“Okay. Let’s check out her bathroom. I can remember spending hours in mine as a teenager.”

  In the long hallway he gestured toward the end. “That’s hers. Thankfully we have a guest bathroom, because the last time I glanced inside Amy’s I would have declared it a disaster zone. Housekeeping isn’t one of her strong suits. Mine neither.”

  Kyra strode down the hall. “I’ve got news for you. I hate housework. That’s why I hired a lady to come in once a week. Best money I spent on myself.”

  “I was going to do that. Just haven’t found the time to go through the whole hiring process.”

  Kyra opened the door then peered over her shoulder at Michael. “I’d move that to the top of your to-do list. You weren’t kidding when you said this room was a disaster.”

  He looked around her. “It’s worse than I remember. Maybe the person who took her laptop tossed this room.”

  “Nope. It doesn’t have that feel.” Kyra’s gaze skimmed over the towels on the floor under the wall rack, then over the makeup covering the counter, some bottles left open, blue powder littering the beige top. Behind a blow-dryer lying on its side, she saw a camera. “I found it.”

  “Great.” Michael took it from Kyra and started down the hall. “And when this is over with, I’m finding a maid.”

  In the den he took a seat on the couch and turned on the camera to search the stored pictures. Clicking through the photos still left on the memory card, Michael shook his head. “None of her friends, and I don’t recognize this place.”

  “Looks like a cabin or should I say an abandoned cabin.” Kyra leaned close to Michael to get a better look at the pic. “This might not have been taken at the same place as the others. Do you know where there’s an abandoned cabin?”

  “I couldn’t say. There were some when I was growing up, but with the hurricanes that have blown through the Glades, those may be gone. That’s something we need to show Gabe. He might know. Do you think this place has anything to do with her disappearance?”

  “The cabin shot and the two following it are time-stamped yesterday, so yes, it could have. This last one is too fuzzy. Is that two men by the line of trees?”

  Michael examined the digital-camera screen. “I don’t know. It looks like she took it while moving fast.” The color faded from his face. “What if she was running away from the bad guy?”

  “This was taken in the early afternoon. Why didn’t she say something to you if she thought the guy was bad and chasing her? Let’s see if Gabe can ID the place. I’ll give him a call and have him come over.”

  “While you do that, I’ll put the memory card into my printer and run off all the pictures. If he can identify them, we have somewhere to start tomorrow in the search of the surrounding swamp.”

  Her stomach rumbling, Kyra rose and walked toward the kitchen and the half-eaten pizza they hadn’t finished over an hour ago. She loved cold pizza about as much as a hot one, and with all that had happened today, she hadn’t eaten much.

  She picked up the box to take back into the den when Gabe’s voice came on the phone. “Can you come by Michael’s? We found some pictures on Amy’s camera of a place in the swamp that she went yesterday. Michael doesn’t know where it is. Maybe you’ll be able to tell.”

  “I was heading home. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  When Michael reentered the den, his gaze seized hers from across the room. For a minute he didn’t say anything before breaking the visual tether and glancing down at what he held. “Still can’t tell much about the places these were taken. I did remember Amy threw away her yearbook a couple of days ago in my office trash can.”

  “Why?” she managed to get out while her pulse reacted to the brief electric moment between them. All she could think about was how different Michael was from the teenager she’d known sixteen years ago but at the same time familiar, as though they had been together for those years.

  “They’re mailed in August to the students who bought one. She was upset by her picture in it. She couldn’t believe she had listened to Ginny and had her photo taken looking like—” he flipped through the yearbook and showed her Amy “—a normal teen. That’s my assessment, not hers.”

  “I can see both you and Ginny in her, especially without the heavy black eyeliner and mascara.”

  “Not to mention her unusually pale skin and out-of-the-bottle black hair.”

  “If she spends so much time outdoors, how is she so pale?”

  “Lots of sunscreen and she stays in the shade where she can or wears a hat to keep her face that way. I should be thrilled she doesn’t like to roast her skin to a dark tan like her contemporaries.”

  “Why the gothic look?”

  “I don’t know. I think it started when Ginny got ready to go to the Philippines.”

  “That could explain a lot. In her mind she’s lost her mother and now Ginny. Even though Ginny wanted Amy to go with her, Amy feels abandoned by her, too.”

  “And then I came back to Flamingo Cay and buried myself in my work. Not reassuring for a girl who is feeling that way.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Would he say anything to her about what was really going on his life? For some reason she wanted to know—to help him.

  “Talking about it won’t change the fact I let my sister down. For that matter both of my sisters.”

  His voice, expression and stance screamed a need to unload a burden. “No, it won’t change what has happened, but maybe talking will help you.”

  His laugh was humorless. “I don’t think anything will help at the moment.”

  She turned away, disappointed that she was being shut out and bothered she felt that way. The doorbell rang. “That’s probably Gabe.”

  “I’ll get it.” Michael put the yearbook and photos down on the coffee table.

  As he headed for the front door, she said, “Check the peephole, though, just to make sure,” then winced when she stated what should be obvious in the type of situation they were in.

