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“That’s okay. I’m not asking you to tell me why. But to answer your question, yes, I’ll help you in any way I can.”

He swallows, looks down, and then back at me. Those eyes—like the sky and the sea—undo me. I’ll do anything and everything to help him. He saved my life once—even if he doesn’t know it was me. It’s my turn to rescue him. I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I know that somehow his life, his very existence, hangs on solving these cases. Perhaps a way to redeem himself because of what happened to his sister. But that’s not something I can bring up. He has no idea that I know. The truth in this thump in my chest with every beat of my heart.

He stands up, reaches for the wrappers from my lunch, and tosses them into the paper bag with his and then under the desk, where, I assume, is a garbage pail. “Thank you.”

It’s just two words. Words we say every day, but there’s so much more in those two words than the simple token of gratitude.

He stands there with hands on his waist and eyes fixed on me. An internal battle rages inside him, all too clear in the stiff way in which he holds himself and in how carefully his face rearranges into a detached expression.

I get that because I haven’t completely earned his trust yet. But I will. “Where shall we start?”

Chapter15

Jake

Personal?Damn right this is personal. I stand there, my back so tense that every muscle screams in pain. My biggest failure stares me in the face and taunts me every time another woman goes missing. Each passing day without answers is a constant reminder of my sister. For fourteen years, I’ve been searching for her. How could she disappear without a trace? I failed to keep Emily safe, and it eats at me every single day.

Ava has no idea how personal these cases are to me. Everyone moved on—I’m the only one still looking for Emily—I’ll never stop.

Ava watches me, and not for the first time I wonder if she can read every thought in my head. It’s disconcerting. But how do I keep her away when all I want is to be near her? This is insanity. I barely know her, and everything she is and does goes against my beliefs, my nature. And yet …

I force myself to breathe and relax, each muscle easing in turn. I step back and unlock one of the evidence drawers. Go back and clear my desk. Return to the drawer. Remove a plastic container. “This is from—”

“Don’t tell me anything else.” Her hand comes up to interrupt me. “I don’t want you to plant any seeds that might influence me.”

I set the clear box on my desk, remove the cover, and take out two sealed evidence bags. “Okay. How do you want to do this?”

She rolls her shoulders and shakes her hands. Takes a deep breath. Her chest expands and snags my gaze. She catches me looking at the swell of her breasts. There’s amusement in her eyes. I blink and look away, fixing my eyes on the items in my hands.

“I’m ready. Just give me one object at a time. I assume I can’t remove them from the sealed bags?”

“You—” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “You assume correctly. Will you be able to work this way?”

The corners of her eyes crinkle with her smile. “Yes. It just takes a bit more concentration. I’m used to wearing cotton gloves to handle artifacts.”

I place the first bag on the desk in front of her. Ava examines the watch through the clear bag for several seconds before touching it.

“Sometimes I pick up a vibe before I touch something.” She reaches for it, and her hands cocoon the small evidence bag. Her gaze drifts and becomes unfocused. “This was a gift from her . . . mother.”

I’m so distracted I nearly forget to hit the record button on my digital device. “A gift from her mother, you say?”

“Yes. She was a lovely girl. I see her face. She’s opening the gift box. She has olive skin, big brown eyes, crazy curly hair. She loved her hair.” Ava smiles, as if the missing woman is standing in front of her.

The description matches the photos given to me by her family.

She closes her eyes now, no longer smiling. “There’s a man. She meets him at a bowling alley. She doesn’t seem to know him—this is not a date. He’s bowling, and he makes her uncomfortable. She keeps looking at the watch. She wants to leave but can’t, not yet. She’s not there for fun. She’s working. She’s nervous, but not really scared.” Ava opens her eyes. “Was she a waitress?”

I open and close my mouth. How can Ava possibly know these things? It shouldn’t be possible. I could watch her do this a thousand times, and it would never seem feasible. “Yes, she was a waitress, and your description matches her.”

She gives me back the watch. “What else do you have?”

I reach into the tote and retrieve the only other object we found. A blue stainless steel water bottle.

Ava frowns. “I’ve never read a water bottle before.” She shrugs and reaches for it. “Oof.” Her face immediately changes. One of her hands goes to her middle, she doubles over, and grunts like someone punched her in the stomach.

I rush to her side, but she puts her free hand up, and I stop.

“I’m okay.” Her voice is strained. “I wasn’t expecting that. Jesus. This bottle literally packs a punch.”