupt you,” Claude said.

“That’s evident. Nia Carter and Officer Eli Mitchell are always welcome here.”

Nia felt an involuntary chill at how easily her name rolled off his tongue. There was no warmth in his welcome, but it wasn’t a dismissal either. It was the greeting of a man accustomed to controlling every conversation.

Lacroix reached the bottom step and turned his full attention to them. “Please, join me in the study. We’ll talk there.”

Claude’s face went stiff with displeasure, but he stepped aside.

“Right this way,” Lacroix said, gesturing toward a hallway with dark wood paneling and elaborate artwork. “I do apologize for the inconvenience, but I’m sure you understand how overzealous some assistants can be.”

Eli elbowed Nia and gestured at a fountain bubbling at the end of the hallway. That was new. Lacroix had remodeled since a shooter had nearly killed him.

As they followed him down the corridor, Nia’s instincts told her not to trust Lacroix’s graciousness. The wine magnate remained in control of the situation, directing them to a place of his choosing, where he would dance around their questions. It was as if he were saying, “You’re in my world now. And nothing happens here without my permission.”

Lacroix led Eli and Nia into his study, a room that oozed sophistication. Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, crammed with leather-bound volumes. A glass cabinet displayed rare wines, and a chess set sat perfectly arranged on a marble-topped table. The scent of polished wood lingered in the air, giving the space a sense of permanence and control.

Lacroix gestured to a pair of deep leather chairs near the fireplace. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”

“We won’t take up much of your time, Mr. Lacroix,” Eli said.

Lacroix gave an amused smile as he took a seat in a wingback chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Time is a luxury, Officer Mitchell. But please, ask your questions.”

“We’re looking into Kit Stratton’s recent activities. We know her vineyard is struggling, but all signs suggest it was on the rebound.”

“This is an exceptional harvest year, so this news doesn’t surprise me.”

“Except she was so deeply in debt, I’m unsure she could have pulled her business out of the flames before the profits rolled in.”

“How unfortunate. But vineyards go through such phases, don’t they?”

“I suppose,” Eli said. “But it seems like someone has been squeezing her, making life difficult for her business. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened in Duskwood.”

Lacroix’s face betrayed nothing. “I hope you’re not suggesting I’m involved in any kind of... squeezing.”

“We’ve seen this pattern before. Three years ago, one of your competitors, Hillside Vineyards, ran into financial trouble. When they couldn’t pay their loans, the bank foreclosed on their property. Which was odd because Hillside Vineyard had a longstanding relationship with the bank. The bank could have given them a grace period but didn’t. In the end, you bought their land and business at a substantial discount.”

Lacroix scratched his head, as if considering the accusation. “I recall purchasing Hillside, yes. But only after the bank deemed them insolvent. I assure you, Officer, I merely seized an opportunity. I did not engineer their misfortune.”

Nia, seated beside Eli, watched Lacroix closely. The man was maddeningly composed.

Eli said, “Yet there were other misfortunes. Hillside, Riverton Estate, even that small apple orchard near the highway. Every time a business in Duskwood falters, you swoop in at the perfect moment to buy them out.”

Lacroix chuckled. “I cannot control when businesses falter. I can only recognize value when I see it.”

“You always seem to be in the right place at the right time,” Eli said, leaning forward.

“It is no different from investing in the stock market. The wise investor knows when to buy low and sell high. When the market dips, the patient investor seizes the chance to buy discounted stocks. It is the same for real estate.”

“Except people’s lives get ruined when a vineyard goes under.”

“Not everybody’s. Many livelihoods depend on markets. Fortunes are won and lost every day, Officer. It is the way of things.”

“And that’s all this is to you? Business?”

“Not at all,” Lacroix said. “I have deep respect for the land and the people who cultivate its soil. But one must be pragmatic. Sentiment doesn’t pay bills. Opportunity is not charity. It rewards those with vision.”

“And were you hoping to seize an opportunity with Stratton Estates?” Nia asked.

Lacroix’s expression remained calm, but there was a glint in his eyes. “Ms. Carter, if I wanted Stratton Estates and made a legitimate offer, that would not be your concern. I don't need to run anyone out of business. I leave the theatrics to others.”

“That’s a nice sentiment,” Eli said. “But it’s not what we’ve heard.”

“You follow rumors. I deal with reality.”

Nia knew they wouldn’t get a confession, but she also knew Lacroix was hiding something. The man was too smooth, too careful, and there was no doubt in Eli’s mind that Lacroix was involved in Kit Stratton’s troubles.

“Let’s talk about Kit Stratton. Two days ago, she disappeared. Her vineyard is going to the crows, and no one has heard from her since. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Mr. Lacroix?”

“I was under the impression Ms. Stratton ran her vineyard into some financial difficulty, but her disappearance is news to me. I hope you find her safe.”

“Seems odd, though, doesn’t it? A vineyard owner vanishes in the middle of peak season. And you—one of her primary competitors—just happen to be expanding your portfolio.”

“Stratton Estates is not, nor has it ever been, a necessary part of my plans. If Ms. Stratton is in trouble, I assure you I had nothing to do with her shortfall.”

“Where were you two nights ago?”

Lacroix looked out the window with disinterest. “Is this an interrogation, Officer Mitchell? I wasn’t aware I was a suspect.”

“It’s a simple question, and I want an answer. People disappear, and we ask anyone connected to them where they were at the time. Standard procedure.”

Lacroix shifted. Nia spotted the first crack in his otherwise perfect composure.

“I was attending a dinner in Geneva,” Lacroix said. “Several influential members of the community made my acquaintance. You can verify everything, I’m sure.”

“And you have had no communication with Kit Stratton in recent days?”

“As I said, I respect the land and those who cultivate it. I made inquiries some months ago, entirely above board, but I never heard back from Ms. Stratton. I assumed she wasn’t interested.”

“Strange, though. Someone in Kit’s position, struggling financially, wouldn’t usually ignore a lucrative offer.”

“Perhaps she values her independence. Not everyone sells when times are tough. Some hold on and hope.” Lacroix made a wave movement with his hand. “The market rises, the market falls.”

“If we discover you leaned on Stratton or had someone do your dirty work, you’ll be the first person we bring in.”

“I’d expect nothing less from a diligent officer like yourself. You did catch the man who wanted to kill me, yes? But you’re wasting your time.”

“Do you have any records of communication with Ms. Stratton?” Eli asked. “Emails, calls, anything?”

“I keep all my business affairs well documented. But there are no records of harassment or coercion. You’re welcome to check with my legal team.”

“How generous.”

“I try. Yet I know nothing about Ms. Stratton’s whereabouts. Is that all you wished to ask?”

“For now.” Eli stood, signaling the end of the conversation. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Lacroix. We’ll be in touch.”

Lacroix rose from his chair. “I’m certain. Please find Ms. Stratton. It would be a shame for such talent to disappear.”

As they stepped into the hallway, Eli muttered, “We’re not done with him.”

Claude reappeared as they reached the front door, holding it open for them without a word.

Once they were outside, Nia breathed. “What a charmer.”

“He’s witholding something from us. And when I figure out what it is, I’ll make him pay.”

15

Nia followed Eli into the Duskwood Police Department and through the bullpen. The officers at their desks gave her sidelong glances, some glaring, others muttering under their breath. Nia had grown used to the chilly reception. Her presence disrupted the natural order.

Eli didn’t seem fazed, though she could tell by his stiff shoulders that he was aware of the tension. He led her past the officers and toward his desk. Jenkins’s desk sat empty. He was out handling a call.

As Eli slumped into his chair, Chief Moretti stalked out of his office. Not good. Had Eli told the chief about her yet?

“Carter,” Moretti said. “You really like spending time here, don’t you? Shouldn’t you be chasing unfaithful spouses?”

Nia refused to let Moretti rattle her. “I’m only here out of need.”

Eli cleared his throat. “Chief, I meant to tell you about Nia.”

Moretti’s eyes shot to Eli. “You know how this looks, Mitchell.”

“She’s consulting. Anything to help find Kit Stratton.”

The chief let out a gruff sigh, but he didn’t push the issue. “She won’t be here for long. You’re down to your last twenty-four hours. Find evidence or drop the case until someone reports Stratton missing.” He handed Eli a report. “The credit card company came through with the information you asked for.”

Eli opened the folder, flipping through the report. Nia pulled up a chair next to him, peering over his shoulder.

“All right, let’s see.” Eli traced the transactions with his finger, speaking aloud as he went. “Kit’s card was last used two days ago. Gas station in Auburn. She bought gas and,” he said, scanning the line, “coffee. Total of thirty-seven bucks.”

Moretti returned to his office.

“Auburn,” Nia said. “That’s forty-five minutes from here. That was the same night she disappeared.”

“It was,” Eli confirmed, tapping the timestamp on the receipt. “Around seven thirty in the evening.”

“Why would she be in Auburn? Was she meeting with a distributor?”

“That’s a distinct possibility. This is also the last charge on her card. If she filled up her tank, she should have been able to get home without needing gas. But there are no other transactions. Nothing at Stratton Estates, no overnight hotel stays, no dinner charges.”

“That’s our first breadcrumb,” Nia said, chewing the inside of her cheek. “If she had business, she should have made it home a little after eight. Why didn’t she arrive?”

Eli flipped back to the first page of the report. “Okay, let’s focus on what we know. She was in Auburn, but she didn’t stay there. If she left, she would have driven through the Finger Lakes region. Someone could have intercepted her on one of those back roads.”

“Someone got to her before she could use her credit card again. How is the cell coverage between Auburn and Duskwood?”

“Not the best,” Eli said. “It’s spotty until you’re within five miles of town. The phone companies keep promising more towers, but I’m not holding my breath. Here’s what we do: We check for surveillance footage from the gas station in Auburn. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll catch her on the video. Could be she had someone with her. Or a stranger followed her.”

“I’ll contact the station manager. It’s usually faster if you don’t tell them you’re the police.”

Eli smirked. “I’ll let you work your charm.”

Nia made the call. After a brief conversation, she used the restroom and met Eli at his cruiser.

“Any luck?” Eli asked.

“The manager said he’ll pull the footage, but there’s a problem,” Nia said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“What’s the problem now?”

“It’s the internet. Apparently, they have a terrible connection. He says the file is too large to upload, and it would take hours to send.”

“Why am I not surprised? What’s the name of this place?”

“Rusty Pump Gas & Convenience.”

“Sounds about right,” Eli said, pulling away from the station. “Looks like we’re headed to Auburn.”

The cruiser turned onto the state route that connected Duskwood to Auburn. Golden fields glowed under the sun, and clusters of trees framed the road.

Eli checked the GPS. “You think Stratton ever made it back from Auburn? I still haven’t found her SUV.”

“Whoever took her did a good job concealing her vehicle.” She glanced out the window at the expansive countryside. “Lots of places to hide someone.”

“That’s where the footage comes in. I want to ensure nobody was following her.”

“Like Sebastian Lacroix?”

“You said his name, not me.”

The miles slipped away as they drove through small towns and scattered lakes. They passed signs for wineries and cider mills—landmarks of the region—and Nia thought of Kit Stratton’s vineyard, now abandoned.

“We’re almost there,” Nia said.

“About ten more minutes. I hope The Rusty Pump has decent surveillance?”

“Honestly? It probably doesn’t. But it’s a start.”

They knew it was a long shot, but they didn’t have the luxury of ignoring leads. Every hour mattered. Moretti’s twenty-four-hour clock was ticking, and if they didn’t come up with something soon, the case would be shelved until a friend of a family member reported Kit missing. And by then it would be too late.

As they coasted into Auburn, Nia took in the unpretentious charm of the city. Auburn was a place that seemed caught between eras, where history clung to every brick building, yet the present struggled to keep pace. Rows of century-old architecture lined the streets, their facades a mix of faded grandeur and fresh attempts at revitalization.

They passed Victorian homes with wide porches, now split into apartments, and old churches whose steeples pierced the sky. Along Genesee Street, the city’s main artery, storefronts alternated between cozy cafés, antique shops, and small businesses that hung on. Some windows proudly advertised “Locally Owned Since 1935,” while others were plastered with "For Rent" signs, their blinds permanently drawn.

At the heart of the city sat the historic Seward House Museum, an elegant brick structure, reminding visitors that this was once the home of William H. Seward, Lincoln’s Secretary of State. Nia had visited years ago during a rare afternoon off when Maya was younger. She remembered admiring the museum’s gardens, wishing she could indulge in the town's quiet rhythm more often.

Auburn had another side, though. One that wasn’t so picturesque. It was a city with a complicated legacy. Just beyond the tourist-friendly downtown lay neighborhoods struggling with poverty. Abandoned factories dotted the outskirts, relics of a manufacturing boom that had long since dried up. The Cayuga Correctional Facility, Auburn’s maximum-security prison, loomed nearby, casting a psychological shadow over the area.

Auburn always gave Nia mixed feelings. On one hand, it was a place with deep roots, a place where families had lived for generations. On the other, it was a town struggling to redefine itself. Like Duskwood.

The gas station lay on the side of town, a low-slung building with a few pumps out front. A dusty sedan stood at a pump. The driver rested against the bumper while scrolling on his phone.

Eli parked the cruiser beside the entrance. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

The bell over the door jangled. The inside stank of engine oil. A narrow aisle of snacks led to a counter where a man in his sixties, wearing a faded Yankees cap, scribbled with a pen.

“You the ones asking about the footage?” the man asked, not looking up from his crossword.

“That’s us,” Nia said. “You must be the manager?”

“Yup. Theodore Granger.” He finally looked up. “You didn’t say anything over the phone about the law. Thought I was talking to a PI.”

“You were,” Nia said.

“I’m with Duskwood PD,” said Eli said, displaying his ID. “Officer Eli Mitchell. This is Nia Carter, working the case with us.”

Granger didn’t seem impressed. “Like I told you on the phone, I pulled the footage, but the internet out here is junk. No way I could send that big of a file without the connection dropping a thousand times.”

“How large is the file?” Nia asked.

“Larger than my computer can handle. I’ve got it saved to a USB if you wanna take it with you.”

“Works for me,” Eli said.

Granger disappeared into a back room and returned with an ancient laptop and a USB drive. He slid the drive across the counter.

“There’s about four hours of footage,” Granger said. “Our cameras cover the pumps and the register. No guarantees the quality is any good. This setup is older than me. Mind if I ask what you’re looking for?”

“A missing person came through here.”

Granger snorted. “Well, if they were missing, they didn’t mention it to me.”

Eli cracked a smile despite himself. “Funny.”

“If I don’t laugh at my job, I’ll go stir crazy.”

“Do you recognize this woman?” Eli asked, passing a photo of Kit Stratton across the counter.

“Can’t say that I do. You say she stopped for gas?”

“At seven thirty, two nights ago. Her name is Kit Stratton.”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell. If they pay at the pump, I don’t see them.”

“Gotcha. Thanks for your help, Theodore. Here’s my card. Call the station if you remember anything about her.”

Inside the cruiser, Nia grabbed Eli’s laptop. “Hand me the USB.”

“Four hours of footage,” Eli said. “Let’s hope we find something useful.”

“If we don’t, I’m afraid we’re back to square one.”

The video was grainy, the colors washed out, and the timestamp blinked at the bottom of the frame. Nia rested her elbow on the armrest.

"Okay, fast forward to around 7:25," she said.

Eli sped up the footage, the mundane movements of gas station activity blurring into each other. At exactly 7:28 PM, Kit Stratton’s SUV rolled into view, pulling up to the farthest pump from the building.

“There she is,” Eli said.

Kit stepped out, glancing around the lot before retrieving the gas nozzle and filling her tank. She looked tired but otherwise fine. Nothing about her body language suggested she was in distress.

“She’s paying at the pump,” Nia said. “Like Granger said, he wouldn’t have seen her inside.”

Kit replaced the nozzle in its holder, ripped the receipt from the pump, and glanced at her phone. As the woman climbed into the SUV, another vehicle entered the frame—a black Jeep Cherokee.

The Jeep parked at a pump two spaces over, and a man wearing a light jacket got out. He swiped his card at the pump.

“Who’s that?” Nia asked.

Eli paused the video, studying the man. “Doesn’t look like he’s paying Kit any mind. Just fueling up.”

He replayed the footage. The man finished pumping his gas, closed his fuel cap, and got back into his Jeep. Kit’s SUV idled for a few moments before pulling out of the station. The Jeep didn’t follow.

Eli paused the video and rewound it to the moment the man stepped out of his vehicle. He zoomed in. The resolution was poor, but the license plate came into focus.

“Got it,” Eli said, jotting the numbers in his notebook. “The guy appears harmless, but it pays to check. I’ll run the plate and see if anything comes up.”

“Where to next? We still don’t know why Kit Stratton came to Auburn.”

“Auburn has a couple of distributors that Kit might have sold to. I suggest we start with Stone River Distributors. They have a solid operation and deal with area vineyards. There’s also Empire Wine Solutions, though they focus more on imported bottles. If we strike out there, we could check Lakeside Wine Brokerage. They dabble in local and international suppliers.”

“How do you know so much about wine?”

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Nia Carter.”

“Very sophisticated.”

“That’s what they say.”

“Stone River first?” Nia asked.

“It’s the most likely. They’ve been around a while, and Kit's selection would fit their portfolio.”

Eli pulled the cruiser onto the road, leaving the gas station behind.

“Given Kit’s financial difficulties, it makes sense that she was expanding her market.”

They turned off the main road and entered the industrial district on the outskirts of Auburn. Eli pulled up to a long, low building with a faded sign that read Stone River Distributors.

The building appeared unassuming but well-maintained, with a few trucks parked in the lot. A tone sounded as Eli pushed open the door, and they stepped into a cramped office area cluttered with wine catalogs and shipping manifests. A young man with messy hair sat behind a desk, tapping at a keyboard.

“You folks lost?” the man asked without looking up from his computer.

“Officer Mitchell, Duskwood PD.”

That got the man’s attention.

“And this is Nia Carter, a private investigator,” Eli continued. “I’d like to ask you about a vineyard owner named Kit Stratton.”

“Oh,” the man said, rising. “Uh, yeah, sure. What’s this about?”

The young man scratched the back of his neck, his expression shifting between curiosity and concern. “My name is Derek Sanders. I manage a lot of the accounts here. Kit Stratton, huh? I was just working on her file.”

“So you had dealings with Stratton Estates?”

“Yeah, we were working on a distribution deal. It wasn’t huge, but it was a solid contract. Stratton Estates wanted to expand their reach in some of the high-end wine shops, you know? Especially around the Finger Lakes and Syracuse. We were just getting to the final stages.”

“Did you come to an agreement?” asked Nia.

“She was close to signing. Like, papers-waiting-on-the-printer close.” Derek opened a file on his computer and swiveled the screen so they could see. “She came in about two months ago to set up an account. We worked out the logistics—deliveries, quantities, pricing. It was going to start next month, in time for fall.”

“Why was she here two nights ago?” Eli asked.

“To negotiate. You know how it is.”

Eli frowned. “And you haven’t heard from her since?”

“Not since she left. Kit wanted to meet next week. She had some questions about the terms.”

Nia tapped her fingers on the edge of the desk, thinking. “How did Ms. Stratton act while she was here?”

Derek shrugged. “She seemed normal to me.”

“She didn’t seem distraught?”

“Kit seemed a little tight. I figured maybe she was dealing with vineyard stuff. Harvest season can get pretty intense. Is she in some kind of trouble?”

“She’s missing,” Eli said.

“Since when?”

“As far as we can tell, since she left Stone Ridge Distributors.”

Swallowing, Derek rubbed his arm. “Nothing bad happened to Kit, I hope.”

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Are you sure she wasn’t acting weird?”

Derek thought for a second. “Maybe? I mean, she seemed distracted, as if she had a lot on her plate. But that’s normal for vineyard owners this time of year.”

Eli scribbled on his notepad. “Did she mention anyone else? Business partners, investors, anyone she might have been working with?”

“No. As far as I know, she just wanted to expand her distribution. Winemaking in the Finger Lakes can be cutthroat.”

Nia shivered at the remark. She pictured Kit’s body in the woods, her neck slit from ear to ear.

“All right,” Eli said, handing over his card. “Thanks, Derek. If anything else comes to mind, call me.”

“Sure thing. I hope Kit’s okay. She seemed like good people.”

16

Eli’s cruiser idled on the shoulder of a country road just outside of Auburn. Nia unfolded a paper map across the dashboard and traced the routes Kit Stratton could have taken with her finger.

“If she left the gas station at seven thirty and planned to head straight back to Stratton Estates, it would make sense for her to take Route 314,” Nia said, her finger running along the red line on the map. “That’s the most direct way back.”

Eli studied the routes. “It’s about a forty-five-minute drive, give or take. She would have taken 314 down to Duskwood, then cut over on County Road 116 to get to the vineyard.”

“That’s basically the same route I take when I come this way.” Nia circled the spot where Route 314 intersected with the side roads leading to Stratton Estates. “If she drove in this direction, something happened along the way.”

“We didn’t receive reports of an accident or a broken-down vehicle. Maybe someone forced her off the road.”

“Maybe,” Nia said, chewing the inside of her cheek. “She didn’t call for help. No tow services reported a stranded driver between Auburn and Duskwood.”

“Okay, let’s look at alternative routes,” Eli said. “Say she wanted to avoid traffic, though there’s not much of that out here, or she wanted a scenic drive. She could have taken Route 90 along the edge of Cayuga Lake. It’s longer but less traveled.”

“More secluded,” Nia added, thinking aloud. “If someone intercepted her, that would be the spot to do it.”

“Agreed. Let’s note the location.”

Eli jotted the route in his notebook.

“What if she stopped somewhere between Auburn and Duskwood? Perhaps she left the road to meet someone.”

“That’s possible. The question is, where?” Eli drummed his pen against the notebook. “There aren’t many towns or stops along these roads. Kit doesn’t have family in the area, but I can’t account for friends.”

“There are a few farm stands and a rest area. But she wouldn’t have used her credit card if she made any purchases. Most farm stands are cash only.”

Eli tapped another section on the map. “There’s one more route she might have taken. Route 38. It’s the longest of the three, but it cuts through even quieter territory. It’s a long stretch of road with nothing but trees and farms. If someone wanted to make Kit disappear...”

“That’s the place to do it,” Nia finished for him.

Eli closed the notebook. “All right. Here’s what I’m thinking—we retrace the most likely route, Route 314, first. If nothing comes up, we’ll shift to the other two routes. If she pulled over or someone intercepted her, we might find evidence on the roadside.”

“Tire tracks, skid marks, or anything that suggests someone stopped or swerved off the road.”

“Right. And if we find anything, we’ll take photos and collect samples. If we don’t see obvious evidence, we’ll have to put on our thinking caps. Time is not on our side.”

Nia folded the map. “We had better hit the road before we run out of daylight.”

Eli turned the cruiser around and pulled onto the road, the tires kicking up a plume of dust. They had a plan now.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Nia said, staring out at the darkening landscape. “That wine distribution deal Kit had with Stone River would have given her a real chance to keep Stratton Estates afloat. If she made it through this season, she could have turned around her business. But what if someone found out about the deal? Someone who wanted her land?”

“You mean Lacroix?”

“It makes sense. He owns more vineyards than any competitor in the Finger Lakes. What if he learned Kit was close to stabilizing her finances and wanted to eliminate the competition while he still had leverage?”

“I’m not saying Lacroix is a saint, but that’s pure speculation. We don’t even know if he made an offer on Stratton Estates.”

“But he’s been making moves in the region and pressuring vineyard owners who are on the edge. And he’s not exactly transparent about his business dealings.”

“I agree that he’s suspicious. But without evidence that he made an offer, there’s no case.” Eli studied the macadam, as if the road might offer him a solution. “Lacroix is too smart to make a public offer on a failing business. We need more than hunches if we’re going to bring him in.”

“I just don’t buy that Kit went off the radar willingly.”

“I know. But we need proof. Be patient.”

“Patience isn’t my strong suit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She looked across the cab at him. Eli shifted his jaw, as though he had more to say. Instead, he kept driving.

As the cruiser approached the turnoff for County Road 116, the last stretch leading to Duskwood, Eli slowed the vehicle. “Keep an eye out for tire tracks.”

Nia scanned the roadside. Most of the shoulder was blacktop, but there were a few gravel spots that would show tire tracks.

The landscape shifted to dense trees, with the occasional break revealing a field or farmhouse. Shadows stretched longer as the afternoon waned.

“If this doesn’t pan out, we’ll try Route 90 next,” Eli said.

“Then Route 38. That’s a lot of ground to cover.”

“Then narrow down the radius.”

“How?” she asked.

“You’re a PI, and I’m a police officer. We should be able to reason this out.”

“Even an impatient PI?”

“Nia, it was only a joke.”

Nia adjusted the seatbelt strap. Something in his tone suggested he’d let his true feelings slip. These disagreements had festered during the first Cecilia Gray investigation, and now they were back. She held Eli’s opinion in high regard, but they had different methodologies.

“If Kit’s car broke down, she would have called for help,” Nia said. “But there’s no record of her calling the police, sheriff’s department or a towing service. That means she was out of cell range.”

“Which is a possibility worth considering. But we’re still throwing darts in the dark. What if she didn’t have her phone on her? Or the battery was dead?”

“You really think Kit Stratton, a vineyard owner running on thin margins, would leave her phone behind on a business trip?”

“Fair point.” Eli slowed the cruiser as they approached a hairpin curve. “So we should focus on areas where cell coverage drops out. That narrows down the search radius.”

“It’s spotty on the secondary roads between Auburn and Duskwood. If she took one of those routes, it makes sense that she wouldn’t have been able to make a call.”

Eli flicked on his blinker and turned down an unmarked road that cut through farmland and forest. The pavement gave way to dirt and stone. “This road has no coverage,” he said. “The closest tower is five miles to the south.”

The phone screen confirmed what Nia suspected. No bars. “If Kit got stuck out here, she couldn’t call for help.”

“Which brings us to two scenarios. Either she took a vacation and inexplicably closed her business, or she broke down, and someone happened upon her. I hate making assumptions.”

“That’s because you’re a cop. I’m a PI. We rely on different instincts.”

“Yeah, and it drives me nuts.” Eli gave a tight-lipped smirk. “Your hunches are usually spot on, but you skip over procedure.”

“Procedure takes too long.”

“I don’t have a choice. You see? This is why we butt heads.”

“We don’t butt heads,” Nia said, though she knew they did. “We just approach problems from opposite angles.”

“Okay, forget our differences and focus on our theories. You think Kit was taken?”

“Yes. And it happened somewhere in the no-coverage radius. Starting with this road, we can circle to the county routes.”

“If you’re wrong, we’ll need to double back.”

“I’m not wrong.”

Eli chuckled under his breath. “Impatient and stubborn.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not.”

Nia wasn’t convinced he meant it. They shared a fleeting smile, the tension easing. Why did investigations always put them at odds?

17

The clock on the kitchen wall read 4:30 p.m., but time had lost all meaning for Kit Stratton. She stirred a pot of sauce with a wooden spoon and did her best to act like all of this was normal.

The kitchen, with its dated wallpaper and worn linoleum, wasn’t out of place in an ordinary countryside home. But nothing here was ordinary. Nothing here was safe.

