Without A Trace (Echo Lake Book 1)

by Amanda Stevens

  “Says his name’s Marty Booker.” Tom held up the phone. “Do you recognize this?”

  Her eyes went wide with shock. “It’s Sophie’s. Where did you find it?”

  “It was lying on the floor in plain sight.” He handed the phone to Navarro. The deputy produced a plastic evidence bag, dropped the phone inside and sealed it.

  “Lying on the floor in here?” Horror crept into Rae’s tone. “Where did it come from?”

  He nodded toward the man in the shadows. “That’s what I’m trying to determine. He says he found it in the main building.”

  Rae took a step toward the stranger. “You saw Sophie tonight?” When he didn’t respond, she advanced closer. “You took her phone, so you must have seen her. Where is she? Where is she!?”

  The outburst startled even Tom. He had no doubt Rae would have gone for the man’s throat if he hadn’t caught her arm and held her back. She tried to shrug out of his grasp. “Let go of me!”

  He held her tighter. “Settle down.”

  “But he knows something!”

  In all the commotion, Marty Booker shrieked and buried his head in his arms.

  Rae was unmoved. “If you’ve hurt my niece in any way, I swear to God I’ll—”

  “Just cool it,” Tom warned. “We’re not going to get anything out of him if you keep threatening him like that.”

  She jerked away. “Why aren’t you doing anything?”

  “I’m trying to do my job if you’d let me.”

  “That would be a first!” she shot back.

  Okay, truce over, Tom thought. He wouldn’t hold it against her under the circumstances.

  Marty Booker took a peek from between folded arms, his gaze darting from Tom to Rae. “I didn’t do anything, I swear it. I would never hurt anyone.”

  “But you saw a girl out here tonight,” Tom said.

  He hemmed and hawed before he shrugged. “Maybe I saw her.”

  “Where?” Rae demanded.

  He gave the same vague nod toward the entrance. “I see them over there sometimes, but they don’t see me.”

  Tom held up a hand to silence Rae. “Who?”

  “Those kids. Him.”

  “Him?”

  Booker’s eyes lifted to the ceiling as if he were searching for the mural. “Him.”

  Tom said to Rae, “Do you have a picture of Sophie?”

  She fumbled for her phone and then scrolled through the camera roll.

  Tom took the phone and held up the screen so that Booker could see the shot of Sophie. “Did you see this girl tonight?”

  He hesitated. “Maybe it was her. I don’t see so well at night.”

  “Do you know where she is now?”

  “He took her.”

  “Who?” Tom pressed.

  “Preacher,” he whispered. “Preacher took that girl.”

  Chapter Three

  By morning, word had gotten out about Sophie Cavanaugh’s disappearance and a small crowd had gathered outside the station waiting for news. Tom’s deputies had returned to the Ruins at first light and were now scouring the building and surrounding area for evidence. The blood sample collected hours earlier at the scene had been sent to the lab for analysis, and Tom’s IT specialist, a young deputy named Noah Goodnight, was going through Sophie’s cell phone and laptop.

  A call to the sheriff in the next county verified Marty Booker’s claim that he had family living nearby. The sheriff was well aware of the man. “It’s a sad story,” he told Tom. “Suffered a severe head trauma when he was just a kid. Hasn’t been right since, but as far as I know, he’s never been violent. Just wanders around the countryside until he gets ready to come home.”

  Tom was inclined to agree. He didn’t think Marty Booker was responsible for Sophie’s disappearance, but he suspected the man had seen more than he was willing to admit. Scared, maybe. Or unable to process what he’d witnessed. Either way, spending the night in a holding cell hadn’t done him any harm. If nothing else, he’d gotten a shower, clean clothes and a hot meal.

