The possibility that Mary might have done something to Bridget after she knocked me out hadn’t crossed my mind before, but now it does. Now it streaks through my thoughts, frantic and flaming, setting my soul on fire.
If she hurt Bridget last night…
I can’t let my imagination go there, or I’ll never calm down enough to come up with an escape plan.
But the dread stays with me, fueling my efforts as I jerk my body forward against my ropes. The bed scoots a tiny bit, and I do it again and again, slowly but surely moving the entire frame across the room toward the kitchenette and the knife block sitting on the counter.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bridget
I’m losing it.
My brain is melting like a plastic doll in the microwave, leaving nothing but a puddle of wretched-smelling sadness where my rational mind used to be.
I have never been so worried or scared and felt so absolutely helpless at the same time.
“When we get home you need to get some rest,” Kirby says, laying a hand on my knee as I fidget beside her at the Hidden Kill Bay police station, waiting for Detective Harris to find time for me in his busy day of sorting out parking tickets.
He tried to cancel—citing an unusually large number of traffic violations due to the Fall Foliage Festival in full swing along the coast—but I insisted that I’d bring the evidence to him. I demanded at least five minutes of his time and refused to back down until he fit me into his schedule.
I am insisting on things and demanding things and channeling Big Boss levels of assertiveness for the first time in my life, but it might not make a difference.
The longer Shep’s missing, the more certain I become that I’ll never see him again.
“I can’t sleep. Not until we find Shep.” I drag a hand through my hair before crossing my arms at my chest and shooting the door leading back to the maze of cubicles inside the station a black look. “What’s taking so long? I mean, seriously, a man’s life is in danger and this dick wad is too busy with paperwork to be bothered?”
“He’s just following protocol,” Kirby says gently. “But it’s been almost twenty-four hours now. Surely he’ll let you file the official missing person’s report and get the ball moving.”
“He’d better,” I grumble beneath my breath, “or I’m going to ram my car into his police cruiser until I’ve committed a sufficient number of traffic violations to be taken seriously.”
“Hush,” Kirby whispers, casting a meaningful glance toward the reception desk, where a bored-looking woman with Resting Constipated Face is dividing her time between answering the phones and throwing sour glances our way. “These people don’t know you’re kidding.”
“I’m not kidding.”
“Stop it. You don’t have a violent bone in your body.” Kirby laughs in the receptionist’s general direction before turning back to me and widening her eyes. “Ix-nay the reat-thrays before you end up in ail-jay.”
“That was the laziest Pig Latin I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, I’ve been up all night, too, you know.” Kirby glances down at her watch with a sigh. “Want me to give Colin another call? See if he and Cutter have come across anything yet?”
I nod. We just called them twenty minutes ago, but even a slim chance of good news is enough to get my heart beating faster. Kirby and I have been out looking, too—driving up and down the local roads, searching for some sign of Shep—until it was time to head to the station. Everyone agreed that I should be the one to fill out the missing person’s report since I was the last to see Shep and have the most information about his stalker.
Unfortunately, that isn’t much. He always acted like it was no big deal and changed the subject. Now I would give both my pinkie fingers to turn back time and have another chance to get him to the police station before things escalated like this.
Though, the police probably wouldn’t have taken him seriously.
If this is how they treat a kidnapping, I shudder to think how they’d handle a few threatening pieces of paper.
Kirby has just stepped outside to call Colin, leaving me to brood in my own frustration, when the door to the main offices opens and a ridiculously good-looking man with dark eyes and glossy black hair curling around his perfectly shaped ears calls my name. “Bridget Lawrence?”
I leap to my feet. “Here.” I wince, shaking my head as I cross the waiting room. “I mean, yes, that’s me. And I brought the evidence I mentioned.” I lift the plastic bag I’ve had clutched in my hand the entire time this man kept me waiting.
Shep and I have obviously already touched the notes inside, but the part of me that’s watched too many crime shows insisted I try to preserve any evidence that might be lingering on the paper.
He casts the baggie a rushed and largely disinterested look. “Great. Come on back.”
“So, you’re Detective Harris?” I ask.
“That’s me. Sorry about the wait. This morning’s been a shit show.”
I’d usually insist it was no trouble, but I’m not in good-mannered Bridget mode this morning. I’m in quit-jerking-me-around-and-make-an-effort-to-find-my-missing-friend mode so I say nothing as I step through the door, following him through a room filled with the drone of one-sided phone conversations, the chirp of machines and speakers, and loud laughter from the corner by the coffee machine.
I instinctively glare in the direction of the laughter but force my face to relax a moment later.
Yes, it feels like the world, and all the laughter in it, should grind to a halt until Shep is found, but that’s not the way being human works.
It’s also the reason I do my best to give challenging people the benefit of the doubt. I don’t know what’s going on in their lives at any given moment. I don’t know what kind of pain they’re in or what worries are weighing heavily on their minds.
