Hidden in the Everglades
Margaret Daley
Bodyguarding is Kyra Morgan's business—but this was supposed to be a vacation!Still, she can't refuse the request from childhood friend and neighbor Michael Hunt. Michael's sister Amy ran away after witnessing a murder. Michael needs Kyra's help to find her and keep her safe. Yet as Kyra and Michael follow the trail along the Florida coast, their search grows more dangerous by the day.Terrorists are at work, and the stakes are perilously high. It will take everything they have—including trust they're both reluctant to give—to escape the Everglades alive. . .
“I’m not ready for this.” His voice caught on the last word as his fingers grasped the railing.
Kyra clasped Michael’s arm, wishing she’d been able to prevent Amy from running away this morning at the Pattersons’. But if Amy had stopped, the killer would have shot her in the back. “Remember, I’m here for you. We’ll find your sister, and I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
He pried loose his grip from the railing and peered toward her. “I appreciate your help. I’ve never had something like this happen to me.”
She was all too familiar with a person agonizing over the disappearance of a loved one. “Most people thankfully don’t.”
“Flamingo Cay is a small town. Things like this don’t happen here.”
“They do now.”
Dear Reader,
This is the last book in the Guardians, Inc. series. I have enjoyed trying to put myself in the mind-set of a female hired to protect a person. Although Kyra is tough and knows how to take care of herself, she has a fear of snakes that started when she was a child and had a terrifying experience with one. Even the strongest people have weaknesses.
I love hearing from readers. You can contact me at margaretdaley@gmail.com or at P.O. Box 2074 Tulsa, OK 74101. You can learn more about my books at www.margaretdaley.com. I have a quarterly newsletter that you can sign up for on my website or you can enter my monthly drawings by signing my guest book on the website.
Best wishes,
Hidden in the Everglades
Margaret Daley
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Jan, who helped me brainstorm this book—thank you
Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.
—1 Peter 5:7
ONE
A wave broke and rolled across the white sandy beach, the warm water bubbling around Kyra Morgan’s feet before receding back into the Gulf of Mexico. The sun peeked over the tops of the palm trees behind her, flooding the day with light. Her favorite time, at dawn when all was still right with the world. Before her day began.
The screech of a seagull pierced the tranquillity. A momentary disturbance until everything went back to a calmness that she’d needed after spending six straight years establishing Guardians, Inc. into a premier international company of female bodyguards. Drawing in a soothing breath, she relished the scent of the sea mingling with the sweet fragrance of the flowers her dad had planted right before his death a few years ago.
This was her time to rest and relax. One week in Flamingo Cay, Florida, where she’d grown up. One week of no work. No emergencies. No—
A click and muffled pop invaded her tranquillity.
Sounds she’d heard as a police officer.
She pivoted, her survival instinct kicking into play as she raced to her beach bag a few yards away. When she reached it, she plunged her hand inside and grasped the handle of her Glock while panning the house next door where the sound of a gun with a silencer going off had come from.
Another pop invaded the early-morning quiet. She started moving toward the noise. Every sense locked on finding the source of the danger.
Suddenly a young man burst out of the hibiscus hedge edging the neighbor’s property, staggering toward her, his face clenched in pain. He clutched his stomach, blood pouring out between his fingers. Stopping, he fell to his knees, a plea in his eyes as they homed in on Kyra.
“Help us.”
Us? Kyra glanced around as she covered the short distance to the young man. He collapsed to the sand, his eyes wide-open, giving her the dead man’s stare she’d seen countless times as a homicide detective. She felt for his pulse and found none.
She pulled her cell from her shorts pocket and dialed 911. “Shots have been fired at 523 Pelican Lane. One man down—dead.”
Another shot, coming from inside the house, sent a spurt of adrenaline through her veins. “Hurry.” She disconnected, stuffed her phone into her pocket and ran toward the neighbor’s back deck—the sliding glass door was partially open. The house was up for sale. She’d noticed the sign out front when she’d arrived yesterday evening. She hadn’t thought anyone was living there.
Every nerve tingled with the threat of danger, but she couldn’t get the young man’s plea out of her mind. Help us. Who else was in trouble?
As she neared the back that faced the water, she slowed, scanning the overgrown yard. The place had a vacant look to it, with no furniture on the deck. She ascended the stairs and crept toward the sliding glass door. Through it she looked inside. Totally empty.
When she stepped over the threshold into the living room, a large expanse of taupe-colored tiles, her heartbeat accelerated. She paused and listened for any noise that indicated where the killer was.
Silence.
Another pop echoed through the vacant house, coming from the hallway that led to the bedrooms. A scream cleaved the air. The sound of pounding footsteps racing down the corridor toward Kyra propelled her into action. She flattened herself against the wall, her gun up, her total concentration on the opening. Heart hammering against her rib cage, she waited.
A teenage girl burst out of the hall and darted across the room, blood on her hands and shirt, her features chiseled in fear. She glimpsed Kyra out of the corner of her eye and gasped, momentarily slowing. Their gazes connected for a few seconds. Kyra put her forefinger to her lips to indicate she keep quiet.
The intrusion of a deep gravelly voice saying, “You can’t get away from me,” leached the rest of the color from the teen’s face. Her eyes grew huge. She sped toward the exit.
Kyra focused on the entrance into the living room while the racing footsteps of the girl resonated through the air. From the hallway a shot sounded, shattering the glass in the door. She glanced toward the girl to see her disappear down the stairs and into the backyard.
Any second she expected to see the killer burst into the living room to hunt down the teen and finish her off. Kyra stiffened, every muscle primed for action.
Five heartbeats later she knew something was wrong. She inched closer to the edge of the wall to peer into the corridor. The thundering in her head pulsated through her mind, sending out an alarm. One, two deep breaths and she swiveled out into the entrance, her Glock pointing toward the bedrooms. Emptiness taunted her.
Followed by a sliver of fear.
Had the killer sensed she was there waiting for him to appear? Did the girl’s gasp alert him? Maybe. Was he now lying in wait for her somewhere down this hall? Or did he flee out another way and was doubling around the house to go after the girl?
Each possibility only reinforced the peril. Kyra eased down the hall, approaching each room with caution. After a visual check from the doorway, she continued her search until she reached the last bedroom, its entrance wide-open. The silence lured her forward, at the same time cautioning her against the action.
The memory of the fright on the teen’s face propelled her toward the room. The girl was no match for a killer. Swinging into the bedroom, every sense homed outward, she scanned the area. A young man lay face up, his eyes closed, his chest barely rising and falling. Blood pooled on the tile floor by him, in front of an open sliding glass door, as a soft breeze blew the curtains.
Had the killer already escaped? Or was he in the bathroom or closet? She slunk along the wall to the first door and threw it wide. After inspecting the empty closet, she quickly moved on. At the bathroom, the door was ajar, and she nudged it farther open. As soon as she assessed no threat, she hurried to the man on the floor to see if there was anything she could do.
Tattoos covering both arms and an elaborate black dagger inked on his neck, the victim, probably between eighteen and twenty-two, wore blue jeans, the bottoms encrusted with wet mud, and a snow-white T-shirt, now saturated with blood from multiple shots to his gut. In her line of work she’d seen lethal wounds. This was one of them.
She placed another call to 911 to let them know a person was critically injured in the bedroom of the vacant house and the shooter had fled the scene possibly pursuing a potential witness. As she hung up, a flash caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Leaping to her feet, she saw a man dressed in camouflage plunge into the thick underbrush on the right side of the house—into the thicket that led to the swamp nearby.
Was he going after the girl to finish her off?
Kyra couldn’t let that happen. She’d done all she could for the young man, but maybe she could protect the teenage girl from getting killed, too.
She rushed out onto the small deck at the side of the house and scoured the area for any sign of an accomplice or the witness, then followed the assailant into the tangle of vegetation.
Dr. Michael Hunt scrubbed his hands down his face, trying to keep awake after pulling an all-nighter with a patient, a mother who finally delivered her baby boy at 5:13 a.m. this morning. Pouring his third mug of coffee, he wandered toward his bedroom to change, so he could turn around and go back to the clinic for today’s appointments. At least his partner would be back from vacation to help take some of the load off.
The blare of a siren halted Michael’s progress. He glanced toward the front of his house. The sound grew closer. Curiosity led him toward the entryway. He opened his door as two police cars passed his home on Pelican Lane and came to a stop five houses down from his place.
