27
Five days.
Five agonizing days had crawled by since Evan vanished. And Zack too.
Rowan sat on the sofa in her parents’ home, staring out the window at the backyard, half hoping to see Evan stroll across the grass.
It seemed as possible as anything else.
How many hours over the last two days have I sat here?
The first few days, Rowan hadn’t stopped moving. She’d searched high and low for Evan’s truck, constantly driving through town and then expanding to the more rural areas, figuring that even if someone else had taken the truck, it was the biggest and best clue to his disappearance. She’d hounded Detective Shults and Special Agent Kilpatrick until even-tempered Mercy had told her she needed to let them work.
She’d been surprised that Lieutenant Ogden had assigned Lori Shults to lead Evan’s case, but Louis had told her that since Evan’s disappearance could be tied to the McLeod cases, it seemed logical. He’d given the team working the cases an additional two deputies to help with legwork.
But suddenly the investigations dried up.
Leads were followed up on and dismissed.
Evidence from the crime scenes led nowhere.
And Evan seemed to have evaporated into the night along with Sophia and Zack.
But in the media, the story exploded about the detective who’d suddenly vanished. Now everyone had an opinion and wanted everyone else to hear it.
The opinions weren’t kind.
The reporter who’d taken the picture of Rowan outside the sheriff’s department had started the rumors with an article for a news website. He didn’t say much about Rowan, but he twisted the story of Evan’s disappearance and implied that he’d run off when the department discovered he’d been tampering with evidence. Suddenly people Evan had investigated in the past came forward in droves, stating they wanted their cases looked at again since they’d dealt with a detective with a history of altering evidence.
Rowan had read the articles with her jaw hanging open.
Charlie Graham was one of the most vocal, and the reporters kept returning to him for more soundbites. He threatened to sue the Deschutes County Sheriff’s Department and Evan—if he ever turned up. Claimed they’d ruined his life and then brought up how someone had suspiciously shot him after Detective Bolton had made him stand outside his work building, where he could be clearly seen.
“Bolton was dirty. He was trying to clean up his mistakes. Now that people are onto him, the coward ran off,” Graham had said. “Ask anyone I work with—they were all there when I got shot. He made me a target.”
Noelle had been furious after reading that article.
“That little piece of shit,” she’d said, glaring at the story on her laptop. “We risked our lives to get him out of the line of fire, and then he mouths off that Evan was dirty and tried to get him killed.”
He’s not dirty. Not Evan.
Rowan knew it in her heart. But the story continued to grow. Some cops had been anonymously quoted as saying that they’d always thought there was something fishy about Detective Bolton.
The reporters are lying. Trying to create clickbait articles.
But still, no one knew where Evan was.
Wherever he was, Rowan hoped he didn’t have access to media. The lies and half truths about the job he loved would rip him apart.
Tips had come in. Sightings of Evan from out of state. He was seen buying an energy drink in a Texas 7-Eleven and going through the drive-through at a coffee kiosk in Arizona, the reports fueling the lie that he might be headed to Mexico. Locally there’d been several reports of silver trucks like his, but none had panned out.
Sophia’s disappearance had also made the news. More conspiracy stories swirled around her and Evan and her father. The most talked-about rumor was that Evan had done something to Sophia because she’d discovered he’d been involved in her father’s murder.
The stories were growing like healthy weeds.
Sophia sightings had come in on the tip line. One had led to a dark-haired woman who was locked in a shed. She and her husband had rented the property, and he’d trapped her in there after a fight. Neighbor kids had heard her yell and peeked in a window. One had told their mother, who’d called the police.
A fortunate end for the woman, but not the lead the detectives had hoped for.
The only positive step in the investigations that Rowan knew about was the discovery that the bullet that killed Tara Tilson had been fired from the same gun that shot Rod McLeod, definitively linking those cases. If they could find the gun, they would find their killer.
Of course, an article had suggested that Evan had taken the weapon with him when he ran.
Speculation was rampant that Evan had burned down Rowan’s home to hide more evidence. Somehow the video from their home’s camera had been leaked and heavily studied by armchair investigators who were positive that Evan was either driving the truck or throwing the Molotov cocktail.
The official fire investigation supported what was shown on the video. Accelerants had been found in the home along with broken glass from the two containers thrown through the windows. Rowan had avoided several calls from her insurance company about the fire. She couldn’t deal with its questions at the moment.
I’m so tired.
