Page 76 of Tear Me Apart

“My God, Juliet. That is horrible.” She pauses, and the whole tenor of her voice changes. “And wonderful. This is wonderful! I don’t mean to be selfish, and I am very sorry about the situation, but if there’s a chance this man can help us save Mindy’s life? There’s no time to lose. He might have more children. He might be a match himself.”

The joy in her sister’s voice puts some of Juliet’s worries to rest. “I agree. I wanted to get your permission to contact him.”

“You have it.” Lauren goes quiet again. “That poor woman, murdered.”

“It’s tragic. I’ll be in touch. Hang in there, Lauren. We’ll get this sorted out. You guys have to be prepared, though. As soon as people know Mindy is the lost Armstrong baby, it’s going to be national news in an instant.”

Lauren sighs heavily. “Let’s cross that bridge when we get there, okay?”

39

NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE

The logistics are easy enough. There is a direct flight to Nashville leaving at 9:35 a.m. Juliet books the flight online, cringing at the last-minute full-fare price, then tosses a couple of things in a bag—toothbrush, change of clothes, brush, laptop—and opens her Uber app and orders a car. They make it to the airport in record time.

She doesn’t call Woody. Not yet.

She knows it’s dumb, and that she’ll probably get taken to task, but there is something inside her that says,Wait, talk to the man first, break the news gently. Get him to Colorado, and then you can tell Woody.

Her mind is racing, but she puts the thoughts aside and takes advantage of the flight to catch some shut-eye. She is exhausted and falls asleep quickly, her head pillowed on her jacket against the hull of the plane. She wakes as they land in Nashville, the wheels screeching onto the tarmac, jolting her upright.

She has all of Armstrong’s contact information, which has been easy to find with a quick database search. Climbing in another car, she tells the driver, a young woman this time, to head to Vanderbilt University.

“School’s on break, so traffic is light. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Wait, they’re on break?”

“That’s right.”

“Then take me to this address instead. I might need you to stick around for a few if my meeting is canceled.” She curses herself for not checking these things first. All she had thought about was getting to Armstrong immediately, assuming, because he is a professor, he could be found on campus.You’re a hell of an investigator, Juliet. This is why they keep you in the lab.

They chat a bit, driving through the city, which is covered in cranes; there seems to be construction on every corner. Before she knows it, the driver is winding up a leafy green hill and pulling up in front of a starkly modern house, a glass rectangle perched on the side of the hill. There is a black four-door Jeep Wrangler in the driveway.

Has she just gotten lucky?

“Hang tight for a minute?” she asks the driver.

“Sure thing.”

Juliet marches up the steep driveway, onto the covered porch, and rings the bell.

Nothing. Silence.

Damn.

She tries again, though she knows it’s futile. Despite the car in the drive, the house feels empty.

She shifts her bag to the other shoulder, pulls out her cell phone and notebook. She waves to the driver—one finger up in ahold ongesture—and dials the number she wrote down.

The phone starts to ring, but as it does, she sees a tall, dark-haired man jogging up the street. He has a fawn-colored dog with a black face on a lead by his side. He takes in the car, and the woman in his driveway, and pulls up short. The dog looks interested.

The resemblance in person is much stronger than in the photos. It takes Juliet’s breath away. She clicks off her phone just as Zack Armstrong reaches for the carry bag around his waist.

“Mr. Armstrong?” she calls.

He keeps his hand on his belt and mutters something to the dog, who goes from a happy trot to alert. Slowly, they move to the base of the drive.

“Can I help you?” he asks, planted there, not moving. She doesn’t move, either. She now knows this man’s background. He was a serious operator in his day, though the day is long past.