The old Patterson house? Was someone hurt? No one lived there. Hadn’t for the past six months, according to his kid sister, Amy.
He heard the click of the back door and swiveled around, catching a glimpse of his youngest sister hurrying down the hallway. What was Amy doing up so early? She wasn’t a morning person. He started forward to find out where she’d been when the shrill ring of his phone sliced through the silence.
Not far from the table in the entryway where it sat, he snatched up the receiver. “Hello.”
“Dr. Hunt, this is Officer Wilson with Flamingo Cay Police. A man is injured at the Pattersons’ place. He was shot. An ambulance won’t get here for at least fifteen more minutes from Clear Springs. Since you only live—”
“I’ll be there.” Michael grabbed his black bag from a chair nearby and headed out the front door.
The urgency in the officer’s voice prodded him to quicken his pace. As he neared the vacant house, Levi Wilson came around from the side, a frown on his face.
He waved Michael toward him. “There’s a dead man on the beach, but there’s one in the bedroom alive. Barely.”
“Shot where?”
“In the gut.”
Michael rushed up the steps to the small deck on the side of the house. Just inside the sliding glass door lay a young man, faceup. He’d seen his fair share of fatal gunshot wounds. This one looked bad.
Michael knelt on the tile floor next to the injured young man who moaned, fixing his eyes on Michael. The young man’s eyes fluttered right before his head lolled to the side and the breath went out of him.
In seconds, Kyra plunged into the wooded area and found herself ankle-deep in muddy water, a tangle of green vegetation hemming her in. Up ahead, she spotted movement and pressed ahead, branches clawing at her. Sweat coated her face. The realization that she didn’t know which way the young girl had gone hastened her pace, even though the soggy ground weighed each step down. She couldn’t let the killer add another victim to his list.
As she progressed, she spied the trampled bushes and vines where the assailant had run through. Then suddenly she came out onto a path with boot prints, about size eleven, which headed toward the canal. If she could remember correctly, the old pier people in the neighborhood used was in that direction—at least it had when she’d been growing up in Flamingo Cay.
Quickening her pace, she kept combing the area for any sign the killer had deviated from the trail. In the background she heard sirens coming closer but decided to keep going after the assailant. Deep into the green jungle of plants, her old fear began to encroach in her mind, robbing her of her full concentration. She nearly tripped over a half-buried log, managing at the last second to steady herself.
A muzzled pop sounded, followed immediately by a bullet whistling by her ear. She ducked behind a cypress not far from the path. With the loud beating of her heart vying with the drone of the insects, she peeked around the tree. Another pop echoed through the swamp. Splinters of bark flew off the cypress. She waited a minute, inching toward the other side of the large tree. Aiming high in case the girl was nearby, Kyra squeezed off several shots.
The noise of a motor revving came from the canal. Kyra peered in that direction. Through the foliage she saw a motorboat pull away. She hurried toward the old pier about twenty yards away. By the time she got to the bank of the water, the craft had disappeared around a bend going south.
Breathing hard, she bent over and tried to fill her lungs with oxygen. From behind her sloshing footsteps announced she had company. She straightened, bringing her gun up, and whirled to face any new threat.
TWO
Kyra lowered her Glock when she saw Gabe Stanford, the Flamingo Cay police chief, and another officer hurrying down the path toward her. For the first time since she’d heard the muffled noise of the first gunshot she relaxed her tense muscles, rolling her head to work the aches out of her neck and shoulders.
Gabe stopped in front of her, a little out of breath. “This isn’t the way I envisioned us meeting when your aunt told me you were finally coming home for a visit.”
Smiling at the man who had been her inspiration to become a law-enforcement officer, she went to him and gave him a hug. “Me neither. I came back for my first vacation in six years and got caught up in a murder.”
Gabe frowned, peered back at the officer and said, “I’ve got this, Connors. You can go back and help Wilson.”
The large thirtysomething man nodded and retraced his steps toward Pelican Lane.
“What happened here? I was checking the yard by the swamp and heard gunshots.” Gabe glanced down at the Glock.
“I returned the killer’s fire. He ran out of the Pattersons’, and I went after him. He shot twice at me then got into a motorboat and went that way.” Kyra pointed to the south.
“Did you get a good look at him?” He holstered his gun.
“No. He was too far away and his head was turned from me. He was wearing camouflage pants and shirt, boots and a ball cap, pulled down low on his forehead. He was about six feet, slender build. That’s all I got. Sorry.” As a police officer for twelve years before founding Guardians, Inc., she knew the importance of a detailed and correct description of an assailant.
“It’s better than a lot I’ve gotten. Did you see the man kill either victim back at the Pattersons’?”
She shook her head. “I did see him shoot at a girl who fled the scene. I don’t think he hit her. I thought he might be going after her so I took off after him.”
“What’s the girl look like?”
“Sixteen, maybe seventeen. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Black hair.”
“Do you think the killer had her in the boat?”
Kyra shook her head. “Not from what I saw. Is the guy in the bedroom still alive?”
“No, he didn’t have a chance.”
“I didn’t think he would even with immediate medical help. I’ve seen nasty gunshot wounds like he had, and they usually don’t end well.” Remembering the young man on the tile floor by the sliding glass door only reinforced why she left the police force. Six years ago she’d seen too much death and had needed to do something different. She’d still wanted to help make this world a safer place, but she couldn’t continue investigating one murder after another. The Lord had something else in mind for her. Guardians, Inc. gave her the sense she was helping others without being personally involved in so much death.
Gabe began walking back toward the crime scene. “That’s what I thought, but we called the local doctor who lives down the street to help. The victim died before Dr. Hunt could do anything.”
“Michael Hunt, Ginny’s little brother?”
“Yep, he’s all grown up and has returned to Flamingo Cay to run the medical clinic. We’ve needed another doctor in town for quite some time.”
The Michael Hunt she remembered used to follow her and Ginny, her best friend in high school, around generally making life difficult for them. She’d known from Ginny her little brother had gone on to be a doctor, but she hadn’t seen him in years. The last time she’d heard about him, he’d been practicing in Chicago, so she hadn’t thought she would see him in Flamingo Cay.
“Michael came back about four months ago.”
As they neared the edge of the swamp, Kyra’s tension returned, gripping her neck and fanning out along her shoulders. “I thought you were retiring.”
“This is my last year.”
She tilted her head. “Promise? When I was home for Dad’s funeral, didn’t you say that to me? I thought you meant it that time.”
“Two years ago there wasn’t anyone I felt could take over for me, but Wilson is a good man. He should do fine when I retire.”
Kyra emerged from the heavy foliage that marked the beginning of the swamp that made up the Everglades. Flamingo Cay, not too far from Naples, was between the Glades and the Gulf of Mexico with its many islands off Florida’s western coast.
She caught sight of a large man over six feet tall carrying a black bag, standing on the side deck off the bedroom talking to an officer. At that moment Michael glanced over his shoulder at her. For a few seconds their gazes linked across the yard. Then recognition dawned on his face, and he smiled at her, two dimples appearing and bringing back more memories of her childhood. Even as a kid he’d had a great smile—one that drew people to him.
“Tell me what happened here.” Gabe paused in the side yard, returning her attention to the problem at hand.
Kyra reluctantly wrenched her look from Michael Hunt. “I was out on the beach after my aunt left to go walk with a friend at the track. I’d taken my towel and beach bag out there to just enjoy the sunrise and read and relax. Before I had a chance, I heard muffled gunshots. A young man stumbled out onto the beach from the Pattersons’ backyard, collapsed and mumbled something about helping them, then died. I knew someone else was in trouble. I had my gun, so I called 911 and went to see if I could help.”
“You might not be a detective anymore, but it’s hard to get it out of your system.”
“Instinct. I was a cop for a lot of years.”
“Can you tell me anything else about the girl besides age and hair color?”
“She’s pale, not much of a tan, with heavily made-up eyes in black. The color of them, though, was blue. When she glanced up at me, she looked so scared. But she kept going, which saved her life. The killer got off a shot, but she disappeared down the deck steps. I didn’t see which way she went because I was focused on the assailant in the hallway. He never came into the room. He might have sensed me there. Maybe he saw a reflection in the sliding glass door. I don’t know. I checked the rooms down the hallway, and that’s when I found the other victim. Then I saw the killer running toward the swamp. I felt I had to go after him in case he was pursuing the girl.”
