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More typing.

His forehead creases, and a cold sensation crawls through my stomach.

“I’m not seeing an active file under that name,” he says finally.

My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag until the leather creaks. “Pardon?”

The officer types again, more slowly this time, eyes on the screen. Shakes his head. “Can’t find any misper report filed in Redwood Run jurisdiction.”

“Try Everwood,” Ashby says evenly beside me.

The officer searches again.

Me, Briggs and Ashby exchange glances in the interim.

The officer surfaces again. “Nope. Nothing there either.”

I actually laugh, one short disbelieving sound. Because the alternative is screaming.

“That’s impossible,” I say, the chill enveloping me sinking into my bones. “Her partner, boyfriend, Tom White, says he filed a report when she went missing. Can you check again, please?”

“No need. If there was a report it would show up on the screen. Maybe Tom spoke with somebody informally,” the officer suggests, not unkindly. “But I can confirm there’s no official missing persons case open currently. Sorry, ma’am.”

Beside me, Briggs goes frighteningly still. Torin mutters something under his breath that definitely isn’t spiritual. Ashby’s expression changes in a much subtler way.

“But he’s told everyone he filed,” I blurt out, my voice thin around the edges.

The officer studies me more carefully. “How long has your sister been missing?”

“Over two weeks.”

That gets a reaction immediately. His posture changes. More alert now.

“Okay,” he says, picking up a pen. “Let’s start from the beginning.”

Forty minutes later, Maggie officially exists inside the Redwood Run police computer system as a missing person, and I walk out of the building clutching a card with the case number written on it.

Rage doesn't hit until we're back outside in the parking lot. By then it's been quietly bubbling away inside of me, but now I erupt like a volcano.’

“That bastard! He’s lied to me, to everyone,” I snap. “He just… what? Pretended? Let everyone think there’s an investigation happening?”

Briggs swears viciously.

Torin drags both hands through his hair. “It’s bad.”

“Yes,” Ashby says beside me, seemingly unruffled. “It is.”

“You’re suspiciously calm,” I say accusingly. “Like you already knew something was wrong.”

“Not exactly wrong. I merely thought certain details I observed were inconsistent with Tom’s behavior.”

“That’s a very polite way of saying he’s a manipulative asshole who has everyone fooled, including me,” I shoot back, shaking with anger. Most of all me. God what an idiot I’ve been.

One corner of Briggs’s mouth twitches upward. “You catch on quick.”

I start pacing by the truck, needing motion to work off the adrenaline pumping through my veins before I drive to the White’s house and attack Tom with a sharp implement from his own kitchen.

My mind is whirring, busily rearranging every conversation I’ve had with Tom. Every excuse. Every delay. Tom standing in that kitchen lying his head off about police meetings and follow-ups that never existed.