  The sound of Gabe’s voice coming from the foyer released her pent-up breath. She shifted toward the men coming back into the room.

  She gave Gabe a grin. “Have you had a chance to eat dinner yet?”

  “Dinner? What’s that?” Gabe slid a glance to Michael standing by the threshold into the den, then to Kyra.

  She ignored the wealth of questions lurking in the perceptive depth of her mentor’s eyes and lifted up her slice of Canadian-bacon-and-extra-cheese. “We have some leftover cold pizza if you want any.”

  Gabe scrunched up his face into a look of loathing. “How can you eat that cold?”

  “Easy.” Kyra took a bite while Michael finally came farther into the room, his features now reflecting a bland expression.

  He picked up the pictures from the camera and passed them to the police chief. “None of these look familiar, but places could have changed since I lived here.”

  Gabe shuffled through the stack, noting the time stamped on the photos. “The first ones were along Crystal Clear Creek. I’m not sure about the last three. We don’t have any abandoned cabins near Flamingo Cay.”

  Michael’s forehead creased, his eyes narrowing. “So Amy could have gone a ways from town?”

  “If she took them, yes. But just to make sure, I’ll show these pictures to a few men who spend more time in the Glades than I do.”

  “As far as I know she wouldn’t let anyone use her camera.” Michael came to Kyra’s side and scooped up a piece of pizza.

  “I think if we can identify where she took those last three we might be one step closer to finding her. Something happened yesterday that put what happened this morning in motion.”

  “We don’t know that, Kyra.” Gabe snatched up a slice of pizza and grimaced as he took a bite then walked to the trash can and dropped it in.

  “Call it women’s intuition if you want.”

  Gabe chuckled. “Don’t pull that on me.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ve learned to listen to it. I know for a fact you’ve had gut instincts before and gone with them.”

  One of the police chief’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you discovered when you were eavesdropping on me and your dad?”

  “I should have figured you knew I was.”

  “Kinda hard not to. You weren’t very subtle back then.”

  “I’ve gained a few skills in that area.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Did you track down Kip Thomas at the address I found attached to the skullandcrossbones email?” Kyra savored her pizza, realizing how little she’d eaten that day.

  “I haven’t heard back from my inquiry yet, but I’ll give the chief in Naples a call tomorrow to see. Are you still going to Kava Net in the morning?”

  “Yes. If I can get a photo of who it is from a security camera, that could help us. We’re taking a yearbook and asking about various people Amy knows. Maybe someone will recognize a person from the yearbook and link them to Amy. I know this is a long shot, but I still think we need to check out this email connection. Amy sent a parting message to this person.”

  “We could use a break. I’ll let myself out. Y’all go on and enjoy that.” Gabe’s mouth pinched up into an expression that reminded Kyra of when she’d taken an awful-tasting medicine as a child. He touched the cap of his ball hat, then sauntered toward the foyer.

  Not a word was said until the sound of the front door shutting reached Kyra and Michael. Then they burst out laughing.

  “I get the impression he isn’t a fan of cold pizza,” Kyra said, then popped the last bite into her mouth and enjoyed it.

  “I learned to appreciate it when I was working long shifts in the E.R. and had to come back to finish my dinner.”

  “I feel better now that we have a yearbook and Gabe is looking into those pictures.

  “A couple of his officers spend a lot of time in the Glades on their off hours. Maybe one of them will know. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day. I’d better head home.” Kyra crossed toward the French doors that led out onto the deck in the back, facing the Gulf. “About all we can do now is pray we find something useful tomorrow.”

  “You think that’s going to do any good?”

  Kyra stopped and swung back toward Michael. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

  He snorted and busied himself with picking up the almost empty pizza box. “I used to think that but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Praying lets the Lord know what you need or want.”

  He glared at her. “Right now it’s not looking too good for Amy. She’s out there in the dark somewhere, scared, not sure where to go for help.”

  “Whether you do or not, I’ll be praying for Amy’s safe return. That’s something I can do. Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven so we can get to Kava Net by eight.”

  She exited the house and crossed his back deck toward the beach. The moonlight streamed across the relatively calm Gulf. With a gentle breeze blowing to cool a still-hot night, Kyra trudged along the shore. Halfway to her home she paused, removed her shoes and turned toward the water, listening to the small waves break against the shore. Their rhythmic sound lulled her into a sense of peace after a horrific day. The feel of sand between her toes felt reassuring, bringing with it memories of how she’d loved to play on the beach for hours as a child.

  She closed her eyes and let the soothing caress of the night envelop her. Lord, please bring Amy back safely to Michael. Help them to mend their differences. Help Michael to find peace and—

  From behind, a muscled arm locked around her neck, slamming her back against a hard chest as her assailant drew the gun at her waist.

  SIX

  Michael stared at the French doors that Kyra disappeared through. Her words about praying for Amy rang in his ears. He used to pray all the time. But since the wreck with Sarah, he’d slowly given it up as he wrestled with his faith. Finding excuses not to stop and pray when there was a need.