Gabe rubbed his chin. “Hmm. The teenage girl could be Amy, Michael’s younger sister.”
“The one Ginny was raising until she went to the Philippines as a missionary?” Her childhood friend’s little sister? If anything had happened to the girl, she would have been at a loss how to tell Ginny.
“Yup. Amy said she would run away before she’d go to the Philippines. She wanted to finish high school this coming year in Flamingo Cay. Michael agreed to come home and take care of her.”
Kyra slanted her glance toward Michael striding toward them. His medium-length black hair lay at odd angles as though he’d run his hand through it multiple times. Even from a distance his blue eyes, so much like the teenage girl’s when Kyra thought about it, lured her in. Compelling. Captivating. Even better than his smile. She dragged her attention away from his gaze, fastening it onto the cleft in his chin, then his full lips, which were tugged in a look of concern.
Gabe greeted Michael with a handshake. “Thanks for coming.”
“I was too late. I don’t think there was anything I could have done, though.” Michael’s look shifted to her. “Kyra Morgan?”
She nodded. “It’s been a long time.”
“Sixteen years. I think the last time I saw you was the summer right before I went to college. It’s good to see you.” He held out his hand to her.
She fit hers in his clasp, and his large fingers surrounded hers. The connection, warm, full of strength, further surprised her. “How’s Ginny doing? I haven’t heard from her since she went to the Philippines.”
“Getting settled in.” A smile leaked through the tired lines about his eyes and mouth, and he wiped moisture off his brow. “I forgot how bad the humidity could get here, especially in the summer. It takes some getting used to.”
“I know. I had planned on spending a lot of time in the water to counter that.”
Gabe cleared his throat. “I hate to break up this little reunion, but Michael, where is Amy?”
“At home. Why?”
Gabe fully faced Michael. “She may have been involved with what went down here.”
Michael’s tanned features paled. “No, that’s not possible. Amy wouldn’t hurt anyone. She won’t even eat meat because animals are being killed to provide it.”
“I saw a teenage girl fleeing from the house. She had blood on her hands and shirt.”
Michael shook his head. “Not Amy.”
Gabe pointed toward the house. “The person dead on the beach is Preston Stevens. Hasn’t Amy been seeing him?”
“Not lately. She promised me.” Panic seized Michael’s cobalt-blue eyes.
“I want Kyra to meet her. If it’s not the same girl she saw in the bedroom, then that’s the end of it. If Amy was there, I need to talk to her. She’s the only one left to tell us what happened before Kyra came on the scene,” Gabe said using his usual laid-back approach, all the while assessing his surroundings and the situation.
She wanted to reassure Michael about his sister, to wipe that apprehensive expression from his face. “I don’t think she had anything to do with either killing. The girl I saw was scared. The assailant I chased into the swamp shot at her but didn’t hit her.”
Michael gritted his jaws together so tightly a nerve jerked in his cheek. “Fine. I’m sure this is all a mistake.” A vulnerability beneath his words infused his voice with doubt.
“You said she’s at home. There’s no time like the present to get this straightened out.” Gabe started around to the back of the house and the beach, skirting Connors, who was with Preston’s body, putting up crime-scene tape while another officer was talking to some of the neighbors outside.
Michael hung back, opening and closing his hands at his sides. He peered at Preston lying faceup on the beach, then back at Kyra.
She approached him. “You’re not so sure, are you?”
He shook his head, bleakness in his eyes. “Not the way Amy has been acting lately. The first month I was back here everything was all right. Then at the start of the summer, she began to change into the little sister that Ginny warned me about.”
“What?”
“Wild, rebellious, stubborn.”
“Some of that describes a typical teenager. I can remember some of the things I pulled with Ginny.” She grinned. “And you took pleasure in letting your mom know all about it.”
For a fleeting second humor flashed into his eyes until his gaze fixed upon a point down the beach. Kyra turned and saw Gabe waiting for them four houses down.
“When we get this all straightened out, I hope we can talk.” Michael began walking. “The one thing I know about Amy is she wouldn’t hurt anyone. Just last week a bird flew into the glass window. She had me out there trying to revive it. I kept telling her I was a doctor for humans, not birds.”
Kyra fell into step next to him as he passed near the crime-scene tape. “Did the bird make it?”
For a long moment Michael didn’t say anything, only stared at Preston, a dark shadow in his eyes. Finally he blinked, shook his head slightly and focused on Kyra. “Yes, Twitter flew off an hour later as if nothing had happened.”
“Twitter?”
“Amy named the bird that. Now do you see why I don’t think she could have been involved? It had to be someone else.”
“Sometimes people get caught up in something they never intended.” Kyra touched his arm and stopped on the beach, compelling him to do likewise. “I used to investigate homicides for a living.”
“Yeah, Ginny told me.”
“You talked to Ginny about me?”
“You were Ginny’s best friend, even if you two didn’t get to see each other much in the past few years.”
“I don’t know about y’all, but I have a lot to do,” Gabe shouted, his fists on his hips, his glare directed at them.
“I forgot how impatient he can be,” Kyra said with a laugh and continued her trek toward the police chief. “My point in telling you that is if Amy is involved I might be able to help you.” The second the words were out of her mouth, Kyra wanted to snatch them back. Help Michael? How? She was only going to be here a week. Besides, what business was it of hers? She had so needed a break finally. Gabe was quite capable of finding the killer without her help.
“This little reunion will have to wait, y’all. Where’s Amy?” Gabe charged up the back steps to the deck and waited at the door while his foot tapped against the wooden planks. “We haven’t had a murder in Flamingo Cay in four years, and now I’ve got two in one day.”
Michael reached around Gabe and opened one of the double glass doors. “She went to her bedroom. I’ll go get her. Have a seat.” He waved toward the den, then headed down the hall.
Before going into Michael’s place, Kyra slipped off her swamp-soaked tennis shoes and strode to the outside water faucet and rinsed the mud off her legs and sneakers. After setting them out to dry, she entered the house.
Gabe removed his ball cap and scratched his thinning hair. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Then he plopped the hat—a sore subject with the town council, which thought he should wear his complete uniform—back on his head.
“Why do you say that?” Kyra asked as the sound of rushed footsteps resonated down the corridor.
A second later Michael appeared, his eyes huge, fear carving deep lines into his face. “She’s not in there.” He brought forward a bloody T-shirt. “But this was on the floor.” His hand quavered as he thrust it toward Gabe.
“This is Amy’s?” Gabe asked, making no move to take the article of clothing.
“Yes. She was wearing it yesterday.”
Kyra headed toward the kitchen but paused in the entrance. “And this morning when you saw her?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see what she had on. All I saw was a glimpse of her before Wilson called me.”
“Where’s a paper sack?” Kyra had known the Hunt family for years, and although she and Ginny didn’t see each other in person much anymore, they did keep in touch by phone and email occasionally. Now she knew why she’d told Michael she would help—because of the years of friendship.
“In the top of the pantry. Why?” Michael clamped the edge of the T-shirt between his thumb and forefinger.
While she rummaged around in the pantry, Kyra heard Gabe explain about putting the shirt in the sack as evidence. When she found what she was looking for behind some pans, she returned to the living room. His forehead furrowed, Michael dropped the piece of clothing into the evidence bag.
“I need to take a look at the house. Is that okay?” Gabe asked, taking the sack.
Confusion clouding his eyes, Michael glanced from Gabe to Kyra. She gave him a nod, and he said, “Yes.”
“Kyra, do you want to help?” Gabe crossed toward the hallway. “I could always use an extra pair of eyes. In fact, I could hire you as a consultant so you could work this case. I could use your expertise as a homicide detective. Besides, you’ve seen more murders than me, and one of my officers is on vacation.”
“How about the sheriff and his deputies or the state police?”
“I’ll put a call in for some help, but I don’t know how much I’ll get until next week. They’re gonna be busy on St. Cloud Island. A big symposium on terrorism is being held there soon with some world leaders attending. I think something else is happening on Marco Island. Some big conference with the governor.”
