Page 2 of The Hanging Dolls (Zoe Storm #1)

ONE

NOW

Detective Scott Cohen hadn’t slept a wink in the last four days, and his pulsing headache was only amplified by the seagulls circling overhead, taunting him with their screeching, grating cries.

“Terri?” he said to his sturdy deputy in uniform. “Do you think I could shoot these little devils and get away with it?”

She pulled a face at the gulls as they swooped down to tussle over a piece of seaweed. “I wouldn’t, boss. But aren’t you vegetarian and against hunting?”

“Shush. I have a reputation to maintain.” He fixed his tie. “Spread out the search pattern.”

Terri instructed the rest of the officers as they continued to comb the sandy beach dotted with pebbles.

The shoreline was jagged, with rocky outcrops jutting into the restless waves of the Pacific Ocean.

Driftwood, bleached and weathered, scattered along the long, uneven expanse in artistic shapes.

Scott sat on driftwood, watching five of his officers disperse in all directions.

Hope was a fickle thing. It could shrink to the size of an atom but it would never entirely desert you.

As the likelihood of anyone finding anything began to dwindle, so too did Scott’s optimism.

He looked up at the heavy blanket of steel- gray clouds, mirroring the gloom blossoming behind his ribs.

It wasn’t the best day for a beach day, which was why there was only a small group of high schoolers watching them from a distance, instead of being in school.

Terri returned, shaking her head. “Sorry, boss. There’s nothing here.”

He stood up. “Another anonymous tip leads to nothing. Shocking.”

“We’ll find her.” She swallowed. “How are the parents doing?”

“What do you think?” He sighed. “They were at the station early this morning.”

“I heard the mother was hospitalized.”

He nodded, his shoulders sagging. “She had an anxiety attack and had to be sedated. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare.”

Seven-year-old Lily Baker had been missing for four days. Scott knew the statistics. The chances of her being alive were whittling down to zero every passing hour. That dreaded thought had been chewing at his sanity for the last few days.

“Let’s pack up,” he announced, inhaling the briny air. “I have to head to the station and talk to Travis.”

The seagrass along the dunes swayed as he waded his way through to his car. In the distance, he spotted a woman with curly, red hair in a blue dress watching the scene at the beach unfold. When she noticed him watching her, she waved at him. He locked his jaw tight, got in the car and drove away.

Harborwood Police Station was situated at the edge of a dense forest, surrounded by towering evergreens and thick underbrush.

The one-story building was clad in weathered, cedar shingles that had taken on a silvery-gray hue over the years, dark green trim around the windows and a rustic wooden sign above the door.

When Scott was a little kid, his father would bring him here late at night.

While his father swept the floors, Scott would sit watching the police officers on night shift.

He was so fascinated by their uniform and the power they emanated.

It was a child’s dream to be this close to real-life police officers.

He’d only ever seen them on TV chasing the bad guys, and he loved the unexpected rush of adrenaline he experienced as he watched them hunt down murderers and get involved in high-speed car chases.

Upon entering the station, Scott ignored the few people sitting in the waiting area.

He avoided everyone. There were too many eyes on him, being the lead investigator on the Lily Baker case.

The prodding, piercing gazes had burned enough holes through him.

They were loaded with accusing questions— Why hasn’t he found her yet? Isn’t he looking hard enough?

He was heading to the chief’s office past the cubicles when he stopped at the bulletin board next to the television.

Flyers were stapled all over it—the usual missing pets and the unusual case of a missing child.

Lily Baker had long brown hair, parted in the middle, almond-shaped hazel eyes, and slightly crooked tiny teeth.

In the photo, she smiled like she was up to no good.

“Cohen!” Travis appeared at the doorway to his office and beckoned him over with two fingers—like he always did.

Scott braced himself to give another disappointing update.

Travis’s office was the largest, with a window offering a view of the forest. Shafts of light filtered through the blinds.

The desk was cluttered with paperwork, a couple of potted plants and a collection of maritime memorabilia.