  He should be doing everything he could to get Amy back safely—including praying to God. Michael made his way outside onto the deck, the sound of the Gulf in the distance, a calming sound that reached into his soul to soothe.

  Lord, it’s been a long time. I’m not sure where to even begin. Even if You are angry with me, please help Amy. Even if… Words flowing through his mind came to a halt. Nothing formed in his thoughts. Blank.

  Was that the Lord’s answer?

  He focused on the night around him—the waves crashing against the shore, an owl hooting, the fragrance from the jasmine near the deck.

  Drawn toward the beach, Michael descended the steps to the deck and headed toward the stretch of sand and sea.

  For a second, Kyra’s attacker shifted his arm, relieving the choking pressure around her neck. Instantly she sagged, using the dead weight of her body to slip through the steel cage of her assailant’s embrace. As she sank toward the sand, she twisted about and kicked him several times. The Glock went flying across the beach. He groaned and doubled over. She backpedaled away from the man in black toward where her weapon landed. Quickly he recovered from the strategically placed hits and withdrew a knife from a sheath at his side, its blade glittering in the ray of moonlight slanting through the tree branches. He crouched to pounce on her.

  In the dark shadows of the palm trees, she felt around for her Glock. Nothing but sand. She balled a hand around a fistful of grains and threw it into his face. Most of them ended up caught in the fabric of his ski mask. She couldn’t tell if any landed in his eyes until he staggered back a few paces, bringing his free hand up to brush at his face. Which gave her time to scramble to her feet.

  She dug her toes into the sand. Suddenly her assailant exploded forward, rushing her with the knife, aiming for her heart. She lunged to the right. So did her attacker, taking her down to the beach. She clasped the wrist of the hand that held the knife, squeezing as hard as she could while his crushing weight pinned her down.

  He struck her across the cheek, a ring or something cutting into her flesh. The force of the punch caused her ears to ring and his black-clad hulk to waver before her eyes. Still she didn’t take her gaze off the knife hovering inches from her chest. Adrenaline pumped through her but so did exhaustion from the long day.

  He hit her again in the jaw.

  Her mind went hazy. Her vision blurred. Her hand gripping the attacker’s wrist shook.

  The knife crept even nearer.

  Michael glanced in the direction of Kyra’s house. He should go see her before she went to bed. Apologize for how the evening ended. He took a step toward that direction and halted. The tired circles beneath her eyes had emphasized how exhausted she was. He could tell her tomorrow and not disturb her tonight.

  He started to turn toward his deck when a flash caught his eyes a couple of houses down from his. He stopped and squinted into the darkness. Two lovers on the beach?

  Then he saw a hand lift up, hang in the air for a second then come crashing down into the face of the person on the bottom. Michael took off running toward the pair.

  As the assailant trapped Kyra against the sand, the pressure on her body made each breath she inhaled difficult—precious. Sweat drenched her as Kyra struggled for control of the knife, for a decent gulp of air. From deep inside her, she drew on a well of strength. With everything she had left, she twisted and bucked, trying to dislodge her attacker. She pummeled his back with a fist.

  He shifted off her chest and stomach to capture her fist hitting him. The movement allowed oxygen-rich air to flood her lungs. She screamed, a piercing sound that she hoped curdled his blood.

  The sound of the cry for help spurred Michael faster. As he grew closer, rays from the moon washed over the pair on the ground. A man in black and a woman. Kyra.

  Rage fueled Michael the remaining few yards. A screeching noise, like a long-ago warrior, came from him.

  The assailant on top of Kyra jerked his attention toward Michael.

  Suddenly the attacker leaped to his feet and raced in the opposite direction.

  Michael slowed by Kyra. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  That was all he needed. He increased his pace, intending to go after the man in black.

  “Don’t, Michael,” Kyra shouted out. “He’s armed.”

  Decreasing his pace to a jog, he peered over his shoulder, saw her pushing up onto her knees and trying to stand. She went down. He swung around and headed back to Kyra. She wasn’t all right.

  Seconds later he was at her side, helping her to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re hurt?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re shaking.” She turned her face toward him, moonlight bathing her face. “You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s nothing.” On her feet, Kyra swayed toward him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “My gun. Over there.”

  He peered in the direction she pointed but didn’t see it.

  She stepped toward it and wobbled.

  “Take it easy. I’ll look for it.” Under the trees he patted the sandy beach until he encountered the barrel of the Glock. “Got it.”

  “He grabbed me and the gun before I knew what hit me.”

  The quaver in her voice aroused his anger all over. All he wanted to do was go after her attacker—pound his fists into his face for what the man had done to Kyra. His arm went around her and supported some of her weight as he moved toward his house. “I want to make sure you’re okay. Clean those cuts.”

  “Really, I’ve had worse.”

  He looked into her face, the light from his deck show-casing the blood streaming down her cheeks. His heart constricted at the sight of her injuries. Thankfully the cuts didn’t appear deep enough to need stitches. But he wouldn’t be sure until he got inside his house and really examined them.

  Pushing the door open, he let her go first into the den, but he quickly followed. She wanted to act as though nothing was wrong. He knew differently. The ashen cast to her features attested to that fact.