Again, no one answers the phone when I call his house.

  I can’t wait any longer. Someone needs to check on J.R. I need to see with my own eyes that he’s okay.

  As I’m pulling my bike out from its hiding spot behind the lose section of tin leaning against the trailer, the wail of a police siren rings throughout the cool fall air. A second siren soon joins in. I stand still, listening as the sound becomes louder and louder.

  Soon, I hear the unmistakable crunch of tires on gravel and the roar of engines. Two city police cars go racing past our trailer, leaving behind a big cloud of dust. I suck in a sharp breath when the cars slam their brakes a few trailers down from ours.

  They’re at Becky’s house.

  Dropping my bike, I race over to watch four officers climb out of their squad cars. They’re wearing the same uniforms as the officers who’d been at the assembly, but none of them look familiar.

  “Did you find Becky?” I call out to them as they’re starting for the front door of the trailer. “Is she okay?”

  A skinny officer with a thick black mustache turns to me, face tight with irritation. He doesn’t look much older than Diane. “Young lady, you need to go home,” he snarls. “It’s not safe to be here right now.”

  One of the other officers bangs on the trailer’s flimsy metal door. “Police! Open the door, Mr. Myers! We have a warrant for your arrest!”

  Chills trickle down my spine at the same time fear crushes my lungs.

  They must already know about the gross things he did to Becky. Or maybe they know something even worse.

  As the officers continue to bang on the door, Karrie shuffles over to stand next to me, her dark, shaggy hair sticking up every-which-way and her eyes only half open. Beneath a wool trench coat like I’ve seen adult men wear around town, she wears a pair of flannel pajamas. Sometimes, after she’s worked a night shift at the pop factory in North Mankato, she calls in sick to school so she can catch up on sleep.

  “What’s goin’ on?” she asks on the end of a yawn. Her breath stinks like cigarettes.

  “They said they’re going to arrest Becky’s dad,” I whisper, wrapping my coat around my middle a little tighter.

  Karrie snorts with a smirk spreading over her puffy lips. “About time. That drunk bastard probably did something to his own daughter and doesn’t even remember it because he was too blitzed.”

  I hold my breath as the mustached officer moves over to Mr. Myers’s old pickup truck and sets his hand on the hood. He turns to the other three officers and nods once. The trailer’s front door gives way after one of the officers kicks it with his boot. Karrie and I wait in silence as there’s a bunch of shouting and commotion after the officers enter.

  It feels like a lifetime before they appear in the doorway again. They lead Becky’s dad down the steps to the trailer in his usual stained white tank top and filthy pants. Handcuffs force his hands behind his back, and his face is more red than a ripe tomato. He roars swear words I’ve never heard before and spits at the mustached officer like an angry cat.

  As Becky’s dad is being forced into the back of a police car, Karrie waves excitedly like she’s greeting an old friend. “Sayonara, sucker. May you rot in a jail cell.”

  Shoulders relaxed, I let out a deep breath.

  It’s over.

  I no longer have to worry about telling J.R.’s dad what I know.

  Maybe Becky’s dad was so sick in the head that he wanted to hurt other girls too. Maybe they’ll find out where he’s keeping Heidi and Shannon.

  Turning to Karrie, I debate how much to tell her about J.R. I like her enough that I think I could trust her, but if she knew his dad was hurting him, she might tell. She has a habit of doing things she considers to be right, no matter the consequences.

  “I have to go check on J.R. at his house.”

  Karrie’s lips twist into one of her signature smirks. “J.R., as in the cute new kid we had ice cream with after he mouthed off to Kabe?”

  I nod. “If anything bad happens to me, tell Diane where I went and tell her to have the cops question J.R.’s dad.”

  Her dark eyes narrow. “What are you talking about? Didn’t you say his dad's a detective? Why would they question him? And what’s wrong with J.R.?”

  “Please, Karrie, just trust me. And don’t repeat what I said to anyone unless it’s after dark and Diane gets worried. Okay?”

