“They’re a hard couple to miss,” Cole agreed.
“I want a BOLO order on Nicole and Patrick Goodale right now,” Lieutenant Santos snapped to the room and his people scattered.
“Check Lembranza first,” Eden called to her husband as he left with Jack.
“Hang on,” Simone said in an unusually placating tone. “Nicole’s lies aside, we’re basing this sudden suspicion about Patrick and Nicole kidnapping Hope on a flaw in a photograph from twenty years ago that they didn’t even take. That’s a huge leap. And who uses a camera from two decades before? Especially in a business?”
“Sentimentality?” Allie supposed. “My father bought Tyler that camera. He thought it would help Tyler bond with his mother, who was also a photographer.”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re still not convinced?” Allie asked Eden. “What happened to the pounce-now, ask-questions-later Eden St. Claire?”
“She learned her lesson the hard way.”
“So you want to dig deeper?” Allie pressed.
“I want to excavate completely to make sure we’re on the right track,” Eden said. “And you’d be thinking the same thing if you weren’t hurting at the moment. One dot does not prove anything, Allie. Let’s find more. Let’s be sure.”
“What other dots are you thinking about?” Max said even as he tamped down the growing anxiety building in his chest. They were a step closer, even as the clock ticked down.
“Jace finished running background checks on both Patrick and Nicole,” Vince said.
“That was fast.” Simone frowned at him.
“Not really,” Vince said. “I asked him to do it a few hours ago.”
“At my suggestion,” Max volunteered and flinched when Allie turned blank eyes on him. “Told you I got weird vibes off them. I didn’t want to be right.”
“It’s okay,” Allie said, but she wrapped her arms around her waist in that way she had when she closed herself off. “I don’t blame you.”
She didn’t. She blamed herself, not that he could deal with that just then.
“Patrick has a record from when he was a kid. Petty stuff. Stealing, breaking and entering.” Vince read off details. “Files were sealed.”
“Again, I’m standing right here,” Simone said. “If you could stop breaking privacy laws or at least telling me you’re breaking them?” She seemed to rethink her stance. “Then again, it wouldn’t be a horrible thing if those prints happen to make it to Eamon and the FBI.”
“So they can compare them to what?” Eden challenged. “No prints other than Hope’s have been found on anything—not on the phone, not on the flowers in Allie’s basement. The only anomaly has been Chloe’s prints on the perfume bottle, but I’m nowhere near figuring that one out. So, in essence, we have nothing.”
“Sporadic school records,” Vince went on. “For all three of the Goodales. Moved around a lot every three or four months. The time they were at the Hollisters seems to be the most uneventful—almost three years of nothing. Then they were turned back over to their mother. After that, there’s not a lot on record that’s abnormal. Community college for Patrick and Nicole. He went to work in construction and Nicole went from state to state. Looks like she was mostly working in the restaurant industry.”
“Patrick would have been about seventeen when they left us,” Allie said. “Nicole, sixteen. That would have made Tyler fourteen? About the time that particular type of psychosis starts to manifest.”
“Why would Tyler have killed Chloe?” Max asked. “Did he know her?”
“We all knew him,” Simone said. “We all liked him. He was quiet. Withdrawn but always very kind. Gentle. Especially with Allie. Whip smart. Could fix anything. Toys, electronics, gadgets.”
Vince snorted. “So putting together a camera of old and new parts probably wouldn’t have been difficult for him. New technology tied to what he knew and loved, what your father gave him, Allie.”
“Tyler was lost,” Allie agreed. “They all were, but there was something different about Tyler. He missed his mom even though she had been violent with them—with Tyler, especially. He’d have done anything to connect with her.”
“Milestone came through,” Castillo announced. “I’m running through the list of photography contractors who worked with YM right now. I could use a second pair of eyes. I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for.” The officer’s dark eyes darted from side to side as she read. “Twenty years’ worth is a lot.”
“Keep going,” Allie said and leaned over her shoulder. “I’m reading with you.”
“Neither Patrick nor Nicole are at the restaurant,” Cole said as he reentered the conference room. “No one’s seen them since last night when they closed.”
“What’s that one?” Allie pointed to one of the businesses. “PNT. They have multiple California addresses, including one in the city where Rosalie Jenson’s body was found behind the strip mall.”
“Why that business?” Max asked.
“PNT? Patrick, Nicole, Tyler,” Vince answered.
“It can’t really be that simple, can it?” Eden sounded doubtful. “Honestly, it’s like someone’s laying out the bread crumbs for us. That’s either really stupid or very arrogant.”
“Well, we know they aren’t stupid,” Simone said. “And they aren’t hiding anymore. Showing up here to talk to Allie proves that.”
“That’s it. PNT.” Allie took a step back.
“You’re sure?” Cole circled around to read the screen.
“Look at the listed owner,” Allie told him.
“P.G. Ale,” Cole read out loud.
“Patrick Goodale,” Eden said. “Okay, I’m convinced.”
“Me, too,” Lieutenant Santos confirmed. “Now let’s find them.”
