Chapter 36
thirty-six
. . .
REAGAN
In the drama and aftermath of my accident, I’d completely forgotten about the discovery I made in Lainey’s journal.
Finn was blessedly at work, leaving me to my own devices for once. With, of course, strict instructions not to go outside.
“I’ll be watching you,” he’d promised as he left.
I’d rolled my eyes.
I was still in enough pain that my leaving wouldn’t be a problem. I couldn’t even shower without Finn’s help, not that I’d tried. Plus, I had no desire for another showdown with my attacker.
Instead of going out, I’d make people come to me.
Lifting my phone from the couch at my side, I made my first call.
“Reagan?” Lane asked when he picked up. “You okay?”
His concern surprised me, but maybe all of the brothers were on high alert after I’d been run off the road and nearly killed.
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “I’m calling because, before the accident, I finally read Lainey’s journals, and I think I found something. Would you be able to come out to the house?”
“Sure…” he said, slowly. Skeptically.
“When should I expect you?”
“I’ll leave the department now.”
“Great, see you soon.”
Next, I called Aspen, relayed the same information, and made the same request.
She beat Lane to the house, but only by a few minutes.
“Alright, what’s this critical piece of info you found?” Lane asked dubiously.
Ignoring his tone, I flipped through the pages of Lainey’s most recent journal until I located the section in question.
Then I passed it to Lane.
“Where did this come from?” he asked. “I’ve never seen this one before.”
I waved him off, not having the energy to argue. “Not important.”
He eyed me warily but flipped to the page I’d bookmarked and began to read.
Aspen scooted closer, reading alongside him.
“Know anyone with those initials?” I asked, tapping near the line that mentioned “LT”.
“Not off the top of my head,” Lane admitted, and Aspen nodded in agreement. “But I can run some census records and see what pops.”
“What about the couple Lainey was supposed to shoot? Any luck there?”
Lane shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t even think they exist.”
“What?” I asked dumbly.
“The number has been disconnected. Emails bounce back. Addie hasn’t been able to track down any Idaho residents—or even residents of adjacent states, for that matter—with those names.”
“You don’t think…” I trailed off, a horrifying realization occurring to me.
Lane nodded solemnly. “I think it’s a safe bet whoever booked this photo session did so as an attempt to lure your sister out here.”
“That makes no sense, though.”
“What do you mean?” Aspen asked.
“We traded off trips. It was the one ‘rule’ we had. Alternating who got to travel. This one was supposed to be mine. But I came down with the flu a few days before I had to leave, so Lainey took my place last minute.”
“I don’t think that matters,” Lane said. “I’m not a profiler, but…I think he wants both of you.”
Before Aspen or I could respond, he pulled out his phone and made a call.
A woman answered.
“Caldwell.”
“Hey, Addie. It’s Lane.”
“Hey,” she replied, tone softening. “What’s up?”
Lane shot both me and Aspen glares as if to say, not a word.
She and I exchanged a knowing glance but kept our mouths shut.
“We’re working on the Lindsey case, and I’ve got a question I’m hoping you can answer from a profiler’s perspective.”
“Hit me.”
“We’ve got an unsub here who has kidnapped a woman. Blonde, thirty…”
I tuned out while Lane gave Addie the background.
Already familiar with the particulars, I allowed my mind to wander.
Mainly, I hoped like hell Addie would be able to help us.
Aspen was the best in the business, as far as I was concerned—she had, after all, been instrumental in taking down a serial killer who had been operating for over four decades—but even she struggled to find any leads.
While Aspen wasn’t cuffed by the same bureaucratic red tape as law enforcement, Addie, as an FBI agent, had resources even Lane, as the county sheriff, couldn’t access.
Plus, her background in profiling could tell us why my sister had been taken, which could bring us one step closer to discovering who had taken her.
“Lainey has been missing for three months,” Lane was saying when I mentally tuned back into the conversation. “But since Reagan’s arrival, she’s also been the target of harassment and two abduction attempts.”
“He wants them both,” Addie said quickly when he finished.
“That’s what I was thinking too.”
“They’re likely surrogates for someone from his past. Either someone he loved and lost, or someone who dealt him some sort of soul-deep emotional trauma.”
“If it was trauma-related, wouldn’t she already be dead?” I asked before I could stop myself. Lane hadn’t bidden us to speak, nor had he alerted Addie to my and Aspen’s presence.
Oops.
Addie sighed. “You know I hate being put on speaker in front of other people without my knowledge, Sheriff.”
“Sorry,” he replied, though he didn’t sound it at all. “Hey, Addie?”
