Chapter 39
CHAPTER
THIRTY-NINE
Andi woke before her alarm, the faint gray-blue light of early morning slipping through the narrow gap in the hotel curtains.
She dressed quickly and headed downstairs, the lobby already alive with early risers. Travelers rolled suitcases toward waiting cars, runners stopped in for water, and assistants murmured into phones as if the workday had already started.
The coffee bar was crowded, a constant hiss of steaming milk and the rich, bitter scent of espresso cutting through the air.
She had a brief window to meet her friend before she and her colleagues needed to be at a local radio station.
Duke waited near the counter, shifting slightly as a barista called his name and handed over two cups of coffee.
He handed her a cup. “You wake up before your alarm when your brain won’t shut off. I figured I’d save us time.”
They claimed a small stretch of counter space near the windows, shoulder to shoulder.
The coffee was surprisingly good—strong and clean. Andi let the heat settle in her chest, easing the low-grade tension she’d carried since waking.
“We should get going,” Andi said after a moment.
“We should.”
They stepped outside into the cool morning air, the sidewalks still damp from overnight street cleaning.
Traffic was light but steady, the sound of engines and distant horns carrying between buildings.
Storefronts were dark, their signage muted in daylight, while palm fronds rustled softly overhead.
“Tell me about your friend,” Duke said as they walked.
“We went to college together,” Andi said. “We met in English class and then started doing study sessions together. But I always sensed she wasn’t really into the whole higher education thing. I wasn’t surprised when she dropped out and moved to LA.”
“Do you keep up with her?”
“Not really, just occasionally on social media. But it will be nice to see her again.”
“What did you say her name was?”
“I guess I didn’t. It’s Kate. Kate Breckenridge. I think you’ll really like her.”
The restaurant sat tucked between two larger buildings—a small, French-inspired place with tall windows and understated signage. Nothing flashy. Easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it.
Duke slowed as they reached the entrance. “I can hang out next door.”
“No, come with me. I’d love for you to meet Kate, have a glimpse into my old life.”
He paused and studied her face. “You sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then I’d love to.” He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss.
Inside, the restaurant smelled like butter and espresso, warm and indulgent. White marble tables caught the morning light. Soft jazz played low and unobtrusive. A server moved between tables with practiced ease, setting down baskets of fresh bread.
Andi chose a small table by the window and slid into the chair, placing her phone beside her plate. Duke sat beside her.
She checked the time and let out a grunt.
Seven-oh-five.
“What’s wrong?” Duke asked.
“Back in college, Kate was never late. If anything, she’d been chronically early. She was always the type who liked to claim the best seat, order coffee ahead of time, and act smug about it.”
“Maybe she’s changed.”
Andi conceded with a nod. “Maybe.”
Andi waited.
Seven-ten.
She lifted her gaze to the door again.
Seven-fifteen.
“I’m just going to send a quick text to make sure we didn’t get our wires crossed.” Andi grabbed her phone.
I’m here. Everything okay?
No response.
A flicker of unease stirred inside her, faint but insistent.
“Why don’t you call her instead of texting?” Duke suggested.
“Good idea.”
She dialed her friend’s number, but the call went straight to voicemail.
Her friend had been many things—busy, scattered, perpetually optimistic—but unreachable wasn’t one of them.
Something probably came up, Andi mused. A late night or a missed alarm.
Any minute now, her phone would ring. There would be an apology. A joke. An over-explanation.
Andi set the phone down and stared out the window.
The city continued waking up.
Every so often, her gaze drifted to the door as she waited for a familiar face to appear.
It didn’t.
And that was the first definitive sign that something was wrong.
An hour later, Duke and Andi joined the group at the hotel.
The team congregated in one of the hotel’s smaller conference rooms, and Duke took the seat nearest the door out of habit. He kept his back to the wall, had clear sightlines, and everyone was in view.
Old instincts. Useful ones. If something went sideways, he wanted to be the first to see it coming.
Coffee cups were scattered across the table, and the muted thrum of Los Angeles bled through the walls. Traffic noise. Sirens in the distance.
Andi leaned forward slightly as she filled everyone in. “Kate didn’t show for breakfast. No text. No call. When I tried her number, it went straight to voicemail.” She hesitated. “That’s not like her. Then again, I haven’t seen her in years.”
“You think something happened to her?” Simmy asked.
Andi shook her head, but not with conviction. “I don’t know. But I have a bad feeling.”
Duke filed that away. Andi’s instincts were rarely wrong—they were just inconvenient.
Mariella tapped her keyboard, pulling attention back to the table. “On a slightly unrelated note . . . I’ve been digging through our inbox. Older submissions this time. The ones that never bubbled to the top.”
Duke’s shoulders tightened. He didn’t like the phrase slightly unrelated.
“Anything interesting?” Ranger lifted his coffee.
“Define interesting.” Then Mariella turned the laptop so they could see. “Because I’ve got something I’d classify as disturbing.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Duke muttered—and meant it.
“This email is from someone in Seattle,” Mariella said. “Sent three weeks ago. A woman reported a break-in. Nothing stolen. No signs of forced entry. Police chalked it up to stress.” She scrolled. “Three days later, she went missing.”
Duke straightened and continued to listen.
“And this one’s from Portland,” Mariella continued. “Different woman. Same pattern. Break-in. No evidence. She disappeared during a routine coffee run.”
Andi went very still. “So . . . potentially four women in three different states. But the sequence is the same.”
Mariella nodded. “That’s right.”
“Have any of them turned up?” Simmy asked, worry knitting her brow.
“Not yet.”
Silence followed—thick, unsettled.
“These cases didn’t stand out because no one was looking for a connection.” Matthew pushed his glasses up.
“And no one would,” Ranger agreed. “Different jurisdictions. Different circumstances. No obvious links.”
“But the break-ins,” Andi said. “And the timing.”
“And Gina,” Duke added. “Break-in first. Then disappearance.”
“And Portland,” Mariella said.
Duke felt the pattern tighten, the way a noose did when you finally saw the rope instead of the air around it. This wasn’t sloppy. It wasn’t impulsive. It was measured.
Ranger leaned back, arms crossed. “That’s a lot of coincidence.”
Duke didn’t answer right away. He needed to think.
Local police saw fragments. One report at a time. One scared woman. One missing person. They didn’t get the luxury of zooming out.
This team did.
“I don’t like how carefully spaced these cases are,” Duke said finally. “Or how they line up with cities we’ve been in—or are heading toward.”
“If this is one person, then he’s patient,” Simmy said. “He waits.”
“And he’s deliberate,” Duke added. “Which makes him dangerous.”
“So what do we do?” Mariella asked. “We can’t ignore this.”
“We don’t.” Duke looked around the table, meeting each gaze in turn. “We keep Gina front and center. We don’t dilute the focus. But we track these other cases alongside it—dates, locations, details. We build a timeline.”
“And the police?” Mariella asked.
“We notify the local departments,” Duke said. “And the FBI. This crosses state lines. It’s already beyond one jurisdiction.”
“I can handle that,” Matthew said.
As the meeting broke up and people filtered out, the room slowly emptied until only Duke and Andi remained.
She looked at him. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I don’t like this.” His jaw tightened as the words settled. “Someone out there is studying patterns. Testing limits.”
Andi held his gaze. “And us?”
“Yes.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Especially us.”
The tension between them wasn’t fear—it was something heavier. Shared responsibility. Shared risk.
Whoever was behind this had made one thing clear.
They weren’t done.
Not even close.