50. Colt

50

COLT

Chaos reigned around me. But it wasn’t the warm, ridiculous, light-filled chaos that Ridley embodied. Countless officers circled Emerson’s backyard, ones I recognized and ones from the state who were unfamiliar. Evidence techs swarmed through the garden as they tried to find anything that might give us a lead.

“What did the closest traffic cameras give us?” Ryan asked Deputy Marshall, a clipped tone to her words.

Marshall lifted his phone. “A white Acura and silver pickup heading south. A gray Jeep heading north.”

“Which tells us nothing,” I growled.

Ryan turned to me, her face impassive, but I saw the sympathy in her eyes. “It’s a part of the puzzle,” she reminded me. “The more information we gather, the quicker we’ll find her.”

I knew she was trying to help, was doing everything she could. The state police were already here, marked by the lead detective side-eyeing me for getting any information on the case. She’d placed a call to the FBI, who was looking over Ridley’s findings with fresh eyes. And I’d texted my friend Anson, who used to be with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, to see if he could put in a word.

But none of that was enough. Not even close.

As if Ryan read that, she gave my arm a quick squeeze. “Why don’t you try talking to Emerson again? She could’ve remembered something. I’ll come find you if we get anything new.”

It was a brush-off, and I fucking knew it. But if I stayed out here, I’d end up decking someone. Probably Detective Holden from the state police. So I didn’t say a word, simply stalked off toward the back door.

It slammed behind me as I strode inside and toward the living room. Emerson and Trey were huddled on the couch, a yearbook in each of their laps.

“Anything?” Emerson asked, her face pale.

I shook my head.

Trey muttered a curse under his breath. “Word’s spreading. Got a call from Sam. Celia’s setting up search parties, and he and Norm are helping.”

It was my turn to curse. “Just what we need. I hope like hell you told them that if they see anything they need to call 911.”

“Of course I did,” Trey shot back. “Though they got backup. Got a text from Ace, and he and the Devils are riding with them.”

A burn lit somewhere deep. Of course Ridley had made friends with a motorcycle club that lived a less-than-legal lifestyle. And of course they were riding out for her. Because that was the sort of person she was. Made every single soul that crossed her path fall in love with her.

My chest seized in a vicious squeeze, and I gripped the back of the overstuffed chair, just trying to hold on.

“Colt,” Emerson whispered.

I swallowed down all that pain, that fear, that fury, and forced my gaze to my sister. “Anything coming up?”

She shook her head. “I’m trying but…”

“It’s okay,” I told her, but we both knew it was a lie. We needed something, anything. Because this all had to be linked. Ridley had gotten too close, and now she was gone.

“We keep going,” Trey said, beginning to flip through the yearbook he had again.

Emerson nodded, staring down at her own pages. “Everyone looks suspicious now.”

Trey stopped on a spread about the tennis team. “Someone got eyes on Coach Kerr?” he growled.

Emerson straightened. “Coach? Why?”

I winced. Word had made it around town about the coach and his relationship with Tara Gibson when she was underage, but I’d avoided the topic with Emerson so far. “A deputy found him coming out of his lawyer’s office two towns over. He couldn’t have done this.”

Trey’s jaw worked back and forth but he didn’t say a word.

“Will someone tell me what’s going on?” Em demanded.

I sighed. “Kerr faked his alibi for the night you were taken.”

“What?” she whispered.

“But it wasn’t for the reason we thought. He was at a motel with Tara Gibson.”

Emerson’s jaw went slack. “But—but she was only seventeen.”

“I know,” I said, a sick feeling swirling in my stomach.

“What about him?” Trey asked, tapping a photo in the yearbook.

It was a shot of Emerson with a guy I didn’t recognize. He was young. Maybe five or six years older than her, and it looked like he was instructing her on a swing.

Emerson frowned down at the book. “That was one of those clinics Coach signed us up for. Shawn Sullivan. He was All-American, just out of college. He?—”

Emerson’s words cut off as she started to shake. Trey dropped the book, his arm going around her. “Emmie, what’s wrong?”

She stared straight ahead, but I knew she wasn’t seeing the room in front of her. “Grape Bubblicious.”

Everything in me stilled and then instantly went wired. It was the one thing law enforcement had kept from the press. The scent of grape Emerson had identified.

“He always chewed grape Bubblicious gum. Always.” Emerson’s gaze shot to me. “Was it him? Was it Shawn?”

I was already moving, crossing to the back door and shouting for Ryan. She and Marshall were inside in a flash.

“Em remembered something,” I clipped. “Shawn Sullivan ran a tennis clinic for her team. Always chewed grape gum.” A memory flashed, Ridley recounting her attack at the campground. “And Ridley—” My voice cracked on her name. “She said that she smelled something sweet on the guy’s breath who attacked her.”

Ryan’s eyes flashed as she turned to Marshall. “Run him.”

He pulled out his phone, opening one of the apps we used. “Do you know where he’s from or his birthday?”

Emerson shook her head. Her whole body was trembling, and her breathing was shallow as Trey held on to her. Whether it was the memories or having new people in her space, I didn’t know.

“I think I got him,” Marshall said. “Tennis All-American?”

“That’s him,” I clipped.

Marshall scanned the screen as he scrolled. “Nothing on his official record, but he was questioned in a rape case in college. Looks like they circled him for a while but nothing stuck. No charges were ever filed.”

He switched to another internet browser page. “He’s got a website. Offers tennis clinics to high schools, colleges, and universities.”

My muscles started to buzz as rage burned. “The perfect cover for traveling the country and abducting women to rape and kill them.”

Just saying the words killed something in me. What was happening to Ridley in this very moment?

“Get Sanchez and Geary, and track it. Every woman on Ridley’s list. We need to see if it lines up,” Ryan ordered.

But we needed something else. “Where the hell is Shawn Sullivan right now?” I growled. “If he’s holed up somewhere, there has to be a trace. We have to find him.”

I just hoped like hell it wouldn’t be too late.