* * *
Allie slammed her fist into the heavy bag, taking not one ounce of her usual joy in watching it swing. Another punch, and another. She hopped back, kicked, kicked again until she felt the back of her thigh burn in effort. Sweat poured down her face, ran into her eyes, the sensation welcome as she pummeled her frustration, her anger, her rage out of her system.
The basement stairs creaked, but she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Every punch she landed, every strike she made, would exorcise the demons gnawing at her insides. Her chest ached; her lungs strained. She embraced the reminder she was still alive. Still breathing.
All these years. Punch. All this time. Punch. Punch. Every day that passed when she’d wondered, every day she’d lost trying to solve a mystery where the answer ended up being closer to home than she’d ever realized.
Tyler.
Punch. Punch. Punch.
All these years and it had been Tyler who was responsible for her nightmares.
Tyler. A sob caught in her throat. Sweet, caring, attentive Tyler who had held her while she’d cried over the loss of her friend. With hands that had choked the life out of that friend.
Punch. Punch. Kick. Kick.
And now Nicole was... What? Taking his place in tormenting her? Picking up where Tyler and his derangements had left off?
Allie turned, meaning to roundhouse the bag, only to have her knee give out. She dropped to the mat like a stone. She swore and slammed her fist into the padding.
“That heavy bag will never harm another person as long as it lives.”
She squeezed her eyes shut so tight she saw stars. “Not now, Max.”
She didn’t want him here, didn’t want to hear his humor however he managed to find a way to use it. Not when it was someone she knew, someone she’d trusted, who was responsible for so much devastation. “Don’t come down here unless you have something positive to report.” Like news that Patrick and Nicole were locked deep in a cell with no chance of escape.
Then she’d get Hope’s location out of them. It would only take a minute...
“Depends on your definition of positive.”
She knew what he was doing by letting the statement linger: daring her to look at him, to engage in a coherent conversation while all she wanted to do was continue to beat the leather bag. The silence stretched, thinned. Grated on her last, frayed nerve.
She surrendered, pushed herself up and stared at him.
There he sat, Max Kellan, wearing sweats and a tank, sitting on her staircase watching every move she made. How could he look at her with such understanding? Such patience? The idea of it reignited the banking rage as she ripped her gloves off. “Don’t just sit there. You want in on this?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He pushed to his feet, took the steps to the basement and stood on the other side of the heavy bag. “You want to punch through this first? Or just have at—”
She lunged, striking out, locked her hands around his arm in two places and rotated fast enough to flip him onto his back. Allie moved in, hands still clasping his arm, and pushed her foot against the base of his throat.
“Huh.” He blinked those amazing eyes up at her. “You can’t see it, but that was my ego you just crushed.”
“Get up.” She let go and shoved back, hands up, fisted in front of her face. “Go again. This time fight back.”
He drew his legs back, rocked up to his feet. He turned as she struck out. This time he dodged and ducked, avoiding the hit, doubling over as her foot found his stomach. He cursed even as he caught her ankle and shoved her back. She hopped, wrenched her foot free and caught her balance.
Readied herself again.
“I don’t know if this is doing much for you.” He grunted when she hammered out at him. “But I’ve never had a woman turn me on this hard and this fast before.” His eyes narrowed as her vision blurred.
This time when she punched at him, he locked his hand around her wrist, rotated their position and drew her own arm hard up across her neck. She slammed her foot down on his bare one, lifted it immediately with plans to drive it back and into his knee, but he shifted position again, spun her out and then over.
She hit the mat hard on her back, the force driving the air from her chest. He stood over her, feet on either side of her thighs as he planted his hands on his hips. “You let me know when you’re done.”
“I’m done.” She dropped her arms to her side, waiting, watching, keeping her eyes on his as she saw him relax and shift his weight to step away from her. She swept her legs around and knocked his feet out from under him.
He landed next to her, feet by her head, as the air whooshed out of his lungs. “Note to self,” he said, groaning and holding up two hands in surrender, “best fake out ever. In related news, you’ve managed to drain every ounce of testosterone out of me.”
“Not yet, I haven’t.” She launched herself over him, locked her knees on either side of his hips and gripped his hands in hers. Her blood pounded through her veins, like a war drum calling her to action. Never mind the consequences. Never mind what was appropriate or right. “But I’m about to.”
She kissed him. Kissed him the way she’d dreamed of being kissed. As if every breath she took depended on it. His fingers flexed in hers as he opened his mouth to her demanding one. She moved forward, sliding her body along his as her tongue dueled with his. She didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to reason things out, rationalize another thought.
She only wanted to feel something other than pain.
Allie tore her mouth free, far enough to gaze down at him, to make sure he understood. She didn’t want words, didn’t want platitudes or flowery poems of seduction. She wanted him. Around her. Inside of her.
For once, Allie declared as that mouth of his twitched in amused understanding, she was going to take what she wanted.
“Do it, Doc.” He sat up and released her hands. His fingers skimmed down her sides, the heaviness of him pressing hard and urgent against her core and making her moan. He slipped his hands under the band of her sports bra, tugged it over her head in a fluid motion when she raised her arms. “Take what you need.”
