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“Too many people means too many mouths that might talk, too much potential for screwups,” he finished. “Could be three, but more likely two, right? Have to have two.”
“One to drive, one to deal with the victim.”
He’d picked up one of the kitchen chairs, squeezed it into the room. He sat, foot tapping.
“They missed some weeks in there. Has to be a reason. No reports of attempted abductions?”
“No. It could be the target wasn’t available—broke pattern for some reason. Or the abductors ran into some issue. We had a bug going around, from up here, over into West Virginia, and down to Frederick County. A lot of people down with it through February.”
“Yeah, yeah, we had a couple out, caught it up this way. Hard to grab up people when you’ve got a head full of snot. Could be it.”
“Either way, they broke pattern. If they’re not finished, and why would they be, they’ll try again soon.”
“How about before Anderson?”
Yeah, she thought, she’d missed Joel.
“I haven’t found any that fit the exact pattern, but I have a couple I’m looking at. Listen, this is cutting into that babymoon. Why don’t I send you what I’ve got on potentials before Anderson? When you’ve got time—and not this weekend—you can see what you think.”
“You do that, and I’ll do that. I promised to take my lady shopping and for a nice lunch. I’m making us a romantic dinner tonight, then we’ll cuddle up with a romantic movie she can cry buckets over.”
“You’re a good man, Joel.”
“I love that woman,” he said as he rose. “And she’s making me a baby girl. What do you think about Josari?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, she doesn’t like it either. Plus, she said our girl should have a name of her own.”
“I think you married a wise woman.”
“Sis, I know how to pick ’em.”
Alone again, Sloan stripped the bed, gathered towels and other laundry, and made the trip to the basement. While that first Saturday chore began, she got in her delayed workout.
And wondered when she’d stop automatically assessing her system for problems.
Maybe never, she decided. And what did it matter? She had her strength and endurance back—or close to it. She felt like herself again.
As she showered off the workout, she admitted the scars bothered her. Part of that? Vanity. She accepted that. Beyond vanity lurked the memory. The moment. The shock, pain, blood, and all that followed.
If she dwelled on it, she went right back to the moment.
She’d pushed herself hip deep in cases that pulled her back into that moment. Or the moments, she thought as she dressed, where she floated above the operating table while the surgical team fought to bring her back from the dead.
Not only wouldn’t that stop her, it only made her more determined.
Someone used that victory as a reason or an excuse to turn it into a tragedy. She wanted to be a part of finding them, stopping them.
As she worked on her Saturday chores, her mind shifted back and forth between the case and home renovation. The fact she kept changing her mind on details—small and large—of her kitchen design cemented her decision to put that off.
Once she’d finished her chores, she settled back into her office to take another pass through missing persons prior to Janet Anderson.
She kept coming back to the woman with the dog.
“Doesn’t really fit,” she muttered. “Why does it keep pulling at me?”
All the others were white; Celia Russell was Black. No parking lot involved. Add the dog. Still, an abandoned car, vanished, no trace.