Behind her, he moved about the house, humming that weird melody she couldn’t place. He spoke as if they were a married couple going through the motions of domestic life. Kit tightened her grip on the spoon, willing her hand to stop shaking. She couldn’t let him see how afraid she felt.

"Smells good, darling." His voice floated from the next room. "You make the best dinners."

The endearments and casual tone made it seem as if her abduction had never happened. He addressed her like a husband might after coming home from work, blissfully unaware that their relationship was built on violence and control.

"Supper will be ready soon," she said.

The table held matching plates and silverware. He liked things just so. Dinner had to be on time. Kit had learned not to cross him. She knew better. She cooked. She smiled and played the part.

He entered the kitchen and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "I think I'll have a glass of wine tonight. Care to join me, Kit?"

"No, thanks." She fought the urge to recoil as he stepped closer, brushing a hand through her hair. He acted as if holding her hostage was some twisted version of romance.

"You were always such a homebody," he said, his voice soft but with a strange undercurrent. "I like that about you."

Kit stirred more aggressively than she intended. The sauce splashed and left a splotch on the stovetop. She wiped away the mess before he noticed. Any hint of defiance would send him spiraling, and she couldn’t predict how far he would go if pushed.

As she diced the vegetables, she remembered the drive from Auburn toward Stratton Estates. She’d stopped at two farm stands along the way. At the first location, there had been one other car parked at the entrance. But the second stand had been busy, with families buying produce and kids chasing each other around the pumpkin patch. There had been too many people for her to keep track of, too much commotion to notice every detail.

Had her abductor been there? Watching her?

She didn’t recall seeing him at either stand, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been there. When had he slashed her tire? She cursed herself for not being more aware. Had he followed her for miles without her realizing it?

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

His voice jolted her back to the present. He was watching her closely now.

"Just tired, I guess."

"Well, after dinner, we can watch a movie. Something light, maybe? I’ve been meaning to show you that rom com about the vineyard owner."

He gave her a knowing look.

This man had torn her life apart and stolen her from everything she knew.

"That sounds nice."

She wanted to figure out when he had sabotaged her car. Not that it would help her out of this situation.

Kit needed to get out of there, but brute force wasn’t an option. He was stronger, and he was always watching. There had to be a way.

Doctor the food? A slow poison? Could she slip something into his meals over time? Her eyes ran over the kitchen shelves, mentally cataloging the ingredients she had access to.

Salt, flour, sugar.

What about the cleaning supplies beneath the sink? Bleach. Ammonia. She knew enough to avoid outright poisoning. Anything obvious would lead to another beating.

Or murder.

No, she needed to be subtle. The right combination of ingredients would make him sick without killing him right away. Maybe a slow buildup of toxins, slipping a small dose into every meal. But how? The man was too smart. He always insisted she take the first bite, watching her carefully, as if daring her to try something.

Kit shifted her weight. He loomed behind her, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body.

"Almost done?" he asked, his tone syrupy and too casual.

"Five minutes," she said, not daring to look at him.

She needed time to think this through. Maybe it wasn’t tonight’s meal that would save her. She could doctor an ingredient ahead of time, something she could sneak into future meals.

Her eyes flicked to the spice rack. He hadn’t memorized everything on the shelves, had he? If she replaced the paprika with something toxic, would he notice?

Too risky.

What about flour? Or sugar? What if she mixed in a substance that he wouldn’t taste? The toxin would build over time. When he became sick, she could escape.

Antifreeze. It tasted sweet, and just a few teaspoons would weaken him without arousing suspicion. It would take days, time she didn’t have. But she had to try.

She could hide the antifreeze in the pantry and mix it into a batch of cookies or a sauce.

"Something on your mind?" he asked, his voice now tinged with suspicion.

Kit froze, her heart pounding. "Just planning out tomorrow’s meals."

He chuckled. The sound chilled her.

"That’s what I love about you. You’re always so organized."

She fought the urge to scream. He had turned her into his housekeeper, his chef, his prisoner.

Kit adjusted the burner, buying herself a few more minutes to think. If she could prepare the ingredient in advance, she might have a chance.

But that chance wouldn’t come tonight. He was watching too closely, and if she made a mistake, there would be no second chance. She needed to wait for the right moment.

For now, she played along and buried her fear.

"Why don’t you sit at the table?" Kit poured the sauce over the pasta. “I’ll plate our meals.”

"Perfect." He gave her a soft, almost affectionate smile that made her cringe. "It was a long day. This meal will hit the spot."

Kit returned a smile—thin, brittle, and false.

As she plated the food, her mind kept working. She would start tonight. Tomorrow she would go through the pantry and start doctoring the ingredients.

But how would she retrieve the antifreeze from the garage without him hearing her open the door?

18

Nightfall was an hour away as Eli turned down another road that held no evidence. They’d been driving for hours, searching every back road between Auburn and Duskwood, with nothing to show for their efforts.

“This is pointless,” Eli grumbled.

Already bracing for another argument, Nia shot him a glance. “We’re not done until we figure out what happened to Kit Stratton.”

Eli blew out a breath. “We’ve been at this all afternoon, Nia. If there was evidence out here, we’d have found it by now.”

“Not if we were looking in the wrong places. We still have roads to check.”

“This is a waste of time. What if Kit is sitting on a beach right now while we chase after her like rejects from The Hardy Boys?”

Nia turned toward him, disbelief in her voice. “Do you really believe she went on vacation? Kit was putting her life back together. I doubt she had the money.”

Eli tapped the steering wheel with his thumb, his patience wearing thin. “Look, I want to find her as much as you do, but I’ve got Moretti breathing down my neck. You know what’s going to happen tomorrow morning? Forty-eight hours. If we find nothing tonight, I’ll have to close the case.”

“And you’re going to quit looking for her?”

“Don’t start.”

“You’re giving up.”

“I’m being realistic. We have nothing, Nia. Not a witness, not a trace of evidence.”

“So now it’s just me who believes someone took Kit Stratton?” she asked.

“I don’t know what to believe.”

Nia folded her arms. “We have the credit card charge in Auburn, and we know she visited a distributor.”

“It’s not enough. I’m doing everything I can to keep this investigation alive. But if I don’t find solid evidence, it’s over.”

“You’ve already decided you’re going to lose this one, haven’t you? That’s the difference between a PI and the Duskwood PD. Nobody gives me some pointless time limit to help a person in need.”

Eli slammed the brakes as he approached a curve, his frustration boiling over. “And what good has that done for us?”

They stopped talking as the cruiser rounded the curve and began the final stretch toward Duskwood. The evening air was cooling fast.

Eli had given up. But Nia wouldn’t.

Then she spotted an imperfection along the shoulder.

“Stop the car,” she said.

“What now?”

“Just stop.”

With a huff, Eli pulled the cruiser onto the shoulder and killed the engine. Nia hopped out of the car and crouched along the side of the road.

Eli followed her, muttering under his breath. “What are we even looking at?”

“Tire tracks,” Nia said, pointing at the grooves in the dirt. “Two sets.”

The frustration melted off his face. He pulled a small flashlight from his belt and aimed it at the tracks. “These are from an SUV. The tread width and depth point toward a large SUV.”

“Like Kit’s?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. You know how many vehicles come this way? Could belong to anybody.” He shifted the flashlight to the second set of tracks. “These are different. Narrower. Maybe a sedan or a compact.”

“Could the second vehicle have followed her?” Nia asked.

“Again, we’re assuming a lot. The spacing shows the second vehicle stopped a few car lengths behind. Or the SUV and sedan were here at different times. There’s no way to know for sure.”

“This feels right.”

“Do you see signs of a struggle? I don’t.”

He studied the patterns through the gravel. “The SUV pulled away clean. No skid marks, no sudden stops.”

“So what does that mean?” Nia asked. “Are you suggesting she drove away?”

“I’m suggesting someone drove away.”

“Do you want my theory, or are you ready to chalk this up as two unrelated vehicles stopping along the road?”

“Nia, I have to remain objective and practical.” He raised his palms in exasperation. “Okay, tell me what you think.”

“This guy disabled Kit Stratton’s SUV and waited for her to break down. Then he came along and offered her a ride into town. She trusted him and paid the price. Later, he returned and took the SUV.”

“And who is this mysterious abductor?”

“Sebastian Lacroix.”

“Please,” he said, pacing along the side of the road.

“If not Lacroix, then someone he hired. Lacroix wouldn’t sully himself. He’d pay someone to do the deed.”

Eli appeared ready to argue but didn’t. “Fine. I’ll entertain your idea and get an officer to gather the evidence. But Moretti will chew me out after he finds out I wasted resources.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Eli pulled the radio from his belt. "Dispatch, this is Mitchell. I need a forensic tech out to County Road 116, about two miles south of the Duskwood turnoff. We've got two sets of tire tracks here and need casts and measurements taken."

The dispatcher confirmed his request, and Eli clipped the radio to his belt. He glared at Nia, who crouched near the tracks studying the patterns.

“All right,” he said, “if we’re doing this, we’re doing it by the book. I’ll need photos, casts, and measurements. We’ll compare the tracks against Kit’s vehicle records. It shouldn’t take long to figure out the make and model of the tires.”

“That makes sense. Want me to help?”

“No. Moretti will want my pictures, not a private investigator’s. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Eli kneeled by the tracks again, pulling out his phone to snap photos from multiple angles. “Always take more pictures than you think you need. We’ll want close-ups of the tread, the depth of the marks, and anything unusual.”

“I’ll mark the spots where each set starts and ends. That way, your tech won’t miss anything.”

Eli finished snapping photos and dusted off his hands. “They won’t.”

They worked in tandem. Nia placed rocks as markers along the tire trails while Eli paced along the length of the tracks, counting his steps. He pulled out his notebook and jotted down the measurements.

“I’m seeing a decent spread here,” he said. “This first set came from the SUV. The vehicle pulled in smooth, no signs of a swerve or panic braking. The second set, though, stopped closer to the shoulder. There’s a hesitation here, like whoever was driving didn’t want to raise an alarm.”

“So Lacroix’s henchman wanted to put Kit at ease,” Nia said, leaning on the hood of the cruiser.

“You’d make a helluva thriller author. Quite the imagination, Nia Carter.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Eli shrugged. “I mean, it’s possible. Or it could mean the second driver came through at some other time, and this SUV isn’t even Kit Stratton’s.”

“It was Kit’s. Trust me.”

Once they had finished documenting the scene, Eli walked back to the cruiser and removed his laptop. “I heard a message arrive before we entered the no-service zone. Must have come from Duskwood PD. Hopefully they found something on that license plate from the gas station.”

A few moments later, the information popped up. “Black Jeep Cherokee, registered to a Daniel Horner, residing in Auburn,” she said, reading over his shoulder.

“Horner,” Eli said. “Clean record, no priors. He works as a contractor and lives about fifteen minutes from where Kit last used her credit card.”

“Should we chalk up his arrival at the gas station to coincidence?”

“Maybe. I’ll call Auburn PD and have them swing by Horner’s address.” Eli set the laptop in its bag and wandered back to the first set of tire tracks. “Hold on. Look at that.”

“What do you see?”

“See how the right front tire mark gets softer? It’s not as deep as the others.”

Nia frowned, stepping closer to examine the subtle difference. “Yeah.”

“That tire wasn’t inflated,” Eli said, shining his light further down the track. “And the tread keeps shifting. See how it wobbles to the right? That happens when the tire loses pressure, but the driver keeps going.”

Realization dawned on Nia. “So someone slashed Kit’s tire between Auburn and here. It didn’t go flat right away. The abductor let her drive until the pressure dropped too low.”

“A slow leak means she wouldn’t have noticed anything at first. Then, when it became a problem…”

“He just happened to show up at the right time to offer help,” Nia finished. “This guy didn’t chase her or force her off the road. He waited until she was vulnerable.”

“I can go along with that.”

“You’re stranded on a back road with no cell service, and someone shows up offering a ride. What choice do you have?”

For once, Eli didn’t argue that she was jumping to conclusions.

19

At 8:45 the following morning, Eli sat in Chief Moretti’s office. The clock above the desk ticked like a bomb. Across the desk, Moretti leaned back in his chair, arms folded, an expression of reluctant disinterest etched across his face. Eli knew what was coming next. The chief would take him off the investigation.

Moretti wasn’t wrong. The police department didn’t have enough bodies to follow up on the Kit Stratton case. If a family member or friend came forward, Duskwood PD could take the case. For now, nobody considered Kit’s disappearance alarming.

“I reviewed the report from the techs,” Moretti said, flipping through a manila folder. “It looks like there’s some indication that the tire went flat before the SUV stopped. But that doesn’t mean the tire was slashed. Could have hit a nail or debris. It happens. Plus, we can’t say for certain that it belongs to Kit.”

Eli frowned. “But I matched the treads to a pair of Goodyear Assurance Maxlife tires. As of three months ago, Kit Stratton had those tires on her vehicle.”

“Fair point, but we’re shooting in the dark. Do you know how many of those tires are on the road?”

Moretti’s skepticism wasn’t surprising, but it was maddening. The chief seemed eager to shut down the search.

“There’s enough here to suggest foul play. The tire tracks prove the driver had a flat. Kit Stratton’s credit card was used at a gas station in Auburn, and she never made it back to Duskwood. It makes sense that she took that route.”

“Even if you’re right, there is no evidence that someone grabbed the driver. Kit’s family has not reported her missing, and we have no ransom demand or sign of a struggle.”

“For what it’s worth, Kit doesn’t have family in Duskwood. Who knows how often she speaks to them? I’ve seen enough of these cases to know when something isn’t right. And this one stinks.”

Moretti rubbed his temples. “Eli, you’ve already used up the forty-eight hours I gave you. I need you to focus on cases we can close. We have burglaries and domestics to deal with, and Jenkins could use your help.”

“I understand, Chief,” Eli said. “But we’re not talking about stolen TVs here. Kit Stratton could be in danger. I’m asking for a little more time. Give me until midnight to chase this down. If I can’t bring you something by then, I’ll drop it.”

Moretti stared at him for a long moment. This was a long shot, and they both knew it. Moretti didn’t like wild goose chases, especially not ones that dragged officers away from important police work.

“Midnight,” Moretti said. “That’s all you get. If you come up empty, the case gets shelved until there’s a formal report of her missing. Got it?”

“Got it.” Relief flooded through Eli, though he kept his face neutral. “Thank you, Chief.”

Moretti waved him off with a tired grunt. “Just don’t make me regret this.”

Eli grabbed the report from the desk and stood. As he turned to leave, Moretti’s voice stopped him.

“And Mitchell, see that this doesn’t turn into another Hartley case. The second the media sniffs trouble, they’ll attack. I don’t need the press crawling all over my department.”

Rachel Foster knew Kit Stratton was missing, but nothing had shown up in the newspaper. Yet.

“Understood.”

Eli left Moretti’s office and dropped the report on his desk. He ran a hand over his face. Now he had less than sixteen hours to produce solid evidence that Kit Stratton hadn’t just driven off into the sunset.

Jenkins strolled in with a folder tucked under one arm. He raised an eyebrow at Eli’s expression. “Rough meeting?”

“Moretti gave me an extension until midnight. It’s not enough time.” Eli pulled out the chair next to his desk and sat. “The evidence is thin, but I know there’s more going on here.”

“What have you got so far?”

“Kit Stratton was last seen in Auburn. She filled up her tank, and then nothing. No more charges on her card, no calls, and no saying if she caught a flight to the Caribbean. We found tracks on 116 that match the tires on her SUV. One tire was flat, and I think someone tampered with it to make her break down.”

Jenkins sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Okay, so you have a gas station sighting and some tire tracks. But if someone grabbed her, where did they take her? You’re looking at miles of back roads between Auburn and Duskwood.”

“That’s the problem,” Eli said. “We’ve covered a lot of those roads already.”

“Two things come to mind. First, hit up the highway cameras near the Auburn exit. If she was heading back to Duskwood, she would have passed at least one camera. Maybe you’ll glimpse someone tailing her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Eli said, jotting down the information in shorthand. “What’s the second?”

“Check with the cell provider and see where she last had service. If it dropped outside of Duskwood, you can strengthen your conviction that someone snatched her.”

“Solid. I’ll get on it.”

“See? It’s not all doom and gloom. You’ve got time.”

“Sorta,” Eli said, glowering.

“You thinking an abduction occurred?”

“Unfortunately.”

Jenkins grinned. “Welcome to police work in Duskwood, my friend. I’ve got to handle a noise complaint on the north side. Holler if you need me.”

“If I holler, you’ll have two noise complaints to deal with.”

“Well played.”

Eli watched Jenkins leave, grateful for the support but knowing that he could count on two fingers the number of people who believed Kit Stratton was in danger. And, honestly, he wasn’t fully convinced. Sure, he respected Nia’s opinions. But Nia could work on an investigation indefinitely, and if the evidence didn’t bear fruit, she had no one to answer to.

He pulled his planner from the drawer to sketch out his next steps. His gaze landed on a reminder scribbled in the corner of today’s schedule:

3:00 – Maya ride-along.

How had he forgotten? A part of him considered canceling. He could not lose valuable hours driving a curious teenager around Duskwood. But the thought of canceling twisted a knife in his back. He’d made a promise to Maya, and if there was one thing Eli Mitchell didn’t do, it was to break promises to Maya.

The clock on his computer read 9:02. There was enough time to check the Auburn highway cameras and call Kit Stratton’s cell phone company.

Finding Kit Stratton’s mobile service provider wasn’t complicated, but it would require following proper channels. He needed the correct legal justification to access the phone data; Chief Moretti would have his head if he did it improperly.

He started by logging into the department’s case management system. Kit’s personal details, including her address, phone number, and business records, were already attached to the report, thanks to the background Nia had helped gather.

Eli scanned the file until he found Kit’s mobile number. The first six digits told him the carrier, but just to be sure, he cross-referenced the number with an internal database Duskwood PD used for tracing telecom providers.

“Atlas Networks. The world in the palm of your hand,” he said, reciting the company’s slogan.

To obtain cell tower pings or historical data, police departments typically required either the subscriber’s consent or a search warrant. In missing person cases, if the individual was believed to be in imminent danger, Eli could submit an Emergency Disclosure Request. But without an official missing person’s investigation, he would need the contact to cooperate. And that was anything but a given.

He called Atlas Networks’ law enforcement liaison number. When the automated system kicked in, he punched the extension for emergency requests. After a few moments, a representative came on the line.

“This is Officer Eli Mitchell with the Duskwood Police Department. I’m calling regarding a potentially missing person, Kit Stratton. I need the most recent tower pings and call records associated with her phone number. Can I submit an Emergency Disclosure Request?”

“Do you have an active case number?” the representative asked.

“Not yet. I’m investigating the possibility of an abduction.”

There was a pause on the other end.

Come on. Do me a solid.

“I’ll need you to submit a completed EDR form through our secure portal. Once we receive it, we can process the request immediately.”

Thank goodness.

“Gotcha. I’ll submit the form right away. I also need to know if the phone was active during the last seventy-two hours.”

“There’s a section in the form where you can specify which data you’re requesting, including tower pings.”

Eli made a note. He thanked the representative and ended the call.

Pulling up the official Emergency Disclosure Request form template, he entered the data.

Name of Missing Person: Kit Stratton

Phone Number: (555) 679-8231

Reason for Request: Possible abduction; individual last known to be driving alone on rural roads with a flat tire. Immediate danger suspected.

Data Requested: Last known tower pings over previous seventy-two hours, call activity, and cell coverage between Auburn, NY, and Duskwood, NY.

Satisfied with the form, Eli uploaded the data to the secure portal. He fired off an email to Moretti to let him know about the submitted request. Now came the hard part. Waiting. Depending on the workload on the provider’s end, the data could come through in an hour, or it might take the better part of the day.

Eli tapped his foot. If Kit’s phone had dropped off the network in a rural area, that would narrow their search zone and lend credence to their belief that the flat had belonged to her SUV.

He checked his watch. The phone rang.

“Officer Mitchell,” Eli said.

“This is the Atlas Networks Law Enforcement Response Team. We received your EDR and are processing the request. You should have the data within the hour.”

“Great. Thank you for the quick turnaround.”

“No problem, Officer Mitchell. You’ll receive a notification as soon as we upload the data.”

Eli hung up and closed his email.

This was progress, but he knew better than to get too hopeful.

20

The season was changing. Kit could almost feel the morning chill beyond the closed window. In the man’s yard, concealing trees displayed yellowing leaves, which drew sickly colors across the lawn. Lace-trimmed curtains framed the window. A woman’s touch, though she was the only person in her abductor’s life.

Kit worked in the kitchen, rinsing the breakfast dishes. She had cooked eggs, bacon, and toast, just the way he liked them. A greasy scent still clung to the air as she scrubbed the plates, her mind elsewhere.

Outside, the birds chirped, but to her the songs sounded like cruel jokes. The world carried on as usual while she remained trapped in this house, performing the duties of a housekeeper. Or worse, a wife. She wiped the plates dry, stacked them neatly, and then folded the dish towel over the oven handle as he’d told her to do. Everything had to be just so.

Her abductor was upstairs, rummaging through a closet. She could hear the thud of boxes and the scrape of furniture being dragged. Whatever he was doing, it gave her a brief window to think.

With the kitchen clean, she rushed to the laundry room. A washing machine sat in the corner, rattling as if it might fall apart. Laundry was the worst chore. So personal, so intimate. She had to wash his clothes, fold them, and put them away in drawers as if they were married. The fabric of his shirts felt like shackles in her hands.

She crouched beside the machine and tossed a load of dirty laundry into the drum. T-shirts, socks, a pair of jeans that had seen better days. And his briefs. She held them between the tips of her forefinger and thumb, worried his taint would spread across her hand and infect her body. She measured out detergent and dumped it into the washer’s tray. Her eyes drifted toward the garage door at the far end of the laundry room.

All she needed was a minute.

Antifreeze would be fatal in the right doses, and it was one of the few substances in a house like this that could offer her a chance. If she could just get to the garage, she might be able to slip the poison into his coffee or food. But Ryan was always close. He never left her alone for long.

The washing machine groaned and started its cycle. She pushed to her feet and wiped her hands on her jeans, her mind working. Maybe today would be different, and he would stay distracted upstairs long enough for her to get into the garage.

But how could she sneak in without him hearing the door open and close? Every time a door opened in this house, it felt as if the world quaked beneath her feet.

The man had a routine. He would take a shower around mid-morning after she finished the laundry. If she timed it right, she could slip through the door, grab the antifreeze, and return before he finished toweling off. But if he caught her...

She pressed her hand to her ribs, feeling the bruises beneath her shirt.

No fear.

If she hesitated, she’d never get out of here.

She moved quickly, folding the clean laundry from the previous load. She placed each shirt and pair of socks into a laundry basket. If she left his clothes wrinkles, he would scream. And his punishments weren’t something she wanted to experience again.

In her head, she concocted a plan. First, wait for the shower to start. Then, open the garage door and locate the antifreeze—there had to be some in there—and hide it behind the washer and dryer for easy access. A drop in his coffee tomorrow. That was all it would take.

But what if it didn’t work? What if he tasted the poison?

She shook the thoughts away and concentrated on folding the laundry. The key was not giving in to fear.

Before her abduction, Kit had clung to hope. She wasn’t ready to let go of everything she and her father had built, not after the effort she’d poured into keeping the vineyard afloat. She’d known she could save Stratton Estates. The Stone River Distributors deal was her lifeline. It would have gotten her wines into stores across the state, putting them on shelves next to the region’s top labels. If she pulled off that distribution deal, the bank would have no reason to foreclose.

The vineyard had always been more than a business. It was her identity and her family’s legacy. The land had been passed down through generations, and she’d worked tirelessly to preserve it. She knew every inch of the soil, every grapevine by heart.

The bank’s letters kept piling up. They demanded payments she didn’t have. Then there were the offers from developers who wanted to turn the vineyard into vacation rentals or wedding venues. But she refused to sell. She couldn’t let Stratton Estates become just another piece of real estate.

The Stone River deal would have changed everything. With those wines selling, she could have secured new loans and hired more workers to handle the harvest. The future had finally started to feel possible again.

Until this.

Her captor’s motives remained a mystery. Had someone sabotaged the Stone River deal? Had one of her competitors, perhaps Sebastian Lacroix, taken matters into his own hands?

Footsteps pounded across the ceiling. Upstairs, a door creaked.

“The laundry is piling up, Tina,” he said. “I’ll need those shirts pressed by evening.”

Who in the hell was Tina? Was that another woman this monster had captured? If so, Kit wondered where Tina was now. Probably buried in the backyard.

Kit stopped what she was doing, the laundry basket still in her hands. She strained to listen, hoping he was heading toward the bathroom. The old plumbing groaned, followed by the rush of water filling the pipes. He was taking his mid-morning shower. This was her chance. If she moved fast, she could be in and out of the garage before he knew it.

She set down the laundry basket and wiped her hands on her jeans.

The bathroom pipes groaned again, and she knew she didn’t have much time.

You’ll have to do this fast.

If she could find the antifreeze and end this nightmare, she could reclaim her life. Murder tasted bitter on her tongue, but it was better than waiting around for a rescue that might never come.

Kit walked on cat’s paws to the garage door. The water continued running. Her hand hovered over the doorknob.

She slipped into the garage and closed the door. The space smelled of oil, old wood, and damp concrete. Wan light shone in through the dusty windows and splashed across a cluttered shelf and workbench.

She scanned the room. Shelves held cans of paint, tools, and random car parts. A jumble of plastic containers sat in a corner, but none of them had labels. The dim light made it impossible to tell one jug from another.

Everyone owned antifreeze, especially in the country, where the nearest repair shop was a long drive away. During the winter, below-zero temperatures turned the roads into ice, making antifreeze essential. Without it, vehicles refused to start. Engines seized, and water lines cracked. He had to own antifreeze.

She checked under the workbench, brushing past old boxes and peering behind shelves lined with tools. A growing sense of urgency clawed at her. She found containers of washer fluid and motor oil, but no antifreeze. A knot of terror coiled in her stomach.

Suddenly, the water shut off. The pipes groaned and rattled.

A moment later, his footsteps pounded across the floor above her.

He knows.

Her hands fumbled with the containers as she put them back, desperate to erase any sign of her presence.

The sound of footsteps grew louder, heading toward the stairs. No, no, no. He was coming down.

Kit darted to the door. She hurried into the laundry room, easing the door closed just as his feet hit the bottom of the staircase.

As he came closer, she grabbed the basket of clothes and busied herself folding them. She forced herself to breathe.

He stopped somewhere in the living room. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then a slow exhalation, as if he was scanning the space.

“Honey, are you here?” he asked.

She found it impossible to speak.

“My dear?”

“Yes, I’m in the laundry room.”

“Very well,” he said.

He ascended the stairs. Kit slumped against the wall and sobbed.

21

Nia sat at her desk with her laptop open and case files scattered across the surface. On the floor, Luna and Madrid snored with disinterest as she worked.

She sipped her coffee, which was lukewarm now, and scrolled through the updates on her cases. Yet her attention kept drifting back to Kit Stratton and the argument with Eli the night before.

