“The night's over. You don't have to watch me anymore,” I tell him.

  “The chief hasn't given me instructions,” he says.

  “I am. You can go home now. I'm sure your shift was over a long time ago.”

  He watches me walk over to my car and takes a few steps closer.

  “You aren't supposed to leave,” he says. “LaRoche says no one was supposed to go in or out.”

  “You can take it up with him. I'm sure he'll be where I'm going,” I reply.

  Unlocking my door, I get into my car and drive toward Teddy's. Daniel is close behind, and I can see him talking into his radio, undoubtedly telling LaRoche I've left the cabin and am on the move. It doesn't matter. He's not holding me anymore. I've gotten answers to some of my questions, and then those answers just created more questions. I'm working on borrowed time now, and I'm not willing to give up my badge for someone like this man.

  Police tape draped across the front of the bar isn't a deterrent. I duck under it and walk past the officer coming to stop me and into the bar. LaRoche stands close with a man in a suit beside the bar, and he looks up when I walk in. Excusing himself, he comes toward me with an expression that says he's losing patience with me.

  “You are supposed to be at your cabin,” he growls. “Daniel was supposed to ensure that.”

  “He did. He kept me there all night. But it's morning now, and I'm not staying there anymore. I want to know more about Cristela Jordan.”

  LaRoche looks around almost frantically and leans closer.

  “Someone is going to hear you,” he hisses.

  “Is that what you were worried about?” I ask. “You didn't want anyone to know about the two of you?”

  “Come with me,” he says, guiding me toward Jake's office again. He shuts the door and turns his glare directly at me. “I don't know what is wrong with you, but you need to let go of this notion that I have anything to do with Jake's disappearance, Cristela's death, or any of the others.”

  “Her autopsy doesn't say she was pregnant,” I point out. “Did you do that on purpose? When you had her tied up, did you make sure you destroyed any evidence of the baby so no one would find out and possibly do testing? You knew if they did, it would show you were the father of her baby.”

  “Tied her up?” he asks. “What are you talking about? They found Cristela's body by the train tracks. She wasn't bound.”

  “She had marks on her and a bruise around her neck consistent with something tied around it. Like a dog collar. Convenient, one was tied to a tree not far from where they found her and then disappeared. I heard you have a dog you like to walk around out in those woods.”

  “I have a dog I like to walk out there. Not one I like to tie up out there. I would never put my dog on a collar attached to a tree. I don't know what you think you know, but it's far off base. Cristela thought she was pregnant. She told me just a few days before she died. We hadn't even really had the chance to talk about it. Neither one of us were expecting that, but it's not like we're teenagers. I'm not afraid of my responsibilities.”

  “But you're afraid of people knowing who you're sleeping with,” I point out.

  “There's a difference between being afraid and not wanting my personal life broadcasted out to the entire town. I don't want to settle down. At least not now. So, I keep a girl or two on the side. That might not make me the most upstanding man in the world, but it also doesn't make me a murderer. I would never hurt Cristela. And I had nothing to do with Jake's disappearance.”

  “And how am I supposed to believe that?” I ask.

  “Because I was with Andrea last night. You can call her if you want to. She's still at the hotel.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I feel like all words, thoughts, and sense have been pulled out of me for an instant. I blink and shake my head, trying to bring myself back into the moment.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Go ahead, call her. I'm sure you know the number to the hotel by now. If not, it's in my phone. I'd be happy to give it to you. We were in room two-twelve. She checked in yesterday and is planning on checking out this morning. But that might change because of all this.”

  “You were with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “All evening?” I ask.

  “Since the afternoon. I came back to the station long enough to fill out some paperwork. Esther must have thought I was here longer, but if you look at my computer, you'll see the times I signed on and off.”

  “I saw you here,” I point out.

  “Yes. After I left the station, I came by here before going back to the hotel. I needed to talk to Jake about what he told you.”

  “What he told me?” I ask, confused.

  LaRoche narrows his eyes, his head tilting slightly.

  “You mean, he didn't tell you about Andrea and Cristela?”

  “Jake knew?” I ask, startled by the revelation.

  “Of course, he knew. He helped me. When Cristela came into town, Jake brought her to the hotel. He made sure it seemed like he was giving her a ride home to keep her safe. They would leave the bar and go around the back way to the hotel. If you check his records, I'm sure you'll see her name.”

  “She checked into the hotel days before she died, and there's no signature when she checked out,” I tell him.

  “That's because I checked us out. I was waiting for her at the hotel. She was supposed to do just as she always did. Go to Teddy's, spend a couple hours there, then have Jake bring her to me. But she never showed up.”

  “At the hotel?” I ask.

  “At Teddy's. She left the hotel to go back to her house because she thought she left something. Jake called me hours later to tell me she never made it to the bar. I dropped the hotel key in the deposit box beside the desk, took her stuff with me, and left. I figured her boyfriend caught wind of what was going on or something, and I'd hear from her within a day or two. That happened before. But then I didn't hear from her. Then…”

  “They found her body,” I finish his sentence. He nods. “And when they did, you didn't point out you were with her? That you had her belongings or were supposed to see her that night?”