There was also a picture hanging on the wall of Travis graduating from the academy.

The last thirty years had added several pounds to his waistline and snagged at the skin on his face.

But the chief was proud that the hair on his head was thick like a “lion’s mane” in his own words.

“We were following up on an anonymous tip—” Scott waltzed into the office and froze when he saw a slim man with a long neck, reddish orange hair in a blue suit that matched his eyes sitting across from Travis. “Mayor Hicks!”

“Detective Cohen.” He offered his hand but did not stand up.

Scott shot Travis a questioning look. The chief subtly shook his head; the visit must have been a surprise to him too.

“You arrived just in time,” Travis said by way of explanation. “The mayor wanted to discuss the case with you.”

“Yes. Is there any progress?”

“There have been no ransom demands. We have rounded up everyone on the sex offender registry in town but there were no leads. We have entered her information on the NCIC and are getting assistance from the Washington State Police who are patrolling borders.” Scott folded his arms, referring to the National Crime Information Center.

“Wasn’t an Amber Alert issued?” Hicks asked in his deep voice.

“Not enough information on the abduction to meet the criteria.”

Hicks released a sharp breath. “So now we are at the mercy of anonymous tips. We all know how those go. Why aren’t the rangers helping?”

“She was taken nowhere near the woods,” Travis pitched in, interlacing his fingers in front of him. “This is the first time we are dealing with a missing kid.”

“I know.” Hicks flattened his mouth. “Regina Warner is going to use this against me. Mayoral elections are in two months.”

Scott stifled a scoff.

Travis gave him a side-eye. “We are pooling all our resources into this?—”

“Make the call, Travis.”

Travis stiffened. Scott’s gaze bounced between them. “Call whom?”

“Mayor Hicks wants to involve the FBI.” Travis twirled a pen between his fingers, clearly unhappy with the idea.

“Oh.” Scott’s eyebrows shot up. “Mayor, we have it?—”

Hicks raised his hand. “Don’t say you have it under control, Scott. Four days and absolutely no leads?”

Irritation crawled on Scott’s skin like a serpent. His tongue sat heavy in his mouth like a chunk of iron. Hicks had a point. His words had twisted deep inside Scott, reminding him of his inadequacy. As if the entire thing was his fault.

“I’ll call the Special Agent in Charge at the Seattle office,” Travis conceded, still reluctant. Scott knew his chief. They were buddies more than anything. He could tell the chief’s mood from the way his mustache wiggled when he spoke.

“Today.” Hicks raised his eyebrows.

Travis sucked air through his teeth. “Today.”

Hicks slapped the armrests of his chair and got to his feet. “Now that’s a plan!” He shook hands with Travis and Scott. “Think of this as training. I’m sure you guys will learn a thing or two from the best in the field.” With a swing in his step, he went out the flapping doors.

“Condescending bastard.” Travis grunted and fell back on his squeaky chair once they were alone. “Someone that short shouldn’t have this much attitude.”

Scott smirked, used to Travis’s controversial sense of humor. “He’s more worried about the elections. He should be. He lost my vote.”

“Regina is gaining momentum.” Travis unlocked the bottom drawer on his desk and pulled out a bottle of bourbon and a glass.

“Have you met her?” Scott asked, shaking his head when Travis offered him a drink.

“Just in passing. I expect her campaign manager is going to want to set up a meeting soon.” He inspected the color of his drink with thinned eyes. “She needs the cop vote. Will make big promises.” He took a large swig. “Don’t beat yourself up over this.”

Scott recoiled. “Everyone should be beating themselves up over this.”

“The biggest case this town has seen in recent years was that guy killed in a bar fight. Open and shut. The FBI can be helpful.”

“I know.” He nodded. He wasn’t opposed to the help.

His ego wasn’t nearly as big as people perceived it to be, especially with a missing little girl whose life was hanging in the balance.

But still he couldn’t help feeling defeated that they had been searching for four days and not found a single clue.

“I just hope it doesn’t become a pissing contest.”