  Karrie’s gaze studies mine for a moment, then she nods and holds up both hands. “Okay, Jackie-O. I won’t tell a soul. Just be careful, alright?”

  I return to my bike and pedal as fast as I can to the Brady Bunch style house nestled among the hills. As long as J.R. isn’t hurt too badly, everything could still be okay.

  14

  STERLING - 2018

  The moment we step foot inside my house after dropping my mom at the airport, Theo’s lips are on mine. With the deepening of the kiss, we quickly become a savage tangle of tongues, limbs, and bodies. He hoists me into his strong arms and carries me into my bedroom, depositing me on the edge of the bed. My brain short-circuits when he holds my gaze while removing every article of my clothing, tossing everything aside without breaking eye contact. The way he unhooks my bra with ease, I wonder how many times he’s done this. Jealously clouds my vision until he begins to remove his own clothing. I’m barely given enough time to appreciate his exceptional form before we’re drawn back together.

  “Sure you’re up for this?” I ask between breathless kisses. Every touch of his fingers ignites tiny little blazes all over my body that turn my brain numb. “I’d hate for you to break a hip.”

  “It’s not my hips you should be worried about, sweetheart, especially if this is your first time—”

  “No more jokes,” I decide, shoving him down to the mattress on his back. I can’t wait a second longer to explore every crevice of the strong, beautiful body that’s been taunting me for days. I climb over him, running my hands along the magnificent slopes and ridges of his long, hard torso. The slight roll of his belly makes it a little easier to expose my own imperfections, especially when I had previously assumed he worked out, and his body would be flawless. His bunched muscles become smooth under the caress of my fingertips, and he lets out a shuttered sigh.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, my tone warm with sincerity.

  “Haven’t been touched like that in a long while,” he admits, dragging me down for another taste of my lips.

  He flips me over so our positions are reversed and captures one of my breasts inside his warm mouth. One of his hands slides down between us, applying the perfect amount of pressure to my center. Combined with the scrape of his teeth and flicker of his tongue, I’m unable to maintain any kind of composure. The world tilts, causing me to become the definition of dazed and confused—albeit it delightfully so. With a surge of warmth, I hiss through a clenched jaw before letting out a strained whimper.

  Theo stops to watch me with a crooked smile pressed to his glorious lips.

  “It’s been a long while for me too,” I manage. “Long enough that you can feel free to proceed without any precautionary measures—I’m covered.”

  Our greedy kisses resume as he looms over me, lining things up before filling me with sweet relief. Pleasure rocks me to my core, unhinging every last one of my inhibitions. I savor the tenderness he offers, the gentleness of his talented hands. He’s generous in both his size and his slow, precise movements. Most importantly, I feel adored by the graze of his fingertips along the sides of my body, the unhurried strokes of his hips. The overwhelming connection between us has been set in stone, etched into my heart. It’s so sudden, so severe, that I briefly wonder if this is what it feels like when one is on the brink of insanity.

  By the time we’ve both been satisfied, we lie side-by-side, panting as if we’ve just completed a three-day marathon. “See, that was totally worth the wait,” I say, lazily reaching out to dust my fingertips along his ribcage. “I’m curious how a carpenter maintains a body this amazing when I have yet to see you lift anything heavier than a drill. Am I interrupting your gym time?”

  A deep chuckle runs through his throat. “I put on fifty pounds of muscle after joining the service and it just kind of stuck around…even after I quit loading my diet with protein and spending endless hours obsessing over different weightlifting programs.” He pats the slight bulge of fat on his gut. “Can’t say I’ve had an amazing body since developing a taste for whiskey and wings.”

  I hum in disagreement. “I think a guy with a little bit of imperfections is extremely sexy. Especially when he can own up to them with a dash of humor.”