I try to keep that thought front and center as I sit down across from Detective Harris in his cramped but relatively tidy office. He has actual books on the shelf behind him—heavy tomes on criminal psychology mixed with procedural manuals and a dozen or so well-loved paperbacks—so we at least have something in common.
And people who read tend to be curious people, the kind who are at least a little open to having their minds changed from time to time.
“So, tell me about the twenty-four hours before Shepherd disappeared,” Harris says, grabbing a couple of Post-it notes from one side of his computer screen and pressing them to the desk in front of him.
I fill him in as best I can and finish with, “He came over to my place about six o’clock and we were together until about eleven, when he went out to check on the disturbance we’d heard out in the garden. That was the last time I saw him or heard from him.”
“Had the two of you quarreled before he went outside?” the detective asks, still studying those two Post-it notes, though I’m pretty sure he absorbed all the illumination they have to offer five minutes ago.
“No, we had a wonderful night,” I say, refusing to blush or tiptoe around the truth. Any fact, no matter how small, could help find Shep. “We were in bed for most of the evening, just enjoying each other and talking about the future.”
Harris nods, and his brow furrows, but he still doesn’t look up from the desk. “What about the future? Specifically? If you can remember.”
“About being a couple,” I say. “And what that would mean for us. How we’d make it work with him on tour and me here in town.”
“Come to any conclusions on that?”
I frown, wishing he’d look at me already so I could get some clue from his expression where he’s going with this. “Some. But we were interrupted before we could get too far along. By the noise outside.”
“But he wasn’t agitated when he left your place you wouldn’t say?”
“He didn’t leave. He stepped outside to see if there were kids in the hot tub. He was coming right back.”
Harris finally peeks up at me through t
he glossy locks of his hair. “But he didn’t come back, Miss Lawrence. And in the majority of cases, that happens because a person decides to leave of his own free will. Not because a six foot three, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound man was kidnapped without any sign of a scuffle.”
“How would you know if there was sign of a scuffle?” I ask, fighting to remain calm. “You haven’t been out to examine the crime scene.”
“Alleged crime scene,” he counters. “And you personally assured me there was no sign of a physical altercation.”
“But I’m not a trained professional. I could have missed something. And Shep didn’t leave me of his own free will. He would never have done that, especially not after—” I break off, not wanting to share that part with this not-at-all-open-minded jerk. “He just wouldn’t have done that.”
“After what?” The detective’s voice gentles as he adds, “I’m trying to help, Miss Lawrence. I promise I am. The more honest you can be with me, the better I’ll be able to do that.”
I take a deep breath, holding it for a beat. “It was the first time we’d slept together. And the…” I curl my hands into fists, forcing the rest of it out. “And the first time we said I love you.”
He leans back in his chair, arms crossing at his chest as his brows lift. “That’s a big night. Bet there was a pretty intense emotional charge in the air.”
“There was,” I say, “but not in a bad way. We were happy. Shep especially. He was smiling when he went outside. He wasn’t worried about kicking the teenagers out of the hot tub. He has nine younger brothers and sisters and is incredible with kids of all ages.” I can see the detective’s eyes beginning to glaze over, but can’t help adding in a tight voice, “He promised he’d be right back and kissed me on the forehead. He promised, and he doesn’t break promises.”
Harris lays his hands flat on the desk. “Listen, I know you’re worried, but people do things like this all the time. They retreat when they’re feeling overwhelmed emotionally, even if it’s in a good way. He probably just needed some time to decompress and will be back on your doorstep tonight, begging for forgiveness.”
“Except that he won’t because something has happened to him. I know it.” I motion to the plastic bag full of notes in front of me, the one he hasn’t so much as touched. “He was being stalked, Detective Harris. The evidence is right there.”
“And I intend to treat it seriously, Miss Lawrence. I just wanted to get as much background on his state of mind at the time of his disappearance as I could before I introduced another variable into consideration.” He drags the plastic bag across the table, popping the seal, but pausing before he reaches inside. “You said both you and Shep have already touched these, correct?”
I nod. “But I thought I should try to protect them. Just in case.”
“Smart, but unfortunately it’s hard to get a clear fingerprint off of paper products, even when they’ve only been touched by one person.” He reaches inside, carefully pulling out the notes and reading through them, humming beneath his breath as he reaches the bottom of the longest letter. “I can see why you’d be concerned about this last one, but no overt threats have been made in any of these.”
I reach over, pointing at the final note. “The person dropped that in Shep’s mailbox. That means he or she knows where Shep lives and was at his house just a few hours before he disappeared.”
“That’s a little odd, but most people in this town know where the famous people live. Your sister included.” He places the note in his hand back on the stack. “How’s she doing, by the way? I heard about what happened in Vegas with her ex-boyfriend. That must have been so scary for all of you.”