  “I didn't make the best choices. I know that. But I didn't know how else to handle it,” he says.

  “I guess making too big of a deal out of the whole thing would make it harder for you to keep up your thing with Andrea,” I muse. “Wouldn't want her knowing your last fling ended up dead.”

  “My attraction to Andrea wasn't planned. But I shouldn't have to justify it. I told you already my relationship with Cristela wasn't committed. It was consensual fun for both of us. That doesn't mean I didn't care about her well-being, but I wasn't obligated to her.”

  My skin crawls, listening to him. He disgusts me even more now than he did before.

  “A small town is plagued by disappearances and murders, and the police department can't seem to figure it out or make it stop. Then it turns out one of the victims was screwing the police chief. You don't think that should have warranted more discretion than just going to a hotel a few towns over with your new friend with benefits?” I ask.

  “Look, I know this looks bad. That's why I didn't say anything. It could have put my entire career in jeopardy.”

  “I don't know if you really should have been so worried. It's not like your corrupt father had any problems.”

  “Excuse me?” he asks, his voice lowering angrily. “What did you say about my father?”

  “Jake told me about the problems his father had with Cole Barnes and with the rest of the town. He said he was an honest businessman, and that rubbed some people, including your father, the wrong way.”

  “John Logan was a lot of things, but an honest businessman wasn't one of them. Now, I don't know what happened between him and Barnes, but it had nothing to do with Barnes swindling anybody or my father covering anything up,” he says.

  “I don't understand,” I frown.

  LaRoche seems to let go of some of the tight, angry tension built up through his shoulders and along his spine.

  “Sometimes, we tell stories to make things seem better than they really are. It's easier for Jake to think of the rest of the town having a grudge against his father because he was the honest and upstanding one among the riffraff. But I'll be the one to tell you when there were questions about how his father died, it wasn't necessarily who might have been willing to help him along to the other side, but who wouldn't have. Now Jake's gone, too, and I have to be the one to figure out if they have anything to do with each other.”

  “Why would you think that?” I ask.

  “You're the one who pointed out to Cole Barnes he wouldn't have been strong enough to haul those bones up to his property by himself. I find it hard to believe someone would do that just for show,” LaRoche explains.

  “Who else knew Jake's father helped Barnes build that shed?” I ask.

  “What shed?” he asks.

  “The one where the bones were found.”

  “How did you know about that? That wasn't released to the public.”

  This takes me slightly aback.

  “We must have heard it at the crime scene when Jake ran up.”

  “Probably. Those investigators aren't exactly known for being discreet. I would appreciate if you didn't share that with anyone. We're purposely keeping that bit of information out of the media. Now, you need to leave.”

  “I'll tell you now there's no point in putting another officer outside the cabin. They aren't going to stop me,” I say.

  “No, Emma. I didn't mean leave here. I meant leave Feathered Nest.”

  “Excuse me?”

  So much has just come at me I think I must have misheard him.

  “The danger we all hoped had moved on is obviously back. Until we find out who is responsible for these disappearances and killings, everyone in this town is at risk. I'm under enough pressure trying to protect the people of the town who have been here through all of this. I can't be responsible for you, too. Especially when you consider how close you and Jake were getting. You're too unpredictable and emotional about this. You're just going to get in the way,” he says.

  “I don't care how emotional you think I am. I'm not going anywhere, and there's nothing you can do to force me. If you had done your job in the first place, this wouldn't be happening. I'm not leaving until Jake is found.”

  I pull open the door to the office, but LaRoche steps up close to the opening, so I can't go through.

  “Stay out of our way, Emma. You don't know what you're getting yourself into,” he warns.

  “You have no idea who you're talking to,” I tell him, and push past him and outside.

  For the next three hours, I drive slowly around Feathered Nest. I have no idea exactly what I'm looking for, but I'm waiting for something, anything to stand out at me. LaRoche did his best to pretty-talk his way out of my suspicion, but I still don't trust him. Call me crazy, but I don't often find myself taking the word of an unethical, devious, lying, manipulative womanizer as gold. He's unreliable, to give him the very best, and I can't bring myself to wholly believe anything he says.

  But some of what he said has started gears turning in my brain. No matter how deep I’ve explored in to Feathered Nest, there always seems to be another layer just beneath. My car stopped in front of the cemetery almost automatically. I can't even remember driving here. My mind was somewhere else, and my hands brought me along in autopilot. I climb out and walk back through the huge gate to the tombstones I've come to know. My eyes anticipate the names and carvings before I even get to the graves, and I know when I'm steps away from the edge of John Logan's empty resting place.

  Just behind him and slightly to the side is Melanie. Briefly, Jake's wife, but his devotion for a lifetime. I look around at the surrounding graves. I haven't paid much attention to them in the other times I've visited the cemetery, and now I'm noticing something strange about them. None of the rest of them carry the Logan name. I walk several paces away from Melanie's grave and across the yard to either side, but find no other stones suggesting they belong to a member of Jake's family. I suddenly remember he mentioned a family cemetery, which is where they buried his grandmother. I assume that means the rest of his family is there. But if that's the case, why are John and Melanie out here?