  As for his claim that Preacher had taken Sophie, Tom wasn’t sure what to make of that. Silas Creed hadn’t been seen or heard around Nance County since Riley Cavanaugh and Jenna Malloy had gone missing. It was a widely held belief that Creed had taken the girls and held them captive in an abandoned house. Law enforcement personnel and untold volunteers had scoured the countryside for days. When Jenna Malloy had been found wandering down a rural road weeks after she’d been taken, she’d been in a near catatonic state, too emotionally fragile and confused to identify her abductor, let alone lead the police to where the girls had last been held. Jenna had spent the next fifteen years of her life in and out of psychiatric facilities. Tom had lost track of her a long time ago, but he sometimes wondered if Ellie still kept in touch.

  He seriously doubted that Silas Creed had returned to Nance County after all this time. He’d be almost sixty by now. Most likely the man was long dead. However, Tom couldn’t afford to discount any possibility. He pulled every file he could find on the previous abductions, noting with a pang his father’s handwritten notes in some of the margins.

  He had everything spread out in his office ready to dig in when he decided to take a ride over to Rae Cavanaugh’s place. Things had gotten a little heated the night before and Tom knew he hadn’t been as tactful as he should have been. He understood only too well that feeling of utter helplessness, and a part of him wanted to hang back and give her some space. But they were well into the critical twenty-four-hour window and Tom needed her cooperation and he needed her trust. Sophie’s life could depend on it.

  She lived in one of the town’s older neighborhoods. Quaint and private. Unlike the newer subdivisions out by the interstate, all the houses here were different—tidy ranches, stately colonials, a few scattered Victorians. Rae’s house was a white prewar bungalow with black shutters and flagstone walkways. Oak trees shaded the front yard, the gnarled branches hidden by whiskers of Spanish moss. The air was thick with the scent of roses. Belle Pointe was situated on the Texas-Louisiana border, and Tom had always thought his hometown more Southern than Texan, though there was no shortage of Lone Star spirit and pride in the area. Life was a little slower here, a little quieter until you probed beneath the surface. Until you remembered that young girls had gone missing.

  He didn’t recognize the car in her driveway when he pulled up. Rae drove a brand-new midsize SUV and he doubted the aging coupe belonged to Jackson or Lauren Cavanaugh. Not their style. He took note of the license plate number and glanced inside the car as he walked up the driveway.

  Rae answered the bell immediately, pulling back the door in anticipation before her expression fell when she saw him. She glanced past him to the street. “Have you found her?” The question was blunt, her tone filled with a heart-tugging mixture of hope and dread. Little wonder, given her previous experience.

  “No. That’s not why I’m here,” Tom said. “I wanted to touch base. But I guess your reaction means you haven’t heard from her, either.”

  She shook her head, looking bleak.

  “I thought we could go back over everything that happened last night,” he said. “Memories have a way of returning once the dust settles.”

  She stepped back and motioned him inside. “I don’t know what more I can tell you, but it’s certainly worth a try.” She wore jeans, sneakers and a plain gray T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a careless ponytail and she hadn’t bothered with makeup. “I was thinking about heading back out to the Ruins,” she said. “I can’t sit here all day and do nothing.”

  “I’ve got deputies combing the area. But organizing a search party isn’t a bad idea.” It might be a little early for that, but the abandoned bicycle and those drops of blood worried Tom. Not to mention Sophie’s cell phone. At the very least, recruiting volunteers would give the f
amily something to do.

  “We’re already on that.” A girl Sophie’s age appeared from another room. She walked up to Rae. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help overhearing.”

  “It’s okay,” Rae said. “Sheriff Brannon, this is Hannah Tucker, one of Sophie’s friends.”

  “Her best friend,” Hannah clarified as she extended her hand.

  “Hannah came by first thing this morning,” Rae explained. “She’s been helping me compile a list of Sophie’s friends, acquaintances, favorite hangouts. That sort of thing.”

  “Good idea.” Tom shook the girl’s hand and then followed Rae back to the kitchen, where she’d turned the breakfast table into a workspace. A teenage boy with dark hair and a brooding expression sat at the island with his laptop. He glanced up when they walked in and then did a double take when he recognized Tom. He ducked his head and averted his gaze just a little too quickly by Tom’s measure.

  “This is Dylan Moody, Sophie’s boyfriend.”