She couldn’t turn down Gabe’s request when he was the reason she’d become a police officer in the first place. “Sure, if you need me, I’ll help but you don’t have to hire me as a consultant. I’ll poke around and see what I can come up with.” She twisted toward Michael, wanting to erase the worry from his face. “I didn’t see a gun on the floor by the body, and I didn’t see Amy with one. I think the only one who had a gun was the assailant.”
He peered at her as though she were speaking a foreign language.
“Preston and the other guy were shot. So where’s her gun if she shot them?” Kyra asked.
Michael’s eyes brightened. “Yeah. But why did she run away?”
“She was scared. People often react without thinking. Do you know any reason why she would go to the Pattersons’ house?”
He shook his head, the light dimming again in his eyes.
She closed the space between them. “I told Gabe I would help, and I will.”
“My most immediate concern is finding Amy. If the man shot at her, then he may be after her.”
She couldn’t dispute that—it was a very real possibility. “He fled into the swamp.”
“She loves the swamp. What if he was going after her?”
His every word held such alarm that Kyra was drawn again to comfort Michael. She touched his arm, his bicep bunching beneath her fingertips. “The sequence of events doesn’t support that. You were seeing her in this house while I was going after the killer.”
“Then where did she go?”
“Good question. We need to find her.” As Gabe disappeared down the hallway, Kyra inhaled deeply, smelling Michael’s scent—musk and antiseptic. “While we’re looking around, try calling her first then start calling her friends, if she doesn’t answer her cell. See if she’s with one of them or they know where she would go.”
“I can do that.” He dug into his pocket and withdrew his cell. “I also need to call my partner to tell him to cover for me for the next few days.”
Kyra left him making the first call. She seriously doubted Amy was over at a friend’s, but it gave Michael something to do while they searched the house. The person she’d seen running from the murder scene was frightened. What had Amy witnessed? What did Michael’s sister know that caused the assailant to shoot at her? Could Amy ID the killer?
When she entered the teen’s bedroom, Gabe closed a drawer. “I’m worried about Amy. If she witnessed a double homicide, the killer might not rest until he finds her.”
“I agree.” Kyra strolled toward a pegboard with photos pinned on it. She surveyed the array. “I haven’t seen pictures of Amy since she was much younger. But this is definitely the girl I saw at the house.” She tapped her finger at a girl in a photo in the center of the board—two girls, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, huge smiles on their faces.
“That’s Amy. I know that she has been in more trouble this past year than before, but I would never figure she would be involved in a murder even as a witness.”
“Can you tell me anything about Preston? Why would someone want to kill him? Who is the other victim?” Kyra used the eraser end of a pencil to wake up Amy’s computer. Amy’s screen saver came blazing to life. A scene of a swamp—dark, eerie, with deep shadows except where a sunray burst through the thick foliage to light the murky water.
“Preston is—was a bit on the wild side. I’ve seen Amy and him together around town. I’m not sure who the other guy is. He must be passing through. Wilson is working on that.”
“Could he have been involved in drugs?”
“Possibly. You think this is drug-related?”
“You know that drug dealers have used the Glades to smuggle in their poison so it’s a very real possibility.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of. A few years back I would have said Amy would never have been caught up in something like that. Now I can’t.”
“Which means she could be in deeper trouble than just the police looking for her to question her.”
“Yup. The killer could be after her as a witness or a drug deal gone bad.”
“It won’t be the first time a murderer wants to silence a witness or a dealer wants to send a message about double-crossing him.” Noticing Amy’s internet server was still open, Kyra sat at the desk and punched some keys to bring up the girl’s email account. She clicked on the last message Amy sent. “Gabe, come look at this.” She peered over her shoulder at her mentor and glimpsed Michael standing in the doorway.
Both men approached the desk.
Michael hovered over Kyra to read, “I lost my cell at the cabin. He’s got it. Gotta get out of here. Hide. Meet me at our place.”
THREE
“He’s got her cell? Who? How?” Michael’s gut constricted. The throbbing in his head increased its tapping against his skull.
“Don’t know.” Kyra’s gaze connected with Michael’s. “Who’s this person she’s emailing called skullandcrossbones?”
“I would have said Preston, but he’s dead. I don’t know.” Why didn’t he? He’d tried to forge a bond with Amy, but—He couldn’t think straight with Kyra’s vanilla scent teasing his nostrils. When he’d been growing up, he’d fancied himself in love with Kyra, who thought of him only as Ginny’s kid brother. But what did a boy of fifteen or sixteen really know about love? He didn’t even think he had a good grasp on it now. Not after Sarah. He’d failed her when she’d needed him the most.
Gabe frowned. “Maybe that’s something I could ask her friends.”
“Let me do that. They might talk to me but not the police.” Michael remembered the short list of Amy’s girlfriends he’d called and the fact he’d gotten nowhere with them. They knew something and weren’t talking. But he had to do something to help Amy, and maybe after he pressed upon them the danger his sister was in, they would open up to him.
Indecision shadowed the police chief’s eyes.
“He might have a point. I could go with Michael. See if I can figure out who’s lying or telling the truth. I got pretty good at reading people while working as a detective in Dallas.”
“Great, I’m glad you’re gonna help me. Our resources are stretched at best on a good day. This isn’t a good day. The officer who has some knowledge about computers is the one on vacation this week. He’s not even in town. That leaves me with only Wilson, Connors and Nichols.”
“That’s also something I can help you with, Gabe. It’s a necessity in my job. If it’s okay with you and Michael, I can dig around and see what I can come up with on Amy’s computer.” Kyra peered from the police chief to him.
Her professional facade had descended, but this side of Kyra was just as appealing as the one who had declared she would help him. For months Michael had figured he was in over his head with Amy, but it was official now. Although he was only thirty-three, he felt decades older than his seventeen-year-old kid sister. “I don’t have any problem with that. Chief?”
“Nope. Then that’s settled. I’ll leave it here for you to do whatever you do.” Gabe headed for the door. “I don’t see anything else in here that could help us find Amy.” He paused at the door. “Michael, show me which way she would have come into the house the last time.”
He panned the room, then joined Gabe in the hallway. “It had to be the back door through the kitchen.”
“What’s Amy’s cell-phone number?” The police chief trailed behind Michael toward the kitchen.
Michael gave it to him and added, “Remember she doesn’t have it with her.” He surveyed the floor for any red spots on the tile, then when he didn’t see any, he lifted his gaze to take in the rest of the room.
“Or so she wants us to think. We only have her word that ‘he’ has it.”
“You think she wrote that in the email because she knew she could be tracked by the cell’s GPS?”
“It’s possible, but not probable,” Gabe said, followed by a humorless chuckle. “We might be able to track the person who took Amy’s cell if he has it as she said. I’ll get Connors on it.”
“Turn the tables on the guy Amy is running from?”
“Ain’t technology great.” Gabe winked and sauntered toward the back door.
Michael certainly hadn’t had time to keep up with all the technology being developed—except in his field of medicine—with his work schedule. He was one of two doctors in a community with a large ratio of elderly people who needed a great deal of medical attention. And before he came back to Flamingo Cay, his life had been a living nightmare for the last year in Chicago. Still was. The image of Sarah at the accident that had taken her life continued to haunt him even after over a year. He hadn’t been able to save her.
He wasn’t going to lose his sister, too. “How are we going to find Amy? She’s in trouble.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to locate Amy the old-fashioned way.”
“How?”
“We talk to her friends, check places that she goes to, and I know someone who has a bloodhound that’s a pretty good tracker. I’ll give Harvey a call and have him bring Boomer to track Amy’s movements when she left here. Maybe we can locate her that way.”
Hunt his sister down like a fugitive? The thought knotted his gut into a tight, hard ball. “Whatever you think is best. I just know we need to get to her before the killer does.”
“Can you get me something that she’s worn lately?”
“Sure.” Michael made his way back to Amy’s bedroom. When he entered, Kyra peered up at him and smiled. “Find anything?” he asked.
“A few things. She’s gotten a couple of emails from this skullandcrossbones person during the past few weeks, mostly chatter about Preston. Before that nothing. Maybe the person is a new friend. Do you remember her talking about someone she’d befriended recently?”
“No. But then she and I didn’t talk all that much, especially lately. She sulked a lot. When I asked her what was wrong, she denied anything was.” He waved his hand toward the Patterson house. “Obviously that wasn’t true.” He strode to a pile of shirts and shorts lying next to Amy’s empty dirty-clothes hamper. “Gabe is going to try and track her with a dog.”