They'd been doing so well, working as a team, sharing dinners with Maya, and growing closer. But since he’d invited her to investigate Kit’s disappearance, the disagreements had become more frequent. Why were they butting heads?

Eli was competent and kind, but he had to follow the department’s rules, always operating within strict boundaries. Nia understood those boundaries better than most. She’d lived them during her years with the NYPD. Was that the reason for the arguments? She no longer had rules and answered only to herself.

After years of serving under strict chiefs, difficult precinct politics, and endless paperwork, being a PI gave her freedom. She could pursue cases on her terms and take risks without red tape holding her back.

Eli didn’t have that luxury. He was tied to Chief Moretti’s deadlines, the department’s procedures, and the desire not to make waves. It wasn’t fair for Nia to expect Eli to do things her way. But Moretti’s deadline stood in the way of them finding a missing woman.

Jamal.

The name still haunted her. Her hands paused over her laptop keys as memories flooded back. Seven years ago, when she worked in New York City, Jamal had vanished. He was twelve years old. Some thought he’d been caught up running drugs and slipped away into the underground world of gangs. But Nia had met his mother, and Nia knew in her gut that Jamal hadn’t run away. He loved his mom too much.

Nia had fought her own chief to give her more time. She’d searched alleys, talked to informants, and tracked more than a few leads into dangerous places. Yet the case had gone cold.

The what-ifs gnawed at her. What if she missed something? What if she gave up too soon?

And now, years later, that case lingered like an open wound. Jamal might still be alive.

She shut down the thought. Impossible. After all this time, there was no way Jamal still lived on the streets.

Nia shook her head and forced herself to focus on the present. She had other investigations to concentrate on.

Her phone buzzed on the table, making the papers vibrate. Eli was calling.

She answered on the second ring. “Hey.”

“I just got the report from Atlas Networks.”

“Yeah? What did it say?”

“They pinpointed Kit’s phone activity to a spot ten miles outside of Auburn. County Route 314, to be exact. It last pinged a tower a half hour before sunset on the night she disappeared.”

Nia sat forward. “That aligns with her credit card transaction at the gas station.”

“Right. She must have driven out of the service area and into the dead zone we talked about.”

“If her phone went dead ten miles outside of Auburn, she wouldn’t have had any way to call for her help when someone threatened her. Whoever grabbed her waited until she was out of range.”

“That’s my thinking,” Eli said. “I’ve got the coordinates, and I’m heading there now to check it out.”

“Give me thirty minutes to meet you there,” Nia said, standing and grabbing her jacket off the back of the chair.

There was a pause on the other end. “Nia, there’s no time.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t wait for you. You know Moretti won’t give me any more time. I have until midnight, and my calendar is booked solid today.”

“I’ll catch up with you.”

“By the time you get here, I’ll already be gone. Let me handle this.”

The words hit like a slap. He acted as if she was holding him back.

“Fine,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. “Go.”

“I’ll keep you updated, I promise,” Eli said. “It shouldn’t take long to trace Kit’s path between Auburn and the place we found the tire tracks. Talk to you later.”

Eli didn’t bother with a goodbye before hanging up. She dropped the phone on the table.

The case was racing toward a critical moment, and Eli wanted to investigate without her.

No, she wasn’t being fair. He was doing what he had to do. But if he would just give her thirty minutes…

She punched the location into a map application on her computer and stared at the screen. Even if she couldn’t meet Eli, there were other ways she could help.

She began by cross-referencing County Route 314 on Google Maps and public directories. The area looked remote, replete with wooded sections, scattered farmhouses, and long stretches of open fields. If someone had abducted Kit Stratton, they might have found a place nearby to stash her.

Her next step was checking real estate records. She accessed Duskwood’s public property database and searched for rentals, foreclosures, and vacant properties along the route. Empty houses were the perfect hideouts. It wasn’t uncommon for out-of-towners to buy cheap rural land as second homes and leave them empty for months. She jotted down a few names connected to properties along the road.

That was a good start. If Kit’s abductor was holding her in one of those places, Eli might need backup.

Next, she accessed police reports from Auburn and Duskwood. She filtered for incidents along County Route 314, looking for suspicious activity, break-ins, and anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing stuck out.

If she was going to help Eli find Kit Stratton, she needed to be more useful than this.

22

Eli glanced at the dashboard clock as he navigated the streets of Duskwood toward the high school.

2:57 p.m.

He was running late and hurrying to pick up Maya for her ride-along. All day, he’d scoured the back roads where Kit Stratton’s phone last pinged, checking every farmhouse, clearing, and wooded area. But there’d been no signs of a struggle. Just miles of rural nothingness. The lack of progress gnawed at him. If Kit was still alive, she wouldn’t be for long.

Eli drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Asking Chief Moretti for more time crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. He only had weak leads and too many unanswered questions. He'd promised Nia that he would get answers before the clock ran out. But how could he do that when his own department tied his hands behind his back?

Guilt crept into his chest. He hated shutting out Nia. After all, he’d invited her to help him investigate Kit Stratton’s disappearance. They worked well together, and he trusted her instincts. But the longer they investigated, the clearer it became that she didn’t fit into the strict procedural mold Duskwood PD required. Nia followed her gut, pushed boundaries, and wasn’t afraid to ruffle feathers. That kind of freedom didn’t fly under Moretti’s command.

I asked her to help, and now I’m the one pulling away. Real smooth, Mitchell.

The truth was, his frustration with Nia boiled down to their undefinable relationship and not her methods. When they worked together, he felt something shift, and he wasn’t ready to confront his feelings.

Eli cared for Nia. But he hadn’t entered a romantic relationship since the first Cecila Gray investigation. How would his fellow officers react if he and Nia became more than professional partners?

The high school came into view. He pulled into the drop-off circle as students crowded out of the front doors with backpacks slung over their shoulders. Maya waited near the entrance, chatting with a group of friends. She spotted the cruiser, waved, and jogged over.

Eli lowered the passenger window. “Hey, kid. Ready for this?”

“Born ready.”

As she buckled her seatbelt, Eli studied her out of the corner of his eye. Maya’s excitement was contagious. He grinned despite himself.

“So, Officer Mitchell,” Maya said, “what’s on the agenda? Are we busting bad guys or just writing parking tickets?”

“Maybe a little of both. Depends on how exciting Duskwood wants to be today.”

“I’ll take exciting. Mom told me this might not happen today. I guess you were out in the countryside? Thanks for not canceling.”

“I would never let you down. Besides, you need to see what a day in law enforcement looks like, correct?”

“Yes, but the term is amirite.”

“What?”

“Like am I right. It’s what kids say.”

“Remind me not to become a kid again,” he said. “Back in my day, we said gnarly a lot.”

“You said what?”

“Those were strange days. For the record, the eighties were before my time, but the sayings held on.”

“Why?”

“I really don’t know. Anyhow, this should help you with your law class, amirite?”

“There you go. I mean, I’m not saying I want to be a police officer or anything, but it’s good to know how things work.”

Eli kept his eyes on the road. “That’s smart. Knowledge is power.”

Maya gave him a sidelong look. “Are you and Mom okay?”

The question caught him off guard. He shifted in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“Mom sounded stressed when we spoke on the phone, and when I asked if you were coming to dinner, she said not to expect you. Mom says everything is fine, but I don’t know. It feels like something’s up.”

“Your mom and I just work differently,” Eli said. “That’s all. We disagree about investigations sometimes, but it’s never personal.”

Maya shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, figure it out. You guys are good together. And you make her happy.”

The girl’s words struck Eli and knocked him off balance. He wanted to say something, but no words came. Instead, he flipped on the blinker as they merged with rush-hour traffic.

She lowered the window, letting fresh fill the car. “Where do we start?”

Eli was grateful for the change in topic. “How about a tour of Duskwood’s finest parking lots? If we’re lucky, we might catch a double-parker.”

Maya laughed. “Living on the edge, Officer Mitchell.”

As they drove into town, Eli relaxed. It felt good to focus on something other than the ticking clock and the pressure of an unsolved case. Maya was doing her best to look nonchalant, but the way she kept tapping her knee gave her away.

"You good?" Eli asked.

"Totally tubular," Maya said.

Eli chuckled. "I’ll give that a B-plus. Don’t use that on your friends."

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The radio crackled with routine chatter, including a minor traffic incident, an inebriated person near the park, and the usual low-priority calls. Eli had carefully chosen this location for Maya's ride-along. The odds of running into anything dangerous were slim.

“I haven’t seen any bank robbers yet?” Maya said.

“We’re gonna take it easy. Let’s do a quick patrol through the residential neighborhoods, check in with the schools, and then hit the business district. No high-speed chases today.”

"That’s lame. What if there is a high-speed chase?"

Eli smirked. "Then you duck down and stay quiet, and I pray your mom never finds out."

He pulled onto Sycamore Street, where the houses were neatly kept, with kids playing in yards and neighbors chatting on porches. It was a place the officers patrolled to wave at residents rather than to respond to calls.

“See anything suspicious?” Eli asked, keeping his tone light.

Maya scrunched her nose, scanning the peaceful street. “Not unless you count Mrs. Ferris’s lawn gnome. That thing is horrifying.”

“Good eye, Detective.”

As they continued their patrol, Maya peppered Eli with questions.

“How do you know when someone’s lying?”

“Do you get bored just sitting in the cruiser?”

“Ever had to arrest someone I know?”

Eli answered each question patiently, steering the conversation to safer topics when necessary. Much to Maya’s chagrin, they cruised through Duskwood High School’s parking lot, where Maya called to a few classmates heading home. She hadn’t been eager to return to school.

"Not every shift is an episode of Cops," Eli said. "And that's a good thing."

They drove along Harbor Road next, where the calm waters of the lake shimmered under the late afternoon sun. Eli kept his speed slow, watching for anything out of place. His goal was to show Maya the more community-focused side of police work—routine patrols, checking in with local businesses, and making sure the town stayed peaceful.

"Hey, Eli," Maya said, her voice shifting to a more thoughtful tone. "Do you ever, like…get scared on patrol?"

"Sometimes. But fear keeps you sharp. The trick is not letting it control you."

Maya seemed to consider that, then asked, "What about Mom? Does she get scared when she’s investigating?"

"She’s tough as nails. But yeah, we all get scared sometimes."

The dispatcher spoke through the radio. “10-34, minor disturbance at Meadows Park. Need a unit to swing by.”

Eli picked up the radio mic. “10-4, dispatch. Unit 12 en route.” He looked across the seat at Maya. "Seems like we’ve got a little excitement, after all."

They rolled into Meadows Park a few minutes later, where a group of teens had gathered at a basketball court, their voices raised, though fisticuffs hadn’t broken out.

He parked. "Stay in the car."

The girl didn’t protest. Instead, she slumped low in the seat when she recognized a few faces from school.

Eli stepped out of the cruiser and strolled toward the teens. “All right, guys. What’s going on here?”

The teens, spotting Eli, mumbled half-hearted excuses about a disagreement that wasn’t serious. He recognized one boy. Darrell Quinn. The teen was a starting forward on the high school basketball team and not the type to cause trouble.

Eli took a moment to chat with them, ensuring the situation wouldn’t escalate.

Another teen, a lanky boy in a faded hoodie, shifted his weight and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “It’s nothing, officer. Just a game.”

“Didn’t sound like nothing,” Eli said, folding his arms. “Tell me what happened.”

A shorter kid with a buzz cut and an attitude huffed. “He fouled me, but he’s saying he didn’t.”

“I barely touched him,” the lanky kid shot back. “It’s street ball, not the NBA.”

“You shoved me.”

“All right, all right.” Eli raised a hand. “It’s basketball. We’re not turning it into a boxing match, got it?”

Darrell said, “This is dumb. Can we just play?”

“Yeah,” the lanky kid grumbled. “I ain’t trying to fight over a pickup game.”

Shifting his gaze between the players, Eli gave them a measured look. “Then play ball and keep things clean. Either that, or the game ends, and everyone heads home.”

The buzz-cut kid opened his mouth to argue, but Darrell nudged him. “Let it go, man.”

Eli looked back at the cruiser to ensure Maya was safe inside. “Okay, gentlemen. I don’t want to come back here.”

“Got it, officer. We’re cool.”

“And Darrell?”

Darrell lifted his head. “Yeah?”

“I know your parents. Keep things under control, or I’ll have to talk to them about what happened here.”

“No problem, Officer Mitchell. I got you.”

Satisfied the situation wouldn’t escalate, Eli nodded and turned back toward the cruiser. As he climbed into the driver’s seat, he smirked at Maya, who was still slouched in her seat, trying to go unnoticed.

“All good?” she asked, peeking up just enough to see over the dashboard.

“Crisis averted.”

“And no handcuffs?”

“Not today.” Eli started the engine. “Sorry to disappoint, but not every day ends in a dramatic standoff. You okay with that?”

“I’m still holding out hope for that car chase through Duskwood.”

23

Kit Stratton scrubbed a skillet in the sink. She wasn’t working because the man had asked. He hadn’t even commanded her to do work this afternoon. She was cleaning, organizing, tidying to drown out the creeping thoughts that she might never leave this place. That no one was coming.

The running faucet and the squeak of the sponge against metal distracted her from reality. She set the skillet on a drying rack and rubbed her hands on an apron tied around her waist.

Even if she escaped, could she save the business? There was no telling if Stone Rivers would still honor the agreement. Who would want to partner with a vineyard owner that vanished on a whim?

She stared out the window over the sink. Beyond the horizon, far away from this hidden house, grapes hung heavy on the vines. Harvest season was coming fast. September and October were make-or-break months. Without her there to manage the harvest, the vineyard might collapse.

If it wasn’t too late already.

Every bottle, every grape, every acre could be gone by the time she escaped.

No, when she escaped.

She had to figure out a way to outsmart him.

He had to own antifreeze. She imagined this farmhouse during January, with icicles as thick as forearms, snow piling past the windows, and sleet turning every surface into a hazard. Out here, antifreeze wasn’t a luxury.

Kit wiped down the countertop.

He’ll know if I check again.

Sneaking into the garage was risky. He rarely let her out of his sight, though she acknowledged that he’d done so more often yesterday and today. Did he trust her now?

Even when he wasn’t in the room, she felt his presence. And every time she served a meal, he still made her take the first bite. He wasn’t stupid.

Her hands shook as she dried the counters, and she clenched her fists to stop them.

Kit wrung the dishcloth. The house was too quiet now, with no sounds upstairs. She strained her ears, listening. Was he in the bathroom?

“You look radiant, my love.”

She leaped out of her skin and yelped. He was standing right behind her.

He observed her with a possessive calm that made her skin crawl.

“Dinner soon?” he asked.

“I was just about to start cooking.”

“The countertops don’t need cleaning.” He ran a finger along the surface. “You’ve done enough. Any more scrubbing, and you’ll scour away the finish.”

Kit worried she had angered him again, but he issued a disarming laugh.

“You’re not Cinderella,” he said. “I’m a fair husband, am I not?”

“Yes, of course.”

He lingered, his eyes shining with quiet satisfaction as if her playing the role of housewife was what he’d always craved. As if she belonged here.

“Very well,” he said. “I expect dinner before six.”

She read the clock. “As you wish.”

And if she could make it to the garage, he’d get a lot more than just his dinner.

24

Eli read the dashboard clock. 5:28 p.m. Time was running out, and he knew it. Midnight was creeping closer and with it, the end of his investigation into Kit Stratton’s disappearance. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

He wasn’t going to find her in time. After Moretti pulled the plug, there would be no more resources. Kit Stratton would be just another victim until someone declared her missing. By then, the woman would be dead.

Beside him, Maya scrolled through her phone. She’d enjoyed the ride-along so far, and Eli had done his best to keep things light, responding only to routine calls. He didn’t want Maya near a dangerous situation. No risks. But she was becoming bored.

“Unit 12, we have a report of a domestic disturbance. Caller states it’s escalating. Possible weapons involved. Request immediate response. Address: 327 River Bend Road.”

Eli cursed under his breath. This wasn’t good. Maya looked up from her phone.

“You need to respond, right?” Maya asked.

There had to be a way out of this.

But there wasn’t.

“Yes. I don’t have a choice.”

To Maya’s credit, she didn’t pump a fist in the air or hoot about the excitement. It was obvious to Eli that she was concerned.

He turned on the cruiser’s lights and sirens. The danger was becoming real.

As he steered the vehicle toward River Bend Road, he sensed her staring. This wasn’t the kind of call a teenager should witness. Domestic disputes were unpredictable. One second, things were calm. The next, chaos erupted. And if weapons were involved? That was a whole different level of horror.

“Do we need backup?” Maya asked.

“We’ll get some,” Eli assured her. But backup could be miles away, and he didn’t have time to drive Maya home.

As he raced through Duskwood, the dispatcher confirmed additional units were en route, but they wouldn’t arrive for at least ten minutes. Too late.

“Listen, Maya. This next call might get a little intense. It’s not like the others. I need you to stay calm, stay in the car, and keep the doors locked. No matter what you hear, don’t get out. Understand?”

He saw her swallow.

“I understand.”

He’d promised Nia that he would keep Maya safe. But he was walking a fine line.

Possible weapons involved.

He had to respond, and there wasn’t time to drop off Maya, even if one of her friends lived nearby.

They sped down the road, the glow of River Bend Road’s street sign coming into view. Eli ground his teeth. This was the last thing he needed.

Eli prayed the backup units would arrive sooner than expected.

“You’ve been great today, but this isn’t what I wanted for your ride-along,” he told Maya.

“I won’t leave the cruiser.”

Maya’s voice betrayed a trace of fear, and it killed him. He would do everything in his power to protect her.

The cruiser roared toward the address, the blue and red lights flashing across the trees as the afternoon grew late.

Eli killed the sirens as they approached the house on River Bend Road. Standard procedure. No need to announce their arrival and escalate an already volatile situation.

He stopped the cruiser beside the curb and surveyed the property. It was an old single-story ranch with peeling paint and sagging gutters. A rusted-out truck sat in the driveway. No movement.

Eli reached for the radio. “Unit 12 on scene at 327 River Bend Road. Where’s that backup?”

“Backup eight minutes out, Unit 12.”

He muttered and turned to Maya. “Stay inside. Doors locked. No exceptions.”

“I got it,” Maya said.

She was scared, but she was brave. Too brave for her own good? He checked his service weapon and unlatched his seatbelt.

“Be back soon,” he said, hoping he could keep that promise.

He exited the cruiser.

Eyes open. Stay sharp.

Like he’d said, domestic disputes were the most unpredictable calls officers faced. The tiniest spark could ignite a deadly encounter.

As he approached the front porch, a dog barked from inside the house. The windows were grimy, making it impossible to see who was lurking around.

Eli knocked on the door. “Duskwood PD. Open up.”

Silence.

He knocked again, louder this time. Nothing.

Something was wrong. Domestic disputes rarely went this quiet. Either the people inside were trying to avoid police intervention, or something worse was happening behind closed doors.

Eli stepped off the porch and circled the house, peeking through the windows. The grime concealed the interior. As he turned the corner toward the backyard, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

A crash sounded inside the house as a weight hit the floor.

Eli drew his weapon and sprinted to the front door. No more waiting.

He took a step back and drove his shoulder into the door. The old wood frame splintered, and the door flew open.

Inside, terror waited.

A man stood in the center of the living room holding a shotgun, his face twisted with rage. Across from him, another man lay on the floor, bleeding from his forehead.

“Put the gun down!” Eli yelled, raising his own weapon.

The gunman spun toward Eli, his grip tightening on the shotgun. He hadn’t brandished the gun at Eli, but it would take a split second for things to go south.

“Put down the weapon. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The man’s eyes were wild, darting from Eli to the injured person. He took a step forward, rage clouding his judgment.

Eli kept his weapon trained on the gunman. One wrong move, and this could go bad fast.

“I said, put down the gun. Now.”

The man’s hands trembled, the shotgun dipping but still aimed toward the injured man on the floor.

Eli read the gunman’s eyes—he was teetering between surrender and rage.

“Listen to me,” Eli said. “You won’t solve anything with that gun. Let me help you. We can talk this over.”

The man hesitated, his breathing ragged, as if the weight of the shotgun was becoming too much to bear.

Time to act.

Eli’s finger brushed the edge of his trigger guard. “I know you’re angry, but this isn’t the way. Put the weapon on the ground. This doesn’t have to end in violence.”

The shotgun dipped lower, then clattered onto the hardwood floor. Eli lunged forward, kicking the weapon away.

“Down on your knees! Hands behind your head!” Eli barked, moving fast, adrenaline driving his every motion.

The man obeyed, collapsing to his knees as Eli holstered his weapon and slapped on the handcuffs on. The situation was contained. For now.

Then the wail of a woman erupted from the back room.

Eli’s head snapped toward the sound just as she stumbled into view, her face streaked with tears, clutching a toddler against her chest. The child cried.

“Don’t take him,” the woman begged. “This is my fault.”

“Ma’am, stay back.”

“I swear, he just wanted to scare Clint. He wasn’t going to shoot anyone.”

The toddler squirmed in her arms. Eli kept his stance steady. “I need you to stay calm and sit down. Nobody got hurt. I just need to understand what happened.”

The gunman twisted his head toward the woman. “Marlene, I told you to stay in the bedroom.”

“Stay quiet.”

A siren sounded outside the house. Backup was finally here.

Relief flooded Eli as two patrol cars arrived. Officers spilled from the vehicles with their weapons drawn.

“Inside!” Eli called out. “I have the situation contained.”

Jenkins entered first. His eyes swept the room before he holstered his sidearm.

“The gun is over there,” Eli said, jerking his chin toward the shotgun on the floor. “I have the suspect in cuffs. Get me medics for the injured man.”

Two officers moved swiftly to secure the weapon and assess the injured man. Jenkins crossed the room and helped Eli maintain order. Good lord. Maya was still alone in the cruiser.

“You good?” Jenkins asked.

“Yeah,” Eli said. “Clint dropped the weapon on my command. This could have ended differently.”

Marlene remained still, clutching the crying toddler. An officer guided her toward the couch, where she sank in a heap.

Jenkins glanced at the suspect on the floor. “What’s the story here?”

“Domestic dispute gone wrong,” Eli said. “This one grabbed a shotgun, probably to scare the other guy. I don’t know the specifics.”

“You did well. We’ll get statements and sort this out.”

Eli couldn’t leave until he was certain the officers had complete control of the situation. He motioned to Jenkins and the other officers.

“Keep this tight,” Eli said. “Jenkins, watch the suspect and have the officers ensure no other weapons are in the house. We’ll get everyone transported and take statements at the station.”

Jenkins stepped toward Clint, who kneeled on the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back.

“All right, Clint,” Jenkins said. “Stand up. Nice and slow, okay? We’re going to the station to sort this out.”

Clint grumbled under his breath but didn’t resist as Jenkins hauled him up. Another officer swept the rest of the house and reported no other weapons.

“Marlene,” Eli said. “You and your child are safe, but I’ll need you to come to the station.”

Marlene hugged the toddler more tightly. Across the room, the injured man, sitting up with a rag pressed against his bleeding forehead, winced.

“Sir, what’s your name?” Jenkins asked.

“James. James Mendell,” the bleeding man said.

“The medics will check out James,” Eli said. “Then he and Marlene have to go to the station to give statements.”

“We’ve got this, Eli.” Jenkins gave him a knowing look. “Go on. Check on your ride-along.”

Eli didn’t need Jenkins to tell him twice. He had to stop himself from sprinting out the front door and to the cruiser.

When Maya saw him approaching, she sat up in the seat. She appeared scared but unharmed.

Eli opened the side door. “You okay, kid?”

Maya clutched the seatbelt like a lifeline. “Safe and sound. What happened in there?”

Eli crouched next to the open door, placing himself at eye level with her. “It’s complicated, and I can’t share the details. But no one got hurt. I promise.”

She studied his face. “It sounded really scary.”

“It was scary.”

“I don’t think I want to become a police officer after college.”

Good. He didn’t want Maya putting herself at risk.

“Was anyone arrested?” Maya asked.

“Yes. One person is going to jail, and the other two have a lot of questions to answer.”

Maya peered over his shoulder at the dusty windows. “Does this kind of thing happen a lot?”

Eli hesitated. He didn’t want to scare her, but she deserved honesty. “Sometimes. That’s why officers have to be prepared and careful.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Eli.”

She sobbed and fell into his arms. He patted her back, unsure what he should do with his hands. For goodness’ sake, he’d never consoled a teenage girl before.

“I promise I won’t get hurt.”

“At least you’re okay.”

“I’m happy about that as well.”

“Listen,” Eli said, “I need to speak with Officer Jenkins. Don’t budge from the cruiser. I’m going to close the door, okay?”

“I understand.”

Just then, Jenkins stepped out of the house with Clint in tow. The gunman cast a sullen glare toward the cruiser, but Jenkins gave him a nudge to keep him moving.

“You sit tight, big guy,” Jenkins said as he helped Clint into the back of the squad car.

He turned toward Eli, giving a low chuckle when he saw Maya. “So this was quite the eventful ride-along, huh?”

Eli shook his head. “Not exactly what I had in mind.”

“The chief won’t be thrilled when he hears about this.”

Moretti would have plenty to say, and Eli wasn’t looking forward to hearing it.

“Worse than that,” Eli said, glancing at Maya. “Nia is going to flip.”

“You’re in for it now, Mitchell.” Jenkins whistled.

Nia had trusted him to keep Maya safe, and though he’d ended the standoff peacefully, he knew she would only see that her daughter had been at risk.

“What caused all the trouble?”

Jenkins leaned against the patrol car, crossing his arms. “Turns out Clint caught James fooling around with Marlene. He came home early and found them together. That’s what set him off. At least it didn’t end in gunfire. Thanks to you, nobody died today.”

Eli wondered if there was anything he could have done better.

Yeah, sure. I could have canceled the ride-along.

But no one could have predicted this. He looked at Maya, who was probably still processing what he’d told her.

“Get the reports filed, and I’ll catch up with you in an hour,” Eli told Jenkins. “I’d better get Maya home.”

“Good luck, Mitchell. You’ll need it.”

Eli climbed into the driver’s seat. Maya turned to him, her expression unreadable.

“We’re heading back now?” she asked.

“No choice.” Eli cranked the engine. He had to get her home. Nia would be waiting, and he would have a lot to explain.

25

Evening settled over the house like a shroud. Shadows spread across the floorboards as Kit Stratton finished her chores.

She folded a dish towel over the sink and stared out the window for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The view was always the same—endless stretches of dense forest and rolling hills, with no sign of civilization. No buildings, no roads, just an overwhelming sense of being cut off from the world.

Her gaze lingered on the fading light, a mixture of longing and despair welling up inside her. The terrain was unfamiliar, offering no clues to her location. Each passing hour deepened the sense of isolation.

A sudden touch on her shoulder sent a shock through her body. She spun around to find the man standing uncomfortably close. She battled the urge to step back.

"You've done a marvelous job with our home," he said.

"Thank you for telling me."

He gestured into the living room. "Come. Let's sit for a bit. You must be tired."

Kit hesitated. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her. Reluctantly, she followed him to the couch. As they sat, her muscles tensed.

What does he want?

The fear that he might try to force himself upon her crossed her mind.