  Straight faced, he maneuvers to his side. “What is it about you, Sterling?” he asks before briefly reuniting our lips. I suck on his bottom lip for an extra beat, releasing it with a loud pop. Temporarily unable to breathe, I’m incapable of telling him I was inexplicably drawn to him too, although I suspect I’ve done a decent job of showing him how I feel. “I’ve wanted you ever since I first looked into those extraordinary eyes of yours,” he continues. "What makes you so impossible to resist?”

  “My youthful glow?”

  Laughing, he gathers me in his arms and holds me tighter than I’ve ever been held before. Nothing has ever felt so perfect as the way we fit together. His heat and strength surround me like a second skin that I never want to shed.

  I draw lazy circles across the smooth skin on his shoulder blade. “It’s my turn to ask you something.”

  He grunts in reply.

  “You told me you’d vowed never to return to Mankato. So why did you move back?”

  A long beat of silence follows before he answers. “The only person that ever made me happy once lived here. I feel closer to her when I’m in this city.”

  I dust my lips across the dip in his shoulder. “It sounds like you loved her.”

  Another grunt of a reply.

  “What happened?”

  All at once his arms are no longer around me. He rolls away with a deafening sigh. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Silence stretches between us. I’ve discovered yet another one of his limits, and I have no intention of pushing him. Still, I can’t help but wonder if this mysterious woman is the one who made him so sullen.

  Then I remember what Beth said about K.C., the tattoo artist who may have valuable information about the missing girls, but couldn’t handle living here anymore. Could she be the one who once broke Theo's heart and made him reluctant to enter into another relationship?

  It’s becoming clearer by the second that I’m going to have to make an appointment in White Bear Lake for my second tattoo. Or maybe even cover the first, a small rose on my ankle that I had done on a dare after turning sixteen.

  Around the time I’m certain Theo has drifted off to sleep, he says, “In some ways you remind me of her.”

  After spending a leisurely Sunday at Theo’s place that involves occasional sex and a movie marathon in his bedroom, we spend the next several days of living like newlyweds every minute I’m not at work. He often cooks our dinners naked because we’re almost never dressed around each other anymore. It’s difficult to keep my thoughts focused whenever he’s not around. I hadn’t expected him to open up so soon after we’d met, but with every part of himself he reveals, I’m beginning to understand why he first had put up a wall between us. His heart has been stomped on by his parents, and possibly shattered by whatever woman made him want to return to Mankato.

  Despite his reservations, Theo Davies is one helluva lover. I can only hope the short time in which we’ve become addicted to each other isn’t something he’s merely trying to work out of his system, because a girl could get used to more of these late night rendezvous with a man of his…stature. He doesn’t express himself lightly. His kisses are always nothing short of bruising, especially with the stubbly beard he’d grown over the weekend.

  On Wednesday afternoon, as Megan explains a volunteer program at the local high school in a staff meeting, flashes of the previous nights return in bits and pieces, making my cheeks warm and my entire body flush with pleasure. I shift in my seat glancing around to ensure no one is watching. I’m going to have to start meditating again if I want to regain any kind of focus.

  Once the meeting is adjourned, I head back down the hallway to my cubical and pass a tall, lanky police officer in the standard black uniform. There’s enough gray around the temples of his thick dark hair that I suspect he could’ve been a young adult in the 80s. I spin around. “Excuse me, Officer?”

  His wide smile reveals a perfectly straight row of blindingly white teeth. Presumably, dentures. He’s mildly attractive with a friendly look that makes him approachable, reminding me of the kind of men that played supporting roles in my mom’s hit TV show when I was young. My mom once told me it was the casting director’s intention to make the men likable, but not too memorable. “You must be the new social worker,” the officer says in a smooth tenor.

  I accept his firm handshake as I introduce myself. “Sterling Pruitt.”

  “Chief Doug Nielsen. What can I do for you, Miss Pruitt?”

  “How long have you been with Mankato Law Enforcement?”

  His smile deepens. “Just about thirty-two years now.”

  “So you were on the force when those girls went missing in the eighties.”