“That’s good. She’s in danger. She may not think coming in to the police is the best solution to her problem, but it is.”
“Why wouldn’t she turn herself in to the police?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she will when she has time to stop and think clearly. Right now she is in flight mode.”
He grabbed a shirt Amy had worn recently. “If we find her, would you be willing to be her bodyguard? Ginny told me about your company, and if a killer is after Amy, we’ll need the services of a good bodyguard. As Gabe said, he’s understaffed. I know you agreed to help the chief, but Amy’s safety is the most important thing right now.”
She opened her mouth to say something but snapped it closed. Pressing her lips together, she glanced away for a moment then reestablished eye contact. “I don’t normally act as a bodyguard myself, but yes, I’ll help. I’ll protect her if it comes to that.”
For the first time in a while he didn’t feel so alone dealing with his problems. “Thanks. This is so out of my league. I’m glad you decided to come home this week.” He held up the article of clothing. “I’d better get this to Gabe. Maybe we’ll have Amy home by the end of the day.”
Kyra watched him leave. The expression of hope on his face tore at her composure. She’d been involved with disappearances of teenagers before and so many of them didn’t turn out well. She owed it to Ginny and even Michael to find their sister and then protect her. She couldn’t leave at the end of the week, go back to Dallas and forget what was happening unless there was a resolution to Amy’s troubles.
Mentally she began making plans to call her secretary, then see if Elizabeth Caulder could cover for her if she was in Flamingo Cay longer than a week. What else did she need to do? A lot of that would depend on what happened with Amy. The thought she wouldn’t be found left Kyra cold in the midst of the summer heat. She would do what she could to make the outcome different.
She clicked on Amy’s icon for trash to see what she’d deleted lately. A blank screen greeted Kyra’s perusal. Amy had emptied her trash. It would take her a little longer, but files weren’t completely deleted off the computer until there was no more space and a file was written over a trashed one.
Later that morning, Kyra found Michael on the deck facing the Gulf. The blue water glittered as though thousands of shards of crystal had been strewn over its surface. “I didn’t know how much I misssed this until I came home.”
Gripping the railing, Michael hunched his shoulders and leaned farther into it. “I know that’s the way I felt when I came back here.” His look didn’t stray from the stretch of sea no more than a hundred yards away. “I remember once when I was twelve and found an old dinghy. I worked all summer to get it in shape. I had planned to go all the way to Key West in it.” He slid her a smile that vanished in a second. “I didn’t make it more than twenty or so feet offshore before I began to sink. I hadn’t repaired all the holes in the bottom, at least not well enough that they didn’t leak. That boat might still be out there somewhere.” He pointed in the direction of where it had gone down.
She came up next to him, fighting the urge to cover his hand on the railing with hers. The wistful tone in his voice made her ache for a time when they hadn’t had any real worries. “You haven’t swum out there to see it?”
“No. When I got here, I hit the ground running and haven’t stopped since. My partner and I are very busy.” A deep sigh escaped his lips. “I should know what was going on with Amy, too. I feel like I’ve let her down, and now she’s in trouble.”
This time she did touch his upper arm, drawing his full attention. Although her gesture was an act of comfort, she felt strange because she found herself attracted to a man who was a good friend’s kid brother—one she had dealt with as a young teenage boy with a crush on her. “Ginny was having problems with Amy. She hit sixteen, and according to your sister, Amy changed overnight.”
He shifted toward her, her hand dropping to her side. “Did you find anything on her computer to help find her?”
“The name on the email account of skullandcrossbones is a Kip Thomas. Do you know someone by that name?”
“No.”
“I’ve asked Gabe to see what he can find out about this person who supposedly lives in Naples. It could be a fake name and address. That’s not hard to do when setting up an email account.”
“Good. Anything else?”
“A journal she kept up until ten days ago. She deleted it, but I was able to recover it. Did something happen at that time?”
A faraway look darkened his blue eyes to a storm. “That’s when I grounded her for coming in two hours late from a date. She’d just gotten off from being grounded a few days ago.”
“Who did she go out with?”
“She told me Brady Lawson, a guy she used to date during the school year, but I’m pretty sure it was Preston. I didn’t see the car she came home in, but I heard it. It sounded like Preston’s GTO. Lately she has been going out with Preston, and she knew I didn’t think he was the right kind of guy for her.” He rotated around and sat back on the railing, folding his arms over his chest. “Did you read the journal?”
“Yes, a lot of angst. Brady and she broke up two months ago, then she met another guy she thought was hot.”
“Did she say who?”
“No. She called him Hottie. Apparently they spent time in the swamp, partying.”
“That Preston.” His features strengthened into a scowl. “But I don’t know for sure and that’s the problem.” A nerve twitched in his cheek.
“She talked a lot about a girl named Laurie. Do you know her?”
“Yes, Laurie and Amy were BFFs, or so she told me on a number of occasions.”
“Then I suggest we go talk to her best friend first.”
“Right now?”
“No, after Gabe searches the area with the bloodhound. I figure you’ll want to be here in case he turns up anything useful.”
“Yes. Maybe the dog will find Amy’s trail and lead us right to her.” Hope flared in his expression for a few seconds.
“If nothing is found to help us, we can go talk to Laurie. She might know something about where Amy would go if she was afraid.”
“Frankly the place I would say she would go was Laurie’s, but when I called earlier no one answered the phone.” Michael shuddered, his shoulders drooping. “This is a peaceful little town. A kid shouldn’t have to be afraid for her life.”
“No, but sadly that’s not the way it is in this world.”
“Yeah, there are two dead young men to prove that. I saw my fair share of gunshot victims in the emergency room in Chicago. Some were caught up in gang wars. Others in drug deals gone bad. I thought I had left that behind.”
“As a police officer, I discovered evil can exist anywhere.”
“Wilson told me he didn’t know who the other victim at the Pattersons’ house was. He appeared older than Preston. Do you think this has anything to do with drugs or something like that?”
“Maybe. When I talked to Gabe a few minutes ago, he told me the other person who died at the scene was Preston’s cousin from Miami, Tyler Stevens. His cousin had been visiting and hadn’t been here long. He had the same black dagger tattooed on his neck as Preston did.”
“A gang?”
“Gabe is checking with the Miami police. “
He pushed away from the railing. “I never thought of Flamingo Cay and gangs in the same context.”
“He said they checked where the man I chased ran into the undergrowth and saw another set of prints near his and mine. Looked to be about a size-thirteen shoe, Gabe said. Since it rained last night, he thinks either someone was standing there watching the house or waiting for Amy or someone else.”
A gray tinge to his face, Michael sucked in a shaky breath then slowly released it. “Let’s see what progress Harvey and his bloodhound, Boomer, have made. Maybe they’ve already found a trail that will lead us right to Amy.”
Kyra hoped so, too, but what she wouldn’t voice to Michael was her concern over how they would find Amy. When his gaze snagged hers as he moved toward his back door, though, she glimpsed the same fear in his expression as she had. Amy could be dead somewhere nearby. Like the two young men at the Pattersons’.
She halted Michael’s progress into his house with, “Amy came back and changed. She was alive a while ago and got away from whoever killed those boys because I chased him to the canal in the opposite direction from here. I don’t think she had time to come home, change and somehow end up in the swamp being chased by the assailant.”
Pain glazed his eyes. “Yeah, but what if the second person Gabe found the prints of followed her here and waited until she left again?”
“With all the police around here? Probably not.” At least she prayed he hadn’t. Kyra grabbed her damp tennis shoes and put them on.
Frowning, Michael yanked open the back door and strode through the entrance and continued toward the foyer. When he stepped outside onto the porch, he peered toward the Pattersons’ house. A red, beat-up truck was parked behind a police cruiser in the driveway. “Where’s Gabe? Harvey?”
The need to let him know he wasn’t alone inundated her. This was someone she’d grown up with, and she’d been at his house playing with his older sister. “It looks like Gabe has already started tracking Amy’s movements.”
Michael turned to the left in the direction Kyra indicated. Gabe ambled across the next-door neighbor’s yard, slightly behind a large man with a barrel chest and a bloodhound in the lead. “I’m not ready for this.” His voice caught on the last word as his fingers grasped the railing.