He turned to face her, his expression softening. "You seem troubled. Is something bothering you?"

Other than that you kidnapped me and held me captive?

She chose her words carefully. "I've been thinking about my vineyard. Stratton Estates has been facing some challenges."

It wasn’t a lie.

"Go on."

Her eyes dropped to her hands, which lay folded in her lap. "It's been tough keeping things running. The market is competitive, and there have been offers to buy the vineyard. I'm not sure what to do."

"Your wines are exceptional. I've enjoyed them for years. It would be such a shame if you sold."

Surprise flickered across her face. "I don't recall seeing you at any of our tastings."

"I've visited many times. You don’t remember me?"

She studied him, trying to piece together memories. So many customers came through her doors.

"One offer came from Sebastian Lacroix. He's very persistent about acquiring my vineyard."

At the mention of Lacroix's name, the man’s demeanor shifted. A shadow passed over his eyes. "Lacroix, yes. I’m certain he sees unlocked potential in your land."

Did this man know Lacroix? Could Lacroix have sent him?

"He's aggressive in his approach," she said. "But I'm not interested in selling."

He reached out and took her hand, his touch making her squirm. "You must follow your heart. Don't let anyone pressure you into something you don't want. But if you feel the offer is just, I suggest you take the money."

She pulled her hand back. "It's difficult when the pressure is constant."

He rose from the couch. "I must think this over. Together, we will formulate a plan."

As he moved toward the kitchen, she watched with nerves on edge. "Is everything all right?"

He turned back to her, his expression unreadable. "Yes. I just need some time alone. Let me make you some chamomile tea. It will help you relax."

Before she could respond, he disappeared into the kitchen. She sat on the couch and chewed a nail. What was his connection to Lacroix? The way he’d reacted made it clear there was more to the story.

Two minutes later, the kettle whistled; he returned with a mug and handed it to her. "Here you go. My love. Drink up and rest. You've had a long day."

"It smells nice."

“The finest quality. I'm going upstairs to think for a while. We'll talk more later.”

She watched as he ascended the staircase. Once he was out of sight, she allowed herself to breathe. The encounter had left her with more questions than answers.

Sipping the chamomile tea, Kit felt its warmth spread through her, but her mind remained restless. She needed a plan, and time was running out.

26

Nia paced at the edge of the driveway. She was so angry, she couldn’t think. Every time a vehicle turned the corner, a jolt of electricity shot through her body. But none of the vehicles brought her daughter home.

She had heard the call over the police scanner. Domestic dispute. Firearm involved. Panic had hit her like a freight train, and she’d grabbed her phone, sending frantic messages to both Eli and Maya.

Maya’s reply had been brief and frustrating: I’m safe.

Safe.

The word rattled in Nia’s mind. The thought of her daughter near someone with a weapon was too much to handle. Maya could have been killed.

Janet stayed beside her, trying to calm Nia, but the older woman’s voice barely registered.

“Nia, honey, listen to me,” Janet said. “Breathe. Eli didn’t do this on purpose.”

“He promised me he would keep Maya safe. She could have been shot.”

“Yet she stayed safe because Eli kept his head on straight. That man would never knowingly put Maya in danger.”

Nia let out a sharp breath, running her hands through her curls. “I told him to take care of her. How am I supposed to process this?”

“You’re frightened.” Janet placed a steady hand on her arm. “And you have every right to be. But you need to think before you say something you’ll regret. Maya looks up to Eli, and if you come at him too hard, you’ll hurt her too.”

Nia’s jaw tightened. Janet was right. Of course Janet was right. But that didn’t stop the fury from swirling inside Nia. It didn’t stop the image of what could have happened from playing on an endless loop in her mind.

She approached the edge of the driveway and squinted down the road. Maya and Eli should have arrived by now.

Janet squeezed her arm. “Don’t push him away, Nia. Eli cares about both of you. He’ll explain everything. Just let him.”

But Nia’s pulse wouldn’t settle. How could she let go of this?

Then headlights appeared in the distance. Nia stiffened as the cruiser turned onto the street. It seemed like forever before the vehicle rolled into the driveway.

The doors opened, and there they were—Maya climbing out of the passenger side, her face pale but composed, and Eli following, looking exhausted and defensive.

Think before you speak.

Nia’s chest tightened. Her daughter was safe, and that should have been enough.

Maya’s sneakers didn’t touch the driveway before Nia pulled her into a hug.

“Thank goodness, thank goodness.” Nia couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Maya said. “Eli and the other officers kept me safe.”

Nia looked past Maya at Eli, her eyes narrowing. “Inside, Maya. We’ll talk later.”

Maya paused. “Mom, it wasn’t his⁠—”

“Inside, Maya.”

Eli wiped a hand across his lips. He pointed at Maya. “Do as your mother says. Go on.”

Maya lingered a second longer, clearly reluctant to leave them alone, before heading toward the front door. Janet followed the girl inside, but not before shooting a look of warning at Nia.

The front door closed, and the quiet stretched. Nia folded her arms across her chest. She had a thousand things to say, but none of them would fix this.

Eli stepped closer, meeting her gaze head-on. “She’s okay, Nia.”

Nia’s throat tightened. “She could have died, Eli.”

“I realize that,” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “But she did as I told her and stayed inside the cruiser.”

Nia bristled. Her emotions swirled in a blur. “I told you to keep my daughter out of trouble.”

“I did everything I could.” Eli remained calm, though his face showed frustration. “The situation escalated, and I had to respond. I couldn’t drop her off in the middle of nowhere, Nia.”

“You shouldn’t have taken her on that call.” Nia’s voice cracked, and she hated how vulnerable it sounded. “You put my girl at risk!”

“I didn’t have a choice. How could I have predicted this would happen? Our vehicle was the closest to River Bend Road. I couldn’t ignore a domestic with weapons involved, and I didn’t have time to take Maya home.”

Eli was right, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was a dispute had almost escalated into gunfire while Maya sat outside the house.

“This is why I didn’t want her doing a ride-along,” she said.

“We offer ride-alongs all the time. Nothing like this has ever happened.”

“Oh, it must be my lucky day.”

“Nia, stop.” Eli approached with caution. “I care about Maya, and I did everything in my power to ensure nothing happened to her.”

Nia looked away, blinking back tears she didn’t want him to see. “This can’t happen again.”

“It won’t,” Eli promised. “I swear. No more ride-alongs.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

A hurt look fell across his face. “What are you saying?”

“I think you should leave.”

“Nia, don’t do this.”

Eli shifted his feet, waiting for her to take back her words. He wanted forgiveness. But Nia wasn’t ready to forgive him.

“Go home, Eli,” she said. “I need time.”

He pressed his lips together. As he turned to leave, he asked, “What about the investigation?”

“Kit Stratton?”

She wanted to tell Eli to go to hell and solve the case on his own. How could she work alongside the man who’d almost gotten Maya killed?

Yet she couldn’t turn her back on a missing woman.

Though Eli didn’t deserve the help, Nia owed Kit.

“If Moretti doesn’t pull the plug, I’ll use my resources to support Duskwood PD,” Nia said. “Until then, we have nothing to discuss.”

27

Night filled Nia’s bedroom, broken only by the soft glow of moonlight spilling through the window. She lay on her side, her face buried in the pillow, her breath uneven as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Luna and Madrid nestled against her. Madrid’s warm fur brushed against her leg, and Luna rested her head on Nia’s hip, sensing her distress.

Earlier tonight, Maya had begged Nia not to be mad at Eli.

But Maya was a teen. She didn’t see the way things could’ve gone horribly wrong, how one wrong move during a domestic dispute could have ended in a tragedy.

Nia hugged her pillow. Knowing how close Maya had come to dying was a terror she couldn’t shake. She wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

Her thoughts drifted to Eli’s regret and his promise that nothing like this would ever happen again. But this wasn’t just about the ride-along.

It was about trust. A fragile thread that he’d snapped years ago.

The first Cecilia Gray case had begun as an investigation into a wealthy young woman’s disappearance. Nia and Eli had worked the case together, but their partnership had unraveled after he locked her out. Eli claimed he’d done so to keep Nia safe.

Perhaps.

But he’d poisoned the waters with Duskwood PD, turning the department against her. Now Nia played by her own rules, and the officers didn’t like it. Moretti labeled her a rogue, and her credibility with the PD would never recover.

She had buried Eli’s betrayal for too long. Tonight the memories rushed back, sharp and bitter. How could she let Eli close again? How could she allow him into Maya’s life?

But then there was Kit Stratton. For all Nia knew, Kit was alone and in danger. The opportunity to find the missing woman alive was slipping away.

She couldn’t let her anger impede the investigation, and she wouldn’t. But she could set boundaries and prevent Eli from creeping back into their lives.

Nia would request she and Eli split responsibilities. Eli could handle the police work, and Nia would concentrate on leads from her PI contacts. That way, their interactions would stay professional and limited. No more personal favors. No more cozy dinners.

She needed to keep Eli away from Maya. No more dinners, and no more ride-alongs. Eli was no longer welcome around her daughter. This decision would hurt Maya, but protecting the girl came first.

What about Rachel Foster? Nia’s trust for the journalist was tenuous, but Rachel had access to resources neither Nia nor the police had.

Madrid stirred, nudging Nia’s hand with his cold nose. She scratched the dog’s ears, grateful for the comfort. If only human relationships were this easy.

The phone buzzed on the nightstand. Maya was asleep in bed, and Janet had promised to give Nia space. It could only be one person.

She stared at the screen, her heart tightening when Eli’s name glowed against the darkness.

Good news. The report from Atlas Networks won us another week from Moretti.

Nia closed her eyes, gripping the phone as a storm of emotions rained inside her—frustration, anger, regret, but also duty. She wanted to scream at him, tell him he’d already lost something far more important.

Instead, she dried her eyes and typed a response.

Working on a few things tomorrow morning. I’ll send you what I find.

She hit send and placed the phone back on the nightstand. No more letting emotions cloud the investigation. Kit Stratton needed to be found, and Nia was the only one able to navigate the gray areas Eli couldn’t explore.

The boundaries were drawn. Now she just had to defend them.

The house was a silver crypt under the full moon. Kit Stratton lay on the bed, her fingers clutching the blanket.

He was restless tonight. She’d heard him pacing. The sound had stopped ten minutes ago, but she hadn’t dared move. She needed to be sure.

Kit strained to listen. The bed springs in the other room told her he’d gone to bed. Was he asleep? It was impossible to tell. She had heard him muttering to himself earlier, something unintelligible but angry. Maybe tonight he would sleep without stirring. Maybe.

Her head swam with indecision as she slid her legs out from under the quilt. The bed creaked beneath her, and she stopped, praying he hadn’t heard.

She eased her feet onto the floor and stood, her limbs shaky from fear. The darkness felt oppressive, as though it wanted to swallow her.

Do it.

If she waited any longer, she’d talk herself out of it. She couldn’t live another day under his rule.

Kit inched toward the door. The floorboards betrayed every shift of her weight. Kit winced at the sound, imagining his eyes snapping open in the next room.

At the door, she turned the knob. She cracked the door open and peeked out into the corridor. His door stood ajar. Moonlight spilled across the floor.

If she could just make it past his room without waking him, she could reach the stairs. Then it was down to the garage and the antifreeze. This time, she would find where he’d stored it.

Another step. Just a few more, and she would pass his door.

She crept along the wall, with her body pressed against the plaster, as if she could make herself invisible.

A rasping noise came from his room. Was that him breathing?

Three more steps to the stairwell.

Two.

One more, and she grasped the banister.

Then she heard his sheets shifting and the creak of the bed frame.

The blood drained from her face. For several heartbeats, there was nothing but a heavy silence. Had he woken? Was he watching?

Kit peeked around the corner and into his bedroom. He groaned and turned over in bed, tugging the covers past his shoulders.

She closed her eyes, lightheaded with relief.

Every old farmhouse had stairs that groaned and popped, and these were no different. She had memorized which steps to avoid, the ones that emitted the loudest protests.

Kit placed her foot on the edge of the first step. No sound.

Slowly, she descended, testing each step. The dark stairwell seemed endless. At any moment, he would hear her.

It came as a shock when she reached the bottom without incident.

The hallway below was even darker than the second floor. Her eyes adjusted to all that black. The garage door lay beyond the laundry room.

Her eyes landed on the front door. She could forget the antifreeze and run.

But it couldn’t be that simple. The man had covered the doors and windows with motion detectors that would alert him while he slept. He was stronger and faster. She couldn’t outrun him.

Kit passed the washer and dryer. When she reached the garage door, she grasped the knob and twisted. The door opened with a whisper, and she slipped inside.

A clock ticked inside her head. She needed to do this fast.

She scanned the shelves. The antifreeze had to be here somewhere. Kit reached for the first shelf, running her fingers across the dusty containers. Her hands shook, and a can of paint toppled. She caught the can before it crashed against the floor and cursed herself for the clumsiness.

Then she heard the toilet flush.

Ice settled in her veins. If he checked her room…

She threw a frantic glance around the garage. Where was it? As she whirled around, she glimpsed another container behind a set of snow tires.

Upstairs, the bathroom faucet ran.

Hurry!

The antifreeze sat behind the tires. Moaning in relief, she snatched the container and returned to the laundry room. Overhead, the ceiling groaned as he approached the stairs.

“Kit, my love?”

She wanted to scream.

One tentative foot descended the stairs.

Knowing she was trapped, Kit shoved the antifreeze behind the washer.

Her instincts screamed at her to run. But there was nowhere to go. The motion detectors would catch her.

Instead, she rushed into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator; the cool air brushed against her face as she tried to remain steady.

He was close now.

The refrigerator yawned to its maximum width as she sifted through food containers. Cans of soda. Leftover meatloaf. A container of yogurt. Her hands trembled as she moved a jar of pickles to the side.

"My dear?"

He was in the kitchen now.

She plastered on a mask of calm as his shadow stretched across the floor.

"There you are." His voice was warm, yet his eyes held a glint of suspicion.

He knows. He always knows.

Kit pretended not to notice, half burying her head in the fridge. "I think I’m coming down with something," she said, trying to inject a hint of embarrassment into her voice. "My stomach is a mess."

His eyes didn’t leave her. He was studying her, waiting for the inevitable crack in her performance.

"Is that right?"

"I’m sorry if I woke you. I just want something to settle my stomach."

A slow smile grew across his face. He liked this. Liked her dependence.

"Do you know what my mother always gave me? Warm milk." He removed the jar and carried it to the microwave. "That always does the trick."

Kit forced herself to nod. "Oh, I hadn’t thought of that."

She leaned against the counter, watching him from the corner of her eye as he poured milk into a chipped mug. He didn’t speak as he set it on the revolving plate.

A minute later, the microwave beeped, and he retrieved the mug with care, as if he were some doting husband tending to his beloved.

"Here you are," he said, holding out the glass.

She took the mug, her fingers brushing his. She fought the instinct to recoil.

"That was kind of you," she murmured, lifting the drink to her lips.

He watched her.

The milk was thick and tasted of sour tension. She forced herself to take a few sips, knowing it would quell his suspicion.

One more day. Survive this moment.

The smell of soap and damp skin wafted from his hands.

"Stress can make you ill, but you’re doing so well," he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I realize this is hard, but we’re getting better at it. Aren’t we?"

The milk churned in her stomach.

"Better every day," she whispered.

What else could she say?

His hand lingered a moment too long on her shoulder. And then, just as she thought she was safe, his voice dropped an octave.

"You know," he said as his thumb brushed along her collarbone, "if you ever betray me, Kit, I’ll find out. The punishment will be harsh. And final."

She forced herself not to flinch.

"I would never betray you."

"Good," he said, the warmth returning to his voice as quickly as it had disappeared. The change horrified her.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Rest now, my love."

Without another word, he turned and padded through the living room, leaving her alone in the kitchen. She clutched the counter to keep herself upright, breathing through the fear, through the anger.

He thought she was broken.

But he was wrong.

Tomorrow she would finally be free.

28

Nia slid a piece of toast onto Maya’s plate. Her daughter sat at the kitchen table, stirring her cereal with little interest. Maya had been quiet all morning, and Nia knew her daughter well enough to recognize the thoughts spinning beneath the surface.

As if on cue, asked, “Is Eli coming over tonight?”

Nia stiffened. Here we go.

“No, sweetheart. He’s not.”

Maya set down her spoon. “Why not? I enjoy eating dinner with Eli.”

“We need some time apart.”

Nia wasn’t ready for this talk.

Maya frowned, her eyes searching Nia’s face. “What does that mean? Are you guys fighting over me?”

“Of course not.”

“But this is about the ride-along. Tell me I’m wrong.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It always is,” Maya muttered under her breath, slumping in her chair.

Sighing, Nia sat across from her. She wanted to be honest, but Maya only saw the fun and playful Eli. She’d never experienced the officer who’d pushed Nia out of an investigation.

“This isn’t something you need to worry about,” Nia said.

But Maya wasn’t having it. “Why shouldn’t I worry? He’s part of the family, Mom. And I know you like him.”

Nia folded her arms. “This isn’t about who likes who.”

“Then what is it about?” Maya asked, frustration spreading across her face. “He makes you happy. Isn’t that all that matters?”

It wasn’t that simple.

“Don’t argue with your mother.”

“I told you, I was fine during the ride-along. You’re mad at Eli, but it’s not his fault.” Maya’s voice cracked.

“You shouldn’t have been in that situation.”

Maya looked down at the table, picking at the edge of her toast. “But he controlled the situation. I was safe the whole time.”

To Nia’s ears, it sounded as if Eli had told Maya what to say.

“That standoff could have gone wrong in so many ways. Give me time to figure things out.”

“You always do this, Mom. You get scared, and you push people away.”

The words drove the oxygen from Nia’s lungs. For a moment, she was too stunned to respond. Was Maya right? Did Nia drive people from her life at the first sign of trouble?

Don’t question yourself. This is more than a little trouble.

“I’m not pushing Eli away,” Nia said.

Maya gave her a knowing look. “You kind of are.”

Nia didn’t know what to say as she grabbed the car keys. “Finish eating. Come on, I’ll drive you to school. No need to ride the bus.”

The girl dumped the half-consumed breakfast into the sink and grabbed her backpack. Neither spoke as they trudged to the car through the dewy grass.

Once they were on the road, Maya stared out the window. She bit her lip in that stubborn way she had when she was holding something back.

“Just because Eli’s not coming around right now doesn’t mean the two of us can’t have fun as a family.”

Maya shrugged. “Sure feels like we can’t.”

“I can’t deal with a relationship right now.”

“Seems to me like you just don’t want to try.”

That one stung. Nia ached, but she knew Maya hadn’t meant to hurt her. The girl didn’t know the true Eli Mitchell.

“That’s not fair,” Nia said softly.

Maya didn’t respond right away. The hum of the tires was the only sound.

“I just liked having him around.”

“I know you did. But we’ll have a special family meal tonight. Maybe we can have Grandma Janet over.”

“I guess.”

They pulled into the school parking lot. Buses unloaded amid a sea of backpacks and chatter. Nia shifted the gear and looked at Maya.

“Try not to think about it,” Nia said. “Concentrate on school. I’m sure you can’t wait to see your friends.”

Maya dabbed the corner of her eye with a tissue. The hurt was still there, and Nia was responsible.

Opening the door, Maya slung the backpack over her shoulder.

“Don’t wait too long to forgive him,” Maya said. “Sometimes people don’t come back.”

Nia’s mouth went dry. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

Maya shut the door and walked toward the school building without looking back. Nia sat for a long time, unable to put two thoughts together. A honking horn convinced her to leave the curb.

As Nia drove away from the school, the phone buzzed. Rachel Foster’s name appeared on the dashboard screen.

“Rachel,” Nia said. “Long time, no chat. I guess you’re angry at me like everyone else is?”

“Good morning to you too,” Rachel said, a smirk audible in her tone. “I’ve been working on the Kit Stratton investigation.”

“Please tell me you can help me find her.”

“I heard from one of my readers this morning. A customer at a farm stand between Auburn and Duskwood swears they saw Kit there on the night she vanished.”

Nia’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “Does the sighting sound credible?”

“The customer swears it was Kit. They remembered her SUV and how she bought two bottles of honey.”

“When?”

“A little before sunset.”

“That fits the timeline.” Nia turned a corner. She couldn’t see the school anymore. “Which farm stand?”

“Hardwick's,” Rachel said. “Apparently, it was busy that evening. Families coming through after a long day, buying fresh produce and baked goods.”

“If Kit stopped at Hardwick’s, she was still making her way back to Duskwood. That’s her route.”

“That’s great, right? See, I told you I could help.”

“I never doubted you, Rachel,” Nia said, though she had.

“Should I forward the information to Eli?”

Nia didn’t reply.

“Are you there?”

“I’m here,” Nia said. “Eli and I aren’t speaking to each other right now.”

“You had a falling out?”

“Something like that,” Nia muttered, irritation creeping into her voice. She wasn’t in the mood for Rachel’s snark. If the reporter knew about the ride-along disaster, she would understand.

“I told you never to trust Eli Mitchell. You should have listened to me. Duskwood PD cops range from corrupt criminals to authoritarian despots, and Eli is the worst of the bunch.”

“I don’t have time for this, Rachel,” Nia said.

“Don’t waste time with someone who can’t see your worth.”

“Do you have anything else, or was this call just to gloat about me trusting Eli?”

“I would never gloat. And anyhow, we can find Kit Stratton together. We don’t need a Duskwood cop.”

But Nia did need Eli. Or at least one law enforcement officer. No matter what Rachel believed, the reporter didn’t have enough contacts to make Eli expendable.

“Rachel, I have no choice. I need to bring this development to Eli.”

“Do you really have to? That jerk promised to include me in the investigation, and he hasn’t spoken to me since. We don’t owe him.”

Three investigators, and none wanted to work together.

How would they find Kit Stratton?

29

Kit stirred the scrambled eggs, her focus shifting from the sizzling pan to the laundry room’s entrance. Her abductor’s footsteps echoed from down the hall before he entered the kitchen, giving her a long, untrusting stare.

She turned, trying to keep her expression neutral. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute. I just need to finish the eggs.”

He didn’t respond, instead watching her without blinking, as if he could peer into her thoughts.

Kit added salt and pepper. She just needed enough time to slip into the laundry room, retrieve the antifreeze, and add enough to his food to do the job. But with him hovering like a shadow, getting to the laundry room seemed impossible.

The oatmeal sat in a bowl, ready to be doctored. The oats were seasoned with honey and the slight bitterness from the antifreeze would be easily masked.

“Don’t burn those eggs,” he said.

“I know how to cook eggs.”

He grimaced. “Don’t get an attitude with me, Kit, or I will have no choice but to correct you. I’ll let it go this time.”

“I’m sorry. Guess I’m still under the weather.”

“Didn’t the milk quiet your stomach?”

“Not completely.”

“Hmm.”

He returned to the dining area, but not before shooting her another look. This was her chance.

She turned off the burner and grabbed the bowl of oatmeal. While he busied himself elsewhere, she rushed into the laundry room and searched for the container behind the washer. Where was it?

No. He couldn’t have discovered her plan.

But it wasn’t here. It was⁠—

Her fingers brushed against the antifreeze. An exhale escaped her nose.

She brought the container forward, pulling off the cap as she looked back at the kitchen. She needed just a small amount, enough to go unnoticed.

Kit poured a careful dash of the antifreeze into his oatmeal and stirred it until she was certain the telltale color had blended with the oats.

The footsteps returned.

She jammed the container behind the washer and hurried back to the kitchen, where she set the bowl on the table. When he entered the kitchen, she stood at the stove, scooping the scrambled eggs onto a plate.

There was that whistle again. Whatever the song was, it made her want to scream.

She poured coffee into a cup as he wandered around the kitchen table, as if searching for something.

“Breakfast is ready,” she said, lowering her eyes as she set the oatmeal and eggs on the table.

“Wonderful. Did you enjoy the chamomile tea? I picked it up at a farm stand on Route 314.”

A farm stand. Was that where this man had slashed her tire?

“Yes, it helped me sleep.”

He poured boiling water into a cup and dropped a tea bag into the liquid. “Then have another cup. I must say, this is the finest chamomile I’ve encountered.”

The man handed her the tea and fell into his chair. Trying to please him, she sipped the tea, which was quite good.

Kit watched as he picked up his spoon. Her heart pounded as he brought the food to his lips. His eyes held hers. Then he lowered the spoon.

No!

“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked her.

Kit grasped for an answer. “I told you. My stomach is still upset.”

“Oatmeal is perfect for settling a grumpy tummy,” he said, nudging the bowl in her direction. “That’s what my mother always said. I cannot eat until you do.”

“No, I’d rather wait until lunch.”

“Nonsense. Besides, I want to ensure you didn’t mess up breakfast like you did on the first morning we spent together.”

“Honey, I can’t eat.”

“You will eat. Come now. Just a little taste? Do it for me, Tina.”

Tina. There was that name again.

“My name is Kit. You know that.”

The man didn’t reply. He only stared with expectancy.

She felt her throat close up. He was waiting for her to eat the oatmeal.

Her hand shook as she picked up the spoon, the thick oats and honey clinging to the metal.

Kit could almost see the green tint from the antifreeze, though she was certain she’d mixed the poison into the oats and made her betrayal invisible.

Yet he knew something was up. He leaned forward. “Go on, Kit Take a bite. Oatmeal makes a body strong.”

She brought the spoon closer. She could fake swallowing, then rush to the bathroom and force herself to vomit. But he was watching her think. Her pulse drummed as she opened her mouth, tasting the bitter tang masked by honey and oats.

The poison slid onto her tongue. She forced herself to swallow, fighting the bile surging up her throat.

“See? Perfect,” he said, his lips curving into a pleased smile as he picked up his own spoon. “I’m certain you’ll feel better before lunchtime. Please slide the bowl across the table.”

Was he going to eat?

Did it matter? She’d just consumed antifreeze.

No, just a little. Not enough to kill me.

I hope.

As he took his first bite, Kit couldn’t stop herself from quivering. She’d only consumed a tiny amount, but she could still feel it burning her throat.

It’s all in my head. There is no burning.

She forced herself to stay in her seat, praying that the minimal amount wouldn’t harm her. But all she wanted to do was sprint to the bathroom and stick two fingers down her throat.

“This is so good,” he said with a grin. “In fact, it might be the best breakfast I’ve ever eaten.”

Her eyes drooped. The chamomile tea shouldn’t have made her this tired. Was it the antifreeze? No. She’d consumed so little.

Forcing herself to stay awake, she watched him take another bite, the satisfaction clear in his eyes as he relaxed, reassured that she’d eaten a portion of the oatmeal.

“You flatter me,” she said.

“Yet you deserve the praise, my love. Perhaps later we can celebrate together.”

“Celebrate?”

The man gave her a knowing look before his eyes drifted to the staircase. He wanted to sleep with her.

Masking her revulsion, Kit flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Only if you eat your breakfast. You’ll need your strength with me.”

He purred. Goosebumps formed on her body.

“Then I will consume every bite.”

30

At Hardwick’s Farm Stand, Nia parked and took in the quaint setup. Wooden crates overflowing with apples, pumpkins, and jars of preserves lined the tables under a tent. Families strolled from stall to stall, children carrying bags of freshly baked cookies.