“I need you.” She kissed him again, drew his tongue into her mouth, teeth scraping against teeth as his hands slipped to her back, pressed her into his chest. The fabric of his shirt rubbed against her nipples, had her making low, raw sounds in her throat until she returned the favor by dragging his shirt over his head.
She felt him tense under her touch as she shifted back, an inch and then another, until he held her hips and flipped her under him. He kissed her, his hands, then his mouth, tracing over her breasts. The whiskers of his barely there beard ignited explosions of pleasure that rocketed through her body.
Allie drew her legs up, cradled him between her thighs as his mouth and hands moved down between her breasts, to her stomach, her navel. His tongue dipped in as his fingers gripped the waist of her shorts. He drew them down, down, and she lifted her hips, impatient to feel him, to have him.
She felt the cool basement air against her bare, slick-with-sweat skin, but wherever he touched her, wherever his body brushed hers, a warmth spread and drove her closer to the edge. “Your turn.” His fingers teased, tempted, tantalized until she felt her legs go weak and fall.
“Max,” she gasped. “Don’t you dare. Not without you.” She dropped her hands onto his head, flexed her fingers in the thickness of his hair and thought she’d never felt anything so good, so right.
“Not to worry.”
She didn’t have to see him to know he was grinning. Her entire body was buzzing, like frayed electrical wires sparking. He shifted up, long enough to divest himself of his pants, only to dive after them when he tossed them almost out of reach.
She lifted herself up on her elbows. “What are you—oh.” She couldn’t help it. At the sight of the foil packet, she arched a brow. “That sure of yourself when you came down here, were you?”
“I thought I could offer you another outlet for your energies,” he agreed. He ripped open the foil, handed it to her. She looked down at him, hard and ready, pulsing. For her. She licked her lips. “I think I’m going to leave it to you. Whenever you’re ready, of course.” She scooted back, just a little, so she could watch as he covered himself. The second he moved toward her, she lay back, opened herself.
She could feel him, all of him, almost where she needed him. Right where she wanted him. Allie reached up, framed his face in her hands. She kissed him, eyes wide open, staring into his eyes, into him, as he filled her.
She moaned, or was that him? She couldn’t be sure. But for a moment—one long, beautiful, heart-stopping moment—they lay there, breathing in unison, joined. And then he began to move.
She couldn’t hold on tight enough, couldn’t stop meeting him, thrust for thrust. She tightened her thighs around his hips, tried to draw him in farther, deeper, so she couldn’t feel where she ended and he began. Her hands fisted against his back, inched down, gripped his hips and drew him closer. His hair brushed around her face as he lowered his mouth, kissed her again as he increased his pace.
Allie felt his body tighten as her own did, and she knew he was—she was—close. She could barely breathe, didn’t want to, didn’t need to as he drove them higher as one. He looked into her eyes, in that brief second just before, and then they were soaring over the cliff.
Together.
Just as she’d dreamed.
* * *
“I never realized just how squeaky these workout mats could be.”
The exhaustion that had been blanketing Allie, along with Max, evaporated. Eyes wide, she glanced down and felt an odd sensation at the image of his head resting on her breast as he traced light, chill-inducing circles around her navel.
“Tell me Eden and Simone left before you came down here.” S
he already knew the answer. Knowing one or both of her friends, they would have taken an inordinate amount of pleasure in finding the perfect time to, well, interrupt.
“They left about ten minutes after we got here,” Max said. “They said they’ll be in touch when they know something.”
“You mean when Patrick and Nicole are tracked down.” She moved to push Max off her, but he leaned up, stilled her with a look. “Tell me that’s not silent speak for round two.”
“I only brought one condom down with me. I didn’t want to get really cocky.” He abandoned her stomach for her lips. “Whatever Patrick and Nicole are responsible for, it’s not your fault, Allie.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. “How can you say that? They kidnapped your niece!”
“I know.” And just like that, the afterglow evaporated. He rolled off and lay beside her on his back. “But by now they have to realize we’re on to them. Why else would they have disappeared so completely?”
“How completely?” She didn’t want to know, didn’t want to hear what had been discussed or realized since they left the station.
“They’re not at the restaurant or either address listed as residences. Jack and Vince are currently culling through all the different businesses and employers they’ve worked for and with over the years. If they have property, we’ll find it. If we need to lock down a connection between Tyler and one of the other victims, we can now.” He hesitated. “The strip mall where the third victim was found had a florist shop in it. And next door was a photography studio.”
Allie didn’t think she’d feel the next hit when it came, but she did. And it hurt just as much as the previous ones. “PNT Photography?”
“Yes.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and shoved the information aside. “We have to do something. Figure the rest of this out. Before the clock runs out.” The clock. “Oh, no.” Allie rolled onto her knees, scrambled across the mat and grabbed the phone she’d left on the floor. She tapped the screen open. “Fifteen hours.” Her stomach rolled. “Until what?” She shook the phone with both hands. “Fifteen hours until what?” She yelled.
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