Kyra clasped his arm, wishing she’d been able to prevent Amy from running away this morning at the Pattersons’. But if Amy had stopped, the killer would have shot her in the back. “Remember I’m here for you. We’ll find her, and I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
He pried loose his grip from the railing and peered toward her. “I appreciate your help. I’ve never had something like this happen to me.”
She was all too familiar with a person agonizing over the disappearance of a loved one. “Most people thankfully don’t.”
“Flamingo Cay is a small town. Things like this don’t happen here. I know that Gabe has been the police chief for twenty-three years, but is he capable of handling these multiple murders?”
“I know for a fact he can. When I was thirteen, there had been a family murdered here not far outside of town. He wasn’t the police chief yet, but he’s the one who solved the case and brought the man in. A fine piece of detective work. He and Dad were friends. He used to come over, and I would overhear the details about the case. Of course, they didn’t know I was listening. But that’s when I started wanting to be a police officer.”
“That must have been right before we moved to Flamingo Cay.”
“Yeah, if I remember correctly you all moved in a couple of months after that case was solved.”
“Still, I’m glad you’re helping him with the case. Ginny told me about some of the murders you worked on in Dallas.”
The idea he and Ginny had talked about her warmed her face. Yes, she’d talked about Michael with Ginny, but she had also discussed Amy. A friend curious about a friend’s family.
He shoved away from the railing and descended the steps. “I wonder if he’s checked the swamp area behind the Pattersons’ place.”
“He probably will after he finds Amy’s trail. I didn’t see anything while I was in the swamp that would point to who the killer is, but then I was ducking bullets.”
Michael clamped his jaw tightly, his neck stiff. “You make it sound like it was no big deal.”
“It is a big deal, but I refuse to let it get to me or I’ll hesitate when I shouldn’t.” She descended the front steps. “You said Amy loves the swamp. Any particular place she liked to go?”
“She had a kayak she kept sometimes at the old pier at the end of the trail, but usually at the public dock off Main. She asked me about a few places, but I never heard about one area she spent all her time. She gave me some story that she needed to help preserve places like the Everglades and that she liked moving around.”
“Why don’t you think she meant it?”
“There was something in her tone. A certain look on her face. She kept her gaze averted. Just a feeling.” He headed across the yard toward Gabe and Harvey.
The police chief came to a halt at the curb in front of Michael’s house and removed a toothpick from his mouth. “We followed a trail across several neighbors’ yards until it reached the middle of Bay Shore Drive and suddenly ended like someone had picked her up in a car. I’ve called Nichols and Connors to check with friends and to begin a search of the town. What was she doing yesterday? Who was she with?”
“Amy loves spending time in the marshes.”
“So she spent most of yesterday in the swamp?” Gabe rolled the toothpick between his thumb and forefinger as he started toward the Pattersons’ house. “Alone?”
“She never mentioned anyone, but I think Laurie sometimes went with her.” Michael pointed toward the thick cluster of trees edging the undergrowth.
As they came closer to the border of the swamp, Harvey quickened his pace, following behind his bloodhound. They entered where the killer had when Kyra went after him, not on the well-worn path ten yards away.
“Let’s see where Boomer takes us. Since it’s summer there’s a lot of water.” Gabe peered at Kyra’s tennis shoes. “You might want to wear something else.”
“I don’t have anything else. And as you can see, I’ve been in mud up to my ankles. Don’t worry about me.”
Harvey directed Boomer into the underbrush with Gabe trailing next, then Kyra and Michael. With nose to the ground, the bloodhound took off, charging through the vegetation in the same direction Kyra had gone only hours ago after the assailant.
They emerged from the undergrowth onto the path, and Michael fell in right behind her. “When I was a child, I use to come here like Amy. Loved the adventure. That’s why I really couldn’t say much to Amy about coming here alone. But I’ve been back for four months and have only gone into the swamp a few times.”
“Things change when we grow up. I can’t say I liked exploring the swamp when I was a child.”
One corner of his mouth tilted up. “And now all of a sudden you do?”
The rotting smell of vegetation coupled with the incessant noise of insects brought back childhood memories. “Maybe I should amend my earlier statement. Some things change. That isn’t one of them. I prefer pursuing an adventure somewhere else. At the moment somewhere air-conditioned.” Beads of perspiration rolled down Kyra’s face, blurring her vision for a second until she blinked to clear it.
Michael swiped a hand across his damp forehead. “I haven’t gotten used to the humidity yet either, and it’s been four months.”
When Boomer approached the short pier, the dog lumbered over the wooden planks, some broken and missing, going back and forth from one side to the other until he reached the end. The bloodhound stopped and sat, looking up at Harvey as if to say this was as far as he would go.
“Good boy.” Harvey scratched behind Boomer’s ears.
Michael went to the edge and leaned over. “Amy’s kayak isn’t here so she must have it at the town dock.”
“One- or two-man?” With her hand shielding her eyes, Kyra scanned the open waterway that stretched across a few hundred yards to more tangled vegetation, one mangrove island after another. Where did the killer go? Who was the second man? Why had the man killed Preston and Tyler?
“Two, like my kayak I keep there.”
“I’ll have Wilson check to see if her kayak is at the dock. Someone could have given her a ride there. If it’s gone, then we’ll need to search the swamp for Amy.” Gabe dropped the chewed-up toothpick into the top pocket of his shirt.
Harvey took off his beat-up straw hat and mopped his face with a handkerchief, then stuffed it back into his jeans. “I’ll have Boomer check around the pier and see if he can come up with anything else.” Harvey plopped his hat back on his head and indicated to Boomer to get up. “Then we’ll head back along the path.”
“So this was a waste of time.” What had Amy gotten caught up in? Michael went back over the past few days in his head, trying to remember anything she might have said to him to help them find her. He’d been gone a lot because his partner had been on vacation. Thankfully his partner had got back yesterday evening and could fill in for Michael this morning at the clinic. But that consolation didn’t give him the answers he needed.
“No, not totally. We know wherever Amy went she used a car most likely. Yeah, it would have been nice to have Boomer lead us to her.” Gabe waved his hand toward Harvey and his dog beginning their trip back to Pelican Lane. “I’m heading to the station. We need to expand our search of the town and see if Amy’s kayak is at the public pier.”
Michael stared at the canal gently flowing past the old pier. The water’s smooth surface—like a mirror—reflected the nearby trees in it. A breeze blew the scent of overripe, damp vegetation to his nostrils. Every shade of green from a light yellowish tint to a dark vibrant one met his inspection of the terrain.
Amy, where are you? Are you safe? In the past he would have prayed to the Lord, but for months he’d been silent. He pivoted to go back and nearly collided with Kyra behind him.
His hand shot out to steady her. Automatically he brought her closer, her feminine scent driving the aromas of the swamp into the background and totally centering his focus on the beautiful woman with her auburn hair pulled back from her face. That only emphasized her large eyes, a golden-brown like dark honey. “I’m sorry.”
She chuckled. “The last place I’d want to end up is in that water.” Her gaze shifted to a hole in the plank at the canal below. “I wasn’t like you and Amy. I didn’t go exploring much. Put me in the rough section of a town at night, and I’d feel more comfortable.”
A shiver flowed from her, through his hands and up his arms, making him acutely aware that his teenage fantasy girl was standing before him. His attention latched on to her mouth, so close that his long-ago dreams of kissing Kyra overwhelmed him. Throwing him completely off guard. He stepped back, the heel of one foot coming down a couple of inches over the end of the pier.
He teetered a few seconds. She reached out to catch him before he went into the water. He managed to regain his balance and sidled away before he made a total fool of himself. He’d been serious about Sarah in Chicago. They had planned to marry until a man fell asleep at the wheel of his car and had hit them. Despite his injuries, Michael had tried to save Sarah, but all his medical knowledge hadn’t kept her from slipping away from him only minutes after he’d manage to get to her in the wrecked car. The pain in her eyes, the last shuddering breath she’d taken still tormented him.
“Good recovery.” Her beautiful mouth formed a heart-melting smile that touched a coldness he’d been encased in for over a year.
“Let’s leave before we both end up in the water.” He allowed her to go first toward the path that led through the grove of trees. “I remember when this pier was in good shape and used by a lot of the neighbors on Pelican Lane. But a couple of hurricanes have taken their toll on it. I think Amy is one of the few who still use it from time to time.”
