7
FBI special agent Max Rhodes clenched the steering wheel as he drove to Sydney Beason’s home.
Then the case had ratcheted up several levels this morning.
Belle Beason was nowhere to be found.
Why has no one reported that she and her mother are missing?
No one noticed?
He’d been part of an FBI child disappearance investigation in Sacramento. It hadn’t ended well. The two children had finally been found dead in a neighbor’s basement. The neighbor had killed himself as they closed in on him.
It’d affected everyone in the department for weeks.
The image of little Belle Beason was burned in his brain. Her personality leaped out of the picture that had been circulated among law enforcement.
Vivacious. Happy. Innocent.
We must find her.
Special Agent Mercy Kilpatrick was on her way to the ex-husband’s home for another interview with the man.
Noelle had returned to the victim’s home, and Max was on his way to meet her there.
The Deschutes County Sheriff’s Department already had a forensics team on-site, searching the home for any indication of foul play.
Now they’d have him looking over their shoulders.
But Max’s focus was slightly different. His priority was to find anything that could lead them to Belle.
Deputies and Bend police were knocking on doors in Sydney Beason’s neighborhood, interviewing neighbors, collecting security camera footage.
It was all hands on deck. The Portland FBI office was sending additional agents.
But somehow five victims who’d been buried in the forest were tied to Belle’s disappearance.
How?
Could the gun found in one of the graves lead us to Belle?
Did their killer take Belle?
He parked at the curb, which was lined with law enforcement vehicles. A deputy stood near the front door to check in officers.
He spotted Noelle’s 4Runner. Her brand-new department Tahoe had ended up in the shop for an engine issue after only six weeks of use.
When she used her own vehicle, she submitted her mileage to her employer, but only because Max reminded her.
She honestly didn’t care that she was using her Toyota for work.
It was odd to be dating—and living with—someone who didn’t give money a second thought. Max knew exactly how much Noelle had inherited when her husband was murdered, because he had been one of the investigators. The death had made her a very rich woman.
An astronomical sum.
An intimidating sum.
She’d always be the leader in their relationship when dollar signs were considered.
He’d had a stern talk with his ego to get over it.
Noelle didn’t need to work. Ever. She was a detective because she enjoyed her job. The daily challenges and being able to help people were important to her.
He loved that about her.
He loved a lot of things about her. How she’d taken in Emma and treated her like a daughter. How annoyed she became when Cornbread chose Max’s lap over hers. How she softly snored. How she felt behind him on his motorcycle, her chest pressed against his back, her arms around his waist.
As if Max had manifested her, Noelle suddenly stepped out of Sydney Beason’s townhome. Her expression was tight as she moved past the deputy and tapped on her phone, intensity and focus radiating from her. He took a long look. It wasn’t often that he could watch with her unaware.
Noelle’s platinum-blonde hair caught the sun, making it glow.
Her looks, confidence, and poise drew every eye when she entered a room.
He’d watched it happen several times. She was in one of the pantsuits she always wore to work.
She had two dozen in different shades of gray, navy, and dark purple, and of course in black.
Never flashy. Always polished. But where most women would buy their suits at the mall, Noelle had hers custom-made in Italy.
Bespoke work clothes. For a job where she could encounter corpses or drug houses.
He didn’t want to consider the expensive shoes she always wore.
She suddenly raised her head and met his gaze.
Warmth filled him, and for the briefest second, he forgot about a missing child. He got out of his vehicle and went up the walkway. “Where’re we at?”
Noelle took a deep breath. “I need everything possible on Sydney Beason. Phone records, friends, employment, bank accounts, credit cards.” She looked over her shoulder at the house.
“I need this place torn apart to find something that’ll point us to where Belle could be.
I need all Sydney’s friends interviewed.
Her family interviewed. Coworkers interviewed.
Where’s her vehicle? What does she do and where does she go every day?
I need all the security footage from the neighborhood reviewed.
Her ex’s neighborhood too. I need his background information.
I want to know every place he’s gone for the last ten days. I need all the same records for him.”
Max stayed silent, letting her unload.
“I need the other bodies identified,” she continued. “Then I need their lives put under the microscope. I need evidence from their graves.” She raised her gaze to him. “I need to find out who did this.”
“You’ll get there,” he said.
“Not fast enough. I need to grow ten more arms. Plus another brain. My current one is overloaded.”
He fought the urge to pull her into a hug. There were too many people around. Officers were knocking on doors, and neighbors were gathering to watch from across the street.
“They’re setting up a task force at the sheriff’s department,” she told him. “We’ve got that big conference room, where it’ll be organized.”
“I heard,” said Max. “Our office is in contact with your lieutenant. All our resources are at your disposal.” It was a clichéd-sounding promise, but it was true.
