Page 42 of Making Home with You (The Rockport Beach #3)

Just before I leave work, I send Sarah a quick text to see how she’s doing and if she’s running on time today. She doesn’t respond, which isn’t entirely unusual, so after going home to get changed, I find myself back at the pub, sitting at the end of the bar.

I fill Beck in on the latest regarding the reflection of Carla in my living room window as she took the video of me and Sarah, the expedited search warrant given this new development, coupled with her accosting Sarah in front of my house and then the break-in.

While it’s not all nicely tied together just yet, it’s a start and I can only hope that it also means we’re getting closer to the end too.

Still, it all feels slightly surreal, the speed at which things are happening, the idea that this Greenwood guy might actually be starting to believe me, and that this might all be over soon.

“So what’s her excuse been in all of this?” Beck asks as he hands me another beer.

I shrug. “Dunno, apparently no one’s seen her for a few days,” I say.

“What?” he asks, surprised. “What do you mean they haven’t seen her?”

“Greenwood can’t get in touch with her,” I say, shrugging again. “Who the fuck knows.”

“Dude,” Beck says, hands on the bar as he stands in front of me. “What if she’s like hiding in your house or something? In the walls or the ceiling or whatever. I saw it on some TV show once, it was fucking crazy.”

I can’t stop the chuckle as I roll my eyes. “Jesus, Beck,” I say. “You’re as bad as Erin with all this OTT crime shit. You’ve clearly been out of the game for too long.”

Beck grins at me now, clapping a hand on my shoulder as he says, “Nah, just fucking with you.”

I shake my head. “Well, thanks for that,” I say. “And of course when I’m lying in bed tonight, all I’ll be thinking about is her in my ceiling, staring down at me through some fucking peephole or something.”

Beck laughs. “Now who’s been watching too much crime shit?”

I shake my head, pulling my phone from my pocket to check if Sarah has replied. She hasn’t, which is kinda weird, so I fire off another text asking if she’s okay. There’s no response and just as I’m about to call her, my phone starts ringing, Detective Greenwood’s name flashing on my screen.

“Hey.”

“Finn,” he says, his voice terse.

“What is it?” I ask as an uneasy feeling washes over me.

Detective Greenwood clears his throat. “So, it seems like there’s more to this than we first thought,” he says.

“What?”

He exhales and it’s hard to tell if it’s from frustration or exhaustion. “Yeah, so, I ah…I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but umm…”

“Just spit it out,” I say, my heart pounding.

“We’ve been to her house,” he says, almost sounding nervous now. “And ah, I think you might have been right about her.”

I stand quickly, my stool crashing to the floor. “What have you found?”

“It’s some sort of shrine or something,” he says. “It’s detailed to the point of obsession,” he continues. “Goes back to your high school days by the looks of it.”

“A shrine?” I ask, confused. Beck walks over, a questioning look on his face. “What do you mean?”

“There’s pictures of you,” he says. “Newspaper articles about you, tokens, mementoes, all sorts of stuff,” he continues. “I gotta say, Finn, it’s pretty crazy, seriously.”

I stop, unsure what to say. As unexpected as this has just become, it also feels like the most honest thing he’s said to me.

And the craziest.

“But that’s not all,” he continues. “There’s other stuff too, about Sarah. Dark things, Finn that quite frankly, have me worried.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I shout, glancing at my brother. He stares back at me, his face questioning but composed, as though he knows I don’t have time for anything other than what Detective Greenwood is telling me right now.

“Finn,” he says, his tone serious in a way that sends a slice of fear down my spine. “Do you know where Sarah is right now?”

“At work.” The words come out automatically, even though I have no idea if that’s where she is because she hasn’t responded to any of my texts and it’s past the time that she should have left by now.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

I swallow the bile that rises in my throat. “What are you saying?” I ask, the words catching.

“The stuff we found, Finn,” he says. “It’s not good, okay? I mean she really has it in for Sarah, it’s…”

“Fuck, I gotta go,” I say cutting him off. “Do not stop looking for Carla,” I shout, my words an order rather than a question. “And, Greenwood,” I add, not bothering with the formalities anymore. “Keep me in the loop.”

I hang up before he can say anything more, immediately scrolling through to the number I know I need to call.

“What the hell’s going on?” Beck asks.

Sarah’s number rings out and I don’t bother leaving a message, hanging up and scrolling to the next number in my contacts.

“Finn!”

I glance at my brother. “Carla,” is all I can say. “She’s…Ryan, fuck, I need your help,” I say as soon as he picks up.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Have you heard from Sarah?” I ask, my gaze never leaving Beck’s.

“No, why?”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “It’s fucking Carla,” I tell him. “They found some shit, it’s…it’s fucking bad, Ryan and I can’t get hold of her and…”

“Where are you?” he immediately asks.

“I’m at the pub, but I’ve…”

“Wait there, I’m on my way,” he says before hanging up.

The wait for Ryan feels like forever, but in reality, it takes no more than the amount of time it takes for Beck to pour me a shot and me to down it. I know drinking right now is the last thing I should be doing, but honestly, I really fucking need it.

My nerves feel shot to shit and no amount of Beck reassuring me or me trying to convince myself to stay calm is doing anything to change that.

I call Sarah repeatedly, but every time it goes to voicemail, the endlessly unanswered ringing mocks me like a smug laugh.

But the time Ryan runs in to the pub I’m on the verge of punching something and it must be obvious because he takes one look at me and says, “Let’s go,” before walking back outside.

I glance at Beck and see the nod he gives me, the quick, “Let me know,” that says so much more.

I swallow hard and walk out to Ryan’s car, my door not even closed before he’s swerving out of the parking lot.

“I’ve called Joe,” he says, fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles are white. “He’s heading over to her work, says he’ll meet us there.”

I nod, even though he’s not looking at me. “Ryan,” I start as I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m, I…”

“This is not your fault, Finn,” he says quickly, cutting me off. “You are the best thing that’s happened to her,” he says, eyes staring straight ahead as he navigates us toward the freeway. “And we are going to fucking find her, okay?”

I swallow hard, forcing the emotion I can’t even begin to describe as I hope to fuck that he’s right.