“Has much else changed about the town?”
“Its population has grown to three thousand. Other than that, no.” But then he hadn’t really paid a lot of attention. He’d thrown himself into his new job, relieved that the pace was a bit slower than a Chicago hospital but enough that he didn’t dwell on his past. He’d needed that. Or so he thought. Maybe his emotional distancing had brought all this on. The pace might have been slower, but it hadn’t stopped him from working long hours rather than face his feelings head-on.
Harvey, Gabe and Boomer stood off the trail near the edge of it.
Kyra approached them. “What did the dog find?”
“Several cigarette butts.” Gabe took out an evidence bag, stooped and eased the filter ends into the small manila envelope. “May be nothing. May be important.”
Standing, he studied the ground around him a long moment, then ambled behind Boomer and Harvey. The bloodhound went to the side deck.
“That’s probably the way the assailant went into the house,” Kyra said while the trio made their way to Gabe’s patrol car.
“By the time DNA testing comes back on the cigarette butts, Amy could be dead.”
“It can take a while even with a rush on it, but it could help make a case against the guy when he is found.”
“That might be too late for my sister.” When Michael emerged from the undergrowth onto the road near the Pattersons’ house, he saw Gabe on his cell. Harvey was pulling away in his old pickup truck with Boomer in the back, looking at Michael.
“Officer Connors just called to tell me he’s checked all Amy’s usual haunts and found nothing. No one has seen her.”
“How about Laurie?” Kyra asked, looking down at her muddy tennis shoes for the second time that day.
“Connors said no one answered when he called her house about an hour ago. He even drove by and didn’t see Mrs. Carson’s white Chevy out front. Since she works evenings, he thought she might be there and was sleeping or something.”
“If anyone knows where Amy is it would be Laurie. Where one goes the other usually isn’t far behind.” Michael stuffed his hands into his front jean pockets, his shoulders slumping forward. He needed to do something. He couldn’t sit around and just wait. He’d never been good at doing that. He looked for solutions to problems and carried them out—or at least he had until he hit an emotional wall with Sarah’s death. “What can I do to help?”
“Gabe, maybe Michael and I could go to Laurie’s and see if she or her mother are home yet. That way you can use all your men for the search.”
“Fine. As I told you before, I can use any help I can get. Call if you find out anything.” Gabe opened his car door and climbed inside.
“I will.” The sun’s rays tinted Kyra’s cheeks a rosy color.
“You said something about expanding the search. Are you going to search the swamp?” Michael glimpsed a patrol car coming down the street.
“I haven’t heard back from Wilson yet. If Amy’s kayak is gone at the Main Street dock, yes. If not, we should concentrate on the town and the surrounding area. Since someone most likely picked her up in a car, that’s probably how she’s traveling.”
“Laurie has a car. Amy’s Camry is still in the garage.” He prayed it was Laurie who had come and picked Amy up. The alternative could mean his sister was dead like the two young men.
“If Laurie isn’t there, at least check with Mrs. Carson to see if her car is gone.” Gabe kneaded the cords of his neck. “Or look into the garage. If I remember correctly, there’s a window that allows you to see inside. But you didn’t hear that from me.”
Kyra chuckled. “I never heard a word.”
Michael kept thinking about the swamp, the lure of the slow-moving water. “What if she didn’t use her kayak but someone else’s?”
“We’ll explore the swamp even if her kayak is at the dock, but that kind of search requires a lot of manpower and coordination. I couldn’t get it together before dark. If nothing turns up, we’ll start tomorrow morning. I’ll put the call in to the sheriff’s department about the possibility. Maybe they can spare a few people to help.”
“Fine,” Michael said between gritted teeth.
Gabe ambled over to Nichols, who had parked and was getting out of his car. The police chief spoke to his officer, then the young man got back in the cruiser and left. Gabe took his cell out and made a call.
Michael pulled out his car keys. “I’ll drive.”
“Maybe I should wash my shoes again or change.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll clean the car after this is all over with.” He pointed down at his boots. “I feel like the clock is ticking on this.”
“Fine, I understand.” Kyra slipped into his car as he did. “Is it just Laurie and her mother?”
“Yes, Laurie lives with only her mother. If Laurie is anything like Amy in the summer, she’s sleeping in. Usually Amy isn’t up until ten or eleven.” He started the Saturn’s engine. Before backing out, he twisted toward Kyra. “Should I call Laurie first? See if she’s there. It could be a wasted trip, like Officer Connors’s.”
“No. If she’s home, I’d like to see her reaction when she finds out about Amy going missing. I might be able to tell if she knows anything and isn’t saying.”
FOUR
“Let’s just hope we find Laurie at home and she can lead us to Amy.” Slowly over the course of the past few hours, the muscles in Kyra’s shoulders and neck had knotted until now pain streaked down her back. She didn’t have a good feeling about this but didn’t want to worry Michael any more than he already was. “Tell me about Amy. The last time I saw her she was a little girl. When my dad died and I came home for the funeral, she’d been at church camp.”
“I don’t think she has stepped foot in a church in the past year, which distressed Ginny to no end.”
“But not you?”
His hands about the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white. “Let’s just say I have my own issues with the Lord.” He inhaled a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “In a few weeks she’ll start her senior year at Flamingo High School.”
“How are her grades this past year?”
“Good. Mostly Bs with a few As.”
“So, no problems at school?”
“Ginny told me there were a couple of girls harassing her at the beginning of her junior year, but by the time I’d arrived here in April, everything seemed to be taken care of.”
“How about her friends? Do you approve of them?”
“That’s been the main problem. Preston’s reputation isn’t—wasn’t good. He was wild, always partying. He graduated this year and has been picking up odds jobs this summer. He lived with his older brother—actually not far from where Laurie’s house is.”
“Has Preston lived here all his life?”
“No, he moved here from Miami at the beginning of the school year. I was trying to give Amy room to see what kind of person he was. I remember when Mom told Ginny she couldn’t date that guy in high school.”
So did Kyra. She’d helped Ginny sneak out of the house to go out with Danny. Ginny had been determined to date him in spite of what her mother had said. She was seventeen and should be able to pick her own boyfriends. “You knew about her seeing Danny?”
“Yeah. I saw her one night climbing back into the house.”
“And you didn’t say anything to your parents?”
“I’d grown out of my tattle-telling stage. I didn’t want Amy to sneak out against my wishes and look what has happened.” He turned onto Sunshine Avenue. “Preston’s is the third house on the left. Laurie lives several down from there.”
As they passed Preston’s home and the police cruiser parked out front, Kyra studied the plain, white place with a yard that was mostly dirt and dead plants. One eight-foot crepe myrtle with dark pink blooms draped all over it stood sentinel at the side by the driveway, the only color in an otherwise drab setting. A Harley Davidson motorcycle sat close to the sidewalk near the porch.
As Michael came to a stop at the end of the block, he closed his eyes for a few seconds, his hands opening and closing around the steering wheel. “The past few months haven’t been easy for me or Amy. Getting to know each other. Learning to live together. She hasn’t wanted to accept my authority as her guardian. I had no experience at parenting when I arrived. I feel I have even less now. Amy has blocked my attempts every step of the way.”
“That can be typical. Challenging authority isn’t uncommon. According to Ginny, you did your fair share as a teenager. I seem to remember you going with some friends to Tampa against your mother’s wishes.”
“Yeah, I was grounded for a month when she found out.” Climbing from his car, he peered at her over the top of the gray Saturn. “It’s disconcerting to have someone know all about my childhood pranks.”
“Just wanting to get you to remember how it was.” Although Michael had his share of childhood antics, he’d become a doctor who’d changed his plans to help Ginny when she was given an opportunity to fulfill a lifetime dream of serving as a missionary overseas for two years. So far she liked what she’d seen of Ginny’s kid brother.
“So when I find Amy, I won’t ground her for the rest of her life?”
Kyra laughed. “Something like that.”
When Michael reached the porch, he rang the doorbell while Kyra assessed the surroundings. Laurie’s house needed a coat of blue paint, but otherwise the place was kept up, the lawn mowed and the weeds pulled. Several minutes passed, and Michael pressed the bell again.
A white Chevy parked in the driveway made Kyra suspicious. The hairs on her nape prickled. She swiveled her attention toward the front picture window and glimpsed a curtain fall back into place.