The FBI could process evidence faster, access more databases, and do it all much quicker.
They could plow through barriers that slowed down local investigators.
“I know. Thank you.”
“I’d like to look inside.”
She gave a short nod and led him to the deputy, where he signed a log and the deputy reviewed his ID. Inside, the home was very quiet. He heard voices upstairs and the occasional thump as something was moved.
“No purse,” said Noelle, leading him to the kitchen. “No cell phone. Her minivan is gone too. It seems logical that Sydney must have been abducted somewhere else. Hard to imagine that whoever killed her paused to grab her purse.”
“Not impossible,” said Max.
“True.” Noelle sighed. “No sign of violence. Their beds are unmade, most of the food in the refrigerator is still fresh, toothbrushes are present. It appears they planned to return. She drove a silver Toyota Sienna minivan. We’re checking to see if her insurance had a tracker in it or if the car’s GPS system could be accessed by the manufacturer. ”
Max nodded. “I can speed up that process.” He sent a quick text. “You said the back door was unlocked?”
“Correct. And the front door was locked.” He stepped to the slider and studied the small yard.
The gate was wide open, and he could see an alleyway behind the home.
On the other side of the alley was the back of an identical row of townhomes.
The fence provided privacy, but it wasn’t 100 percent.
Anyone could look in between the boards if they tried.
Or see in the yard from the upper windows of the homes behind it.
“Sexual offenders,” he said quietly.
“We’re pulling records for anyone within five miles,” said Noelle. “To start.”
He wandered through the kitchen. A few dirty dishes in the sink.
More in the dishwasher. Crumbs by the toaster.
It looked like any normal kitchen. They went upstairs, and he halted at the lineup of Belle’s photos on the wall, immediately spotting the one that was being circulated. Clearly it was the most recent.
“Shit,” he muttered, studying one where baby Belle was propped up in a chair.
“Exactly.”
“Since she’s not with either set of grandparents,” he stated, “let’s get a dog out here. See if we can track the girl. Maybe she’s in a hidey-hole somewhere. It happens.”
“I’ll call Rowan,” said Noelle, opening her phone. “It’s what she and Thor do best.”
Voices came from the bedroom at the far end of the landing, so Max went into another bedroom as he waited for Noelle to finish her call.
It was Sydney’s room. Nothing seemed unusual in the bedroom.
He slid open the nightstand drawer with one gloved finger.
“Diary? Notepad?” he asked as he heard Noelle enter.
“Are you joking?” said Noelle. “Everyone uses a phone app instead.”
“Just hoping.” He’d known it was a long shot.
Cell phones were a wealth of information. Calls, notes, texts, locations.
He glanced in the bathroom and then followed Noelle out of the room. They stopped at a second bathroom with a tub and a Barbie shower curtain.
“Detective Marshall?” one of the forensic techs called from down the hall. “Can you take a look in here?” The techs were working in the spare bedroom. Noelle went in and Max stopped in the doorway. The bed’s comforter was folded back as if waiting for a guest.
“We’ve found several hairs in the bed near the pillows,” said one of the women. “They’re red. Well, a dark red.”
Sydney was a brunette.
“Not Sydney Beason’s hair?” asked Noelle. “Her hair is dark.”
“Not Ms. Beason’s. We’ve already taken some of her hair from the brush in her bathroom. This is different.”
Noelle peered at the sheets. “Wasn’t this bed made when you started?”
“Yes. We moved the comforter.”
Noelle straightened and looked at Max. “I don’t feel that Sydney is the type to not wash the sheets after she had a guest. The whole house is quite clean.”
“You think someone is staying here?” Max asked. “Currently?”
Noelle strode to the closet and yanked open the double doors.
The side with shelves was stuffed with blankets, an old sewing machine, wrapping paper, and an assortment of boxes.
The home’s junk closet. Like a junk drawer but for larger things.
It’d always formed in his spare bedroom too.
The other side of the closet was just as crammed but had clothing hanging and shoes arranged on the floor.
Noelle frowned at the contents. “When I glanced in here earlier, I assumed it was overflow from Sydney’s closet.
But I think this is someone else’s clothing.
It’s a little bit of everything, you know?
Summer dresses, winter coats, jeans.” She picked up a shoe.
“They’re the wrong size,” said Noelle. “These aren’t Sydney’s.
” She looked over her shoulder at Max. “I noticed we wore the same size.”
She strode out of the bedroom and back to the bathroom with the Barbie shower curtain. “Adult toothbrush next to the Cinderella child’s brush,” she muttered. She pulled aside the curtain. “Different-brand razor than in Sydney’s shower, and a shampoo specifically for red hair.”
She met Max’s gaze. “Where’s the houseguest?”
He knew what she was thinking.
Is she one of the other victims in the forest?
Or did she kill Sydney and take Belle?