Rachel waited at the entrance, scribbling in a small notepad. “Morning,” Rachel said, tucking the notebook away. “Ready to find some answers?”

“I just hope someone remembers more than what your source gave us. Let’s split up and ask about Kit. I’ll take the stalls to the left. You go right.”

“Gotcha.” Rachel stopped. “Wait, I thought you said we needed that jerk of a Duskwood cop.”

“I’ll call him with the details. In the meantime, find out everything you can.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. It’s fun beating Eli Mitchell to the punch.”

The two of them went their separate ways, Nia heading toward an older woman working the honey stand, where Kit had reportedly bought two bottles.

“I’m looking for information on Kit Stratton. She was here the night she vanished during the evening rush. Do you remember seeing her?”

The woman squinted, thinking back. “I recall a lady buying honey that night. Tall, dark hair. Seemed polite, but didn’t stay long. She paid and went on her way.”

“Did you notice anyone following her, or anybody acting unusual?” Nia asked.

The woman shook her head. “No, but I was busy waiting on customers. She seemed fine.”

“Kit’s vehicle had a flat tire. I haven’t determined if the flat occurred here or close to Duskwood. Do you recall anything about someone having trouble with a vehicle?”

“Nobody had a flat tire or anything like that. If this woman had, my husband or I would’ve been happy to help.”

As Nia moved to speak with another vendor, she dialed Duskwood PD and pressed the phone against her ear. The man working the phones said Eli was out on a call, but she could leave a message. Nia gave the man the information about the farm stand.

There, she had done her part and informed the local police about the Kit Stratton sighting at the farm stand. If they didn’t act, fine. Maybe Rachel was right. They could find Kit without Eli’s help.

Rachel appeared at Nia’s side, brow furrowed. “They’re all saying the same thing: no trouble, no cars following Kit out of the parking lot, nothing unusual. She came and left without a hitch.”

“Then she must have been targeted sometime after leaving here,” Nia mused. “Whoever slashed her tire must have done it while she was still within driving distance of Duskwood.”

“Possibly on one of those back roads we checked out yesterday,” Rachel added. “Which would mean she had no way to contact anyone once she realized she had a flat. Not unless there was someone close by. How long does it take to recognize a flat?”

“It depends on how slow the leak is. If this guy was smart, he ensured the tire would lose air gradually.”

“So he could have done the deed here,” said Rachel.

“And followed her toward Duskwood, yes.” Nia’s gaze traveled down the tree-lined road leading away from the farm stand. “Keep interviewing people. Someone may have seen more than they realize.”

At that moment, a message arrived from Eli.

Heard you called. I hit that farm stand yesterday. Seems like a dead end.

Nia stared at the text. Wasn’t Eli the least bit interested now that someone had remembered seeing the missing woman?

She was here, Eli. Duskwood PD should be all over this place.

We’re swamped, and I don’t have time to drive back and forth across the county on a whim. Shoot me a text if you come across anything we don’t already know.

She thumbed a response, erased it, and wrote another. In the end, she deleted the message and decided not to reply.

As Nia finished speaking to the last vendor, her attention shifted down the road to a cluster of houses nestled among a stand of trees. Any of those properties might have security cameras. If Kit had passed by here, there was a chance one of those cameras had caught her SUV, or even captured someone trailing her.

She waved Rachel over. “Do you see those houses down there?” she asked, pointing.

Rachel followed her line of sight. “Yeah. Country living with a suburban flare. What about them?”

“Maybe they own security cameras. If Kit left the farm stand and drove past, a camera would have picked up her car. It’s a long shot, but it could confirm if she was alone when she left.”

“Worth a try. I’ll keep talking to the vendors if you don’t mind tackling the houses.”

“Not at all. Meet back here in twenty.”

Nia crossed the road and approached the row of houses. The first house, a small white bungalow with blue shutters, had a sign for a dog-grooming business in the window. Nia approached the door and rang the bell. After a few moments, an man in his late sixties opened the door, squinting at her through his thick glasses.

“Can I help you?”

She displayed her ID and explained she was investigating a potential incident at the farm stand and asked if he had security cameras that faced the road.

The man scratched his head, glancing over his shoulder as if to check. “We don’t have any cameras ourselves,” he said. “But the couple next door installed one last winter after they had a Christmas gift stolen off the porch. The camera covers the front of the house and yard. I assume it captures the road.”

Nia thanked him and made her way to the neighboring house, a charming yellow cottage with trimmed hedges. She rang the doorbell and a young woman with a baby on her hip answered after a brief wait.

“Hi there,” Nia said, smiling. “My name is Nia Carter. I’m with a private investigator from Duskwood. My partner and I are looking into the case of a missing person who may have driven down this road recently. I understand you might have a security camera that faces the road?”

The woman appeared surprised that Nia knew about her cameras. “Yes, we had the camera put in after a few packages went missing last December.”

“Does the camera cover the road?”

“Sure does.”

Nia pointed back toward Hardwick’s. “Any chance it covers that parking area?”

The woman rubbed her mouth. “I think so, but I can’t say for sure. Our system saves the recordings for up to a year. I can show you the footage if that helps. How much do you need?”

“Not a year’s worth, but that would be incredibly helpful. Thank you.”

Nia double-checked her notes and fed the woman the information.

The neighbor led Nia into a living room that evoked feelings of warmth. The walls were a soft cream color and adorned with framed family photos and tasteful landscape paintings. A cushy sofa with patterned pillows dominated the space, and toys lay scattered near the coffee table, evidence of a toddler’s recent playtime.

“My name is Anna, by the way,” the woman said, flashing a smile as she shifted the baby onto her other hip. “And this is my husband, Pat.”

Pat, a friendly-looking man in his early thirties, appeared from the kitchen, drying his hands with a towel. He offered a polite nod.

Anna explained why Nia was here.

“I’m afraid I’m not much help when it comes to tech,” Pat admitted, scratching his head sheepishly. “Can never figure out how to get the security footage without Anna’s help.”

Anna laughed and waved away his concern. “Don’t pay my husband any mind. His expertise is in lawn equipment, but I know all about the recordings. I’ve had to become a bit of an expert after the Christmas issues. Our computer is in the study.”

Nia followed Anna into the study, a room lined with bookshelves and a sturdy desk beneath a large window that looked out over their yard. A computer rested on the desk. Anna settled her child into a playpen in the corner before pulling up a chair in front of the screen. She opened the security footage software and entered the date and time Nia had given her.

“All right, let’s start looking,” Anna said, clicking through the clips. Together, they fast-forwarded through footage of quiet road scenes. A delivery truck passed by, then a couple of cyclists. For a while, there was nothing.

Nia’s fingers tapped on the desk, her face tensing with frustration as she stared at the screen. She could see Hardwick’s parking area. Several vehicles slumbered on an unpaved stretch of grass and weeds.

“Usually there is something more interesting than this,” Anna said. “Last week, the cameras recorded a tractor trailer that almost ran over a jogger. The sheriff came out this way. I understand they ticketed the driver.”

Finally, an SUV appeared in the top right corner of the frame.

“That’s her vehicle,” Nia said, shifting her chair forward.

“This woman is missing?”

“Yes.”

Anna slowed the playback, and they both watched as the vehicle rolled into view. The SUV appeared blood-red under the setting sun. The driver’s side had been captured, and Kit was alone in the vehicle.

Nia squinted at the tires. Although the right-front tire wasn’t flat, the SUV seemed to sag in that direction whenever the vehicle hit a rut. When Kit turned, the under-inflated tire tugged the vehicle to the right before she corrected her direction. Nia licked her lips as she scrutinized the screen.

“The front tire looks low,” Nia said, more to herself than to Anna. “I’d bet the pressure was already down, but not enough for someone in a rush to notice.”

“Looks that way. She’s lucky she got this far without it going flat.”

Except Kit didn’t get far. Somewhere down the road, the tire lost its remaining air and forced her to the shoulder. Then someone arrived and took her.

Anna moved the recording forward. “Is that everything you needed?”

“Not yet. Could you keep the footage rolling for a few minutes? I’d like to see if anyone else leaves around the same time our SUV did.”

They watched as Kit’s SUV disappeared down the road, the vehicle’s tilt visible only to a trained eye.

Within the next four minutes, three separate vehicles exited the parking lot, each headed in the same direction Kit had taken. The glare of the windshields made it impossible to identify the vehicles’ occupants. Nia copied the license plate numbers of all three vehicles, not knowing if she was observing a family heading home or a deranged killer.

After the last vehicle drove out of view, Nia turned to Anna. “I think that’s all I need. Would it be okay if I copied the footage onto a thumb drive?”

“Be my guest.” Anna leaned back, a shadow of worry crossing her face. “Is something going on? Do Pat and I have any reason to be concerned?”

“No, you should be safe here. Our missing woman disappeared outside of Duskwood. I’d keep an eye out for anything unusual, and if you notice any strangers hanging around, call me.”

She handed Anna her business card.

“I will reach out if I see anything.”

“You’ve been a tremendous help,” Nia said as she rose from her seat.

“We’re happy to lend a hand.”

As Nia left the house, she wondered if Anna had a reason to be concerned. What if she was wrong about a competitor abducting Kit Stratton? She had to consider another possibility—a predator was stalking the countryside between Auburn and Duskwood, and Kit was his first victim.

31

Nia and Rachel met in Hardwick’s parking lot. Nia sat on the hood of her car, recounting what she’d seen on the security footage.

"Kit’s SUV appeared, and although it didn’t have a flat tire, it looked as if the right front tire was sagging. I got the plates of three other vehicles that departed after she left."

Rachel nodded, processing the information. “Any of those plates might reveal who took Kit Stratton. Nice work, Nia.”

Nia suppressed a smile. Rachel already considered herself on equal footing with Nia and Eli.

“Did you learn anything on your end?”

“One vendor I spoke to said he noticed a man acting weird around the time Kit was there.”

“Define weird.”

“The guy didn’t buy anything, but he hung around longer than most folks. Unfortunately, there’s nothing concrete to prove he was following Kit Stratton.”

“Still, we’re getting closer to finding out who might have taken her.”

The phone alarm hummed in Nia’s pocket. A reminder about another investigation she’d been balancing popped onto the screen. She was juggling too many cases.

“Problem?” Rachel asked.

“Just another investigation I need to follow up on. I need to address this.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow, a spark of eagerness flashing across her face. “Want some backup? I can tag along and help with your PI stuff.”

It seemed Rachel was more interested in solving crimes than writing about them.

“You have enough to handle at the newspaper. I’m following up on a lead for another client. After I take care of this, I’ll do more legwork, and if I come up with anything new, I’ll call you.”

Rachel looked disappointed. “Okay, but don’t hesitate if you want an extra set of eyes.”

“Will do.”

Nia climbed into her car and exited the parking lot. Although turning left was the most direct route back to her house, she turned right, following the path Kit had taken. The drive would take an additional fifteen minutes, but the extra time seemed worthwhile. Kit Stratton was her priority.

Despite Nia’s best efforts, the drive bore no fruit. She arrived home in time to eat lunch and get back to work.

As she chewed on a sandwich, her eyes landed on Maya’s hoodie on a chair. She couldn’t look at the sweatshirt without cringing over what might have happened during the ride-along. Eli could make excuses, but it was his fault Maya had ended up at the scene of a violent domestic dispute. How could Eli claim to care so much about Maya’s wellbeing? Sure, he couldn’t have predicted the dispute—but he was an experienced police officer and knew any ride-along could become dangerous.

After washing the dishes, Nia settled into her office, pulling up the files on her other case—a marital investigation. Her client, Laura Perkins, had hired her a week ago to follow up on suspicious behavior by her husband, Greg. Laura noticed unexplained absences, late-night “business meetings,” and odd charges on their credit card statements. This was work Nia didn’t always enjoy, but Laura needed answers and it was Nia’s job to find them.

She reviewed the information. Greg frequented a restaurant called Bower & Pine, a place he’d never mentioned to his wife. Laura suspected Greg wasn’t working late but was instead meeting someone, potentially another woman. Four nights ago, Greg had been there for hours, and today Nia was supposed to review photos of the people he’d met and document his interactions. She downloaded the photos, organizing them in a folder for Laura to review.

These cases curdled Nia’s stomach, but she had her role, and she couldn’t let personal feelings cloud her judgment or affect her professionalism. She shot off a text to Laura and offered to meet tomorrow to discuss what she’d found.

Now she could turn her attention back to the Kit Stratton case. She inserted the thumb drive and created a backup of Anna’s recordings. Then she pulled the footage into another application and sifted through the video.

Nia cross-referenced the license plates on the screen with the ones she'd written in her notebook. Ensuring each digit was correct, she then fed the numbers into a database used by licensed investigators to identify registered vehicle owners and associated records.

The first license plate came back clean, registered to a local resident with no flags or alerts. Nia moved on to the second plate, finding the same result: a Geneva resident with a spotless record. But that didn’t prove the drivers were innocent. A killer would stay below the radar.

The third plate brought her up short. A flashing alert showed up next to the search results. According to the database, this vehicle, a sedan, had been reported stolen in Auburn two days before Kit’s disappearance. The car’s registered owner, a seventy-four-year-old man, had reported the theft. His car hadn’t been seen since. Until now.

On the footage, the vehicle idled in the farm stand parking lot for four minutes after Kit pulled out.

This was more than a coincidence. Someone had been tailing Kit and using a stolen vehicle to avoid easy identification. She jotted down the relevant details on the stolen sedan, noting the car’s make and model along with the alert code, and prepared to call the police. She hoped Eli wouldn’t answer.

A receptionist did. Nia requested to speak with an officer about a lead in Kit Stratton’s case. She didn’t ask for Eli. If he wasn’t around, that was fine by her.

A moment later, Officer Jenkins picked up. “Jenkins here. Is that you, Nia?”

Thank goodness. Jenkins was one of the few officers Nia liked and trusted.

“Hey, Jenkins. I found footage of a stolen car leaving Hardwick’s minutes after Kit Stratton’s SUV. It was reported missing in Auburn two days before her disappearance, and now we have it following her. I’ll send the plate information and video time codes. This car could be key.”

“Interesting,” Jenkins said. “At the very least, you put us on the trail of a stolen sedan. Appreciate it, Nia. I’ll bring this to Auburn PD. Good find. And maybe it will lead us to Kit Stratton.”

“Glad you think so.”

Jenkins paused before speaking. “Look, if you don’t mind me saying, Eli is pretty shaken over what happened with Maya. You know how these things go. We can’t forecast crimes any more than a meteorologist can tell us what the weather will be a year from now. Maybe give him a break?”

Nia’s jaw tightened. “That’s between Eli and me, Jenkins.”

“Just saying, he’s dealing with the fallout and still trying to follow every lead. It’s a lot of weight for one person to carry.”

“Then it’s good he has you as a friend,” she said, immediately regretting the curt response. Officer Jenkins didn’t mean any harm. “Sorry about that. I know you’re just looking out for Eli. Thanks for taking the information. Let me know if you find that sedan.”

“Okay, Nia. Please remember what I said about Eli.”

Nia ended the call without responding. She wasn’t about to discuss her issues with Eli over the phone. Jenkins’ child hadn’t been the one in harm’s way, and he hadn’t been there when Eli had shut her out of the Cecila Gray investigation.

For now, she’d let Jenkins handle this lead, and she’d follow up on other angles with Rachel.

32

Nia was deep into reviewing case notes when a knock jolted her out of her concentration. She glanced at the time and rose, surprised to see Rachel standing on her front porch, face flushed with anger.

“It’s only two o’clock,” Nia said. “I told you I’d call after I finished working.”

“Don’t act like nothing is going on, Nia,” Rachel snapped as she pushed her way inside. “I just heard about the ride-along with Maya. You let her go with Eli? And then he dragged her into a domestic dispute and arrested an armed man?”

Who had told the reporter about Maya and Eli?

“Rachel, calm down. The situation got out of hand, and I’m dealing with it.”

“Eli responded to a violent situation with a weapon involved. There’s nothing safe about that. What if the arrest went sideways? Eli is a fool if he thought that was an acceptable risk to take with a teenager in his cruiser.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. The call came in, and Eli’s cruiser was the closest to the scene.”

Good lord. Now Nia was defending Eli.

“He chose to drive Maya around Duskwood in his cruiser, Nia. That’s the problem. He placed your daughter in danger and didn’t prioritize her safety. And don’t play dumb with me. I know how you feel about him. But honestly, do you want this kind of recklessness around Maya?”

“I don’t feel that way about Eli. You’re mistaken.”

The reporter scoffed. “Please. You’re practically a schoolgirl whenever he’s around.”

That couldn’t be true.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“If you say so,” Rachel said. “You know as well as I do how fast domestic disputes can escalate. Eli was her protector, but his role as an officer overrides everything else when he’s on the job. You can’t afford to have someone in Maya’s life who has to split his loyalty like that.”

“I appreciate you looking out for us, Rachel, but I’m handling the situation.”

“So Officer Eli Mitchell won’t be joining you for dinner anymore?”

Nia lifted her chin. “That’s my decision. Let’s just say I’m keeping Eli at arm’s length for the time being.”

“Wise move. Maya deserves stability and security, not someone whose idea of a safe day includes an armed standoff. If Eli cared about your daughter, he should have known better. And if you care about Maya, you’ll end things with him. Permanently.”

“Is this your only reason for showing up while I’m working? Just to vent about Eli Mitchell?”

Rachel let out a frustrated breath, as if reining in her anger. “No, actually. I want an update on the license plates you copied down from the farm stand footage.”

“While you were at the newspaper, I ran the plates through a PI database. Two cars came up clean, but one—a sedan—was reported stolen just before Kit disappeared.”

Rachel’s eyes lit up with interest. “A stolen car? That’s something. Have you spoken with the owner?”

“Not yet,” Nia said, sensing where Rachel was going with this. “I wanted to check with Duskwood PD before making any moves.”

Rachel crossed her arms, her tone shifting to one of impatient insistence. “Screw them. Let’s go. We need to talk to this guy. If he has any idea who stole his car, he might point us to Kit Stratton’s location.”

“I was planning on handling this solo.”

The reporter wouldn’t back down. “Nia, you need someone who can follow up with connections and get people to talk to the press if we hit dead ends. Besides, I’m already here. And I’m the one who led you to Hardwick’s.”

“That’s true.”

Dealing with Rachel’s blunt approach wasn’t ideal, but the reporter’s persistence might pull useful information from reluctant sources.

“Come on, Nia. Don’t treat me like your old boyfriend did.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend.” Nia snatched her keys out of her pocket. “If you really want to help with the investigation, I could use the company. But I’m driving. And Rachel?”

Rachel gave Nia an expectant look.

“Follow my lead. This is still my case.”

Thirty minutes later, they drove into Auburn. Stone River Distributors passed by in a blur, and Nia’s thoughts drifted back to her previous visit with Eli. She chided herself for being a fool. Working with Eli Mitchell or any Duskwood PD officer was impossible.

They arrived at a one-story house. A cluttered porch overflowed with potted plants. Nia and Rachel climbed the steps and rang the doorbell. A man in a plaid shirt answered. Silver hair framed his face.

“Mr. Crane?” Nia asked, displaying her ID. “I’m Nia Carter, a private investigator from Duskwood. This is my colleague, Rachel Foster. We’re here to ask you a few questions about your stolen car.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “Sure, I told the police. But I never thought a PI would take the case.”

“The police are still involved. I’m offering assistance.”

“Then come on in. I’m glad someone is finally taking an interest. It’s hard to get around without a car.”

They settled on his couch. Crane sat across from them in a recliner.

“Mr. Crane, could you walk us through what happened with your car?” Nia asked.

“I parked it in front of the house, like always. When I woke up the next morning, it was gone. This isn’t the safest place in Auburn, but I can’t say I saw this coming.”

Rachel clicked her pen. “Did you notice anyone strange around the neighborhood? Maybe someone watching your house?”

Nia shot her a look. Rachel was supposed to let Nia ask the questions.

Crane frowned, thinking. “Well, now that you mention it, there was a guy hanging around the street about a day or so before. I figured he was working on someone’s property. We get lots of landscapers in this neighborhood.”

“Can you describe this man?” Nia asked, redirecting Crane’s attention to her.

“Nope. He wore a cap and was halfway down the road.”

Rachel cut in again. “Did you report this guy to the police when you called them about the theft?”

“Sure, I told them. They checked around, and two neighbors mentioned hiring workers. The police figured the guy I saw was harmless.”

“This stuff drives me crazy. The police miss patterns, and the small stuff slips through.”

That was the way the rest of the interview went. Nia kept trying to steer the conversation, and Rachel kept getting in the way.

Crane didn’t know who’d stolen his sedan, and nobody in the neighborhood could provide additional information.

As they left the residence, Nia didn’t think she could work with Rachel any longer. Though she valued the reporter’s opinions, Rachel refused to stay in her lane.

Which left Nia with one colleague—Eli Mitchell.

33

Eli worked in the records room of the Duskwood Police Department, his desk littered with files and notes detailing Kit Stratton’s financials. He skimmed over her records, searching for anyone who might have viewed the vineyard owner as more than a business rival. So far, he had a rough picture of Stratton Estates’ monetary situation. It was strained, with significant debt to suppliers and the bank. Still, nothing screamed motive.

He opened Kit’s contact list and noted each name connected to her business. Among them, several vineyard owners popped up, including suppliers, buyers, and distributors. He marked each name, knowing these were the people who’d have the most to gain if Kit failed.

“All right, let’s see,” Eli muttered, adjusting his glasses and jotting notes.

He’d start with Kit’s biggest distributor, Stone River, which had a solid reputation but also a stake in Kit’s vineyard. A lucrative distribution deal with Stone River could have kept Kit afloat for another season. Derek Sanders, the man he’d interviewed, had been one of the last people Kit encountered before vanishing. But Eli saw no reason for this man to injure her. Stone River stood to gain significantly if the distribution deal found success.

He marked the distributors as “low-risk” suspects and moved on to the competitors. Here, Sebastian Lacroix’s name loomed. Lacroix, the most powerful vineyard owner in the region, wouldn’t stop until he owned the entire lakefront. But was he the type to cross the line and murder a competitor?

Eli leaned back, frowning as he flipped through Lacroix’s file. Lacroix always worked within the law. He used his financial resources and influence to his advantage, and there wasn’t a single incident suggesting he’d gone further than using aggressive business tactics. In fact, Eli couldn’t even prove that Lacroix was as ruthless as Rachel Foster and the other townsfolk claimed. All he had to go on was rumor. Kit’s property was valuable. But if Lacroix wanted to take it, a simple buyout would have been his usual approach.

“Come on, there has to be something I’m missing.”

The more he dug, the more it felt like Lacroix was too obvious. What if another competitor had stepped in, someone hiding behind the smokescreen of Lacroix’s reputation?

He picked up a report from the financial records department. Kit had recently canceled a distribution contract for grapes, opting instead for a direct sales approach. And as he’d already learned, she only sold grapes to a few markets. Gone were the days when Statton Estates’ grape trade matched the wine sales. According to the report, her customer contacts had increased as she expanded her reach. Was it possible that she’d attracted an unknown competitor who saw her change in strategy as a threat?

He scrolled through sales records and looked for unknown names and suspicious purchases. A voice broke his concentration, and Jenkins slid into his chair at the neighboring desk. “Any luck?”

“Some, I think. I found a few competitors spreading into the Finger Lakes, but none seem to have a reason to eliminate Kit Stratton.”

“Not even Sebastian Lacroix?”

“I’m certain Lacroix wished Kit would sell him her land. That way he could expand from the central lake district to the eastern shores. I’m thinking he might have a reason to want her out of the picture, but I can’t prove anything.”

“Well, the clock’s ticking. If you want this investigation to go somewhere, you might need to get creative. Or turn up the heat.”

“You mean, visit Lacroix again?”

“If I were you, I’d already be in his face.”

As Jenkins went about his work, Eli drummed his fingers on the desk. His mind drifted to Nia. Ever since the ride-along, she’d locked him out, stonewalling any attempt he made to reconnect. He wondered if she’d ever see things his way. Eli hadn’t asked for the situation to turn dangerous, and he’d done everything he could to keep Maya safe.

Glowering, he chewed on the end of a pen. Nia had trusted him to look out for Maya, and he had. The incident had been unpredictable, a one-in-a-million chance. Nia’s rejection stung, not just because of Maya, but because he thought he and Nia had built something real.

Maybe he should just forget her. Especially since she hadn’t told him about the stolen sedan following Kit Stratton away from the farm stand. He’d learned about Crane’s missing vehicle from Jenkins.

But pushing Nia away was easier said than done. She was smart, stubborn, and relentless in a way that challenged him like no one else. Until their latest blowup, he’d pictured himself spending the rest of his life with Nia.

Marriage?

No, not Eli.

Why not?

He shook off the thought. Nia hated Eli, and he couldn’t waste his time fixing the unrepairable.

Still, the Kit Stratton case needed the skills of both. Much as he wanted to push Nia out of his mind, he couldn’t. She had connections he didn’t, insights that went beyond what he could pull up in a database. Above all, she had that PI intuition that made her a force in the field. If he wanted to find Kit, he would need Nia’s help.

He glanced at his phone, the temptation to text her tugging at him. She’d probably respond with cold professionalism, another reminder of how far their relationship had sunk. He suspected she was just as torn as he was, keeping her distance out of anger and fear. After all, hadn’t she always been reluctant to let him in too close?

Sighing, Eli returned his attention to his notes. Jenkins was right. He needed to speak with Lacroix.

It took Eli longer than normal to reach the Lacroix estate. Construction in Duskwood had slowed the town to a crawl.

He approached the gated entrance, expecting Claude, Lacroix’s personal assistant, to throw up another wall of polite indifference.

But as Eli slowed near the entrance, Claude opened the door, appearing anxious.

“Officer Mitchell, I’m glad you’re here.”

Eli raised a brow. “Glad? That’s new. Usually, I’m not welcome on these grounds.”

Claude glanced over his shoulder, as if watching for someone. “That would ordinarily be the case, yes. Not today. I was about to call you.”

“Why?”

The assistant hesitated, his fingers twisting nervously on his shirt. “Mr. Lacroix went to Skaneateles early this morning to meet with a business partner. He was due to contact me by noon. It’s now well past two o’clock, and I haven’t heard from him.”

“Lacroix is a busy man. Are you sure he isn’t stuck in his meeting?” Eli asked, feeling a creeping sense of unease.

“Mr. Lacroix is always punctual. When he says he will call, he calls. I’ve tried reaching him several times, but there’s been no answer.”

Eli glanced up at the sky. The morning blue had given way to a slate of gray.

Kit Stratton was missing. And now nobody could find Sebastian Lacroix.

34

Kit snapped awake with her cheek pressed against the cold tile of the laundry room floor. The sound of a door opening snapped her to full awareness, filling her with dread. She tried to make sense of her surroundings. How had this happened?

A wave of nausea washed over her as she scrambled to her knees, fighting to gather her thoughts. She remembered breakfast. Then she’d started a load of laundry. But after that, everything blurred together in a murky fog. The wall clock ticked, its hands pointing to 2 p.m. How long had she slept?