“I guess no one’s home.” Michael swung around and frowned at the white car. “That’s Cherie Carson’s car,” he said in a low voice. “So where is she? At a neighbor’s?”
Kyra opened the screen and banged on the door. “Someone is home.”
Thirty seconds later, a petite woman with medium-length brown hair peeked out from a crack of no more than a couple of inches and said, “Yes?”
“Mrs. Carson, we’re here to talk to your daughter. Is she home?” The overpowering scent of roses assailed Kyra’s nostrils.
The lady’s mouth pinched together, her eyebrows slashing downward. “Who are you?”
Before Kyra could show the woman her identification, Michael stepped forward, his shoulder brushing up against Kyra’s. “Hi, Cherie. It’s important that we have a word with Laurie. Amy is missing.”
Cherie Carson’s eyes grew round. “Laurie isn’t here.”
“Where is she?” Kyra asked after a few seconds’ silence.
The woman clutched the edge of the door, still only open a few inches. “She’s at her aunt’s in Tampa and won’t be back until the weekend.”
“We need to talk to her.” Michael grasped Kyra’s hand and held it. His tension conveyed his tone.
“I can call Laurie later and let her know. But I don’t know when I’ll be able to get hold of her. My sister and her were going to do some shopping today. I’ll have her call you, Michael.” Cherie started to close the door.
He reached out to stop her from doing it. “Please. This is important. I think Amy is in trouble, and if Laurie knows anything—”
“I’m so sorry to hear about Amy, but Laurie has been gone. Knowing your sister, she’ll show up soon with some wild story. Goodness me, she certainly has dragged Laurie into enough escapades. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a splitting headache and was lying down.” The woman’s grip on the door tightened so much her fingertips reddened.
Michael took a half step forward. “Laurie may know where she would have gone.”
Pain blinked in and out of the woman’s expression. “Check with her other friends. Laurie doesn’t know.” She moved back quickly and slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place.
Michael squeezed Kyra’s hand, transmitting his tension, before releasing his hold. “She’s never been very friendly but this is …” His words grounded to a halt.
“It doesn’t look like we’ll get anywhere. Maybe Gabe can.”
He let the screen bang closed. His glare drilled into the wire mesh.
Kyra descended the porch stairs. “Is she that way with everyone?”
Michael pivoted and accompanied her toward the car. “Amy assured me after my first run-in with the woman she was that way with all men and not to take it personally. It seems her husband left her a few years back. Didn’t come home from work but called her the next day to tell her it was over.”
What was it with married couples? First her mother walked out on her dad when she was ten. Her father had been devastated. She had been too, but she’d spent the next year consoling her dad. He was never the same after her mother left. “Something like that happened to my older sister who lives in Boston now. Except thankfully she didn’t have any children to worry about.” And that was why she wouldn’t marry. She had seen too many broken marriages to want one for herself. Her job was her life and that was the way she wanted it.
After Michael settled in the front seat and started his car, he pulled away from the curb. “Why didn’t you ever marry?”
“Who said I didn’t?”
“I assumed since Ginny never said anything about it to me that you hadn’t.”
“Do you two make it a habit of talking about me a lot?” The fact Ginny and Michael might have made Kyra feel strange. When his attention zeroed in on her face, she grinned. “Don’t you know it’s not good to gossip?”
A smile touched his blue eyes, sparkling them. “We never gossiped about you. I inquired about how you were doing from time to time. That’s all.”
She wouldn’t tell him that she’d asked about him once. After his older sister kidded her about robbing the cradle, she’d never asked again. Ginny was right. There was five years’ difference between them. Kyra fastened her gaze on his strong jawline, wanting to know about this man. Did he feel like she did about marriage? Was his job his whole life? “I didn’t want to marry. Being a cop would have been hard on a marriage. How about you? Did you ever marry?”
For a few seconds a shadow flittered in and out of his eyes. “You mean Ginny never told you about me? I’m crushed.”
Didn’t Ginny mention that Michael was getting serious with a woman in Chicago, even thinking about marriage? What had happened? Her curiosity spiked. Did he marry the lady? Were they divorced?
He turned onto Pelican Lane, and all evidence of a smile vanished as he stared at the house at the end of the road.
She noticed Gabe’s police cruiser was still at the Pattersons’. She’d thought he would have left by now. “You okay?”
“What am I supposed to do? Go back to the house and twiddle my thumbs?”
“Do people do that anymore?”
“Okay. Wear a path in my floor pacing.”
“What do you want to do?”
He parked in his driveway. “Go looking for Amy. If the police are covering the town, then I’d like to go into the swamp. I know a couple of places where Amy has mentioned she’s gone. I’d like to check those out. I’ll have enough time before dark.”
“No, we’ll have enough time. I’m coming with you.”
“Are you sure? Aren’t you the lady who doesn’t like swamps?”
“Swamps are fine. It’s the snakes that inhabit them that I don’t like.”
“Alligators are all right, then?”
“Sure. They’re big, and I can see them coming.”
“Not always. They can hide under the water and surprise their prey.”
“Are you trying to scare me away?”
“No, but I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to you.”
Weariness infused each of his words and something else that Kyra couldn’t quite grasp. Possibly regret? Guilt? As a police officer she’d had to deal with both those emotions quite a bit. “Oh, nothing’s going to. I’m very capable of taking care of myself. I’m taking my gun.”
“You carry a gun all the time?”
“When I think it’s necessary, and it might be necessary in this case.” She began to stroll toward her house. “I’ll just be a sec.”
Kyra ran up the stairs to the front porch and let herself into the house. Rock-and-roll music blasted from the speakers in the great room, pulsating the air. Kyra smelled the faint odor of something burning. Aunt Ellen was cooking again. She did that when she was upset. With all the patrol cars on the street today, she couldn’t blame her aunt for being agitated.
She hurried and washed her feet then grabbed a clean pair of shoes and popped into the kitchen to tell her aunt where she was going.
“Oh, dear, I’ve burned the cookies again. I was so looking forward to them.” Her aunt donned her hot-pink mittens to take the baking sheet out of the oven. When she opened the door on the stove, dark gray smoke poured into the room.
“Aunt Ellen,” Kyra called out over the noise of the music. “I’m going with Michael Hunt into the swamp.” Her gaze glued to the charred pieces of cookies, she added, “Don’t wait dinner for me.”
Aunt Ellen opened the window above the sink and turned on the vent over the stove. “He’s such a nice young man. I just hate what he’s going through right now. I was going to make a second batch for him.”
“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to go to the trouble.”
“Oh, no. I am.” Aunt Ellen pitched the burned cookies into the sink and ran water over them, then reached for the mixing bowl. “It’s no trouble. Keeps my mind off what’s been happening on our street. In the very house next door to us.”
She crossed the kitchen and hugged her aunt. “Are you worried something will happen to you?”
“No, dearie. At the last Founder’s Day shooting contest, I bested Gabe, and everyone knows he’s the best shot in the area.” She grinned. “Well, until that day.” She slipped her hand into the large pocket on her hot-pink-and-white apron and pulled out a pistol. “I’ll be all right. You go help Michael.” She patted Kyra on the arm, then twisted around and began measuring flour. “You know, Michael is single. It’s about time you got married.”
Not in this lifetime, Kyra thought and hurried from the house. Her partner in the Dallas Police Department had struggled with his marriage for years. When his wife had asked for a divorce, he’d nearly lost his job over it because he’d started drinking heavily. She never wanted to be that emotionally connected to another person that her happiness depended on him. Her father had taught her to stand on her own two feet and protect her heart at all costs.
As she hurried toward Michael’s house, he emerged from the front entrance. Anger shot out of his eyes. His gaze zeroed in on her and beneath the fury lurked fear.
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone has been in Amy’s bedroom while we were gone.”
“Amy?”
“I don’t know.” He reentered his house and strode down the hall toward his sister’s bedroom. “The window wasn’t open like that when we left.” Michael gestured toward the one across the room. “She has a key. Why would she come through the window? It’s not like I was here and she would have to sneak in.” His eyes stinging from lack of sleep, he rubbed his hands down his face. Not knowing what to think was putting it mildly. His head pounded with each attempt to make sense out of what was happening.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/margaret-daley/hidden-in-the-everglades-42517429/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.