  Above me, rain clouds I hadn't even noticed forming crack open, and the first droplets of a chilling winter storm fall down on me. The sensation of them soaking through my clothes and slipping across my skin reminds me of the first time I came here with Jake. Standing there shivering beneath the umbrella as the rain mixed with the tears falling down his face and into the remnants of his father's destroyed grave.

  The rain starts coming faster, so I hurry back toward my car. I can't remember what I did with the umbrella after that day. I probably tossed it back into Jake's car. He didn't have his truck that day. I found the umbrella tucked under the passenger seat. I look around inside my car but find nothing to block the rain, so I abandon any further exploration of the cemetery and head back to the cabin. There's little hope the call ringing through my phone as I will my cold, stiff hands to unlock the door is a conversation I actually want to have, so I delay answering it as long as I can. It doesn't stop ringing, and finally, I'm inside standing over the furnace when I answer.

  “Hello, Eric,” I say.

  “I heard what happened. Are you alright?” he asks.

  “No,” I answer. “Is anyone ever really alright when someone asks that?”

  “Probably not,” he admits.

  “What did Creagan tell you?”

  “That the guy you've been seeing was murdered, and you have two days before we have to take back over for you.”

  “Shit,” I grumble, putting my face down in my hand and rubbing away the exhaustion grinding like sand on my eyes.

  “What are you doing to do?” he asks.

  “I'm going to spend the next two days finishing what I started. I can't just let him win.”

  “Creagan?”

  “Creagan. LaRoche. Any of them,” I mutter.

  “You sound tired,” Eric points out.

  “I didn't sleep last night.”

  “You need to get some rest.”

  “I can't. I don't have the time.”

  “Time isn't going to mean shit if you're not even going to be functional enough to know what you've figured out. You need to get some sleep. Go wrap up in one of those amazing quilts you kept emailing me about when you first got there and get a few hours of rest,” he instructs.

  Just as I open my mouth to answer him, the lights around me shut off. The furnace lets out a mournful groan and goes silent. I let out an involuntary gasp and press my hand to my chest to calm my heartbeat.

  “Damn it,” I sigh.

  “What's wrong?” Eric asks.

  “The power just went out. Fun little habit of this place when it rains or the wind picks up. Just hang tight, I'm taking you with me to fix it.”

  I walk through the house into the back hallway. Since Eric is on the phone, I can't use the flashlight feature and have to rely on what little glow is coming from the screen to help me through. I get through the laundry room and down the two steps into the bathroom, open the closet, and feel around for the breaker box. When I finally find it, I throw the switches, and the lights come back on.

  “Did you get it?” Eric asks in response to my sigh.

  “Yeah. That is such a pain in the ass. Someone must have gotten a good laugh planning where to put that thing when they built this house.”

  I stop at the dryer and open it to pull out the fresh load of laundry. The first is the quilt. I don't bother to fold it, knowing I'm probably going to be using it soon. Next is a ball of t-shirts and pajamas. Finally, I get to my pants.

  “Did someone at least show you around when you got there so you would know where stuff was?” Eric asks.

  I turn my pants over to adjust the cuffs, and as I fold them, I notice loose strings. I follow them to a snag in the fabric at the back of one leg.

  “No,” I say. “I just had to figure it out.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Eric says sarcastically.

  I nod, even though he can't see me. My head buzzes, and my lips tingle. I reach over into the basket and pull out the unfolded quilt. My hand runs over the fabric, each of its uneven pieces unique, pattern against pattern, color against color.

  “Eric?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I don't need the two days. Start getting the team ready to roll in.”

  “Why? What's going on?”

  I stuff my feet back into my boots and slip into my coat.

  “You're just going to have to trust me.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Sometimes we tell stories to make things seem better than they really are.

  I step out onto the porch and walk over to the side. Holding onto one of the supports with one hand, I climb up onto the railing so I can reach the roof. My fingertips run over the brown paint and feel the rough patches where someone covered up deep holes. Holes big enough for the hooks to suspend a porch swing.

  We'd spend all afternoon hunting for eggs she hid in the yard.

  I go back into the cabin and make my way to the back door. Like the ceiling of the porch, the door has seen many coats of paint in an effort to liven it back up and take away some of the signs of wear and tear. But the olive green has done little to conceal deep gashes along the side of the door under the doorknob. They're long and even, uniformly spaced.

  That's Mocha. She was obsessed with that dog. My father found him as a puppy in the woods. He never was too interested in being domesticated.

  I pull open the door and step out into the backyard. The rain has slowed down, but I still pull up the hood of my coat to stay warm. I walk out to the edge of the yard and push the branches of bushes away to see the round, browned spot of matted down weeds where a birdbath once stood. I look back at the house. In my mind, I can see a woman standing on the steps wearing a floral dress.