Page 85 of Last Seen

“Yup.”

“Do you know a woman who lives in Brockville named Donnata Kade?”

His hands tighten on the wheel.

“Yes.”

“Where does she live? I’d like to talk to her.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.”

“Why?”

He shoots her a glance. “Kade is ... Well, she moved here after an emotional breakdown following a pretty intense caseload, and she wasn’t totally right in the head. I assume you saw the article on her?”

“No, I haven’t. What is it about?”

“Then how do you know that name?” he asks sharply. Halley debates for a minute. Early will certainly tell Brockton what he’s found out if they talk. She might as well share.

“I spoke with Chief Early as I was leaving this morning. He was able to identify her from a video feed in Marchburg the night my friend was killed.”

“Kade was in Marchburg?”

“Yes. So that’s why I’d like to talk to her. To find out why. What’s the article about?”

He fights back a little groan. “She was dismissed from the FBI for falsifying information to get an arrest. Had a breakdown when she was let go. She moved here to get away from the fallout. Rented a place over in Avalon from the Esworthys. They own a few homes here, investment properties. Bruce and my dad go way back. They travel a lot, though. Brockville is a second home for them.”

“The Esworthys? Why do I know that name?”

“Bruce owns a number of car dealerships around the South. Porsches. Why, are you in the market for something new?”

“My God, you do have a sense of humor. Noah said you did. I didn’t believe him.”

“Noah talks too much,” he says gruffly.

“Noah doesn’t talk nearly enough. No Porsches. I’d just like to speak with Donnata Kade.”

“She’s not around.”

Of course she isn’t. Because she’s in Marchburg. Or other environs.

“She has a phone, I assume?”

“It’s a waste of time, Halley. She ... doesn’t live here anymore.”

“Would the Esworthys know where she’s gone?”

“Doubt it, but their number will be in the book.”

“All right. I will look them up in the book. I assume it will be with my golf cart?”

“Don’t sass me, girl.”

She fights back the retort—“girl?”—because he’s right; now she’s just needling him because she’s still pissed off about the handcuffs.Keep him on your side.She sips the latte. It is divine. She’s starting to wonder if everything Noah Brockton touches turns to gold.

Could Noah have slashed the tires? No. No way. He didn’t have that kind of darkness in him.

You never know . . .