Manhunt

“What was that about?”

Braydon didn’t know what answer to expect but it sure wasn’t what came next.

“Cal Green, you know him?”

Braydon nodded. “The mechanic?”

“Yeah, well he left a message a few minutes ago. He says his secretary, Trixie Martin, hasn’t shown up to work for two days. He got worried because she wasn’t answering her phone and headed to her place. All the lights were on, the TV, too, and the front door was unlocked. He talked to the nearest neighbor but they didn’t see or hear anything. Her car was even in the driveway.” He didn’t wait for Braydon to respond. “If that woman in your office is telling the truth, then that means—”

Braydon felt like he was waking up—all of his senses stood alert.

“That means that we have three missing women.”

* * *

SOPHIA WAS FED UP with all of the interruptions Culpepper had to offer. From the moment she had stepped foot inside the police station it had been a stream of one after the other—keeping her from asking whole questions, let alone getting full answers.

She had been bounced from officer to officer only to be told to keep quiet and wait for the lead detective to come in from a call. So, there she had stayed, sans the quiet. The four-hour trip had strung out her already thin patience as she left voice mail after voice mail on Lisa’s phone. It wasn’t her fault that the Culpepper PD wasn’t prepared for her volley of loud complaints.

Sophia smoothed out the invisible wrinkles in her slacks and tried to keep her temper in check as the minutes ticked by and the detective hadn’t returned. On a normal day she would have been more understanding, perhaps more patient. She knew that if she were back home in the city, the chances of her still waiting in the department’s lobby would be great. At least here she had been ushered into an office. Small blessings and silver linings.

Being alone was something Sophia had grown accustomed to throughout the past few years, but she found the lack of communication now was grinding into her anxiety. Lisa might fly by the seat of her pants 80 percent of the time, but she had never been so irresponsible as to leave without saying a word. Their relationship may have become strained lately, but it wasn’t that strained.

“Sorry to step out like that.” Detective Thatcher walked back into the office with a notebook under his arm. Instead of sitting behind the desk, he leaned on its corner and tilted his head down to meet her gaze. His eyes were the color of the sea—swirls of aquamarine. They were the kind of eyes that captured a person, making them want nothing more than to get lost within the bright pools. Sophia hadn’t noticed their allure until he was so close.

He had a swimmer’s build—tall, lean, but with muscles that peeked through his clothes. His shirt was pulled taut over broad shoulders, while his sun-kissed skin was a rich bronze—a shade she hadn’t been able to achieve in the muck of Atlanta. In contrast to his partner’s thinning blond hair, Thatcher had a mass of dark brown locks that were mussed to mimic what she thought would be his bed hair.

Sophia realized she had been staring. She needed to pull it together for Lisa. She cleared her throat and pushed her back straight.

“Now, if you would start from the beginning,” he prompted. His long, and ringless, fingers wrapped around the pen. He wrote with controlled precision as she spoke.

“My birthday was four days ago, on Sunday,” Sophia started.

“Happy belated birthday, then.”

She waved her hand dismissively but said thanks. Turning twenty-six hadn’t felt any different than turning twenty-five. “Lisa was supposed to come celebrate and she didn’t. And before you come up with a bunch of excuses as to why she didn’t show, let me stop you. My sister is an intelligent woman who, despite her occasional bout of forgetfulness, is one of the most responsible women I know. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her since yesterday. I called her cell phone, her house and even her work.”

“Have you been to her residence?” Thatcher asked, his eyes piercing. Sophia shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Yes, she obviously wasn’t there.”

“Was there any kind of disturbance? Did it look like someone had been there recently?”

“No, but that doesn’t really surprise me. From what I’ve heard she practically lives with her boyfriend.” Thatcher raised an eyebrow, this quiet gesture asking more than any verbal question would. “She isn’t at his place, either. He’s the one who called me yesterday asking where she was.”

“Wait, didn’t you say she missed your birthday was four days ago? Why did you wait until yesterday to try to contact her?”

“We haven’t really been on the best of terms this past year.” Sophia’s face heated. “I assumed she didn’t come because she didn’t want to. It wasn’t until Richard called that we realized she had been missing for two full days already.”

“And Richard is the boyfriend?”

She nodded. “Richard Vega, I think he owns a company in town.”

Thatcher’s expression sharpened, his brow furrowing together as he paused writing.

“Your sister is dating Richard Vega? As in Richard Vega of Vega Consulting?”

Sophia nodded, more hair fell away from the bun atop her head. Whatever Thatcher was thinking, it wasn’t showing in his expression. His calm demeanor had turned utterly blank.

“And why didn’t he file a missing persons?”

Sophia felt her eyes widen. “You mean he didn’t?”

Thatcher stood and beckoned his partner from the other room.

“Did Richard Vega file a missing report a few days ago?” The blond man didn’t leave to go check. He instantly said no.

“We would have heard if Vega came here.”

Thatcher scratched his chin. It was smooth—void of facial hair that would hide the perfection that outlined his face. How kissable it looked, Sophia would have thought, had anger, fear and suspicion not been vying for the top emotional spot. Richard had called her with a voice drenched in worry. When she admitted she had no idea where Lisa was, he had assured her he would have it taken care of—that he would take all of the necessary steps to find her sister. Sophia had assumed that meant talking to the police.

“Why wouldn’t he have talked to you?” she asked.

“That’s a good question,” Thatcher said before leveling his gaze. There was a look she couldn’t decipher behind the eyes of the detective. All she knew was that it comforted and scared her at the same time. “That’s a very good question.”

Chapter Two (#ulink_e4a9fd2f-57a1-584e-a769-3007f0b7d70e)

Detective Thatcher’s cool expression returned as he ordered Sophia to stay in his office. He sent in one of the beat cops, Officer Whitfield, to take down an official statement with all of the contact information between her sister and her. Whether he sent in a woman thinking it would make her more cooperative, she didn’t know.

Cara, as she was told to call the woman, was curt but kind and even though her gender didn’t affect Sophia’s mood, she managed to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s.

“Don’t worry too much,” Cara said with a smile that contrasted her darker skin. “Detective Thatcher is one dedicated man. He’ll locate your sister and bring her back, no problem.” She went as far as to pat Sophia’s knee. “I’m sure she’s just lost track of time or is staying with a friend.”

Sophia resisted the urge to disagree and instead pasted on a smile. Maybe the woman had softened her attitude a bit, but that was only patching one spot in a dam that was ready to burst. If she didn’t get some answers soon, there would be no man or woman in the whole town who could keep her from exploding.

“Thank you for waiting,” Detective Thatcher greeted when he came back in. He nodded to Officer Whitfield as she collected her things and exited.

“Well, I seem to be doing that a lot here.”

Thatcher ignored the pointed response and leveled his gaze at her.

“Miss Hardwick, do you know any women by the names of Trixie Martin or Amanda Alcaster?”

Sophia didn’t have to think about that long. She shook her head. “No.”

“Those names don’t ring a bell at all? Maybe your sister, Lisa, has mentioned them?”

She crossed her arms across her chest. “No, I don’t recall her talking about them. As I stated before, Lisa and I haven’t been on the best of terms recently. There’s a chance she may know them, but I couldn’t help you with that,” she answered honestly. “What does that have to do with Lisa being missing? Do you think they took her?” She compiled a quick list of why someone would kidnap Lisa. For one, she was beautiful—long legs, big bust, thick black, tangle-free hair and a pair of lips that drew men’s attentions from a mile away. Lisa was also annoyingly perfect when it came to socializing. She knew how to command a room and entertain an audience. She also seemed to be dating a man who carried a lot of weight in town. Surely any or all of those reasons could make a few women jealous.