“Partially. But I didn’t choose it because I wanted to investigate our crime,” he said. “It had already been investigated, and nothing helpful had been uncovered. The FBI never found anything, and neither did the PIs my dad hired. I didn’t imagine I’d have much more luck than the Feds, who have access to all sorts of databases not available to me.” He shook his head and took a sip from his bottle. “I chose the profession because I wanted to help other people find their own closure. I guess that aspect, especially, was appealing to me, considering we never found ours.”
“I get that,” she said. She did. Even hearing him say the words had made her heart constrict in understanding. They’d had to find their own form of closure, but in some ways, it would always be an open sore, because nothing could fill it entirely except true justice. True knowing of exactly what had happened to them, and why. She’d learned to live with the lack of answers, and there were lessons to be found there too. She’d discovered that the practice of letting go of that which was out of her control was a valuable one. But to assist others in attaining their justice must help Evan in his own acceptance. If she had been remotely interested in criminal justice, perhaps she’d have gone in that direction too.
“So if you didn’t initially intend on looking into our crime, what happened that made you start digging?”
He gave a small shrug, and she regarded him for a moment, beautiful even in the dark. She knew that, though. She could have drawn the outline of his shadowy silhouette. It was imprinted in her brain, even after all these years. “Time,” he finally said, answering her question. “An understanding of how the system works, police capabilities. I’ve formed relationships with officers over the years, made contacts at the Reno department. They’re also able to access things I can’t.”
“I would think time would make it less likely there’s anything to find.”
“That can be true, but also, things resurface, other crimes happen that might be tied in. Connections are made. Cold cases are solved all the time. Especially if the crime is ongoing.”
A slight chill made her cross her bare arms over her breasts. “Is that what you think?”
“Haven’t you ever wondered about that?”
“I . . .” She closed her mouth, really considering the question. “I guess I try not to, because there’s nothing I can do about it, but in the back of my mind . . . maybe.” Maybe it’d lain there, unexplored. She’d put it away and labeled it Torturous material. Handle with care. Because she could think about that all day and night if she let herself. But who was that going to benefit? Certainly not her. And certainly not Callie.
She’d fought hard for her mental and emotional health. She wasn’t going to hand it off so easily. Especially to something purposeless.
“I tried not to go there for a long time either. But I also . . . I don’t know. I felt a responsibility, too, especially once I became involved with law enforcement and had the means. I asked a police officer I know at the department to keep her eyes open for any crimes across the country that even remotely resembled ours. A few weeks ago, she came up with something.”
“What?” she breathed, her heart giving a sharp knock.
Noelle listened wide eyed as he told her about the Vietnam veteran he’d flown to Texas to interview. About him being locked in a cage, another man locked up in the same room. About the sick and horrific choices they were told to make. The torture. The terror. And, ultimately, the escape.
The police had doubted his story, especially when they found the building where he’d claimed to be kept devoid of any proof. She wondered if that would have been the case with the building where they’d been caged, too, if she hadn’t set the place on fire.
Noelle let out a gust of air as he finished. She’d held her breath for much of his description, even though he’d made it as short and void of details as possible. She understood why he’d made the connection, though. She recognized the similarities too. They were hard to miss.
“Are you going to notify the FBI about that case?”
“The police didn’t even notify the FBI. They investigated and deemed it the rantings of a drunk with mental health issues.”
“But you believed him.”
“I did. I looked in his eyes, and I believed him.”
She played with the label on the beer, considering grabbing another. But she had to work in the morning, so she’d stick to one. She offered Evan another, though, but he declined. “I didn’t just come here to put that case I described in your head, Noelle. I came because of something else. I’m hoping you can help me with it. I thought about calling you, at first . . . that’s exactly what I planned on doing. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed weirder somehow to call you on the phone than to come in person and ask for your help.”
She got that too. And as much as she’d felt unprepared to disclose the fact that they had a daughter she’d never told him about, she was somehow also glad that he’d unintentionally ambushed her. If he’d called, she’d either have had to choose to directly lie to him about her life, about Callie, or if she had decided to tell him, she’d have had to live with the fear of his reaction before she did. No, it was better that he’d surprised her. She hadn’t feared it, because it’d been sprung on her. And he was still here, still asking for her help, even after realizing he’d been denied his child for over six years. “What do you need help with?”
“I’ve always come back to the fact that we knew each other. We have a connection through our fathers. I can’t believe that wasn’t known by whoever abducted us.”
She nodded. They’d talked about that way back when. Before their escape . . . before we learned to speak in code.
“I agree,” she said. “Didn’t we wonder if it was what made things more interesting?”
“Yes,” he said. “But if we were chosen purposefully for that connection, then someone knew about it.”
Right. This all sounded familiar. They’d picked all these possibilities apart long ago. “We have no proof of any of that, just our suspicions,” she said.
“I looked into your father.”
Her gaze shot to him, and she saw that he was watching her. “My dad. My dad is dead.” She heard the resentment in her tone and took in a breath, letting it out slowly.
“It’s not because I suspected him of wrongdoing. I just thought knowing more about him might trigger something I already knew about my own father. Maybe I could make even more of a connection. And I asked that contact at the Reno PD to pull anything on him she found interesting.”
Noelle shifted in her seat. She felt irrationally bitter and worked to tamp that down. It was funny that it was still her gut reaction to defend her father when it came to a Sinclair. Even if that Sinclair had turned out to be a decent human being and was the father of her child. “Did she find anything?” she asked, attempting to sound casual.
“She did. Your father filed a missing person report right before you were reported missing.”
What? She frowned. “On whom?”
“A man by the name of Dow Maginn.”
It took a moment for the name to penetrate her memories. “Dow? He went missing?”
“Not only that, but he was later found murdered, the gunshot victim of an apparent mugging.”
“I didn’t know.” She gave her head a small shake. “He was my dad’s friend. I think we sent him an invitation to the memorial, but Paula took care of all of that. If the invite got returned, she probably just tossed it. Or if she asked me, which I don’t remember, I probably figured he’d moved or his shop went out of business. The guy wasn’t necessarily the most stable person. I remember him being a heavy drinker when he was at our house. He and my dad would watch a game, and he’d pass out on our couch.” She frowned again. “When I . . . came home, I had no reason to look into his whereabouts. I’m honestly surprised my dad even noticed he was missing. They were friends, but from what I recall, there were periods of time where Dow didn’t come around for months. That was just him.”