Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
All night, Andi had listened to cars hiss past on the wet street below, tires splashing through puddles, engines revving at the nearby intersection.
Every time she drifted toward sleep, the image of Pam’s face flashed in her mind—drawn, desperate—and Gina’s name echoed behind her eyes.
When she wasn’t thinking about Pam, she thought about Duke. About how he was acting slightly off. She’d assumed it was the strain of this tour—it wasn’t in his comfort zone. But what if it was something more?
If he had something on his mind, he would tell her. She wasn’t sure why she felt so worried.
When she finally gave up trying to rest, the clock had read 4:23 a.m. She started the day by watching a replay of an online church service from Fairbanks. She wished she could attend in person, but since she couldn’t, this was the next best thing.
By seven, she was dressed, pale blonde hair twisted into a low knot at the nape of her neck. She shrugged her black leather jacket on over a simple blouse and jeans. Comfortable but presentable. Lawyer-ish enough to make skeptical cops or building managers take her seriously.
Now, just after eight, she sat in the passenger seat of the rented SUV as Duke navigated side streets toward Gina’s apartment complex. The group as a whole had a tour bus, but they’d talked to Rupert about securing two additional vehicles at each stop. Had told him it only made sense.
He’d eventually agreed.
Around them, San Francisco’s morning sky hung low and gray, clouds stacked over the foothills like sagging cotton.
Every once in a while, Andi caught glimpses of the Golden Gate Bridge stretching over the water.
As they passed a cable car, she heard a mix of mechanical hums, clanks, and the iconic bell ringing.
The earlier drizzle had turned into a fine mist that blurred the edges of street signs and smeared the city into soft focus.
The weather matched her mood—tired, heavy, restless.
“By the way, Rich had his first snoodle sighting of the season,” Duke said.
Andi raised her eyebrows. “His first snoodle? I hope he sent a picture.”
Duke grinned. “He did.”
Rich was one of Duke’s neighbors. And a snoodle was what people in Fairbanks had taken to calling tubes of snow that started to sag away from poles and traffic lights.
Locals had created a whole Facebook page just so they could post about them.
“You ever been to San Francisco before?” Duke asked.
Andi shook her head. “Actually, no, I haven’t.
I haven’t spent much time in many states other than Texas and Alaska.
I did a few law conferences here and there on occasion, but I didn’t see much of anything except the inside of my hotel.
But my dad came to this area once, and he said he wanted to bring me here sometime. Said I would love Northern California.”
Her dad had been a long-haul truck driver for a while, so he was able to see parts of the country she hadn’t.
“Speaking of your dad . . . how is he?” Duke asked.
“He seems to be doing well. He’s hoping maybe he can come to our show in Albuquerque. I would love to see him. But, as you know, I’m headed home for Christmas, so at least I’ll see him then.” She squeezed his hand. “And I’ll get to be with you at the same time.”
“I can’t wait.”
Her gaze drifted out the window at the city as they passed. “I always thought I would travel more.”
“Where would you go if you did?”
“Paris.” She didn’t have to think about her response.
Duke threw her a look of surprise. “Paris?”
She chuckled. “I know—surprising. But I’ve always wanted to go there—to see the Eiffel Tower. It just . . . I don’t know. It just seems so romantic.”
“Good to know.”
She glanced at him. “How about you? Have you been here before?”
“I came here once with some friends for a bachelor party. An old friend from the Army. It’s a beautiful area.”
“Yes, it is.”
She rubbed the bridge of her nose and forced her gaze outside.
Gina’s neighborhood was in an older part of San Francisco—brick apartment buildings, narrow tree-lined streets, a mix of tidy front stoops and overflowing recycling bins.
Small businesses—laundromats, corner markets, a coffee shop advertising pumpkin lattes—hugged the intersections.
A bus sighed at a stop, letting out a handful of people in raincoats and hoodies.
As they turned down a side street, Duke slowed.
“There.” Andi pointed.
The apartment building rose three stories tall, a faded red-brick structure with narrow windows and iron balconies that had probably been charming at some point.
Now they sagged slightly, streaked with rust, a few potted plants clinging to life on the second floor.
A metal stairwell zigzagged up one side, paint chipped in spots.
A narrow strip of lawn ran along the front, interrupted by a concrete walkway leading to a glass-front entry door with a security panel beside it. The glass had been cleaned recently but not well—streaks remained where someone’s rag had missed.
The mist beaded on the windshield as Duke eased into a spot near the curb and killed the engine. They just needed to wait for Pam to get here. They were a few minutes early.
Maybe Gina’s apartment would offer some answers.
Andi glanced between her and Duke at the can of Yukon Yeti: Arctic Focus that sat in the cup holder. Its electric-blue label practically glowed in the dim morning. Rupert had made sure a case of the stuff arrived at the new hotel before they did.
“The breakfast of champions,” Duke murmured.
Andi eyed it like it was radioactive waste. “No, thanks. I’d rather lick a subway pole.”
His mouth twitched with a subdued smile.
Her phone buzzed in her hand before she could shove it back into her bag. She glanced at the screen and groaned.
Rupert.
Of course.
Good morning, team! Quick reminder: Our bus departs at 12:45 sharp for Santa Clara Q&A. Please be in lobby NO LATER THAN 12:30. Media hit is VERY TIME-SENSITIVE. No side quests today, please.
The message had been sent to all of them, even though Andi and Duke would be driving themselves.
Three seconds later, another bubble appeared.
More Rupert.
Also, Andi, SafeStride would LOVE a quick mention during your intro if possible. Just one line about how “you never walk alone.” We can workshop wording later. Remember, they have a rep joining us on tour soon. The owner is a big fan.
Her jaw clenched. She could almost see him, perched at some hotel business center computer, schedule spreadsheets open like battle plans, utterly unfazed by the idea that somewhere in this city a woman might be running out of time.
“Side quests,” she muttered. “Because clearly the missing woman is the problem, not his overinflated schedule.”
She typed back before she could overthink it:
We’ll be there. Can’t promise ad copy for SafeStride right now. Busy looking for a real person.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Before Rupert could reply, Duke reached over and gently squeezed Andi’s knee. His touch steadied her, and she drew in a slow breath.
“Only three more weeks, and we never have to see him again,” Duke reminded her.
She exhaled a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. “You promise?”
“On my honor as a former CID investigator and reluctant energy drink mascot.”
She glanced at him. The corner of his mouth lifted, but his eyes stayed serious. That combination—dry humor over steel—never failed to untangle some of the knots inside her.
But what was he keeping from her? And why?
“Three weeks,” she repeated. “I can survive three weeks.”
“And if not, we’ll fake your death and move you back to Fairbanks under an assumed name.”
She let out a biting chuckle. “I’m starting to think that sounds appealing.”
The phone buzzed again. Andi didn’t look.
Instead, she flicked the tab on the Yukon Yeti can, listening to it hiss open.
Duke raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not drinking it,” she rushed. “I just want Rupert to see it’s open in case he somehow has eyes in the parking lot.”
She let a bit of the neon liquid fizz up, then set the can back in the holder, untouched.
“You’re terrifying when you weaponize passive aggression,” Duke said.
“What can I say? When you combine years of legal training with a deep, abiding hatred of minty citrus flavored caffeine that practically glows in the dark, it can be toxic.”
Duke chuckled.
As he did, his phone buzzed.
He glanced at it quickly before turning it over.
“You don’t want to get that?” Andi asked.
“It’s nothing important,” he murmured.
Andi wasn’t so sure about that.
Because right before he’d turned over the phone, she thought for sure she’d seen Celeste’s name . . . Celeste, his former fiancée.
Why would she be texting him?