“It was,” I say cautiously, feeling like I’m about to stumble into a trap. “But that’s not why I’m worried about Shep. I know him, Detective Harris.” I thread my fingers together on the desk between us. “Please, you have to believe me. He wouldn’t have left me alone and worried if he’d had any choice in the matter. That’s not the kind of man he is. He’s so brave and kind and wonderful and…”
I swallow hard, fighting to keep the stinging at the backs of my eyes from becoming full-fledged sobs. “I’m begging you. Please, help me find him. If you’re right, and he just ghosted on me to clear his head, I’ll personally pay the department back for every man-hour spent on his case.”
He starts to reply, but I cut him off, “So you have nothing to lose. You’re covered either way. But if I’m right, and Shep is out there in trouble, he could be running out of time. And there’s no way to go back and fix that if we wait and it ends up being too late.”
Detective Harris exhales, glancing down at the stalker notes before dragging his attention back to my face.
“Please,” I whisper. “We’re only eight hours away from the twenty-four-hour mark. At least let me fill out the missing person paperwork and you can put out an APB. My friends and I are out looking, but we’re only a few people, and we don’t have the training or resources you have.”
His lips press together in a tight line and another endless minute passes before he nods. “All right. I’ll get you the paperwork.”
“Thank you so much,” I say in a rush of breath, some of the tension seeping from my shoulders.
He points to my chest. “You have a recent picture of him?”
“Three,” I say, fumbling my phone from my purse. “I pulled up the ones I think look the most like him. Two with his beard and one without, just in case. He looks different without it so if someone made him shave….” I trail off as I pull up the pics. “You want me to email these to you?”
“That would be great.” He gives me his email address and stands. “I’ll be right back with the paperwork.” He pauses at the door, turning back to me. “But just FYI, I still think I’m right. I think he’s going to be back with you before the sun goes down, busting his ass to make up for his mistake.”
“I hope you’re right. I really do.”
But I know he’s not. Nothing he’s said can or will change my mind. I know deep down in the marrow of my bones that Shep needs help.
My help.
But what can I do?
Without a single clue to point me in the right direction?
Back in the lobby after I’ve finished up with the paperwork, Kirby greets me with a hopeful expression, but I shake my head and start toward the exit.
“What happened?” she asks in a hushed voice. “They didn’t let you file the report? They’re seriously going to make you come back here tonight?”
“No, they filed the report, but they’re not taking it seriously,” I say, huddling deeper in my jacket as we cross the street and cut through the park on our way back to the bed and breakfast. With the tourist traffic as bad as it is right now, it’s faster to walk around downtown than to drive and fight for parking. “The detective thinks Shep was emotionally overwhelmed by the thought of starting a relationship and needed some time to himself.”
Kirby snorts. “That’s so not Shep.”
I shrug. “I mean, he did his share of running away from me when we first started this experiment, but last night wasn’t like that. It was so good, Kirby, so honest and real. And we were both so happy. He wouldn’t have ghosted on me after that.”
“Of course he wouldn’t.” Kirby links her hand through my elbow, giving my arm a comforting squeeze. “Colin and Cutter haven’t found anything yet, by the way, but they’re still looking. They’re going to swing by his house, do another canvas for clues, and check-in with us after. I told them we’d be at the B&B until further notice.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know if I can work right now.”
“You don’t have to. Deborah said she could stay all day today, and she’s planning to come in tomorrow, too. All you have to do is get some rest and stay hopeful.”
“I can’t rest, either. I need to do something to help find him.” At the edge of the park, I glance both ways and step out into the street, pulling Kirby with me as I cross aga
inst the light. Take that, Hidden Kill Bay PD. If you’re not going to hold down your half of this protect and serve deal, I’m not going to pull my weight with the law-abiding part.
“What about the dry cleaner?” Kirby says, excitement spiking in her voice. “The Green Clean place across the street from the back part of the garden? They might have security cameras. And if they do, they could have picked up someone coming or going into the garden on our side of the street.”
I spin to face Kirby, grabbing both of her hands. “Yes! That’s a brilliant idea. Let’s go right now.”
“Wait, wait,” Kirby says, holding me in place. “We should check in with Deborah at the front desk first.” She nods toward the wide, welcoming front porch and the large red door leading into the reception area of the Bed and Breakfast. “She said two of the housecleaning staff were out with the flu and that Mary hasn’t made it in with the supplies for the s’mores social tonight.”
I tug my phone from my jacket pocket, huffing again as I see the time. “Shit. We’re only two hours out.” Clenching my jaw, I nod. “Okay, I’ll go handle things with Deborah, while you go check in with the cleaners. You’re better at getting people to do things, anyway. If they do have footage, tell them we’re most interested in the hours between ten-thirty and midnight.”
“Got it.” She swings our joined hands back and forth. “Hang in there, babes. We’ve got this. I’ll text as soon as I have any news.”
I lean in, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you, sissy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
She hugs me tight. “And you’re never going to find out.”
We pull apart, both of us sniffing and blinking faster, and bolt in opposite directions.
As I bound up the steps, I thank the universe for Kirby. And Theo, who’s rejoining the search as soon as she gets off work.
Bang Theory Page 16