Chapter 1

ONE

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Saturday, September 21

9:07 a.m.

Crime wasn't supposed to follow on vacation.

Whether the time off was forced or not.

Leigh Brody anxiously breathed in a combination of brackish humidity and salt as she got out of the ride-share she'd booked from the airport, duffle bag in hand. The ocean charged up the shoreline a mere hundred feet behind the stilted bright azure-painted and white-trimmed beach house. A series of nearly twenty steps vaulted straight to a second-story front door. Through to the back she caught sight of two doors, almost like two outdoor sheds holding up the entire structure on their backs.

Homes in Gulf Shores, Alabama, weren't necessarily meant to be lived in full-time. Owners were expected to winter in their beach houses part of the year to escape the cold then shuffle back to wherever they'd come from in the warmer months. This house had been shown far more love than any of the others in the sand and asphalt semi-circle. New paint job, perfectly positioned deck furniture, no fingerprints on the rectangular windows staring back at her. Exactly as she'd imagined from the way Elyse had described it. Perfect for an annual family getaway to the beach, but the weed-infested carport beneath the wraparound deck knocked her out of the tropical fantasy.

That, and the two patrol vehicles parked in front of the house.

Something had happened. Something bad. And her best friend hadn't returned any of her messages in the hours since leaving that panicked voicemail on Leigh's phone. Not just her best friend. Her only friend. It was hard making friends as an adult. At least in Leigh's experience, but Elyse had made it easy. Barging into Leigh's life in the middle of an OB/GYN office of all places. Determined not to let Leigh sink when a routine Pap smear had come back positive. Elyse had been there every step of the way, all the way through surgery, a bright light that refused to go out. Only now Leigh could feel the shadows closing back in.

Uniformed officers kept nosey neighbors and unwelcome visitors from ascending the stairs leading inside. The exaggerated crow's feet breaking the confines of their sunglasses told her Gulf Shores officers spent most of the day squinting to alleviate the assault on their eyes. Their shiny gold badges gleamed in the incessant hot sun, stricken through with a flood of blue that matched the house behind them. Representing the ocean.

Once upon a time, she might've hesitated in trying to cross the perimeter line of a crime scene, but the past few months had thrown her headfirst into investigations with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Missing children, unidentified victims, serial offenders, corrupt detectives. Okay, that was all one case. The case that'd haunted her every waking thought for the past twenty years. There could've been others. Had the cancer decided to stay in remission, and Director Livingstone had allowed her to do more than desk duty.

But then she wouldn't be here, would she?

Leigh pulled her credentials from her sweat-soaked blazer and lifted them within the first officer's eyeline. Her heart threatened to beat straight out of her chest. "Agent Brody, FBI. I need to speak with the detective in charge of this scene."

The officer handed off the clipboard, silently expecting her to sign in just like everyone else, and went for his radio. He muttered something unintelligible. A name, maybe? It didn't matter. He didn't have to know she hadn't been invited or that she didn't have any jurisdiction in this place. Hell, she wasn't even supposed to be here at all. She'd been asked—ordered—to take leave after the surgery had cleared out all the cancer two weeks ago, and she'd intended to do just that. Until she'd gotten that voicemail from Elyse.

"Detective Moore is expecting you." The officer—she didn't catch his name—stepped aside to allow her to climb the staircase to the front door of the beach house. He nodded as she passed. Respect. Subordination. Nothing compared to the near deadly welcome she'd received during her last investigation.

Why would a local investigator she'd never met expect her? Snow-white beaches and crystal-blue ocean crested into her line of sight. A few other houses, a dirty green canal, and a grove of trees broke the impeccable view but didn't take away from the overall beauty of a place like this. She could see why so many retirees and visitors flocked to the area. So what was it about this place Elyse hated so much?

A third uniformed officer maneuvered free of the double glass door, closing it behind her. Blonde hair pulled tight in a low ponytail added a bit of severity to the woman's face. The kind of officer who refused to move out of anyone's way on principle. To prove she deserved to be there just as much as her male partners. Confidence and command rounded out a rectangular face with a distinctive use of contouring and eyeliner, even a hint of light lipstick. The woman standing in front of her would run down anyone who got in her way, but she'd sure as hell look good doing it. Leigh envied that kind of assertiveness, never really having it for herself.

"Agent Brody." The officer offered a perfectly manicured hand. Neutral colors. Nothing too showy but immaculate, nonetheless. "I'm Detective Henrietta Moore. I'll be taking the lead on this case."

Every word out of the detective's mouth seemed to be distinctive, as though the heat burdened the delivery. Less enunciation on the smaller words. Almost like they didn't exist at all when she spoke. Higher pitch on the enunciated words as most Alabamans tended to do. Detective Moore wasn't a transplant, but a local. Someone who knew the area better than Leigh ever could.

Leigh shook then shifted to get a better view of inside the house through the glass front door, but Detective Moore seemed to move in correlation. Blocking Leigh from the scene. A lot had changed since her last case. She wasn't the pattern-obsessed criminologist who'd been more comfortable behind a desk than in the field anymore. Well, not entirely. She still preferred staring at data rather than bodies, but data didn't always give the answers she needed. "Are you going to tell me what's going on here?"