  “Glad you’re here,” Tom said. “I’d like to ask you and Hannah a few questions if you don’t mind.”

  “Is that legal?” Hannah asked. “We’re both minors. Not that it matters. I’m glad to do anything I can to help bring our Sophie back home, and I’m sure Dylan is, too.”

  “It’s legal,” Tom said. “But as a general rule, you don’t have to talk to the police without a parent or guardian present.”

  “What is it you want to know?” Dylan turned to face Tom. “We’ve already told Detective Jarvis everything we know,” he said, referring to Tom’s chief investigator.

  “I understand, but I have a couple of follow-up questions. Just trying to get the timeline straight in my head. I know this is difficult.” He offered a sympathetic smile. “You dropped Sophie off around ten last night. Is that right?”

  “Yes. She has a weekday curfew since she’s been staying here.” He flashed an enigmatic glance in Rae’s direction.

  “Where did you go during the evening?”

  “Just drove around. Grabbed some burgers. Listened to music. Usual stuff.” He shrugged.

  “You didn’t notice anything unusual when you dropped her off? No strange cars parked on the street? Anything at all out of the ordinary?”

  “Everything was normal.”

  “What about her behavior?”

  He took a moment too long to answer. “She seemed fine.”

  “What about you, Hannah? When was the last time you talked to Sophie?”

  “She texted last night after she got home. Nothing important. She had some questions about our chemistry assignment and I asked about her date.”

  “She didn’t say anything to either one of you about going out to the Ruins?”

  “Not to me. What about you, Dylan?”

  He gave Hannah a frowning glance before he said, “No. But she’s always had a thing about that place. She likes to take pictures out there. She once said the Ruins spoke to her. I didn’t pay much attention. She’s always been a little weird.”

  “That’s why we love her,” Hannah added.

  “Kids don’t still dare each other to go out there at night?” Tom asked.

  “We can’t speak for everyone in school,” Hannah said. “But our group is a little more mature than that.”

  “What about you, Dylan? Were you ever dared to go out there?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “Like Hannah said. We don’t really do that sort of thing anymore.”

  “I’ve never thought Sophie the type to bend to peer pressure anyway,” Rae said. “If anything, she’s more of a ringleader. Or am I wrong about that?” She glanced from Dylan to Hannah and back to Tom. He had a hard time reading her expression at that moment. Did she suspect, as he did, that these two were holding out on them? Or did she take their earnest expressions at face value?

  “Definitely a ringleader,” Hannah agreed.

  Tom caught an odd look on Dylan’s face before he turned his attention back to the laptop.

  “You mentioned a search party,” Hannah said. “We have enough kids lined up to comb the whole area as soon as you give us the go-ahead. We’ll take shifts and search all weekend if we have to.” She turned to Rae. “If there is anything we can do for you, just name it. Sophie was like a sister to me. We’ve been best friends since first grade.”

  Tom’s gaze sharpened at the girl’s use of the past tense. An innocent mistake or something more sinister?

  “Thank you both for your help,” Rae said. “You’ve been wonderful. But if you’ll excuse us, I need to have a word with Sheriff Brannon.”

  “Of course.” Hannah smiled sweetly as she tucked back her straight brown hair. “We need to get to school anyway, but if it’s okay, I’d like to check in with you later.”

  “Yes, I’m sure we’ll talk again,” Rae said with a brief nod.

  She walked them to the door. When she came back into the kitchen, Tom stood at the window looking out over her backyard. He turned when he heard her footsteps, his gaze taking in her weary expression and the tired slump of her shoulders. She didn’t look as if she’d slept a wink the night before. Tom could relate. He hadn’t gotten any rest, either. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw too many bad things. He’d finally given up and gone back to the station.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  She crossed the room and got down fresh mugs. “Cream and sugar?”

  “Black is fine.” She carried the cups over to the table and sat down. Tom came over and joined her. “Thanks,” he said as he took a tentative sip. “This hits the spot. The coffee we have at the station tastes like feet.”