Heavy footsteps pounded through the house. He had left her alone in the house. All this time, she could have run and freed herself.

She stifled a groan. He must have drugged her so he could leave without worrying. Her earlier victory of slipping antifreeze into his breakfast vanished like smoke. He’d outsmarted her again.

Before she could steady herself, he appeared in the doorway, his tall frame casting a shadow over her face. His brow knitted in concern as he approached with a look of exaggerated sympathy.

“Kit, my dear,” he said, bending down to help her up. His grip was gentle, his hands warm, but she could feel the deceit behind the touch. “You look so pale. Are you all right?”

She had no strength to fight him as he lifted her to her feet and guided her to a chair in the living room. Every inch of her skin crawled as he continued to dote over her, running a hand through her hair as if she were some delicate, injured bird.

"I don't recall what happened," she said, feigning confusion, hoping he couldn’t see the realization dawning in her eyes. “I was just doing the laundry, and…”

“Hush. You’ve been overworking yourself. It’s no wonder you fainted. I will try to help more around the house.”

Kit bit back a retort. Fainting? He had the gall to pretend this was her doing. Yet the dots were connecting, and she saw the truth with devastating clarity: Her attempts to poison him had failed. He was always a step ahead.

“Here,” he said, grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen counter and pressing it into her hands. “Drink this. You need to stay hydrated.”

Was this poison too?

She took the glass. The water sloshed as her hands trembled. She sipped the drink, if only to appease him. His gaze was unyielding, studying her with that disconcerting intensity, as though he could see inside her mind.

“I don’t want you straining yourself anymore,” he said, crouching so he was at eye level with her. “You’re not alone, Kit. I will take care of you.”

She nodded, playing along with his sick game. An iron cage had closed around her. She was a captive under the guise of being a cherished companion, and he wanted her to believe it was all for her own good.

“Perhaps some rest would help.”

“Smart girl,” he said, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. “Now rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

“I don’t want to rest. Give me a second to get my feet under me, and I’ll grab the rest of the laundry.”

He didn’t argue, but he stared as she hobbled to the laundry room. Once inside, she gripped the edge of the washer to steady herself. As she unloaded the clothes, her eyes landed on the container tucked behind the machines. The antifreeze. It was still there.

Maybe he didn’t know.

Were they both doctoring the other’s food and drink? Under different circumstances, the idea would have been enough to make her double over in laughter.

Kit grabbed the antifreeze and set it on the bottom of the laundry basket. Then she piled his clothes over the container.

Returning to the kitchen, she set the basket on the floor. “I’m feeling better. Actually, I think some hot soup would help me regain my strength,” she said. “Care for a late lunch?”

He stared as if weighing her sincerity. For too long, he didn’t respond.

“Very well,” he said. “But only if it will make you better.”

Kit opened the pantry and retrieved a can of soup. At home, she would only consume soup from scratch. No time for that now.

She opened the can and poured the contents into a pot.

Stay calm. Take your time.

Kit stirred the soup, waiting until it warmed, keeping one eye on her abductor as he lingered in the doorway, watching her with that disquieting intensity.

Had she really been alone for hours? She was so angry with herself for not awakening and fleeing that she wanted to scream.

After a few minutes, he strode to the living room. This was the break she needed.

Kit unscrewed the cap of the antifreeze and poured a careful amount into his soup bowl. His bowl was the one with the chip along the rim. She stirred until the telltale color disappeared into the broth, then poured the untainted soup into her own bowl.

She set the table, glancing toward the doorway to ensure he wasn’t watching.

When he returned, she handed him the bowl, keeping her own in front of her. She tried not to look as he lifted the spoon to his lips, blowing softly before taking a sip. His eyes met hers.

“It’s hot,” he said.

“Perfect for a fall day. Is it to your satisfaction?”

“Yes, very satiating.”

He took another spoonful. She concentrated on her own food, feeling the nutrition flush the toxins from her body.

It’s working. Just keep him talking.

“Did you go somewhere?” she asked.

“Kit, I would never leave you alone.”

That was a lie. Where had he gone?

“If you would like more, I can open another can.”

“No, this is plenty. You take care of me so well, my love.”

She swallowed her revulsion. As long as he kept eating, she had a chance.

He took another spoonful, and then another, the lines of his face softening as the poison entered his body.

She was going to escape.

35

Nia was halfway back from Crane’s residence when the phone rang.

Oh, great. Eli Mitchell.

She answered before Rachel could tell her to ignore the call.

“Eli, you’re on speaker with Rachel Foster.”

“Foster?” he asked, his voice laced with irritation. “Fine. Nia, care to explain why you didn’t tell me about that stolen vehicle?”

She shot a look at Rachel, who only twisted her mouth.

“I told Jenkins,” Nia said. “You weren’t available, so I passed along the information.”

“This is my investigation. I’m the one responsible for keeping all the facts straight. Any new information should go through me.”

“But you weren’t around. I couldn’t sit on an important lead and wait for you to return.”

“Maybe if you were more in sync with your own department, we wouldn’t have this problem,” Rachel added, her tone dripping with annoyance.

“Stay out of this, Foster. This is police business and has nothing to do with you.”

Nia moaned. “Eli, we’re on the same side here. You asked for my help, remember? I’m just doing my job, and Rachel was there with me when we found that lead.”

“I requested your help,” Eli conceded, though his tone remained cold. “But I didn’t ask for a reporter to get involved and stir up more complications.”

“Last I checked, you don’t control the press,” Rachel said. “And I’d argue that the only person complicating things here is you.”

Eli’s silence hung over the Bluetooth connection like a guillotine before he finally spoke. “If you insist. I called because of another matter. Sebastian Lacroix went missing this morning.”

Nia jerked the wheel. She glanced over at Rachel, who appeared shocked.

“What do you mean, missing?” Nia asked.

“He left for Skaneateles this morning to meet a business partner. Claude told me Lacroix hasn’t checked in since. No phone calls, no messages. Claude tried reaching Lacroix several times but got nothing back.”

“He’s probably torturing Kit Stratton in the middle of the woods,” Rachel said.

Eli ignored the reporter. “Lacroix’s business dealings with Kit’s vineyard are no secret. He wanted her land, and he was probably the last person who made her an offer.”

“We could be hunting for another vineyard owner,” Nia said. “The Finger Lakes region has its share of competitors.”

“I’d agree with you if I believed a competitor would risk his or her reputation by abducting Kit Stratton.”

“Lacroix would never risk it,” Rachel said. “He would hire a henchman.”

“You don’t know that, Foster.”

“Oh, I know Lacroix better than anyone. Definitely better than you do.”

“Two people missing,” Eli said. “A pattern is emerging, and I don’t like it.”

“What do you suggest?” Nia asked.

“I’ll be investigating Lacroix’s business partner in Skaneateles. Nia, focus on Kit Stratton. If we can connect the disappearance, we can figure out who is behind this.”

Nia’s shoulders softened. A part of her wanted to tear off Eli’s head for endangering Maya. But whenever they worked together on an investigation, magic happened. She couldn’t deny the strength of their professional partnership.

“We’ll get back to you.”

The insolent reporter. Eli couldn’t stand Rachel Foster. At least Nia had given him the time of day.

He used Claude’s information to learn as much as he could about Lacroix’s meeting in Skaneateles. No red flags. The business partner was a seventy-nine-year-old man with a charitable record and no priors.

Sitting at his desk inside the bullpen, Eli knew he was lost. Kit Stratton and Sebastian Lacroix, both missing. Perhaps the two disappearances were unrelated, but his instincts screamed otherwise. He needed help. What type of criminal would snatch both victims?

He checked his contacts and dialed the Behavioral Analysis Unit. After a few moments, the administrative assistant transferred his call to Special Agent Scarlett Bell, who came highly recommended by his contacts in law enforcement.

“Special Agent Bell here.”

“Agent Bell, this is Officer Eli Mitchell from Duskwood PD in New York. I’m hoping you can assist me with a case involving a likely abduction. The victim is a local vineyard owner, Kit Stratton, who went missing recently under suspicious circumstances. We’re trying to develop a profile for her abductor.”

“Of course, Officer Mitchell,” Agent Bell replied. “I’ll need some background to begin. Tell me about Kit—her age, her profession, her relationships, and any recent events that could have triggered someone to target her.”

Eli summarized Kit’s background as a vineyard owner, her independence, her recent business struggles, and the competitive nature of her industry. He also mentioned Kit’s professional connections and interactions, especially those with people who might have had access to her estate or business dealings.

Agent Bell remained quiet until he finished. “Based on the circumstances and Kit’s background, here’s what we’re likely looking at. Typically, with cases involving abduction of a high-profile or somewhat visible individual, the suspect often has what we call an ‘idealized attachment’ to the victim. This would mean he’s infatuated or believes he has a personal connection with her, even if that’s not grounded in reality. Essentially, he’s developed an obsession.”

Wow. Eli hadn’t expected that. Since Kit’s disappearance, he’d believed a competitor was involved. Was he searching for a secret admirer?

“We haven’t found evidence suggesting a stalker,” he said, “but I admit this feels like something beyond a business rivalry.”

“In situations like these, the abductor is likely a male between the ages of thirty-five and fifty. He’s intelligent, highly organized, and used to being in control. He might have experience in a profession that allows him to work independently or within a small team, minimizing his daily interactions with others. This kind of isolation can often fuel obsessive tendencies without reality intervening.”

Eli scribbled notes. “So we’re not looking at an impulsive person?”

“Not in the traditional sense. In this case, he may even see himself as Kit’s protector, someone who believes he understands her in ways others don’t. He believes his actions are justified, even benevolent. He’s convinced himself that he’s fulfilling her needs and rescuing her from a perceived problem.”

“This guy thinks he’s doing her a favor?”

“Yes. In fact, he may see her recent business difficulties as justification. He’s saving her from ruin. However, as logical as that might sound to him, his behavior will only grow more controlling. He won’t trust her to make her own decisions.”

“That tracks with what I’ve learned during stalking cases,” Eli said, thinking about the Jessica Hartley investigation. He never would have solved that case without Nia.

“If he’s been following her for some time, he likely knew her schedule, her habits, and even her social circles. Also, it’s probable he feels some level of entitlement. He believes he’s the only one who can take care of her. If he sees anyone as a threat to his relationship with Kit, that person could be in danger.”

Eli’s grip tightened on the phone. “Any advice on how to narrow down our suspect list?”

“I’d start by looking into anyone who had access to her personal life in a way that felt too close or intimate. Consider vendors, clients, and contractors. And see if she mentioned receiving unsolicited attention. Many victims overlook interactions that seem innocuous but can indicate a fixation. You may also want to cross-reference anyone who has expressed possessive or protective tendencies. Additionally, your kidnapper has a clean criminal record. His behavior wouldn’t align with impulsive or reckless crimes.”

“Got it, Agent Bell. This gives me a lot to work with. I should tell you—Kit Stratton’s biggest competitor, a man named Sebastian Lacroix, also vanished this morning. Lacroix owns a number of vineyards around the Finger Lakes. We believe he tried to force Kit out of business. His disappearance doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Interesting. I’ll refine the profile. If the same individual is involved in both disappearances, we’re dealing with someone who’s not only escalating, but becoming more emboldened and possessive in his actions.”

“You’re thinking the same person is responsible?” Eli asked.

“Yes. Given the timing and the connection between the two, this is unlikely to be a coincidence. If our suspect feels protective of Kit, he might see Lacroix as a threat to her wellbeing, especially if Lacroix was pressuring her. Removing Lacroix would be a way for the abductor to eliminate what he perceives as a negative influence and make her happy.”

Eli tapped a pen against his notepad. “It sounds like I’m chasing someone who is eliminating obstacles he perceives as a threat to his relationship with her.”

“This is a dangerous progression. People like this rarely begin with abductions, but once they cross that line, their behavior can spiral. Now that he’s taken both Kit and her competitor, his grip will only tighten.”

“What’s his endgame?”

“He’ll cherish Kit if she complies and plays along with his delusions. But if she resists, there’s a high risk of violence. He may feel that if he can’t have her on his terms, no one else will.”

“Time isn’t on our side.”

“Correct, Officer Mitchell. The more time that passes, the more unstable he’ll become. If you have suspects or leads, now’s the time to act on them.”

He didn’t want to ask the next question, but he saw no choice.

“How far will he go if Kit doesn’t return his love?”

“He will kill, Officer Mitchell.”

36

As the sun dipped below a distant forest-covered hill, Kit glanced into the living room whenever she was sure her kidnapper wasn’t looking. He sat in his usual armchair with a novel open on his lap. His attention seemed far from the printed words.

At first, he shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his forehead and blinking several times as if to clear his vision. Kit stirred the pot of sauce on the stove while pretending not to notice his struggle.

The man brought a hand to his throat and gulped. He coughed, a hoarse sound that caught in his chest. Then he shifted again, placing the book on the arm of the chair and pressing his hands to his temples. A light sheen of sweat appeared on his forehead as his breathing grew more labored.

Kit moved to the counter, her hands shaking as she chopped a carrot. The sound of the knife against the cutting board almost drowned out the hacking and coughing. She kept her eyes on the task.

It was almost time. As soon as he lost consciousness…

“Kit?” His voice wavered, a rare crack of uncertainty seeping through.

“Yes, my husband?”

The faux title sickened her, but she needed to keep up the charade. Just a little longer, and she would be free.

“I…I think I am coming down with something.” He massaged his temples, squinting as if the light bothered him. “I don’t feel well.”

“Really?” She didn’t dare turn to face him. He would read her face and know the truth. “Maybe it’s just a passing bug. Something from the milk, perhaps?”

He gave her a pained smile, dismissing her suggestion with a wave. “Doubt it.”

“Shall I call a doctor?”

Yes. If he asked for an ambulance, someone would save her from this psychopath.

“No, I’ll be fine. Just need to sit still until the nausea passes.”

He leaned back in the armchair, but his eyes kept darting around, unfocused, as if his brain was struggling to keep up with the shifting images in front of him. His hands gripped the armrests, his knuckles turning white. He closed his eyes. A pained expression contorted his face. When his eyes opened again, his pupils appeared dilated and glassy.

Kit kept stirring. He coughed, more harshly this time, and shifted his gaze toward the kitchen, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.

“What are you making?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of suspicion.

“Sauce for the linguine,” she said. “Something to help us relax for the evening.”

He raised a hand to his mouth and winced.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He sank deeper into the armchair. His head lolled back, his mouth half-open as he took shallow breaths. His hand remained pressed to his forehead, fingers twitching. Another haggard cough escaped his lips, and his eyelids drooped, struggling to stay open.

This was it. The antifreeze was breaking him down. But was he slipping into unconsciousness or playing a cruel game, fooling her?

The sauce bubbled and splattered against the stove. This time, she didn’t bother to clean the mess. She was finished taking his orders.

Then his eyes closed. The hand slid from his forehead and fell limp on the chair arm. His breathing evened out, though his face stayed pale and slack.

Kit’s heart crawled into her throat. Was he asleep? Or was he faking? She hesitated, frozen in place, unable to tear her gaze from his still form. Every instinct told her to run, but doubt paralyzed her.

She inched closer, her eyes locked on his face, watching for movement. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. At any moment, his hand would shoot out and grab her by the wrist.

As she approached his chair, the wood groaned under her feet.

No!

Her hand covered her mouth to stifle the small, desperate sound skittering out of her throat.

Yet he didn’t flinch.

One more step. She was even with his chair now. A few steps away, the entryway waited.

“Tina…”

Kit stopped. Whoever Tina was, he kept confusing Kit with her.

“You can never leave me,” he moaned.

She ran.

37

Nia headed east on Route 20 toward Skaneateles. The afternoon sun slanted low, and rain clouds pooled on the horizon. Trees lined the highway, their branches forming a canopy as they reached further into the autumn landscape. Bursts of red and gold caught Nia’s eye as they drove.

“You know, this situation with Lacroix bothers me,” Rachel said. “I still believe he’s behind Kit Stratton’s disappearance. The guy will do anything to dominate the Finger Lakes, and it won’t surprise me if he staged his own disappearance to throw off our suspicion.”

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Nia said, “but if he took Kit, why would he go to Skaneateles to vanish? That’s a busy village, and everyone there would recognize him. His sudden absence doesn’t add up, especially when you consider the lack of any financial gain from physically eliminating a competitor and ensuring a court will decide who controls Stratton Estates. No one’s going to hand him that land without a legal battle.”

Rachel folded her arms. “True, but who’s to say he didn’t disappear to cast himself as a potential victim? It’s a classic tactic to avoid blame.”

Nia shook her head, shifting lanes as she checked the GPS. “Or it’s possible Lacroix had nothing to do with Kit’s disappearance and that he’s in the hands of the same person who took her. Think about it. Two influential figures connected to the wine industry in the Finger Lakes, both gone. You can’t ignore the coincidence.”

Rachel glanced out the window. “Fine, maybe he is in danger. And perhaps we’re not seeing the full picture. But I’m only helping you find him for Kit’s sake. If your theory saves her, it’s worth it.”

They passed a few vineyards on the outskirts of Skaneateles, their vines twisting over rustic fences. The lake peeked through the trees as they crested a small hill, the blue waters glinting in the fading light. Quaint houses and historic estates lined the approach, each manicured lawn and well-kept garden bearing testament to the area’s affluence.

“Skaneateles is picturesque,” Nia said, eyeing the elegant architecture as they entered the town’s limits. “But beneath the surface, I bet it has its own secrets.”

“Every place does,” Rachel said. “Especially when big money is involved.”

Nia pulled onto the main strip, where people bustled among charming shops and cafes. As she parked, Rachel turned to her.

“All right, Nia,” Rachel said. “I’ll help you locate Sebastian Lacroix. But don’t expect me to roll out the red carpet for him. The man has more than his fair share of skeletons, and I won’t rest until his empire crumbles.”

Nia climbed out of the car and pocketed the keys. “I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.”

In the village of Skaneateles, they passed a cobbled pier that jutted over the water. Along the sidewalk, boutique stores and artisan coffee shops entertained patrons, and the scents of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries drifted out of open doorways. A few locals wandered along the lakefront path.

Another call from Eli arrived. Nia answered, placing the call on speaker.

“Eli, Rachel is on the call again,” she said as they began walking down the street toward a group of people gathered outside a cafe.

“It must be my lucky day,” Eli replied, sounding winded, as if he were hurrying somewhere. “I wanted to fill you in on the latest. I just got off a call with Agent Scarlett Bell from the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“What’d they have to say about Kit Stratton and our missing mogul?”

“She pieced together a profile of our potential suspect. Agent Bell believes this person isn’t your average kidnapper. We’re dealing with someone who has a personal fixation on Kit Stratton. This guy followed her, possibly using a stolen vehicle to throw off the police. His actions point to someone who’s patient, obsessive, and who likely perceives a relationship with her that doesn’t exist.”

Nia and Rachel exchanged glances.

“Agent Bell also thinks Lacroix’s disappearance isn’t a coincidence,” Eli continued. “She says the suspect’s fixation with Kit is escalating, leading him to target Lacroix. He sees Lacroix as someone threatening Kit’s wellbeing, and he’s willing to eliminate Lacroix.”

Rachel frowned, uncomfortable with the idea. “We’re looking at an unhinged individual like the psycho who attacked Jessica Hartley.”

“For once you’re following my logic.”

“Shut it, Mitchell. This guy is building a life where he is Kit’s only companion.”

“That’s the theory,” Eli said. “Agent Bell is working with us to expand our suspect list. She’s looking for anyone with a history of delusional attachment or prior stalking behavior. I recommend we check local businesses that Kit frequents. This guy must have shown his face. We need someone to recognize him.”

Nia took in the information. “It seems like lunacy for this man to target Sebastian Lacroix. But if he’s escalating, there’s no telling how far he will go.”

“Nia, where are you?”

“We’re outside a cafe in Skaneateles now.”

“Alone?”

“It’s Skaneateles. What could happen?”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Eli said. “Ask Lacroix how safe he felt before a lunatic captured him.”

“I have the address of Lacroix’s meeting. Eli, all these shops have security cameras, and the police department is right down the road.”

“I’m one step ahead of you. Jenkins and I are trying to get our hands on the footage, and we’re running background checks on potential suspects. If you learn anything, send all the information my way.”

“Understood.”

“Nia, watch your back. That goes for you too, Rachel. This guy might still be in the area.”

“We will,” Nia said, looking at Rachel.

“Check back before six.”

Nia pocketed her phone, the reality of the danger setting in as they walked through the village. Somewhere in the midst of this picture-perfect town, there might be a clue to finding Kit Stratton and Sebastian Lacroix.

But were Kit and Lacroix still alive?

38

The last sliver of daylight faded as Kit stumbled over the rough terrain. Her eyes darted back to the farmhouse. The structure loomed dark against the twilight sky. A single bulb above the front porch cast a weak yellow glow, flickering as if it could go out any second. She scanned the property, wondering how much time she had before he noticed she was gone.

To her left, a dilapidated barn slouched against the hillside, its once-red paint faded to a washed-out pink, peeling in long strips. The barn’s roof sagged in the middle, and one side had nearly collapsed, creating a gaping hole where shadows pooled in the darkness. Half-buried in overgrown weeds, broken tools lay scattered around the barn’s entrance. Rusted barbed wire tangled among the thorns and brambles, warning her not to stray too close. The barn appeared abandoned, but something about it seemed alive with a hidden presence, as if the cavernous structure held secrets just as dark as the man who had taken her.

Kit shivered as the wind rustled through the trees. She felt the chill of fall, but she didn’t complain. The cold kept her alert and alive.

Everywhere she looked, wilderness stretched into infinity. A driveway snaked down from the farmhouse and connected with a dirt and stone road a hundred yards away. The driveway was long and winding, bordered by fields of wild grass. Beyond the road lay nothing but dense woods, the shadows of the trees swallowing the last glimmers of twilight.

The two doses of antifreeze had wreaked havoc on her kidnapper’s system. His symptoms would worsen over time. She hoped the poison was enough to kill him. But uncertainty whispered in her ear.

Antifreeze was toxic, but a few drops wouldn’t do the job. She’d once read that a large dose could shut down the kidneys and poison the bloodstream, leading to nausea, confusion and, if untreated, death. Two doses should be more than enough to make him seriously ill, possibly beyond recovery. But in her haste, she hadn’t measured how much she’d given him. And she had no way to gauge his tolerance. For all she knew, his body could be fighting off the toxins. He might possess enough strength to come after her.

The second dose seemed to affect him quickly. He’d grown pale, sluggish, as if the poison were already taking hold. But that didn’t mean he was incapacitated. People could survive the most unlikely odds. She’d seen it too many times to trust her plan. All she could hope for was that his body was succumbing to the poison.

Kit took a shaky breath, every step feeling like a gamble as her shoes scuffed over rocks. The house grew smaller behind her, but her fear only intensified. At any second, she would hear footsteps pounding toward her, his dying voice calling her name.

But there was only silence, broken by the occasional call of a night bird and the rustling of animals moving through the brush.

Then a sound came to her.

Kit froze mid-step. Panic clawed up her spine with bony fingers. A shuffling noise drifted down the driveway, concealed by the night breeze. She twisted around, her eyes straining to peer into the deepening darkness. Footsteps? She couldn’t tell. But it was enough to send her bolting off the only available pathway.

She ducked into the grass at the edge of the driveway and dropped to a crouch as she hid amid the stalks. The grass rose in dense clusters, brushing her cheeks and catching in her hair. She flattened herself, not daring to breathe.

The sound grew closer. More shuffling. Someone was out there. It had to be him. He’d woken up and discovered her gone. Her fingers dug into the damp earth as she fought the urge to run, knowing he would catch her.

The footsteps paused, and her breath hitched. The seconds dragged on, stretching into an eternity. Nothing. Maybe it was an animal or the wind. Or she was imagining things.

But then she heard a guttural cough, a sound she recognized all too well. The hair on her arms rose. He was following her.

She held her breath and sank lower, hoping the grass would conceal her. Every nerve in her body urged her to bolt, but she forced herself to stay still, reminding herself that moving would only betray her position.

A shadow passed along the edge of the driveway. She watched, horrified, as the figure paused, turning his head in her direction.

“Where am I?” the voice asked.

The man seemed to be looking right at her. Yet he couldn’t see her in the dark.

Her lungs burned as she held her breath. The figure stumbled, his head tilting as if listening, and then, after what felt like an agonizing eternity, he staggered down the driveway, heading toward the road.

Kit released a breath. She couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t safe. She had to get to the road, but it seemed impossible with him searching for her.

39

Only the security lights shone in the bookstore. Night had fallen over Skaneateles, and Nia’s feet ached from walking in and out of shops.

With Rachel, Nia had checked a dozen shops. None of the camera recordings bore fruit. She knew the bookstore was a long shot at best.

The shop held cozy reading nooks and floor-to-ceiling shelves laden with books, their spines resplendent in shades of weathered blue, green, and sepia. The scent of paper and ink mixed with the earthy aroma of fresh rain wafting in through the open door. A counter near the back of the store was cluttered with bookmarks, a dusty cash register, and a lone security monitor showing various angles of the shop floor.

The store owner, a woman in her thirties with tired eyes and damp hair from the rain, glanced at the clock.

“Look, I’d really love to help,” she said, gathering her things. “But I’ve got a little one at home, and I promised I’d be there to tuck him in tonight.”

“This will only take ten minutes,” Nia said.

“I don’t have ten minutes. Now, if this is so important, why aren’t the police here?”

“We’re working with Duskwood and Skaneateles PD. If you could just spare us a few minutes⁠—”

The woman held up a hand. “I’ve stayed late five nights this week, and I owe my family. Please. I’m sure you understand.”

Rachel softened, taking a step closer. “We understand. Really, we do. This place looks like it takes a lot of work, and you’ve probably been here since morning. But we’re asking because we believe two lives are at risk tonight.”

Nia did a double-take. Was Rachel showing compassion?

The store owner hesitated, clutching her bag against her chest.

The reporter set a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Imagine if it were your husband out there, lost or taken, and someone had a piece of the puzzle to find him, but didn’t want to stay a few minutes longer. I know it’s a sacrifice, but I promise we wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”

The woman’s resolve wavered. She let out a sigh and set her belongings on the counter.

“All right,” she said. “But you’ll have to make it quick.”

Nia thanked Rachel with her eyes before turning to the store owner. “You’re helping us more than you can imagine.”

The store owner escorted Nia and Rachel to the back table and powered up the monitor. She clicked through several angles from earlier in the day. Rain pattered against the windows as the footage played. In the distance, thunder boomed.

“Could you switch to an angle that shows the municipal lot across the street?” Nia asked.

The store owner clicked through several feeds until she found the correct angle. They watched as people moved in and out of the frame, some hurrying toward their cars, others riding bikes and enjoying a beautiful morning along the lake.

Nia’s frustration grew. It seemed she’d struck another dead end.

Then a familiar vehicle pulled into the frame. Lacroix’s black BMW eased into a parking spot. He climbed out and opened the back door to retrieve a briefcase. As he straightened, a figure leaped up from behind a sedan. Not just any sedan, but Crane’s stolen vehicle.

