Chapter 13
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Duke kept his eyes on the road as they headed toward the police station, windshield wipers ticking a steady rhythm against the mist. The morning chill clung to the glass, the damp kind that worked its way through layers and refused to let go.
Traffic thickened as the city woke—buses sighing at stops, delivery vans blocking lanes, cars jockeying for position on streets that pitched and dropped without warning.
A cable car bell clanged somewhere ahead, the sound cutting through the fog as it crested a hill, and Duke eased off the accelerator, anticipating the stop before he could see it.
Beside him, Andi gripped her phone, her jaw tight. “I’m going to call Emily.”
She put the phone on speaker.
One ring, then the call went straight to voicemail.
Andi frowned and tried again. Same result.
This time, she waited for the tone and left a message. “Hi, Emily. My name is Andi Slade. I’m working with Pam James regarding Gina’s disappearance. I was hoping to ask you a few questions. Please call me back when you can.”
She ended the call and stared at the screen with a frown.
Duke knew something about the call bothered her. “Maybe she doesn’t answer unknown numbers,” he offered.
Andi glanced at him and nodded. “That’s a good possibility. Especially after everything. I wouldn’t either.”
But the unease didn’t leave her face.
Her phone buzzed.
Another buzz followed.
Then another.
Andi flipped the phone facedown without reading any of the messages.
“Rupert?” Duke muttered.
“How’d you guess?”
“He’s the most persistent person I’ve ever met.”
“I already texted him to let him know we wouldn’t be on the bus, that we’d be driving ourselves,” Andi continued. “He’s probably taken some kind of issue with that.”
The police station came into view a block later—a concrete building squatting at the corner like it had grown there out of the pavement.
He pulled into the lot and parked.
Before either of them moved to get out, Andi spoke. “They may not tell us anything. They already decided Gina left voluntarily. We’re outsiders with microphones and sponsors. Not exactly their favorite demographic.”
Duke shut off the engine. “True.”
“And they may resent us poking around.”
“Also true.”
She looked at him then. “But we’re doing this anyway.”
He met her gaze. “Yes. Because sometimes you knock even when you’re pretty sure no one’s going to open the door.”
And because letting things go when they don’t sit right was how people disappeared forever. He had personal experience in the matter. His former fiancée had disappeared, and the whole thing had nearly wrecked him.
It had been a long, painful road. But thankfully, he now had closure.
Things had turned around. Now he and Andi needed to have one little conversation . . . he just had to find the right time to have it.
Duke opened his door and stepped out into the damp air. Andi followed, squaring her shoulders as they walked toward the entrance.
He prayed the police would take them seriously. A woman’s life depended on it.
Andi’s senses came alive the moment she stepped inside the police station.
She sensed the stale tang of long hours and longer cases, layered with the faint hum of fluorescent lights that never quite shut off.
The lobby contained scuffed tile floors, a few hard plastic chairs bolted together, and a bulletproof window that separated the public from a uniformed officer who looked like he’d already had a long day—and it was just past nine o’clock.
She lifted her chin as she approached the officer. “I’d like to speak to someone about a missing person.”
She kept her voice even and professional, tapping into the attorney side of her—the part who knew the law and didn’t fear law and order.
The officer didn’t look up right away. When he did, his gaze slid past her to Duke.
Suddenly, he straightened and seemed to take her a little more seriously. “Name?”
“Andi Slade.”
The whole being taken more seriously as a man thing really irked her. But she wasn’t going to change his mind by pointing it out now.
“Have a seat.” He nodded to the chairs behind them. “Someone will be with you.”
A few minutes later, they were waved down a short hallway and deposited at a metal desk scratched with years of use.
The man behind it looked like he’d been carved out of granite and left in the rain too long.
Gray hair cropped short. Deep lines etched around his mouth and eyes. A tie loosened half an inch like it had lost that battle hours ago. His nameplate read: DETECTIVE HAWKINS.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “You want to report a missing person?”
“That’s right,” Andi said. “Her name is Gina James.”
“I recognize the name.” His voice sounded gravelly and unimpressed. “All right—who are you two, and what do you think is going on?”
Andi leaned back in her seat, hoping they could convince him.