  She cradled her cup in both hands as if trying to absorb the warmth. “What did you make of those two?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She frowned. “They’re hiding something. I may not have kids of my own, but it hasn’t been that long since I was a teenager. The averted eyes. The cagey glances. Maybe I’m letting my imagination get the better of me, but I think they came over here to find out what I know.”

  “I don’t think you’re imagining things,” Tom said slowly. “I think they’re hiding something, too.”

  Her blue eyes deepened. “You don’t suspect they had anything to do with Sophie’s disappearance, do you? They’re good kids, from what I know of them.”

  “Even good kids do bad things,” Tom said. “At the very least, I think they knew Sophie was going to the Ruins and now they’re too afraid to say so. I’ll have them come down to the station separately to give statements. One of them is bound to crack. My guess is it’ll be Dylan. Hannah is one cool cookie.”

  “Tracy Flick,” Rae murmured.

  Tom gave her a puzzled look. “Who?”

  The barest hint of a smile flashed. “A movie reference. Never mind. What did you want to talk to me about?”

  “I’d like to take a look at Sophie’s room if that’s okay.”

  “I’ve been through all the drawers and every square inch of her closet. And one of your deputies came and got her computer, so I doubt you’ll find anything useful.”

  “You never know. Another pair of eyes,” he said.

  She drew a weary breath and stood. “I’ll show you up.”

  The dark circles under her eyes against her pale complexion gave her a vulnerable air, a descriptor Tom would never have thought he’d apply to Rae Cavanaugh. She’d always seemed tough as nails. He hadn’t realized how tiny she was, either. When he rose, she barely came to his shoulders. He supposed her commanding personality had always made her seem larger than life, but in the homey confines of her kitchen, she just looked small and scared and lost.

  “Tom—”

  “We’re not even twenty-four hours in,” he said. “We’ve still got time.”

  “
Promise me you’ll find her.”

  “I can’t make that promise, but I swear to you I’ll do everything in my power to bring her home safely.”

  Rae sighed. “I guess that will have to do.”

  * * *

  TOM BRANNON DIDN’T wear a uniform. Rae wondered if that was because he wanted to set himself apart from the rest of the sheriff’s department or if he desired to avoid the inevitable comparisons to his father. Porter Brannon had worn his khaki uniform with a great deal of flair. He’d been a tall man, like his son, and heavyset in his later years. A formidable figure in his Stetson and cowboy boots. Tom wore boots, too, but his were far less pretentious than the full-quill ostrich his father had favored. Nevertheless, his whole rustic, urban chic vibe—low-slung jeans, dark shirt and tie—worked for him. Worked for a lot of the women in town, too, Rae suspected.

  Odd that she would be focusing on something as mundane as Tom Brannon’s wardrobe when her niece was still missing. Maybe she was just trying to distract herself. Concentrate on something besides the phone call she’d made to Jackson in the wee hours of the morning. That call had been the second hardest thing she’d ever had to do. The first had been letting go of the notion that Riley would someday come home.

  She paused outside Sophie’s room, picturing her niece sprawled on the bed texting away on her cell phone. Please, please, please let her be safe.

  “This is it,” she said as she pushed open the door. She stood back for Tom to enter. The once sophisticated guest room had been made over into a girlie retreat. Band posters on the wall, photos taped to the dresser mirror, pink-and-white chenille spread on the bed. None of it was to Rae’s taste and the clutter drove her crazy, but then, she wasn’t fifteen anymore. Sometimes she wondered if she’d ever been that young. “Sophie has a fondness for pink,” she said unnecessarily.

  Tom glanced around. “I can see that. Reminds me a little of my sister’s bedroom when we were kids.”

  The room was large and airy with a row of windows that let in plenty of natural light, but somehow Tom Brannon seemed to dominate the space, as only a tall, confident man could do. Rae wanted to resent him for the easy way he commanded his surroundings, but right now she just wanted him to find Sophie. If she had to pay tribute to the Brannons for the rest of her life, so be it.