Just as Lacroix turned, the figure swung something at him. A glint of metal flashed before the object connected with Lacroix’s head. The mogul staggered and collapsed against the car. Already, the assailant was dragging Lacroix into the sedan.

“Zoom in,” Nia said. “Can you make the image clearer?”

The store owner adjusted the playback and zoomed in as much as the resolution allowed. The assailant’s face came into sharper view, partially obscured. He wore a hat, but it wasn’t enough to conceal his face.

“Oh my goodness,” the woman said.

“Can you freeze it there?” Rachel asked.

The woman hit pause, and they stared at the frozen image of the man who had attacked Lacroix. Nia leaned closer, scrutinizing the screen.

“This is clear enough to run through facial recognition,” Nia said. “Thank you. You’ve been incredibly helpful. We need a copy of this footage to take to the police.”

“I’ll burn it onto a USB. Just make sure you catch him.” The woman riffled through a drawer.

40

Reaching the road was too dangerous. The figure in the dark stood between the house and freedom, blocking Kit’s escape.

She darted out of the grass and into the barn, praying he hadn’t seen. The door closed behind her. Thankfully, the hinges were silent.

Kit held still, her back pressed against the rough, splintered wood as she waited, listening. The sound of the shuffling footsteps was faint but growing louder, drifting back and forth along the driveway as he wandered.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark interior, where gray light seeped through the hole in the roof. The air was thick with dust and the scent of old hay. She searched for a tool she could use as a weapon.

At the center of the barn, half-buried in the dirt floor, lay a rusty chain attached to shackles. The heavy iron cuffs held the remnants of what looked like dried blood. They were broken with the chain busted in two, as if someone had wrenched free. Kit gasped. How many people had this lunatic held captive?

A raindrop plunked against her forehead. Next to the broken shackles, something glinted. She crouched and examined a fist-sized rock with one jagged edge. This would serve as a weapon.

The footsteps returned, and she pressed herself into the shadows. The figure hesitated, then drifted back toward the road, as if he’d lost his bearings. Was the poison affecting his reasoning?

Kit’s grip tightened on the rock. She could wait here, hidden, until he wandered far enough down the road for her to make a break for it. But if he attacked, she could use this weapon.

Silence fell. All Kit could hear was the rustling of the grass.

The door slammed open. Kit barely had time to react before the shadowy figure filled the doorway. She gripped the rock, her pulse thundering in her ears as she sank into the darkness of the barn, praying he wouldn’t find her.

He stepped inside, his movements slow and unsteady. His head turned as though searching for someone. Rain poured through the cracks in the roof and splashed against the dirt floor.

The man took another shaky step forward, his feet dragging. She pressed her back against a wall.

Keep going. Check the road.

The man halted, his head turning as if he sensed her presence. He took another step forward, closer now.

The storm became a torrent that plastered her hair to her face. It pounded against the roof and soaked her clothes. In the night sky, lightning flashed.

He stopped a few feet from her hiding place. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the slow rise and fall of his labored breaths. His fingers curled as he stared.

When a rumble of thunder shook the barn, he jolted, looking around wildly. Kit raised the rock over her head.

But then his eyes snapped in her direction.

No. She would rather die fighting than let him drag her back to that house.

Her body tensed, every muscle primed to strike.

Another flash of lightning. The burst cast his face in stark relief. She stopped, her arm suspended in midair.

It was Sebastian Lacroix.

How was this possible?

As he stumbled toward her, rain dripped from his hair. A deep gash marred his forehead, blood trickling down his cheek. His wrists bore red, raw marks, as if he’d been bound. She remembered the shackles.

The truth made Kit unsteady on her feet. They had both been prisoners here.

“You?” he croaked, confusion in his voice. He looked as stunned as she was.

Kit lowered the rock. “Lacroix? What are you doing here?”

Lacroix appeared as though he might collapse. “I was supposed to meet someone this morning. When I exited my car…I don’t recall. It’s all a blur.”

She felt a strange relief at seeing a familiar face, even the face of someone who’d tried to buy out her business. Lacroix almost fell and she reached out, steadying him as he struggled to stay upright. “He locked you in the barn?”

“He?”

It was obvious Lacroix didn’t know who had attacked him.

“The man who kidnapped me. He must have taken you too.”

Lacroix seemed unable to register her words. “I woke up and found myself here. Someone had shackled my wrists. There was a rock.” He lifted his wrist to show her the chafed, bleeding skin. “Like the one you’re holding.”

“You broke free.”

“Of course I did. Who took us, Kit? Show me, and I’ll ensure he never harms us again.”

They weren’t dealing with a business rival, a disgruntled employee, or anything so straightforward. The kidnapper was demented. He’d taken her—why? Because he loved her? And what reason did he have for hating Lacroix?

She remembered telling the man about her financial troubles. Goodness, she’d even mentioned Lacroix by name.

“Tell me his name, Kit,” Lacroix said.

“I don’t know his name. Whoever he is,” she whispered, glancing toward the barn door, “he might be alive. And if we’re going to survive, we need to get as far from here as we can.”

Hope flickered in his eyes, followed by a deep weariness. “We need the police.”

“They don’t know we’re here. Can you walk?”

The real estate mogul nodded, but when he pushed off the wall, he fell forward. Kit grabbed his arm to keep him upright.

Thunder shook the barn.

Then a man screamed in the darkness.

“Kit, I’m going to find you!”

41

The storm pelted the windshield as Rachel guided Nia’s car down a curvy road toward Duskwood. Nia worked in the passenger seat, her laptop perched on her knees as she uploaded the security footage to Eli’s inbox. The Bluetooth speaker chimed as Eli’s voice filled the car.

“Got it,” he said, sounding impressed. “Nia, this is tremendous work.”

Nia wanted to hate him. She couldn’t. Despite the incident with Maya and the problems during the Cecilia Gray investigation, she realized it wasn’t fair to blame him anymore. She was scared. Almost losing a child could do that to you. But the ride-along disaster wasn’t Eli’s fault, and he’d tried to protect her from a killer while they’d searched for Gray.

Still, she couldn’t accept his praise. “Actually, it was Rachel who convinced the shop owner to help,” she said, shooting a sidelong glance at Rachel.

Eli paused before continuing. “Then I suppose I should say, good job, Rachel. We’re one step closer, thanks to you.”

Rachel pressed the accelerator. “Not that I care about Sebastian Lacroix, but it’s clear he was a victim,” Rachel said, her words clipped. “This time, anyway. Two people are missing, and that shop owner came through.”

“I’ll run these images through the recognition software. Assuming the algorithm gives me a name, we’ll know where to find Kit Stratton and Lacroix. Give me twenty minutes.”

“All right, Eli,” Nia said. “We should reach Duskwood by then.”

Rachel kept her eyes fixed on the rain-soaked road as Nia tucked the laptop back in her bag. The reporter’s silence spoke volumes, and Nia knew the reason.

Finally, Rachel said, “You’re feeling charitable toward Eli all of a sudden.”

“I realize you don’t like him, Rachel. And I have my own reasons for being cautious. But we’re all working to find Kit and Lacroix. Holding grudges won’t serve them.”

“If you ask me, Eli’s track record speaks for itself. I don’t think it’s ‘holding a grudge’ to be realistic.”

“Perhaps you’re right, but Eli has resources we lack, and he’s trying to help. We can’t find two missing people alone.”

Rachel shrugged but didn’t answer, her jaw working back and forth as she navigated the storm. After a pause, she said, “Since we’re focusing on the abductions, where would this guy take his victims? Did he hole up somewhere in town or out in the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s risky to keep Kit Stratton and Sebastian Lacroix near a town. But then again, we’re dealing with someone bold enough to abduct Lacroix in broad daylight. It’s possible he could be somewhere on the outskirts, maybe a hunting cabin or an abandoned farmhouse. Somewhere remote.”

“Could be he’s holding them somewhere on one of those old estates Lacroix tried to buy. They’re mostly unoccupied and out in the sticks where no one would look twice.”

“Possibly,” Nia said. “But my instincts tell me our abductor lives in a place where he feels comfortable.”

“Like a lifelong home?”

“That’s my guess.”

“And he’s obsessed with Kit,” said Rachel. “His house must be close to Stratton Estates.”

“Agreed. I’ll bet he frequented the vineyard dozens of times before he acted on his urges.”

After a short drive, Nia and Rachel entered the Duskwood Police Department. Rain clung to their coats. As they hurried toward Eli’s desk, a few officers shot them disapproving looks.

Eli sat at his desk, reviewing data on his computer. He looked up as they approached, nodding once as they settled beside him. “You made it. How is the weather?”

“Wet,” Rachel said, curling her lips in disgust.

“Thanks for dripping on my floor. The facial recognition software is still running. It’s a pretty grainy image, so it’s taking longer than usual, but I should have something soon.”

Nia glanced at the monitor, watching the program analyze dozens of faces with no immediate hits. She sighed, more out of impatience than disappointment. “Let’s hope it pans out. This guy must be local, or at least familiar enough with the area to feel safe. I think he owns a place off the beaten path. He needs privacy, somewhere the police won’t discover him. And it has to be close enough to Stratton Estates for him to have met Kit and visited her shop.”

“He had time to study her and plan how to disable her car,” Rachel said. “This guy knows the roads she drives.”

“Which means we’re looking for an isolated location within driving distance of Duskwood, Stratton Estates, and Auburn, where she was last seen. Someplace he can hide victims without prying eyes.”

“An old hunting cabin, a house in the country, even some sort of workshop.”

“There are plenty of rural properties around here,” Nia said, “including ones that haven’t been sold off to the highest bidder yet. Lacroix himself might even own some of them.”

“True. If the software gives us a hit, we’ll certainly find his property close by.”

Rachel’s brows knitted with concern. “But Agent Bell said this guy doesn’t have a police record. If that’s true, can the facial recognition software even find him?”

“If he has a driver’s license or state-issued ID, we should be able to identify him. Most DMV photos are part of a facial recognition database we can access for cases like this. Even if he hasn’t been arrested or doesn’t have a criminal history, he’ll still be in the system.”

“A clean record wouldn’t keep him out of the database?”

“Right,” Eli said. “But keep in mind that access varies by state. Some states have stricter privacy protections on their DMV databases, so we’d need specific permission or a warrant to run a match. But New York law enforcement agencies have access to DMV photos.”

“That doesn’t make me feel safe. It seems like an invasion of privacy.”

“Are you here to stand on a soapbox or save Kit Stratton?”

Rachel didn’t answer Eli.

“At least we have a shot at finding him,” Nia said.

“If he holds his license nearby, we’ll get a hit. And if he’s not local, I can submit a request, though that will take longer.”

The software pinged, and Eli’s screen flashed with a hit. Nia ducked to look over Eli’s shoulder, while Rachel squeezed in from the other side.

“Got him,” Eli said. “Kellen Hilldale. He lives twelve miles outside of Duskwood in Pine Hollow Township. Address is 1147 Cedar Ridge Road.”

Nia knew the location. As she’d theorized, the abductor lived a short drive from Stratton Estates.

Jenkins approached with a printout. “Got Hilldale’s records right here,” he said, handing the paper to Eli. “It’s a dark history, to say the least.”

Eli scanned the sheet, his lips pressing together as he read the details. After he finished, he handed the papers to Nia.

Kellen Hilldale had grown up in that same house in Pine Hollow Township. The farmhouse was isolated and surrounded by dense woods, with the nearest neighbor over a mile away. His father, Ryan Hilldale, had been a local menace before dying the previous year. The records showed multiple arrests for domestic violence, but the charges never stuck. Each time, his wife Tina either refused to testify or changed her story, keeping Ryan out of jail and leaving him free to terrorize his family.

Ryan Hilldale’s abuse had been physical and psychological. The remoteness of the property meant police intervention was rare, and Ryan learned how to hide his tracks.

“Kellen grew up in that house,” Eli said. “He was raised in a cycle of violence. No arrests on his record, but there are disturbing notes from his juvenile years. The few times he came into contact with the system, social workers noted he was withdrawn, seemed emotionally numb, and avoided talking about his family.”

“Any history with women?” Rachel asked.

Eli continued reading. “After Ryan was finally arrested on a felony charge of aggravated assault, Tina left, and Kellen turned eighteen and stayed in the house by himself. He inherited the home after Ryan died in prison. As Agent Bell figured, Kellen Hilldale is a spider hiding in plain sight.”

Jenkins folded his arms. “But he stayed out in Pine Hollow Township all these years? Alone?”

“Seems that way. Kellen’s psychological assessment shows he was deeply affected by his father’s behavior. Seems he was never able to shake off that toxic upbringing.”

Nia shuddered. “Then he took Kit. This could be his way of controlling people in a way he never could as a child.”

Eli’s voice hardened. “He’s replaying the trauma he grew up with, but now he’s the monster in the house.”

42

The rain fell in sheets as Kit Stratton stumbled through the forest, dodging branches and leaping over puddles. Sebastian Lacroix ran alongside her. She still couldn’t wrap her head around Lacroix’s appearance.

Thunder tore the sky asunder. Each flash of lightning sparked the landscape in blinding light before plunging them back into darkness.

“Stop dragging me,” she hissed as Lacroix grabbed her arm to steady her. “I’m perfectly capable of running.”

“You’re disoriented,” Lacroix said. “Do you realize you’re taking us in circles?”

“I don’t need your help.”

Kit could still feel the lingering effects of the drugs her abductor had slipped into her food, but she wouldn’t depend on Sebastian Lacroix for safety.

“Fine, run off on your own if you must,” he said, wiping the rain from his face. “Considering you’re determined to trip over a root or twist an ankle, be my guest. Stop acting so stubborn. We’re miles from civilization, and you need my help.”

She turned and fixed him with a glare. “Maybe I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for you, Lacroix. If you hadn’t been trying to buy up my vineyard and pushing me out of business⁠—”

“Excuse me?” he interrupted, his tone incredulous. “You think I’m responsible for a lunatic abducting us?”

They stood panting, caught between the onslaught of rain and their shared animosity. Kit took a step back and exhaled.

“I think people like you—people who get everything they want—don’t consider the cost their actions have on everyone else. Maybe that psycho paid someone to ensure Stratton Estates went away.”

“Someone like who? Me? You’re delirious. Have you forgotten he attacked me too?”

“Or so you say.”

Lacroix’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “Believe me or not, Kit, I’m in the same mess you are. I didn’t hire this maniac. What kind of person do you take me for?”

Another flash of lightning lit the trees, illuminating their soaked and bedraggled forms. For a second, the intensity in Lacroix’s eyes softened, and he looked genuinely hurt.

“You truly think I’m behind this?” he asked.

She lowered her head. “No, I don’t.”

Sorrow filled Lacroix’s eyes. Was that guilt? What was he hiding?

A thought popped into her head—the unknown donor who’d placed a significant amount of funds in her bank account and kept her solvent. It seemed impossible to her that anyone could funnel money into her business account without the bank standing in the way. Indeed, the donor must have been a massively powerful individual with enough local contacts to keep the truth hidden.

“It was you,” she said, falling back on her heels.

“I know not what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Lacroix. The money in my account. It saved Stratton Estates from disaster. Why?”

He turned away without answering.

“Lacroix, why would you want to save my business? All you’ve done is try to run me out of business.”

As rain peppered his face, the mogul stared toward the faraway hills.

“I never once attempted to run a competitor out of business.”

“Bull,” she said.

“Is it? I admit to purchasing land on the cheap, but only when the owner wished to sell. I never twisted anyone’s arm.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You don’t have to. All I want is to survive this night, and I believe that is what you want as well.”

Kit shifted her grip on the rock she’d carried from the barn. Its rough surface bit into her palm, a poor substitute for the weapons they desperately needed. She scanned the dense forest, trying to discern movement through the sheets of rain.

“Then we should keep moving,” Kit said.

“Agreed. But I wish to God we had something more than a rock.”

“Would you rather go back and ask for your briefcase?”

His mouth twitched in what might have been a smile, but the grim situation allowed no humor. “All this running turned us around, but the road can’t be far. With any luck, we’ll flag down a car before he catches up.”

They climbed over slick roots and ducked under branches. The ground was a swampy mess. Lacroix, usually so polished and composed, looked like a haggard shadow of himself—mud-caked, soaked, and utterly human. Kit felt a grudging respect for his persistence. And though Lacroix refused to take credit for his charity, he’d saved Stratton Estates.

As they crossed a meadow, lightning forked across the sky, illuminating the open space. Too exposed.

“We can’t stay here,” she said.

“No arguments.” Lacroix grabbed her arm, not to control, but to guide. “This way.”

They veered toward the tree line, slipping back into cover just as another roll of thunder brought a burst of rain. Kit glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see their abductor step out of the stormy darkness. Nothing. The desolation was its own form of terror.

“He knows this land better than we do.”

“Then we need to be unpredictable.”

They pressed on, weaving a winding path that took them into another thicket. Branches clawed at Kit’s sleeves. The rain blurred her vision, and exhaustion made her limbs drag. But stopping wasn’t an option. Lacroix pushed ahead, using his surprising strength to clear a path. She hated depending on the man she’d learned to loathe, but she accepted his help without protest.

“Up ahead,” Lacroix said, pointing. “Is that what I think it is?”

A dirt trail cut through the trees. It looked more like a game path than a road, but it led somewhere.

“What if he’s waiting for us at the end?”

“Then we’ll take him together,” Lacroix said. “Better than waiting to die from drowning or electrocution.”

They followed the trail. The rain eased, and for a moment, the woods turned quiet. Kit wanted to turn back and find another way.

A branch snapped behind them.

“Run,” she said, pushing him forward.

They bolted down the path, feet pounding against the muddy ground. Branches slapped at their faces as they plunged through the underbrush. Behind them, the heavy tread of footsteps quickened.

Kit’s breath burned in her chest. She could hear their pursuer closing in. If they didn’t find shelter, the psycho would catch them.

43

Nia struggled with the wheel as she shot down the rain-slicked road. She didn’t want to hydroplane. Up ahead, the flashing blue and red lights of Eli’s cruiser and two other police vehicles pierced the storm, racing toward Kellen Hilldale’s house in the countryside. Beside her, Rachel shifted in her seat.

“You know you won’t be allowed anywhere near the scene,” Nia said. “This is a police operation. You’ll be safer staying in the car, or better yet, heading home.”

“I’m not going home. Not until we see this through.”

“Then you need to listen to me. You can’t interfere. No questions, no pushing past the tape, no trying to get a closer look. The last thing I need is you getting yourself hurt or, God forbid, worse.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Nia measured her words. “When we arrive, stay behind the established perimeter. Keep out of sight if things escalate. If shots are fired or it looks like things are going sideways, get down and cover your head. Do you understand?”

“Sure.”

“Rachel, I’m not kidding. This isn’t like writing a story. You’re too close to the action this time.”

“Okay, Nia. I get it.”

“One more thing.” Nia’s eyes met Rachel’s, conveying the gravity of the situation. “Kellen Hilldale may have hostages, and if he’s armed, there won’t be any second chances. The police will have to act fast. Don’t interfere.”

“I promise I won’t.”

The rain intensified, streaking the windshield as they drove deeper into the woods. The road narrowed, flanked by trees. Duskwood seemed like a million miles away.

Ahead, the police cruisers accelerated, their lights disappearing around a bend. Nia felt a twinge of anxiety as they closed in on their destination.

“They won’t let me anywhere near the battle,” Nia said. “But my only goal is to protect Kit Stratton and Sebastian Lacroix. If that burns another bridge with Duskwood PD, I’ll accept the consequences.”

Brake lights flared. They had arrived.

As soon as Nia pulled into the staging area, Eli hustled to her car. Wind whipped their hair and drove the storm into their faces.

“Stay back and let us handle the extraction,” Eli said. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Nia said. “Two people are in danger. You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

Eli appeared ready to explode. “This is a police operation. I can’t have you in the way.”

“I’m here to help, not to cause problems.”

Rachel, who had exited the car, watched the exchange. At least she hadn’t interrupted and caused Eli to fly off the handle.

“I suppose there’s no convincing you,” Eli said. He turned on his heels and marched back to his cruiser, where he popped the trunk. “If you’re determined to place yourself in the line of fire, you’re going to wear protection.” He pulled out a bulletproof vest and handed it to Nia. “Put it on. And follow my lead.”

Without wasting a moment, Nia slipped the vest over her shoulders and fastened the straps. She glanced at Rachel, who stood shivering in the rain. “Don’t move a muscle. Remember what I told you.”

Rachel seemed happy to return to the car and escape the storm.

Jenkins approached, water dripping from the brim of his hat. He eyed Nia, his expression a mix of disapproval and resignation. “I see we’re bending the rules again.”

“You know me well enough by now, Jenkins.”

“That you’re as stubborn as your boyfriend?”

She looked over at Eli, who was checking his service weapon. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever you say. Just don’t get yourself killed out there, Nia. I’ve kinda come to like having you around.”

“That makes one of you. Jenkins, you can depend on me.”

Jenkins threw her a warning glare; he wouldn’t accept Nia trying to play the hero’s role.

“Let’s hope you remember that when things go sideways,” Jenkins said, turning his attention back to the distant house.

Beyond the tree line, the lights from Kellen Hilldale’s house cut through the dark. Time was running out.

Eli returned to them. “We have eyes on the house, but we don’t know what we’re walking into.”

“How do you want to play this?” asked Jenkins.

“We don’t know if Hilldale is holding Stratton and Lacroix inside the house or if they’re somewhere else on the property. We proceed with caution. Nobody goes in alone.”

Jenkins nodded, wiping the rain from his face. “We have six officers, plus Nia. We’ll need a two-pronged approach. Perimeter sweep and entry team.”

“Agreed.” Eli looked at Nia. “You’re staying with the perimeter sweep. Don’t go off on your own. Understood?”

“I can follow orders.”

The other officers grumbled. Nia ignored them.

Eli turned to the assembled team. “Here’s how we’ll do it. Jenkins, you and Officer Craig will take the east side and sweep the perimeter for outbuildings, sheds, or any place where hostages could be kept. I’ll lead the entry team with Anderson and Miller through the front. Keep your eyes open for Hilldale.”

Jenkins grunted in acknowledgment. “Got it.”

“State Police backup is en route,” Officer Miller said. “They’ll move in at our signal if things go south.”

“I hope they hurry,” Eli said. He turned to Nia one last time. “If you see anything, you radio it in. Don’t encounter Hilldale by yourself.”

Nia’s fingers curled around the strap of the vest. “I won’t.”

She scanned the shadowed house beyond the trees. A driveway snaked toward the house, but the property appeared to be abandoned. Except for those lights beaming out of the windows. The storm showed no signs of letting up, masking their approach but also adding to the danger.

The officers spread out, keeping low as they moved through trees. Nia followed Jenkins and Craig as they made their way toward the eastern perimeter. The house towered, a silhouette against the turbulent sky.

The perimeter team reached the first outbuilding, a dilapidated shed. Jenkins motioned for silence, his flashlight sweeping the interior through a broken window. Empty. Staying in formation, the team moved on.

When lightning flashed, Nia spotted the barn. Even in the driving rain, she could make out the impressions in the mud. Footprints led in and out of the building.

“Jenkins,” she said, pointing toward the barn. “Look at the ground. Footprints.”

Jenkins narrowed his eyes, following her gesture. He nodded and signaled for the team to approach with caution. The three of them slogged through the muck, their boots sinking into the wet earth as they approached the barn’s entrance. The wind rattled the wooden structure, which appeared on the verge of toppling.

At the threshold, Jenkins paused. “Be ready for anything.”

Craig took position on the opposite side, his flashlight cutting through the gloom as he pushed open the door. The hinges creaked. They stepped inside.

Nia’s beam landed on the center of the barn. Rusty chain and shackles lay broken on the dirt floor, and the metal cuffs were scratched and battered, as though someone had managed to break free.

“Shackles,” Nia said. “Hilldale held someone captive.”

“We might have a hostage on the run.” Jenkins moved closer. “The prints aren’t old. Look at the mud.”

The muddy footprints led from the shackles to the doorway, weaving an erratic path, as if whoever had been held there was injured. “Kit or Lacroix?”

Officer Craig examined a wooden beam. The attached chains had almost broken the supporting beam. “It’s a miracle the roof didn’t fall. It’s not safe in here.”

“We’ll sweep the rest of the property. Keep your eyes peeled. Hilldale won’t let his captives escape without a fight.”

44

Ahundred feet away from Nia and Jenkins, Eli and the entry team approached the house. He gestured for Anderson to take the left flank while Miller covered the right. With a nod, Eli signaled to breach. The door slammed open, and they moved inside, weapons at the ready.

“Duskwood PD!” Eli yelled. “If you’re in here, come out with your hands up.”

Nobody replied.

Eli led the team into the house. The entryway gave way to a living room and a hallway. He nodded at Anderson and Miller, signaling for them to fan out and cover the adjacent rooms.

“Clear,” Anderson reported as he swept a sitting room.

Miller moved into the kitchen, his flashlight catching dust motes. “Kitchen is empty.”

Eli started up the staircase, each step protesting under his weight. At the landing, a narrow corridor stretched ahead, lined with closed doors. He motioned for Anderson to follow him.

“Left side first,” Eli whispered.

He pushed open the door to the first room. The air inside was stale. They found a bed with rumpled sheets, a dresser with a few personal items, including a hairbrush and a bottle of perfume. Eli’s stomach clenched. This room bore the marks of a space lived in under duress. A woman’s clothes hung in the closet, and a worn book lay on the nightstand.

“This is Kit’s room,” Eli said.

Anderson moved to the window, inspecting its frame. “There’s an alarm system rigged to the window, just like the exterior door,” he added, pointing to a wired device that would have triggered if opened without permission.

Kit was Hilldale’s prisoner.

“Bathroom’s attached,” Anderson said, peeking inside. “Toothbrush, toiletries. Everything you’d expect for someone forced to stay here long term.”

Eli reentered the hallway and checked the next room. It was bare, with a thin layer of dust indicating it hadn’t been touched in some time. Next, he located Hilldale’s bedroom. A photo of a man, woman, and child stood on the nightstand.

Downstairs, Miller called up to them. “Eli, you need to see this.”

Eli and Anderson descended the stairs, rejoining Miller inside a laundry room off the kitchen. Miller pointed to the washer and dryer, where an antifreeze container sat partially hidden behind the appliances.

“Found this tucked away. Don’t think Hilldale keeps it there for vehicle maintenance,” Miller said.

Eli examined the container, feeling a grudging admiration. “I’ll wager anything that Hilldale forced Kit to cook his meals. If Kit used this to poison him, she’s a smart woman. She must’ve been trying to weaken him.”

The pieces were falling into place. Signs of captivity, signs of resistance. Kit had been fighting to survive.

Eli straightened. “Hilldale knows we’re here. He’s desperate. And judging by the hidden antifreeze, he has toxins flooding through his system. There’s no telling how the antifreeze is affecting his cognitive ability.”

Jenkins spoke through the radio. “Eli, we’ve got something here. We’re inside the barn. There’s a busted pair of shackles, signs of a struggle, and muddy footprints leading toward the meadow. Fresh tracks.”

Eli exchanged a look with Anderson and pressed the radio closer. “How many sets?”

“Three,” Jenkins said.

“Copy that.”

