Chapter Twenty-Four

Emmet slipped in late and took the empty seat next to Adam.

“Glad you could make it.” Brady checked his watch and tapped his pencil on the legal pad in front of him. “Where’s Owen? He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago with his brother.”

Emmet frowned. “Joel is coming?”

Joel was busy with the multiagency task force that worked out of the sheriff’s office. Technically, he was still part of Lost Beach PD, but he hadn’t been to a team meeting since Operation Red Highway.

“Not Joel. Alex,” the chief said.

“Alex the attorney?”

“He wants to meet with us. Apparently, his client thinks she might know something relevant to our investigation.”

Emmet stared at Brady, then glanced at Adam, who looked as confused as Emmet felt.

The conference room door opened, and Owen walked in with his brother close behind him.

“Sorry.” Owen nodded at the chief. “Small delay.”

Owen gestured to a chair at the end of the table, and Alex Breda pulled it out as he glanced around the room. In a dress shirt and tie, Alex looked like a Brooks Brothers version of his older brother.

“Thank you for meeting,” Alex said, as though this whole thing had been set up for him.

And maybe it had been. Emmet had thought this was their regularly scheduled team meeting to catch up on the case, but what the hell did he know? Not like he was the lead detective or anything.

Emmet shot a glare at Owen, but Owen was staring at his brother with a look that Emmet couldn’t read.

“So? Where is she?” Brady asked.

“Slight problem,” Owen said tersely.

Brady shifted his attention to Alex.

“I’m afraid my client—”

“You mean Cassandra Miller, correct?” Brady interrupted.

“Yes. I’m afraid Ms.Miller is... unavailable to meet this morning.”

“How come?” Brady demanded. “Wasn’t this your idea?”

“Yes, actually. But—”

“She was supposed to meet us at the office,” Owen said, cutting off his brother. “But she never showed.”

Brady frowned. “Whose office?”

“Mine,” Alex said.

“Did you try calling her?”

“She’s not answering her phone or her door,” Alex said. “And her car isn’t there, so—”

“Wait.” Emmet leaned forward. “Back up. What exactly is it that you think she knows?”

Owen looked at his brother, and some sort of silent communication passed between them.

Brady tossed his pencil on the table. “Do I need to remind everyone that this is a homicide investigation? What does this woman know about this case?”

“And are we talking about Aubrey Lambert’s case or Danielle Ward?” Emmet asked.

Owen glanced at his brother before looking at Emmet. “Both.”

Emmet slumped back in his chair. So Nicole was right.

“Somebody better tell me what’s going on.” Brady folded his arms over his chest.

Alex cleared his throat and scooted his chair forward. “Our intent was for Ms.Miller to give you a statement.”

“About what?”

“In her absence, I can’t get into much detail,” Alex said. “But I can tell you she believes that both crimes may somehow be connected to her estranged husband.”

“Malcom McVoy,” Emmet said.

Brady looked at him. “Who?”

“Cassandra’s husband.” Emmet shook his head. “I can’t believe it. Nicole totally called it.”

“What does Nicole have to do with this?” Owen asked. “I thought she was on leave?”

“She is.”

“Wait,” the chief said, clearly losing patience. “We’re talking about the yoga instructor, right? You’re telling me she’s married to someone named McVoy?”

“Malcom McVoy,” Emmet said, “whose company in Boulder, Colorado, makes surveillance drones for the Defense Department.”

Alex looked surprised. “You’re already investigating him?”

“Nicole is. She’s onto this whole thing.” Emmet looked at Brady. “She connected the dots between Cassandra Miller—who discovered the first victim—and Malcom McVoy. And she thinks he’s somehow connected to a guy named Krueger—also from Boulder—whose DNA was found inside Aubrey Lambert’s car.”

Brady’s brow furrowed. “When did we get that?”

“Just this morning,” Emmet said. “The DNA results came back from the rearview mirror.”

Quiet settled over the room as everyone absorbed this new info. For the first time, different puzzle pieces were starting to fit together. But the person who could probably make sense of the full picture was suddenly missing.

“So, you went by this woman’s house? Cassandra Miller?” Brady asked.

“Yes, and she’s not there,” Owen told him.

“I’ll try calling her again,” Alex said, pushing his chair back.

He stepped out of the conference room, and Brady looked at Owen.

“Excuse me,” Adam piped up. “Does it strike anyone else as weird that this witness who knows all this is suddenly MIA?”

“Yeah, I don’t like it,” Owen agreed. “Alex talked to her late last night, and she told him she’d meet at his office this morning before coming in to give us a statement.”

Brady’s gaze swung to Emmet. “Where’s Nicole?”

It took him a moment to realize the chief was asking because Emmet had obviously talked to Nicole this morning and not because he’d spent the night at her house.

“Working from home,” Emmet said, although he highly doubted it.

“Get her in here,” Brady ordered. “She knows the witness better than the rest of us. Maybe she can figure out where to find her.”

