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“There may be a reason he can’t.”

“That isn’t better.”

“No, it isn’t.” I keep my eyes on the road because false comfort would insult her. “But someone made a purchase using his card number this morning. That gives us a place and a time, and the cameras may give us a vehicle. We know more than we knew an hour ago.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “I’ll take more. I’m tired of having nothing.”

The gas station appears beyond a stand of fir trees, a low brick building beneath a faded green canopy. Four pumps sit between the store and the highway, and a service road runs behind the property toward the woods. A police cruiser sits beside the entrance. Drew follows me around the building before we park so he can inspect the service road and rear exit.

Inside, a young officer with broad shoulders speaks to the station manager near the drink coolers. The manager appears to be around sixty and wears a green vest with a name badge that says DALE. He twists a cleaning cloth between his hands while an investigator in a navy coat waits behind the checkout counter with an open laptop.

Drew joins us at the door with Benitez close behind. “My investigator preserved the video before the system could overwrite it,” he says. “The officer has the transaction record.”

Cassie approaches the counter. “Did anyone see my brother?”

The officer turns toward her. “Ms. Brewster?” When she nods, he offers his name and explains that the local department received the request from Seattle. His voice is courteous, but his eyes dart to me, then to the three men surrounding her. “We’ve confirmed the card number belongs to Connor Brewster. The first attempt occurred at pump three, but the terminal declined it and instructed the customer to prepay inside.”

“Why did it decline?” Cassie asks.

“The pump couldn’t complete the verification and instructed him to see the cashier.” He gestures toward the investigator. “The customer came through that door and handed the clerk the card. We have him on video.”

Cassie’s lips part, but no words come out. Connor’s banking information wasn’t copied and entered online. Whoever came here had his wallet or had removed the card from it.

“Show us,” I say.

The investigator turns the laptop so we can see. The video begins at seven forty in the morning. A dark sedan stops beside pump three, angled away from the camera. A man steps out wearing jeans, a black jacket, and a cap pulled low. He tries the card, reads the message on the screen, then walks toward the store.

Cassie leans closer. “Pause it when he reaches the door.”

The investigator stops the image as the man looks down to avoid a customer leaving with coffee. Part of his face disappears beneath the bill of the cap, but the camera captures his body clearly enough. He is a few inches shorter than Connor, heavier through the shoulders, and his right foot turns outward when he walks.

“That isn’t Connor,” Cassie says. Her voice holds none of the hope it carried at the vineyard. “Connor is taller, and he doesn’t walk like that.”

The officer looks at her. “You’re certain?”

“He’s my twin. I’d know him from the back in a crowd.” She points toward the frozen image. “That man’s neck is thicker, and Connor’s left shoulder sits a little lower because he broke his collarbone in college. That isn’t my brother.”

I rest my hand between her shoulder blades. Her muscles are tight beneath my palm, but she doesn’t pull away.

The investigator starts the recording again. The man approaches the checkout counter, removes Connor’s card from a brown leather wallet, and prepays for fuel. He never lifts his face toward the camera. When the view changes to the exterior feed, he pumps less than twenty dollars into the sedan and leaves through the rear drive.

“Can you enlarge the car?” Drew asks.

The investigator opens another angle. The sedan is charcoal or black, with no license plate on the rear bracket. A paper is taped inside the back window, but rain and glare make it unreadable.

“The front plate?” I ask.

“Covered by a black sleeve,” the investigator replies. “He knew where every camera was before he parked.”

Cassie studies the sedan. “Could that be the car Harris saw leave the street behind my store?”

Drew looks at the image before answering. “The size and color match what Harris reported, but that isn’t enough to confirm it.”

“It’s connected,” she says, turning to me. “The man tested my lock, then somebody used Connor’s card where they know cameras will see it. They want me to follow.”

“I agree.” I look through the front windows at the highway and the access road beyond the pumps. Whoever planned this expected Cassie to arrive with help. They also expected part of my security team to leave Ember Ridge. “They used Connor’s card to bring us here.”

Cassie’s mouth tightens as she takes out her phone. “Rick gave me the time and location before the police contacted me. I want to know how he found out so fast.”