“Do you remember the murder?” Regan asked as they ate.
“Sure, it was on my radar—FPD issued a BOLO for Candace Swain, missing person, so it was posted on our board and in my truck. Also a BOLO for some homeless guy, Abernathy—the Vega kid mentioned him. So you’re going on the podcast to help? Share your expertise?”
“I don’t know how much I can help, but I have some ideas on how he can frame questions and maybe have a better response. Someone knows something. They might not even know what they know.” For nearly half of Regan’s thirteen years in the Marshals Service, she’d tracked fugitives. She had often been called for cases outside her jurisdiction because she had an uncanny way of getting into the heads of those who didn’t want to be found. She also had a knack for getting people to remember details they thought they’d forgotten or never consciously knew. People saw and heard a lot, but remembering those details could be difficult.
The missing days in Candace Swain’s calendar intrigued her. It was virtually impossible to stay off the grid for that long unless you planned to. Money, food, shelter. But there was no clear reason this twenty-one-year-old student had any reason to go on the down-low. Regan was drawn to the challenge of helping Lucas re-create Candace’s whereabouts.
And she’d been in limbo for too long. Regan had to do something to keep her mind off her son and the man who’d killed him.
“You doing it tonight?” asked Jessie.
“Yes.”
“I usually download podcasts for the truck, but I’ll listen live tonight.”
“If you call in and embarrass me, I will get revenge.”
Jessie laughed. “No call-in. Promise.” She glanced at her watch and quickly finished her omelet. “I gotta bolt. Someone up on Schultz Pass Road reported a mountain lion near the trailhead. That’s getting a little close to population centers, so I’m going track it—if the woman is even right about what she saw. People will see a fucking deer and think it’s a mountain lion. Twice that’s happened to me.”
Regan believed it. Both fear and imagination could run wild.
“And then there was the idiot who thought she was helping by taking two cubs into her barn. She called in, was worried they’d been abandoned. Like a mama lion is going to abandon them? She was told twice to leave the cubs alone, that their mom was out hunting, but she didn’t listen. I loved writing her up and fining her the maximum, but those cubs are now in a fucking zoo instead of living their best life.” Jessie rolled her eyes. She put a twenty down on the table and got up, grabbing her radio and clipping it to her belt.
“That’s too much.”
“My treat, you get the tip. Saturday morning, I’m picking you up at six.”
“I’ll pack the picnic.”
“No, I’ll pack the food. You never bring enough to eat.”
When Jessie left, Regan finished her toast and called Lucas Vega to confirm. He sounded pleased that she’d agreed, then she said, “Let’s establish some ground rules beforehand, good?”
“Yeah, sure. Come to the studio at seven, an hour before we go live?”
“I’ll be there.”
“I got an email last night,” Lucas said. “Can I forward it to you? I think it’s legit, but she didn’t sign it, and the email address is anonymous.”
“Sure.” She rattled off her personal email.
“Thanks, Regan.”
She ended the call, and less than ten seconds later the email came in. Regan read it twice.
One sentence really caught her eye:
they say they want to protect candace’s image, but it’s really more the sorority’s image they care about.
Who did she mean when she said they? The sorority as a whole? A group within the sorority? Did someone there know more than they’d told police?
She read the message a third time and determined that the sender was likely a senior—possibly a five-year student—who had been a freshman or sophomore when Candace disappeared. She didn’t say that Lucas couldn’t read the note on the podcast, just that she wanted to be anonymous. This might give them a jumping-off point tonight.
Regan chatted with Susan for a minute while she paid the bill with the money Jessie left, then she walked out, heading over to her truck. She thought about going home and talking to her dad—she hadn’t spoken to him since she’d walked out last night. That hour-long walk in the cold hadn’t tempered her anger. She controlled her temper well—had learned to at a young age—but the tension left her with a headache that hadn’t dissipated even after four aspirin, coffee, and food.
Not fair maybe, but nothing about life was fair.
She had just clicked the unlock button on her key fob when she heard someone call her name. She turned and almost did a double take.
“Tripp?”
“Regan Merritt, didn’t expect to see you, but sure glad I did.”
Tripp Garza strode over and gave her a tight hug. She hugged him back. She’d known Tripp practically her entire life—he was her brother JT’s best friend since kindergarten.
“I didn’t expect to see you. When I got back here in October, Dad said you were still deployed.”
“I was, took my papers in January. I gave near half my life to the army.”
The last time she’d seen Tripp was when he was best man for JT’s wedding. That was eight years ago. Back when she had a husband, and a son, and a job she loved.
“What are you doing now?” she asked.
“Same thing you are,” he answered.
She didn’t know what to say to that. What did he know? Was he also here to figure out his life?
Tripp added, “I went to see JT a few weeks ago.”
He didn’t have to say anything else. She had told her brother everything that had happened in Virginia and why she came home. She had expected his complete confidence, but she should have known better. JT and Tripp had been inseparable growing up; she shouldn’t be surprised they still shared everything now.
“Well.” She cleared her throat. She had nothing to say about it.
Tripp said, “Don’t blame JT. I asked.”