"How do you know Elyse Portman, Agent Brody?" Detective Moore slipped a small flip notebook from her breast pocket and extracted a slim white-and-blue pen. Bite marks punctured the tube. Anxiety symptom? "I've spoken to her husband, Wesley Portman, and her daughter, Ava. Neither of them seemed to have met you, and yet, according to Elyse's phone records, you are the last person she had contact with before she disappeared. Was Elyse involved in an ongoing case?"

Disappeared. That single word hit harder than it should have. A frantic panic reserved for life-and-death situations clawed through Leigh in an instant. Elyse was missing? No. That wasn't possible. She'd just listened to Elyse's voicemail this morning. Had she been too late?

Leigh had to check herself as the urge to barrel through this detective-shaped obstacle took hold. This wasn't a scene she'd been invited to. This was an active investigation, and she was on mandatory medical leave. There wouldn't be any support coming from the FBI or anyone else if she got involved. "How long ago? When was the last time anyone saw her?"

"You first, Agent Brody." Detective Moore's insistence cut sharp, somehow making the investigator much more threatening than a moment ago. "How do you know Elyse Portman?"

"She's…" Leigh couldn't exactly explain it. "We're friends."

"Friends." The word didn't sound as cordial as it should have coming out of the detective's mouth, but it was the truth, as far as Leigh was concerned. "But you haven't met her husband or daughter?"

"No." There was no point in trying to make hers and Elyse's relationship any less weird than it was. Not now that Elyse was missing. Any detail could change the course of an investigation. "She's the physician's assistant for my OB/GYN. We met in his office, and we've kept in touch over the past six months."

"Do you make it a habit of befriending the staff assisting your medical providers, or is this the first time?" Detective Moore didn't like the fact Leigh was here, and she most assuredly wouldn't want to waste time on a lead that went nowhere.

Neither did Leigh. Every second she and Detective Moore wasted doubting each other was another second Elyse might not have. There were any number of reasons a woman might take off without warning. Abusive relationship, overwhelm, a break in mental health. But Elyse Portman had made it clear in more than one conversation that her family rivaled anything else in her life. Including her career.

Something else was going on here.

Leigh took an authoritative step forward, sliding from concerned friend into the criminologist she'd been trained to embody at scenes like this. "Detective Moore, Elyse Portman is a friend. As for the development of our relationship, I don't believe that's important at this stage. What I can tell you is that she left me a voicemail asking for my help, and I came to provide it."

"A voicemail?" A spark lit up Detective Moore's subtly blue gaze. "I'd like to hear it."

"And I'm happy to share it. Just as soon as you tell me what the hell is going on." The exchange of information was important. Every detail mattered. If Leigh was going to find Elyse, she needed to know what the police knew. "Local PD doesn't consider someone missing until twenty-four hours has passed. You and your officers have secured the perimeter of this house for a reason. Which means there is something inside you're protecting from being compromised and has led you to believe there's more to this case than a woman going AWOL during her vacation. I'd like to see it."

The detective pocketed that notebook and pen. "This house is an active crime scene. I can't risk?—"

"I'm well-trained in walking active scenes, Detective Moore." Leigh handed off her business card. "If you have any questions about my capabilities to preserve evidence, google my name. Excuse me."

Leigh maneuvered around the detective and grabbed for a pair of booties and gloves positioned in flimsy cardboard boxes at the door. The forensic team was already collecting evidence. Time was their greatest enemy, and Leigh was the best chance Elyse had of coming home.

She powered through the glass double doors standing as sentry to the darkness inside. In contrast to the bright freshly painted blues and whites on the exterior, old faux-wood flooring creaked with her weight. She followed the grain through the two-story entryway, ignoring the curved wood staircase leading to the second level for now. A sharp hint of dust and age invaded her senses as activity caught her attention from the main room ahead.

Detective Moore kept on her heels. "We're set up in the living room."

Tile took over beneath Leigh's feet and spread out through what felt like the remainder of the house. It was one of the things Elyse had said she hated the most. She'd wanted to rip it out as soon as she and Wesley had the money. A too-small galley kitchen took shape at Leigh's right, with the living room on the left.

Evidence tents peppered the couches, the floor, the TV stand.

The weight of attention pressurized at the center of her chest as an oversized, dark-haired, impossibly handsome man set his sights on her. His shoulders stiffened in recognition, but Leigh was certain they'd never met before. Wesley Portman. Elyse's husband. His conversation with another officer—presumably to give his official statement—cut short. Agitation rippled through him.

"You." He pointed at Leigh and broke free of the officer's attempt to keep him corralled in the corner of the room. Away from the evidence. "Elyse trusted you. How could you let this happen!"

"Get him out of here!" Detective Moore's order was obeyed instantly. Two officers wrestled the grieving husband down the hall and out the front door. Nerves had reached an all-time high. Detective Moore nodded at the forensic tech blocking Leigh's view of a section of flooring. He moved on command. "You wanted to know what's going on here."

A pool of blood soaked into the beige tile Elyse hated so much.

And everything inside Leigh went cold.

"You were right, Agent Brody. Local PD doesn't consider a victim missing until twenty-four hours has passed," Detective Moore said. "But as you can see, we thought we might want to make an exception this time."