The sofa cushion shifted, and Rowan noticed her mother had sat beside her. And then she realized her mother had asked a question. An echo of the question hovered just out of reach as Rowan tried to grasp what she’d asked. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
Her mother’s smile was sad. “I asked if you’d like some lunch. I’ve got leftover pizza or stew.”
“Pizza.” She wasn’t hungry, but Rowan knew her mother would pester her until she made a choice.
What did I eat for breakfast?
Rowan couldn’t remember.
“I picked up your mail. Do you want to look through it now?” her mother asked.
“No.”
What do I do with his mail?
Two nights ago, she’d fallen apart. The nightmares of Evan being tortured in the same way as Rod McLeod had caught up with her, and she’d leaped out of bed in the middle of a full-blown panic attack. She’d stridden to the back door and gone out on the deck, feeling as if she were suffocating inside the house. And then her brain had shut down, unable to figure out what she should be doing. Her brother, Malcolm, had heard her step outside and cautiously approached, softly saying her name. She’d fallen into his hug, unable to stop crying. Since that night, she hadn’t left the house.
She still wasn’t back to herself yet.
Focusing on tasks was difficult. Not that she had anything to do. Her family had taken charge, getting Thor out for walks, making her meals, even answering her phone. They’d probably give her a bath if she let them.
Then Malcolm spoke. He’d taken her mother’s place on the sofa with his dog, Zeke, beside him. She turned, studying Malcolm’s mouth as if she could read his lips.
“I said you’ll get through this,” he told her. “I know it’s shit at the moment, but you’re stronger than you know.”
Tears formed in her eyes. “You’re the strong one. Look at what you went through. My problems don’t compare. In fact I’m embarrassed that this has flattened me.”
He put his arms around her and pulled her close. She buried her face in his shoulder and tried to catch her breath. “The man you love has disappeared,” said Malcolm. “The fact that you’re still upright is amazing. You can’t compare my apples to your oranges.”
A wistful smile tugged at her lips, and she hugged him back, observing that she could no longer feel his ribs. He’d worked hard to gain weight and build strength. Under her cheek, she could feel the definition of his shoulder muscles. Doctors had been concerned that years of malnutrition would have a permanent effect on his bones and organs, but Malcolm was determined to prove them wrong. “You lost so much,” she whispered to him.
“But I found it all again. You will too.”
He can’t promise that. No one can.
“You’ll figure out how to keep moving,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “At first you’ll have to pretend. But then it will become habit, and you’ll start to see good in the world again.”
“How could you possibly see good?” she whispered. He’d been a captive in hell.
“I found it. Small moments. Animals that I could tempt to come close. A book I hadn’t read before. A cool-looking rock.”
A cool-looking rock.
She dissolved into sobs. Crying for her brother who’d suffered so much and for the torture Evan could be going through.
“What happened?” her mother asked.
Malcolm patted Rowan’s back. “She’s okay. She needs the release,” he told her. “Once she hits the bottom of the pit, she’ll see her way out.”
Rowan hated how certain he sounded.
He knows because he’s been in that pit. Probably hundreds of times.
She sighed and leaned back slightly to wipe her cheeks, and Malcolm didn’t let go. She pulled back a little more until she could see his face, drinking in the sight she’d believed she’d never see again. “I love you, big brother.”
“And I love you, little annoying sister.”
Rowan snorted and noticed she felt better. A very tiny bit better. She met her mother’s concerned gaze from the kitchen.
Look who I’ve got in my life.
The most caring support system anyone could wish for.
In the kitchen, Rowan’s phone rang, and her mother picked it up to look at the screen. “Detective Marshall,” she said.
Rowan recoiled, and Malcolm gripped her tighter. “It’s okay,” he said.
I can’t talk to her.
She shook her head, fearing Noelle would share the news that filled her nightmares: Evan was dead.
Her mother answered the phone, and Rowan blocked her voice. The first few days after Evan’s disappearance, she couldn’t hear enough from Noelle. Now she avoided the detective, feeling as if upsetting information wouldn’t exist if Rowan didn’t speak to her.
A raised inflection in her mother’s tone caught Rowan’s attention. “I think you should talk to Rowan.”
Meeting her mother’s gaze, Rowan violently shook her head.
I don’t want to know what she has to say.
“It’s okay, Rowan,” her mother said with a light in her eyes.
Rowan’s heart sped up and eagerness flooded her.
It’s good news.
The phone still at her ear, her mother held up her hand in a signal to stop. “Rowan. No. It’s not that.”
They didn’t find him.
Her heart sank through the floor, and she could barely lift her arm as her mother handed her the phone. “Noelle?” she asked.
“Rowan! We found Sophia! She’s all right.”