“Yes?” the FBI agent clipped.
“You’re on speaker, and I’m here with Lainey’s sister, Reagan, and Aspen, who I’m sure you remember from the Prom Night Arsonist case.”
“Hoping to upstage law enforcement again, Miss McKay?” Addie asked lightly.
Aspen chuckled. “Just doing a friend a favor.”
“Fair enough. Now back to the matter at hand…in my expert opinion, yes. If this abduction and holding Lainey captive was related to past trauma, she would likely already be dead.” She paused, and I knew what she’d ask next.
“I don’t mean to be insensitive here, Reagan, but are you certain she’s still alive?
From what Lane has told me, there’s nothing to suggest otherwise, but it could be that her remains haven’t yet been discovered. ”
“I don’t have any tangible proof,” I admitted, giving into a shiver at the image she painted. Remembering the poor woman in the county morgue whose identity was still a mystery. “But…we’re twins. I’d know.”
“I believe you,” Addie said, surprising me, and I relaxed fractionally. Aspen squeezed my arm reassuringly.
“You keep saying ‘he,’” Aspen pointed out to Addie.
“Given that Lainey is likely still alive, and someone is coming after you, Reagan, I am confident we’re dealing with a male unsub.”
“The same one Lainey slept with all those years ago.”
“Yes, I think that’s a safe bet.”
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“I’m still working through the journals—”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, cutting her off. “I found something.”
I explained the initials and my thinking that they likely belonged to our “unsub”, as Addie had called him. Lane took a photo of the page and texted it to Addie, a faint beep across the line a moment later alerting us it arrived.
We waited while Addie read, and she said, “Okay, yes, I see. How long before her disappearance was this?”
“About three days before she left Tennessee.” Then I reminded her that Lainey had gone missing on her fourth day in town.
Keys clacked on Addie’s end.
Lane asked her, “Could you run down those initials?”
“How broad?” More keystrokes.
“Start with Owyhee, Canyon, Ada, and Elmore. If nothing pops, we keep expanding.”
“Anything specific I’m looking for in terms of ruling people out?”
“Isn’t profiling your specialty?”
“You’re right.” She spoke as she typed. “Male, early to mid-thirties. Do we have any physical characteristics?”
“Brunette,” I supplied. “Somewhere around six feet. Otherwise, I’ve got nothing.”
“Any property?”
Closing my eyes, I remembered the big truck with the brush guard that ran me off the road a few weeks before and relayed that info to Addie.
“Potentially owns or rents a farmhouse too,” Lane added. “Could’ve purchased outright or, more likely, took possession as next of kin when parents or grandparents died. May also own a truck or large SUV.”
“Alright,” Addie said. “I’ll get some techs on this and see what pops up.”
“Thank you so much for your help,” I said.
“Anytime. But Sheriff?”
“Yeah?”
“You owe me.”
The line died, and Lane grinned at me and Aspen.
“So…that’s Addie.”
Aspen and I crossed our arms over our chests—well, as best as I could with one of them encased from knuckles to mid-biceps in plaster—and leaned back against the couch, pinning Lane with identical stares.
Lane growled a warning, wordlessly urging us not to press it.
Aspen merely said, “We’re all looking forward to meeting her at the wedding.”
“Yep,” I agreed, looking at Aspen. “Though I wonder how Sutton will react.”
Lane ignored that comment. “Can we get back to work?”
He tapped his middle finger to his notebook in obvious fuck off gesture, and Aspen and I laughed.
“I suppose,” I said airily.
Lane looked at me like he wanted to call out my tone but wisely didn’t. Instead, he said, “I want to try a cognitive.”
Aspen blinked in surprise. “You haven’t yet?”
“It’s been so long, I didn’t think it would help.”
“Well, it definitely can’t hurt.”
“What the fuck is a cognitive?” I asked.
“Cognitive interview,” Lane explained. “It’s a technique law enforcement uses that will hopefully allow us to get more information about that night seven years ago.”
At this point, I was willing to try anything.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Lie down,” Aspen said.
“I didn’t make you lie down for yours.”
“No,” she agreed. “But I was also reliving a traumatic event. This is going to be easy for Reagan, so she might as well be comfortable.”
Easy? To recall the events of a single night seven years ago? Or, at the very least, remember anything about that night except for Finn?
I didn’t have high hopes.
But if they both thought it would help, I’d give it a go.
Fluffing a pillow, I reclined my head onto it, feet straight out, hands resting against my stomach, my cast a heavy weight at my left side.
“Relax,” Lane directed. “Clear your mind as best as you can and, when you’re ready, bring up that night.”