They had a chance to rescue Kit and Lacroix, and Eli couldn’t afford any missteps. “Hold tight. We’re coming to you.” Eli turned to the two officers by his side. “Jenkins found fresh tracks leading out from the barn. We need to regroup and figure out what we’re dealing with before we proceed. Hilldale’s already unstable, and if he catches the hostages, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

The team filed out of the house. They reached the barn, where Jenkins and Officer Craig waited outside the entrance with their flashlights pointed at the ground.

“The tracks lead that way,” Jenkins said, indicating a trail that wound through tall grass toward a cluster of trees.

Eli looked at Nia. The bulletproof vest was two sizes too large for her, and he wished she hadn’t accompanied them. If anything happened to her…

“These belong to Kit Stratton, Sebastian Lacroix, and Hilldale,” Eli said.

“He’s chasing them,” Nia said.

“Which means they’re alive,” Jenkins said. “But how far ahead are they? And are they injured?”

Eli turned to the team, wiping rain from his face. “We’ll follow the trail, but carefully. We stay together. No splitting up. Hilldale is dangerous and possibly armed. We don’t know what condition Kit Stratton and Sebastian Lacroix are in.”

“Then I suggest we find them before Hilldale does.”

For once, Eli’s fellow officers didn’t disagree with Nia.

“Stay at the back with Miller,” Eli told Nia. “I’ll lead with Jenkins. Radio in anything you see, but don’t engage.”

Nia didn’t seem pleased. Too bad. He intended to rescue two hostages and keep Nia from sprinting headlong into danger.

“All right,” Eli said. “Let’s bring them home.”

They moved out, the rain hammering down as they followed the footprints.

45

Kit stared into the dim expanse of trees, her breath clouding in the damp air. The night had grown cooler since the storm began. Though the rain had let up, the ground was treacherous with mud and fallen leaves. Below them loomed a tree-covered hill. Lacroix stood a few paces ahead, his eyes lowered.

“The road is that way,” Lacroix insisted, pointing through the darkness. “I know it is. If we descend the hill, we’ll reach safety.”

Kit slung the sodden hair off her shoulder. “How can you be so sure? All I see is more trees. If we go the wrong way, we could end up farther from help. We don’t even know if he’s still behind us.”

“Kit, we’re running in circles. This hill must lead to the road. Do you want to stay here and wait for a lunatic to find us? I don’t.”

“Rushing won’t help. If we slip and hurt ourselves, he’ll catch up.”

“Then stay here.” Lacroix’s eyes flashed with impatience. “I’ll find the road myself. But don’t say I didn’t try to help you.”

He turned and began making his way down the slope. The incline was steeper than it appeared, and Kit hesitated. Should she follow this man? He knew about real estate and vineyards, but she doubted he’d taken survival training. Then again, neither had she. The thought of being alone, lost in the woods, with Hilldale potentially closing in, pushed her to follow.

The descent was treacherous. Mud slid beneath their feet, and tree roots clawed out of the ground.

Lacroix kept his footing for a while. Then he slipped on a slick patch.

His arms flailed as he tried to regain his balance, but the momentum carried him downward. Kit watched in horror as he tumbled, slamming into rocks and bushes.

“Lacroix!” she yelled, racing forward.

He came to a jarring stop, catching hold of a protruding branch. His legs dangled over the edge of a sheer drop, the rocky ground far below. The branch creaked and bowed under his weight, and Lacroix’s knuckles whitened.

“Don’t let go,” she said.

Kit scrambled down the hill, not wanting to meet his fate. She dug her hands and feet into the mud for traction. When she reached the edge and peered down, she saw Lacroix’s pallid face. The road lay a hundred feet below. He’d been correct.

“Well, this isn’t how I planned my evening,” he said.

“Can you climb up to me?”

“Does it look like I can?”

She glanced around, searching for anything she could use. The ground beneath her shifted, and she had to fight to keep her own footing. “Just…don’t fall.”

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“All right, I’m coming,” she said.

A gnarled tree root a few feet away looked sturdy enough to support her weight. If she could get to it, maybe she could anchor herself and reach him.

Kit moved with care, every step bringing her to the precipice of disaster. She gripped the root with one hand and extended her arm toward him. “Grab hold.”

Lacroix’s eyes filled with desperation. “If that branch snaps⁠—”

“It won’t. Trust me.”

“What choice do I have?”

He shifted his weight, his grip slipping. The branch groaned under the strain.

Just hold on a little longer.

The root was pulling out of the ground. No more time.

“Don’t think about it, Lacroix,” she said. “Do it now.”

He lunged for her hand. Their fingers met, and Kit grabbed hold, anchoring herself against the failing root. Her muscles burned as she pulled, straining to keep them from falling.

“Almost there.” She gritted her teeth, her arms trembling.

Slowly, painfully, Lacroix found a foothold and climbed. Together they inched upward until he was back on solid ground. A second later, the root dislodged itself and tumbled into the darkness.

Kit collapsed onto the muddy slope, gasping for air. Every muscle ached.

“Thank you,” Lacroix whispered, his voice raw.

“I owed you one.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You know why.”

He propped himself up on one elbow. “I believe you would have saved me, regardless.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Kit's eyes darted around as she tried to make sense of their surroundings. Then she saw several glows cutting through the darkness. Multiple flashlights bobbed in the distance.

“Look,” Lacroix said, pointing. “Someone is coming. It has to be the police.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Or it could be him.”

“No.” Lacroix struggled to his feet. “Those are too many lights for one person. It has to be a search party. I suggest we go toward them.”

Kit hesitated. Trusting anyone felt dangerous. But the thought of rescue, of safety, was a temptation too great to resist. “Okay, but don’t leave my side.”

They picked their way along the terrain, their path never straying from the approaching lights. Hope flickered in Kit’s chest, fragile but present. If it really was the police, this nightmare might finally be over.

A silhouette emerged from the shadows and blocked their path. The figure stepped forward, and Kit’s breath caught in her throat.

It was him.

He stood tall and unyielding, water dripping from his clothes. His gaze fixed on her, and a twisted smile curled his lips. He held a knife.

The world around her seemed to shrink, every sound muffled except for the pounding of her own heartbeat.

“Did you really think you could escape?” the man asked.

“Get behind me,” said Lacroix, shifting his body in front of Kit.

The man bellowed with laughter. “What is this?” Then his eyes burned with hatred. “I saved you from Sebastian Lacroix. And this is how you repay me?”

The flashlights in the distance were suddenly a universe away. Kit felt her blood turn to ice. They were trapped.

He was here to reclaim his wife.

46

Every twig crunching underfoot sounded like an explosion to Nia's ears. Despite their efforts to move in silence, the forest wouldn’t cooperate.

She stayed close to Officer Miller as her breath fogged in the night air. Then she spotted movement a few hundred feet into the woods.

Nia whispered into her radio, “Three figures at twelve o'clock. Confirmed movement.”

On Eli’s orders, the officers doused their flashlights, leaving them in the dark.

“Hold position,” Eli said. “No sudden moves.”

After Eli gave them their orders, the team advanced, spreading out. Each step brought them closer to the figures until Nia could make out the shapes more clearly. Two of them appeared to be stumbling, forced forward by the third, a tall man whose silhouette was unmistakable.

Kellen Hilldale.

Kit and Lacroix were in front of him. Both raised their hands.

Hilldale reached out and locked an arm around Kit’s shoulders, the blade of a knife glinting as he pressed it to her throat. Lacroix tried to intervene. His movements were jerky, as if he were ready to lunge but knew it would be suicide.

“Easy,” Nia whispered, as if Hilldale might hear and drop the knife.

Eli rounded on the officers. “All units, prepare to engage on my mark. We do this by the book.”

Nia adjusted her grip on her sidearm, her eyes never leaving Hilldale. His face was twisted with rage. He pulled Kit closer, the blade pressing harder.

Its roots weakened by the storm, a tree crashed in front of Eli, sending up a spray of water and mud. The officers pulled back and ducked.

Too late. Hilldale whirled around and saw them.

“Stay back!” Hilldale yelled. “Come any closer, and I’ll slit her throat. I swear it.”

Nia knew one bullet could end this. But if the shot went awry, it might kill Kit instead.

She glanced at Eli, who crouched low. She knew he was weighing every possible outcome.

There was no point in concealing their presence. Eli rose with his gun in hand. The other officers flanked him.

“Let her go, Kellen,” Eli said. “You don’t want to hurt her.”

Hilldale sneered. “She is my wife, and I will teach her to obey.”

The man’s words were tinged with madness.

“Think about this,” Eli said, taking a careful step forward. “Whatever you’re feeling right now, it doesn’t have to end like this. Put down the knife.”

“Kit chose him over me,” Hilldale said, tilting his head at Lacroix. “Can you believe it? Even after he tried to destroy her business, she sided with him.”

“You’re a good man, Kellen. It’s not your fault that you grew up with a monster.”

Nia could see Hilldale’s resolve waver before the fury returned to his eyes. Kit’s breathing quickened. If she broke free of his grasp, the police would have a clear shot. And so would Nia.

“Is this how Ryan Hilldale treated his wife? Your mother?”

Eli’s words caused Kit’s mouth to fall open. She stared at her abductor, as if seeing him anew.

Hilldale fought to keep his legs steady. “What do you know about my parents?”

“I know your father abused your mother. And if I had to guess, he turned his anger on you. But you aren’t your father, and Kit isn’t your wife. Let her go.”

This was the moment. One wrong move, and everything could spiral out of control. Nia held her breath, waiting for Hilldale to react.

Nia shifted subtly to her right, trying to find an angle. The other officers maintained their positions as Eli kept Hilldale’s attention.

“Kellen, listen to me,” Eli said. “You don’t have to repeat the past. You can make a different choice.”

Hilldale’s grip on Kit faltered. Nia adjusted her footing. She’d advanced far enough to leap out of the dark and tackle Hilldale, and the madman hadn’t yet spotted her. Hilldale’s gaze darted from Eli to the officers flanking him. He was unbalanced, teetering between rage and something else. Regret? Nia was unsure, but it was a crack she could exploit. This didn’t have to end in violence.

Though Nia knew Eli would be furious, she stood out of the grass and weeds with her hands raised. Kit leaped in shock and her eyes met Nia’s in confusion.

“Who are you?” Hilldale asked.

“Nia, get the heck out of there!” Eli commanded.

But there was no turning back now.

“Kellen,” Nia said, taking a careful step forward. “Let’s end this with no one else getting hurt. You’re tired, and you’re in pain. There’s no need for more suffering.”

Hilldale’s attention shifted to Nia. He obviously didn’t want her to approach, but he seemed too distracted by Eli and the officers to react.

Nia needed to get a little closer. “I don’t mean you any harm, Kellen. Let me help you.”

His grip on the knife tightened. “No one can help me.”

An officer’s flashlight blinked. Hilldale swung toward the beam.

Kit twisted in her abductor’s grasp. Hilldale’s balance faltered.

This was the moment Nia had been waiting for. She surged forward, her body moving on pure instinct. In a fluid motion, she slammed her forearm against Hilldale’s wrist, knocking the knife free. At the same time, Lacroix yanked Kit out of harm’s way.

Hilldale roared, his eyes wild with fury, but Nia didn’t give him a chance to recover. She kicked the knife across the ground and placed her body between Hilldale and the two hostages. Hilldale lunged, but Nia used his momentum against him, pivoting and driving her knee into his midsection. He stumbled, wheezing.

Eli and the officers swarmed over them.

“Help me hold him,” Nia told Eli.

Hilldale thrashed and screamed.

Kit clung to Lacroix, shaking but alive.

“Hands behind your back,” Eli said. With one knee pressed against Hilldale’s back, Eli secured one wrist, then the second. “Don’t resist, Kellen. It’s over.”

Hilldale bucked and released a guttural yell. Officer Anderson moved in to assist and helped Eli snap the cuffs into place.

Eli leaned closer, speaking into Hilldale’s ear. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you.”

The kidnapper wheezed, but his fight was gone. His expression held fury and defeat as Eli and the officers hauled him to his feet. Mud and rain plastered the clothes to his body.

“Search him,” Eli ordered.

Officer Miller patted down the arrested man. They found no weapons except the fallen knife. Jenkins led Hilldale away.

Just then, a flash of light made Nia and the officers turn around. Rachel held a camera. Two officers trained their weapons on the reporter.

“It’s all right,” Eli said. “Lower your guns. She’s a pain in the neck, but she isn’t a threat.”

Nia gave Rachel an exasperated look. The reporter raised her palms, as if saying she had no choice.

“That woman is a menace,” Eli said to Nia. “You never should have risked yourself like that, Nia. It was reckless.”

“I did what I had to do,” Nia said. “None of you had a clear shot. All that mattered was saving Kit and Lacroix.”

Behind them, Anderson tended to the rescued hostages. Lacroix removed the officer’s hand and straightened his shirt, as if proclaiming he didn’t need Anderson’s help.

Eli let out a heavy breath. “You could have died.”

“Have you forgotten that I worked for the NYPD?”

“No. But have you forgotten you’re Maya’s mother?”

She thought of her daughter, who was staying with Janet. What if she hadn’t been quick enough, and Hilldale had turned the knife on her?

“We caught Kellen Hilldale, and no one died. That’s what matters.”

“You always have an answer,” Eli grunted.

There was a beat of silence as they stared at each other.

“I’m soaked and freezing. Can we leave now?” Nia said.

47

Nia blinked. She was too stunned to form words.

Inside the Duskwood Police Department, she sat away from the others while Kit Stratton’s admission echoed in her mind.

Sebastian Lacroix had bailed out Stratton Estates. Of all the secrets and twists that had come to light, this one had knocked Nia off balance. She had spent so much time believing Lacroix wanted to run Kit’s vineyard into the ground and crush his competitors. But if he’d helped Kit without fanfare, maybe she’d been wrong to judge him.

In the next room, Kit sat inside the bullpen, her face drawn and bloodless. Their eyes met, and before Nia could put her thoughts together, the vineyard owner sat beside her. After answering a barrage of questions, Lacroix had left with his assistant ten minutes ago.

“I don’t even know how I’ll pay him back,” Kit said.

“I don’t believe he wants you to pay him back, Kit,” Nia said. “At least, not in the traditional sense.”

“Then how?”

Nia shrugged. “Darned if I know. Perhaps he hopes you’ll do the same for him in the future.”

“As if Sebastian Lacroix will ever teeter on the edge of bankruptcy.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t seem likely. Keep the money, Kit.”

“But my business is recovering. It’s not my way to lean on others for support.”

“Accepting help from people isn’t a sign of weakness.”

“You’re right, but it still bugs me.”

The truth was, Nia wasn’t entirely sure what Lacroix wanted. He was an enigma. But she’d also been too quick to categorize the mogul as a villain.

Nia glanced across the station and spotted Rachel standing near a row of desks. The reporter was staring at the floor, her face screwed up with indecision. Nia could see Rachel was grappling with the same revelation. She had overheard Nia’s conversation with Kit.

After Kit returned to the bullpen to answer more of Eli’s questions, Nia drew a deep breath and walked over to the reporter. “Strange night.”

Rachel shook her head. For a second, there was defiance in her eyes, as if she wanted to march across the room and demand Lacroix admit he had an ulterior motive. But the fight faded.

“Is Lacroix the white knight now?” Rachel asked. “Or just a despot playing the long game? Because I’m not ready to believe he is who he claims to be.”

“I don’t know what he is, Rachel. Maybe he’s both.”

“I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t think anyone does. But we misjudged his actions toward Stratton Estates. He gained nothing by keeping her business afloat. It wasn’t a smart investment, and you know it.”

“You’re too quick to see the best in people, Nia. Even people who don’t deserve it.”

Was that true? How did Nia feel about Eli, and would she trust him around Maya?

“Sometimes people can be more than they seem. You’re a reporter. I’m sure you give people the benefit of the doubt.”

A flicker of guilt appeared on Rachel’s face. Around the bullpen, the officers’ conversations faded into the background.

“Even if Lacroix’s motives are pure with Kit, it doesn’t make him innocent.”

“No, it doesn’t. But it’s time for us to reconsider our assumptions.”

Rachel looked away, her jaw tight. “I hate this. I hate not knowing what’s true.”

“Welcome to my world,” Nia said. She gave Rachel a rueful smile.

They didn’t have to trust Lacroix, but they couldn’t ignore what they’d just learned, either. It was a complication neither had seen coming.

Eli finished his interview and returned to Nia and Rachel. His gaze settled on Rachel, and it looked as though he was about to launch into another lecture. But instead of anger, there was something softer, more exhausted, on his face.

“Foster,” Eli started, running a hand through his damp hair. “I’m going to say this once. You were told to stay in the car for a reason. You can’t keep putting yourself in danger.”

Rachel set her hands on her hips, prepared for a fight, but paused at the genuine concern in his voice. “A reporter needs to take risks.”

“That’s not true. What if you came searching for us and ran into Hilldale instead? You got lucky this time. Next time, you might not be.”

“I didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t,” Eli said.

Nia wasn’t sure Eli was telling the truth.

“Jenkins finished booking Kellen Hilldale,” Eli told Nia. “We’re piecing together his history, and it’s disturbing.”

“Even more than we knew?” Nia asked.

Eli’s eyes darkened as he recounted the details. “Hilldale grew up in that house. His father was arrested multiple times for domestic violence.”

“Right, I remember.”

“Tina Hilldale tried to leave Ryan more than once but always ended up back at the house. The reports are sickening. Ryan kept her isolated and controlled every aspect of her life. Worse yet, he forced Kellen to watch while he berated and beat the boy’s mother.”

“Good God.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Sounds like Kellen followed in his father’s footsteps,” Rachel muttered.

“Ryan’s abuse didn’t stop with Tina,” Eli said. “He targeted Kellen. Beatings, psychological torment.”

“And no one did anything?” Nia asked, incredulous.

“Tina Hilldale kept changing her story, and Kellen was too young to come forward. By the time Kellen was on his own, he’d internalized every lesson his father taught him. He stayed alone, just like Ryan made him and Tina feel. I guess he couldn’t break out of the loop and needed to recreate his childhood.”

Nia rubbed her eyes, trying to process the horror. “So when he saw Kit⁠—”

“He wasn’t just fixated. He saw her as someone he could keep, like his father did with Tina. I’m not excusing him. But it’s clear his upbringing shaped what he became.”

Rachel glanced down the hall where the holding cells stood. “And now he’s behind bars?”

“For a long time. There’s no telling what he is capable of. But at least he can’t hurt anyone.”

“I should get back to my desk and write this story,” Rachel said as she gathered her belongings. “People need to know what happened.”

Eli said, “Be careful with how you frame it.”

Rachel’s expression was unreadable. “I’ll do my job, Eli. You did yours. Trust that I’ll handle the story with care.”

After Rachel departed, Nia and Eli shuffled their feet. Neither seemed willing to begin the conversation they’d been avoiding.

Finally, Eli spoke. “Where do we stand?”

Nia jostled the keys in her pocket. She thought about the ride-along and Maya. The anger she’d clung to had burned away, leaving her exhausted and confused.

“I’m not angry anymore,” she said. “But I need time to process what happened.”

“Does that mean I’m still not welcome at your house?”

She hesitated. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she had to be honest. “It means I need space, Eli. Almost losing Maya made me realize I haven’t been a proper mother. It was my decision to allow her to go. I can’t blame you for that. But your job⁠—”

“Is no more dangerous than yours.”

“I’m not sure I agree.”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Okay. If you change your mind, you have my number.”

“Don’t rush things, Eli.”

“Take all the time you need. Just remember, life is short.”

48

The September sun warmed Nia’s back as she hung a shirt on the clothesline. Behind the house, the trees held more yellow than green. Times were changing.

Inside, Luna and Madrid barked, their yips punctuated by the sound of Maya’s laughter. It was a comforting sound. Life was returning to normal. She pinched a clothespin over a pair of pants and stepped back, brushing a stray hair from her face.

It had been a week since the Kellen Hilldale arrest, and a week since she’d spoken to Eli. True to his word, he hadn’t called or messaged, and the only contact they’d had was strictly business when Nia returned to the station to answer more of Jenkins’ questions.

Jenkins had been thorough, combing through every detail of her encounter with the deranged man. His questions had been professional, his expression guarded. No judgment, no blame. But the brief visit had left her drained. She’d felt Eli’s eyes from across the room.

The wind picked up, making the clothes dance on the line. Nia adjusted a wayward sheet.

Was she the only one who refused to relax and accept life as it came to her? Maya never spoke about the domestic dispute, and it wasn’t because she was too troubled to talk. No. Troubles slid off Maya’s back. Teens were more resilient than adults gave them credit for.

Still, Nia worried. She’d caught Maya glancing at her a few times when she thought Nia wasn’t looking—eyes filled with questions the girl wanted to voice.

No matter how many times Nia explained why she needed to keep her distance from Eli, Maya didn’t understand. How could she? Even Nia didn’t understand.

A breeze brushed over her, and she closed her eyes, letting herself feel the sun. Just for a moment, she let herself believe everything would be okay.

“Nia, dear?”

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Janet’s voice from across the yard. She turned to see Janet standing at the fence with a basket of herbs tucked under one arm.

“Lost in thought again, I see,” Janet said. She set down the basket and joined Nia beside the clothesline, the scent of basil and rosemary trailing behind her.

“Something like that,” Nia said.

Janet studied her for a moment. “I’ve known you long enough to see when you’re carrying the weight of the world. This is about Eli again, right?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s always complicated with matters of the heart. I know you’re hurting, Nia, but shutting out Eli seems like a mistake. Is this what you want?”

Nia hung another shirt on the line. “I’m not sure he belongs in our lives, Janet. Sure, Eli is good to Maya, but he is more of a friend than he is a father.”

“Is that what she needs in her a life? A father?”

“Perhaps. Regardless, I would never force Eli to play that role, and I doubt it’s what he wants.”

“One step at a time,” Janet said. “Until you speak, he’ll never know where you stand.”

“I can’t forget how close I came to losing Maya. How do I get past that? What if I let him into our lives and things go wrong?”

Janet stepped closer, her eyes never leaving Nia’s. “What if they don’t? What if things go right this time? Allow yourself to believe in a better tomorrow. Does it serve you to always brace for the worst? Or would it be better to open yourself up to a new world of possibilities?”

Nia stared at the dancing clothes, her head heavy with uncertainty. “I feel guilty.”

“For?”

“For shutting out Eli and not trusting him. I wouldn’t even know how to approach him.” Nia ran a hand through her hair. “I suppose I could call him tomorrow after I wrap up my caseload.”

A hint of mischief crossed Janet’s face. “Why wait for tomorrow? You can talk to him now.”

“What do you mean?”

Janet looked past Nia’s shoulder. Nia followed her eyes and saw Eli standing on Janet’s porch. He wore jeans and a weathered shirt, his face a mix of hope and trepidation. Nia’s breath caught in her throat.

Janet patted her arm and picked up the basket of herbs. “Eli and I had a long talk. He knows how much Maya means to you—and to me. We have an understanding. I’ll leave you two to talk.”

She walked back to her house, leaving Nia too surprised to move. Janet had set her up. And Nia wasn’t angry.

Eli took a tentative step forward. “Can I talk to you, Nia?”

This was the moment she’d dreaded and longed for since their last meeting. She opened her mouth, but no words came. Eli took another step closer, the space between them charged with everything they hadn’t said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “About Maya and about the Cecilia Gray investigation. I meant well each time, but I have a way of messing up.”

Nia’s throat tightened. A wave of emotion rushed through her, threatening to topple her. She drew herself up. The sincerity and regret in his eyes made her want to crumble.

“You didn’t mess up,” she said. “Not in the way you think. You wanted to help Maya, and you did the best you could in an impossible situation. Two impossible situations, if we’re counting the Gray investigation.”

He stopped a few paces away. “I don’t know how to make this up to you. Heck, I don’t even understand what we have. We’re close friends, I guess. I don’t want to lose your trust, and I’d like to spend more time with Maya.”

The mention of her daughter’s name softened the sharp edges of Nia’s heart. “Maya needs you in her life,” she said. “And so do I.”

“In what way?”

Nia lifted her palms. “Do we need to decide right now?”

“No, I suppose not. I’m in no rush.”

A grin formed on Nia’s lips. “That might be a first for you.”

They stood in the late afternoon light. This was good. They made no promises they couldn’t keep, and Eli seemed willing to leave enough space for them to grow. Inside, the barking grew louder. Luna and Madrid, tails wagging, had spotted Eli through the window.

He hooked his thumbs in the belt loops. “For what it’s worth, I’m grateful you didn’t give up on me.”

“And I’m grateful you didn’t give up on me, either.”

They lingered a moment before Nia finally threw back her head and laughed.

“What?” he asked.

“You came all this way. There’s no sense in not inviting you in for dinner. That is, if you have an appetite.”

“I could eat.”

“Maya will like having you around.”

“Not as much as I will.”

Together they walked toward the house, leaving the past behind them and carrying its lessons forward. No promises, no grand gestures. Just two people trying to be better for each other and the teenager they cared about.

“What are you making?” he asked.

She elbowed him. “What am I making? I’m not here to serve you, Eli Mitchell. Grab the tongs and grill us some hot dogs.”

“At your service, Nia.”

As Nia walked back to the house to fix a salad, Maya clambered out of the door and leaped into Eli’s arms. The dogs followed, yapping in a language only they understood.

With Eli too far away to hear, Nia whispered to herself.

“It’s nice to you have you back, big guy.”

GET A FREE BOOK!

I’m a pretty nice guy once you look past the grisly images in my head. Most of all, I love connecting with awesome readers like you.

Join my VIP Reader Group and get a FREE serial killer thriller for your Kindle.

Get My Free Book

www.danpadavona.com/thriller-readers-vip-group/

SUPPORT YOUR FAVORITE AUTHORS

Did you enjoy this book? If so, please let other thriller fans know by leaving a short review. Positive reviews help spread the word about independent authors and their novels. Thank you.

Copyright Information

Published by Dan Padavona

Visit my website at www.danpadavona.com

Copyright © 2024 by Dan Padavona

Artwork copyright © 2024 by Dan Padavona

Cover Design by Dan Padavona

All Rights Reserved

Although some of the locations in this book are actual places, the characters and setting are wholly of the author's imagination. Any resemblance between the people in this book and people in the real world is purely coincidental and unintended.

Created with Vellum

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

No writer journeys alone. Special thanks are in order to my editor, C.B. Moore, for providing invaluable feedback, catching errors, and making my story shine. Shout outs to my advance readers, including Nerrida Wright, for catching those final pesky typos and plot holes. Most of all, thank you to my readers for your loyalty and support. You changed my life, and I am forever grateful.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dan Padavona is the author of The Wolf Lake series, The Thomas Shepherd series, The Logan and Scarlett series, The Darkwater Cove series, The Scarlett Bell thriller series, Her Shallow Grave, and The Dark Vanishings series. He lives in upstate New York with his beautiful wife, Terri, and their children, Joe, and Julia. Dan is a meteorologist with NOAA’s National Weather Service. Besides writing, he enjoys visiting amusement parks, beach vacations, Renaissance fairs, gardening, playing with the family dogs, and eating too much ice cream.

Visit Dan at: www.danpadavona.com