Cassandra parked her car beside the dumpster and glanced up and down the alley before getting out. She hitched her backpack onto her shoulder, then walked to the back of the yoga studio and used her key to unlock the door.

“Hello?” she called, stepping into the dark hallway.

She locked the door behind her and switched on the light. A cart filled with used white towels sat against a wall. Cassandra made her way down the hallway, listening for any sign that she wasn’t alone. She wasn’t expecting Paula here—Danielle’s funeral was tomorrow, and she was no doubt busy with logistics—but Cassandra kept on alert in case another staffer had dropped by. She crept past the laundry cart, listening intently, but the building was silent, and the faint scent of sandalwood incense hung in the air.

She paused at Danielle’s office and tried the door. Locked. Then she walked past the restrooms and leaned her head into the changing room. Most of the lockers were open and empty. But the lockers on the end, which were reserved for staffers, were all closed.

Cassandra took a moment to check both restrooms to confirm that she was alone before returning to the changing room. She set her backpack on the wooden bench and quickly tapped in her code. The door to her locker popped open with a snick.

Cassandra’s pulse thudded as she stared at the orange shoebox that she’d crammed into the space. She’d had to shove it in vertically. She pulled the box out and glanced around one last time before opening the lid.

Inside was a collection of items she’d hoped she would never need: an envelope of cash, a passport, a pair of hair scissors. She nudged aside the box of Revlon Ultra Light Natural Blonde and found the backup burner phone that she’d purchased in August. She’d memorized the number but had never given it to anyone, not even Jess.

Cassandra tucked the burner phone into the zipper pocket of her backpack. Then she grabbed the passport and cash and dropped them into the main compartment with her clothes and her other cell phone. She started to zip the backpack but stopped, staring down at the hair dye. What the hell? It wouldn’t hurt to have it along, just in case. She added it to her pack, then closed the empty shoebox and wedged it back into the locker.

Clink.

Cassandra froze. Her heart thrummed inside her chest as she listened. The noise had come from the lobby, it sounded like. Slowly, silently, Cassandra closed the door to her locker. Her backpack wasn’t zipped, but she didn’t want to risk making a noise. She picked up the backpack, holding it closed with her hand. She heard keys jangling as she crept toward the hallway.

“Yeah, I’m here now.”

Reese.

“Let me call you when I leave.... Okay, bye.”

Cassandra zipped the backpack and slung it over her shoulder before stepping into the hall.

“Hey.”

Reese glanced up from her phone, startled. “Oh, hey. The door was locked. I didn’t know anyone was here.”

“I parked out back.” She nodded down the hall. They rarely used the back door, but she hoped Reese wouldn’t make an issue of it.

Cassandra stepped toward her. “You look nice today.”

In truth, Reese looked like hell, same as Cassandra did. She had clearly been crying. But instead of her usual activewear, she was wearing black jeans, a pale pink sweater, and boots.

“Yeah, well...” Reese shook her head. “I’m headed to my parents’ house. I just need to be home, you know? This week has been...” She trailed off.

“I know.” Cassandra sighed. “Did you talk to Paula?”

“Yeah. She knows we’re coming to the service tomorrow.”

Cassandra felt a pang of guilt.

“Ten fifteen still okay?” Reese asked. “It starts at eleven.”

“That’s good, yeah.”

Reese looked her over, seeming to notice her appearance for the first time. “Where are you off to?”

“Me?”

“Your backpack looks stuffed.”

“Oh. Yeah. Just... doing some errands. I came by my locker to pick up some clothes I need to wash.”

Cassandra’s phone chimed, saving her from more questions. “I need to get that. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure.”

Cassandra hurried down the hallway as her phone chimed again. Alex. Of course. She unzipped the backpack and switched the phone to silent and then pulled out her burner phone and pretended to answer the call in case Reese was watching.

“Hi, how’s it going?” Cassandra pressed the phone to her ear as she unlocked the back door and stepped into the alley.

As the door swung shut behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief.

She hated lying to Reese.

She hated lying, period. And as Alex had pointed out last night, she wasn’t very good at it.

She stopped to dig her keys out and turned to lock the door. A breeze kicked up, and the smell of garbage wafted over from the dumpster. Along with another smell.

Cassandra went still.

Gucci Pour Homme, Malcom’s cologne.

Gravel crunched behind her. An urgent voice in her head screamed Run! but somehow her feet stayed cemented in place.

“Hello, Catherine.”

The air in her lungs disappeared as something cold and hard pressed against the back of her neck.

Her heart pounded frantically. He’s going to shoot me. Right here by this dumpster.

She thought of her brother’s smiling face, and tears sprang into her eyes.

“Turn around.”

She didn’t move. Or breathe. Her pulse roared in her ears, and all she could think of was Lucas. I’m sorry, Lucas. I’m so sorry.

An arm reached around and plucked the phone from her hand.

Then a voice growled in her ear, “I said, turn around.”