Page 129 of Paranoid

“Possibly.” But Cade wasn’t buying it. Something was off about the idea of Nate Moretti killing both women. “Let’s call him.” Cade already had his phone out of his pocket. He’d already put Moretti’s number into his contacts, but when he punched out the number and was connected, he was immediately sent to voice mail. He left a message, asking Moretti to call him back.

“So back to square one,” Voss observed as she let go of the sill and stood flat-footed again. “Unless you want to break in.”

“Not yet.” They made their way back to the SUV, parked in front of the house. “Let’s put a BOLO out for his vehicle. It’s a Toyota, right? SUV?”

“RAV4, 2019, hybrid.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“Always.”

“Then let’s see if his father knows where he is.” He tossed Voss the keys. “I’ll run him down.” Then he was on the phone again and slid into the passenger seat as Voss climbed behind the wheel.

The day was slowly beginning to clear, clouds and fog lifting, visibility improving as she turned on the SUV, then drove back down the lane. They turned onto the county road and wound through the wooded hillsides before eventually connecting to Highway 30 and heading west to Astoria.

Cade didn’t get far with his call to reach Nate Moretti’s father. A receptionist who answered the phone at Moretti’s clinic told Cade that “Doctor” wouldn’t be in until four. Frustrated, he gave Voss the word, and at the next crossroad, she turned the vehicle around to head back to the station.

All the way back to Edgewater with Voss driving so painstakingly near the speed limit that he wanted to scream, he thought about Nate Moretti’s disappearance on the heels of his lover’s bizarre murder.

Had he met her at St. Augustine’s and, as Voss had surmised, their tryst went horribly bad?

Had someone else been waiting for them?

Was he alive, hiding out somewhere? Or on the run?

Or could he be already dead?

Cade didn’t like any of the options.

CHAPTER 29

Panicked, thinking she might have missed the kids calling her, Rachel checked her phone again for messages, texts, or missed calls. Nope. The living room was empty. Her heart began to race as she saw her bedroom and office were empty, so she hurried down to the first floor and then to the basement, hitting the switch on the wall to illuminate the darkened area.

No voices. No hum of the old treadmill. No sounds of anyone. But a scent that was unfamiliar. The hint of musk. She froze and realized that some of the boxes she’d piled down here for recycling had been moved—shuffled around.

Or at least she thought so.

But why?

And where the hell were Harper and Dylan?

The musky odor had disappeared, if it had existed at all, but Rachel felt edgy. She stood stock still and listened, but other than the sound of Reno whining at the basement door she heard no one.

Crap.

Once more she looked around. Searching past shelves of boxes of stuff she hadn’t thrown out, old lamps, paint cans, and boxes of tile left over from the bathroom remodel, she told herself she was overreacting. She swept her gaze through the three rooms, where, as she’d known the second she’d started down the rickety old steps, she would find no one.

A dark fear drizzled through her blood. As she started up the stairs, she began to text Harper, only to hear the back door squeak open and then the sound of footsteps hurrying inside. Along with the footfalls, she heard voices. Harper and Dylan and someone else, a male voice. Xander Vale, no doubt. He just didn’t get the message.

“Mom?” Harper called as Rachel stepped onto the main floor. The back door was hanging open, the security alarm beginning to bleat when Rachel’s phone rang. She checked the tiny screen and saw her mother’s number.

Melinda was returning her call.

Rachel didn’t answer. Not right now, as she spied Lucas, rather than Xander Vale, walking into her kitchen. He was pocketing his phone and keys while Harper carried in a couple of take-out sacks and Dylan in full camo bustled into the pantry to disengage the alarm.

They were safe.

Thank God!