“Shiloh.” Morgan gave him the look that said she wasn’t going to let him wriggle out of this conversation. Rambo sat on her lap, his head out the window and his tongue lolling out, and Morgan had been absently petting him. But her eyes were laser-focused on Beau’s face.
“She’s all right.” He’d tried to shove off any further conversation on the subject. Ever since waking up this morning, he’d replayed the events over and over in his mind. How they’d made love in the stream and back in the attic and how, this morning, after she’d left, all he’d wanted to do was call her back.
“Just all right?”
“Okay, yeah, I like her.” He’d shrugged, eased off the gas as they hit the pothole he had yet to fill in the drive. “And you should too. She’s your sister.”
“I think it’s weird if you like her.”
“And I think it’s weird if you don’t.”
He’d pulled up to the house, and she and Rambo had tumbled out, leaving the dust the old truck’s tires had churned up to settle and Morgan’s pointed questions to hover in his brain.
Beau prided himself on knowing his own mind. He usually figured out what he wanted, went after it, and either ended up with the prize or didn’t beat himself up for losing out. He just moved on.
But he’d never met Shiloh Silva before, and now it felt like there’d been a tectonic shift; she’d somehow changed everything, put a damned wrench in his whole outlook on life.
He’d woken up after a night of lovemaking and found himself considering new options in life, options that included not only Morgan, but now Shiloh as well.
It was crazy, really.
Yeah, he’d been attracted to her from the get-go.
Yeah, he’d known she was trouble.
And yeah, he’d told himself not to get involved.
That hadn’t happened, and now he was stuck with the knowledge that rather than want her out of his life, as he’d once thought, he couldn’t imagine life without her.
*
Kat had been at the station for nearly two hours and had managed to stay calm during Paul Byrd’s latest tirade—one hell of a phone call, to say the least—when she heard footsteps approaching her desk. As she turned away from her computer screen, a tall woman with spiky red hair appeared. In slacks, a print shirt, and a vest despite the heat of summer, she forced a smile over lips that trembled and showed a hint of lipstick that had worn off. She was pale beneath a tan, her eyes haunted. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. “Are you Detective Starr?” she asked before her gaze landed on the name plate on Kat’s desk. “Oh. I see. The woman at the front, Naomi, sent me this way.”
“Yes, I’m Katrina Starr.” Kat stood. “How can I help you?”
The woman lifted one hand in a helpless gesture. “I know it’s only been a little while. Well, I mean it seems like forever since last night, and I don’t know if there’s some rule about waiting twenty-four hours, but I’m just so worried.” She ran anxious fingers in her hair, making the spikes stand even straighter.
“What happened?”
“My daughter . . . she didn’t come home last night, and oh, it’s not like you think!” she interjected. “I mean she wasn’t on a date or anything. She was just out riding.”
“Why don’t you have a seat,” Kat invited, motioning to one of the two side chairs on the other side of her desk. “And start from the beginning. Maybe you’d like some water or coffee or—”
“I just want my daughter back!” the woman declared, then dropped into the offered chair and held her forehead in her fingers. “Sorry. It’s just that this is so unlike Addie. She’s very responsible and never gives Jeremy and me any trouble, not like Gil, our son.”
“Let’s start with your name,” Kat said as the woman seemed well on her way to falling completely apart.
She took in a long breath. “I’m Deb, Debra Donovan, and my husband is Jeremy. We own the feed store, you know, the Seed and Feed, just outside of town.” She went on to tell Kat that her daughter, Addison, had gone riding alone last evening, but before sunset. She didn’t show up, but her horse did. One of Addie’s boots was there, caught in a stirrup. The family, thinking an accident had befallen Addie, had searched the property, to no avail. They’d talked to the closest neighbors, then checked with Addie’s friends and boyfriend, Dean Croft, none of whom had spoken to her.
“You’re sure about her boyfriend?” In Kat’s experience, teenage boyfriends and girlfriends tended to protect each other and always tried to sneak away from their parents’ prying eyes.
“Dean’s a good kid. The Crofts, a fine family.” She licked her dry lips and tried to dispel the doubt in her eyes. She seemed to be trying to convince herself. “He’s out of town. I checked with his parents and talked to him. I thought . . . well, maybe she staged the whole horse returning and had actually taken off with him, but he’d left too early, and now he’s so upset that he’s coming back. I really don’t think Dean’s involved . . . oh dear, I said ‘involved’ as if something nefarious and horrible has happened.” She appeared about to collapse and struggled to find some kind of inner strength. “I know there can’t be any connection. I mean, it’s been so long, but I just can’t keep thinking about those families who lost their daughters years ago. I mean, Addie was only three at the time, and Gil wasn’t even born yet.” She swallowed hard. “The Byrds, Ann and Paul? They’re members of our church. Ann was Addie’s Sunday school teacher, and even though they have the other girls, Rinda and Ramona, who are grown with children of their own now, and the younger one, Rhianna, it’s not like Rachel can ever be replaced, y’know? You never stop loving a child.” Deb was worrying her hands now. “Even with the grandchildren, there’s the void, the not knowing.”
Paul Byrd again. The man’s stinging words were still in her ears. If he’d only known how much Patrick had worried about those missing girls, how much he still did.
“. . . what happened all those years ago can’t have anything to do with Addie, but I keep thinking about it,” Deb was finishing.
“What about Addie’s cell phone?” Kat asked.
“She left it in a charger at the house. I brought it with me. Along with her iPad. Other than that she uses our desktop. But there’s nothing there, and the fact that she didn’t take her phone with her . . . it makes me think she thought she would be coming right back. She’s never without it.” She dug through her bag and dropped the phone and tablet onto Kat’s desk. Sighing, Deb added, “The code’s 4567. She just plugged it in and never changed it. She trusts us.” Deb’s eyes filled with tears, and she brushed them away, almost angrily. “She didn’t plan to be gone long or she would have taken the phone with her. Though reception is spotty out there near the mountains. You know how that is. But Addy’s never far from her phone; it’s almost attached to her. But last night . . . last night . . .” Her voice cracked, and she took a moment to gather herself. “We . . . Jeremy and I, we even went to the hospital in town. We . . . we’ve called everywhere, searched high and low.” She bit her lip and brought her gaze up to meet Kat’s squarely. “We need the police to help us find our daughter.”
Chapter 11