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“Did the harassment stop?” Roy asked.

“Yes. I tried to go on with my life. It took a long time for me to feel safe again. I felt so stupid. Like it was my fault somehow. Did I send mixed signals?”

“It’s okay,” Roy said.

Corrine stopped. She started to hyperventilate. I felt bile rise in my throat. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I feel so stupid. But when I saw that video with the Crime Stopper number. About how you wanted people to come forward if they felt victimized on that app. Did someone get hurt? Did Matt hurt someone? I would feel awful. But I tried. I told the police. What else could I do?”

Roy said, “You’ve done all the right things. I appreciate you coming in, Corrine. It gives us a place to start.”

She excused herself and left the room. Roy waited until he heard the outer door close, which meant Corrine was safely out of earshot.

“It’s not much,” Roy said. “I can see why Kalamazoo County didn’t do much for her. This guy sounds like a real creep, but I don’t know if anything she says he did rises to the level of a crime.”

“That app is a menace,” Agent Heller added. “If we do nothing else from this, I hope we can finally get it taken down for good. The thing started out as a way for people to solicit dates but keep their activity safe from prying eyes. If the messages disappear after thirty seconds, you don’t have to worry about your wife searching through your phone. Your mess cleans itself up.”

“It’s disgusting,” Vega said. “It took about a week before online predators figured out how to use it.”

Roy said. “That’s the commonality among three missing women who vanished from the region over the last two years. That and this ribbon she’s talking about. One like it was found in the abandoned vehicle of one of the women who went missing. That’s why Corrine’s story seemed worth hearing.”

“That seems like a pretty thin thread,” I said, still feeling nauseous. “You said the app is tailor-made for online predators. You’ll need a lot more of a connection than being an app user. Plus, Corrine Egan didn’t go missing. She said this incident happened over five years ago. How old is your first missing victim case?”

“Just over two years,” Roy said. “I’m getting files sent over. We should have them by tomorrow or the day after. I’m asking for Corrine’s original report too. I know it’s a long shot. But she can provide a description. From what I understand, one of the other cases has a witness who can offer a description. It’s old school. But let’s see if we’ve got a match. She said dark hair. Looks like Don Draper. That’s not nothing. And it’s at least loosely similar to the description another witness gave.”

“First thing I wanna check is whether any of these victims were known to wear a red ribbon on their wrist,” Heller said.

“Excuse me,” I said.

I got up and walked as fast as I could to the nearest bathroom. Pushing through the door to the first stall, I went to my knees and retched into the bowl. I hadn’t eaten breakfast. Nothing came out but a little coffee. I broke out into a cold sweat.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. “Mina,” Belinda, our clerk, called out. “Are you okay? Detective Dennison asked me to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” I answered. “I don’t need anything.”

Mercifully, Belinda took my word for it and didn’t come in. I hauled myself to my feet and over to the sink. I splashed cold water on my face, and it helped. The nausea subsided. Just a little.

When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. My face had gone gray. My eyes were red. I felt like I wanted to rip off my skin. Instead, I clawed at my smartwatch, pulling apart the magnetic clasp. Fingers shaking worse than Corrine’s had, I threw my watch on the counter.

I put my hand over the thin red silk ribbon encircling my left wrist. The one I kept hidden under my watch. The one that Lock tied there the night we first made love.

TWO

Nestled along the southeast coast of Lake Michigan, in what’s known as the Michigan Riviera, Lasalle Harbor claimed some of the state’s wealthiest residents as its own. The town had a population of just under 8,000 private citizens. More than a century ago, Lock’s great-something-grandfather was credited with putting a zoning ordinance in place that has kept us from becoming touristy like neighboring South Haven or Saugatuck. For his efforts, I passed by a small bronze statue of him every time I walked to my office inside the Benton County Building. Now, I lived in the massive house he built. The oldest, grandest home on a bluff overlooking the water. Lock and I had our own private beach along one thousand feet of pristine freshwater shoreline. The vast expanse of Lake Michigan stretched all the way to the horizon.

I pulled into the garage and then stared at my dashboard for a moment, Corrine’s words seared through me. Her stalker gave her a red ribbon. He said it meant a promise. My own ribbon seemed to burn my flesh. It was just a ribbon. To anyone else it would mean nothing. To me, it meant everything. In some ways I cherished it more than my wedding ring. I’d only taken it off a few times since Lock gave it to me two years ago. Every time, I asked him to be the one to put it back on.

I took off my watch and stared at it. It was a coincidence. That’s all. Nothing about the man Corrine described sounded like Lock. He wasn’t cruel. He’d never even raised his voice to me. I knew about abusive men. I’d built a career on holding them accountable. In every case, there was a pattern. In every case, every time, their true colors would eventually bleed through.

But the NDA. I had my own in the safe upstairs. I had signed it with no hesitation. Lock was a public figure, at least in Lasalle Harbor. His family wealth was well known. If he’d been my client, I probably would have advised him to use them. There was nothing wrong with the things we did when we were intimate. We were married consenting adults. But he told me he’d been burned before by someone in his life. I never questioned it. I never even asked him who it was. To me the NDA was a reasonable request along with the prenup we signed. I was never after Lock for his money. But I could understand there would be people who were.

I agreed with the others on the team. Nothing Corrine said rose to the level of a crime. Her case went nowhere for a reason. If it came to it, I wasn’t sure how she would do on the witness stand. The right defense attorney could make her seem unlikeable. Eventually, my pulse beat more steadily. The panic I’d held since Corrine started talking subsided. My thoughts were much clearer.

It was well past seven when I walked through the side door. Lock and I lived only in the south wing of the grand house. Even that took up almost two thousand square feet. Far too big for the two of us. But the day we got married, Lock felt it was his duty to go back to his family’s residence. Today, it felt empty. Crying out to be filled by children I hoped we would have.

The kitchen was dark.

“Lock?” I called out. It wasn’t like him not to wait for me for dinner. Even if he knew I’d be late. But he hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. That was strange too.

The French doors leading out to the west garden stood wide open, letting a cool breeze come through. As it lifted my hair off my shoulders, I shuddered. Lock wasn’t in the house. There was only one other place he could be.