  Hooking his thumb inside his duty belt just inches from his service weapon, he glances around the now empty hallway before stepping a little closer and lowering his voice. He seems…spooked. “I was fresh out of the academy when the first one disappeared.”

  “How many were there?”

  “To the best of our knowledge, there were four.”

  Chills rattle my bones. “What happened?” I ask. “Were the girls ever found? Did you have any suspects?”

  “Those are a lot of questions from someone who just moved to the city.” Grunting with an unamused laugh, his wide-set hazel eyes narrow. “Why are you asking?”

  “Because it’s in my nature to care, and I can’t seem to find anything about those girls online. Not a single newspaper article, police report, or court document.”

  “Then how did you know about them?”

  I throw my hands up at my sides. “Why does that matter? Why does it seem as if these girls were merely swept under a rug? Why doesn’t anyone seem to want to talk about them?”

  “Because it’s a sensitive subject, Miss Pruitt. That’s all. They were daughters of the community…sisters, friends. It makes folks sad to think what might’ve happened to them and makes them feel helpless that there’s nothing they can do about it.”

  “Are you sure that’s all there is to it?” I persist, eyes narrowed and hands set on my hips. “Because it sure feels like their history was purposely erased.”

  His eyes sweep around us a second time before he guides me by my elbow a few feet closer to the short cove where the men’s and women’s restrooms face each other. “Folks around here don’t like to talk about it—especially law enforcement. I think there’s a deep sense of failure that’s attached to the history of the investigation. I learned early on not to ask a lot of questions, but it never sat right with me.”

  I balk for a moment, surprised by his candor. “Any idea who took them?”

  “A man named Darrel Heinrich was questioned at length, but they never found enough evidence to convict him.”

  A tick of irritation has me raising my voice. “What about the girls?”

  Chief Nielsen hooks his other thumb in his duty belt and glances down at his feet. “I’m afraid they were never found.” His gaze returns to mine, all at once sorrowful and utterly haunted. “Their death certificates were issued in the early nineties.”

  The sadness I’ve harbored for the girls since learning their story becomes downright crippling. It’s almost as if no one cared. Their poor families have had to carry on without any answers. I compose myself as best as I can when addressing the chief. “You may have been young and inexperienced when they disappeared, but you’re in a powerful position now, Chief Nielsen,” I reply grimly. “Those girls deserve justice.”

  His jaw slackens as I walk away.

  The remainder of the day, I’m as unsettled as I’ve ever been. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to shift my thoughts away from the missing girls and the feeling of hopelessness their families must still feel after so many decades. How would it feel to not have any kind of closure after losing your child so unexpectedly? Did the families hold memorial services for these girls, maybe even bury an empty casket to somehow appease their grief?

  While Theo prepares something in my kitchen that creates a divine aroma, I pull up my laptop in my bedroom and return to K.C.’s Instagram page. She’s unquestionably a stunning woman—jet black hair worn in a reverse bob, petite features, irises so dark they nearly swallow her pupils, and flawless pale skin—yet it’s difficult to imagine her being Theo’s type. The only part of her not tattooed appears to be her face, and she’s sporting multiple body piercings above her shoulders. I consider it’s also possible she could’ve been with Theo before she became invested in ink if they’ve known each other for as long as I suspect. Very few pictures posted involve much beyond her portfolio of work, but there’s a selfie of her embracing an equally attractive, equally inked man.

  I’m also beginning to suspect K.C. and Theo both knew the missing girls. It would explain his reluctance to discuss them when I first mentioned I’d seen the flyer at work. What if one of the girls was his sister? As much as I want to try revisiting the subject with him, now that he’s beginning to reveal more of himself, I’d hate to see him regress to his former sullen ways. He’s actually singing along to that old Rio song by Duran Duran as he prepares our meal in the other room.

  Just as I’m ready to declare I’m only being paranoid, and K.C. can’t possibly be the same woman who broke Theo’s heart, I spot a familiar tattoo near the bottom of her Instagram feed.