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NATE WANTED TO HOLD Marisa close, to shield her from whatever bad news might come through that ringing telephone. But Marisa pulled away and stood.
Brady handed Johnny to Rae and snatched the phone. "Brady Thomas." A pause. "Okay."
Marisa scooted past Nate and paced in front of the breakfast bar while Brady listened. Her gaze kept darting to his face.
Brady gave no thumbs up. No smile. No reaction at all.
Aside from Brady's occasional cryptic words, the room was silent. Even Johnny seemed to be holding his breath.
Nate stood and leaned against the arm of the sofa so he'd be close if Marisa needed him. Not that he could do much if the news was bad.
He couldn't do anything to help her. A few weeks ago, all he'd wanted was security. Now he'd give everything, even his own life, to see Marisa reunited with her daughter. To see them both happy and healthy and protected. To heck with his own security. To heck with his own future. To heck with everything, as long as Marisa and Ana were safe.
Marisa paused in front of him, arms crossed, staring at Brady.
Nate pushed himself up and opened his arms. If nothing else, at least he could offer comfort. It seemed like such a little thing. Such an insignificant thing. But Marisa stepped into his arms and allowed him to hold her while Brady spoke.
Finally, Brady said, "Thanks. Let me know," and hung up the phone.
Marisa pulled out of Nate's arms and turned to Brady. "Well?"
"Why don't you sit?"
"Just tell me."
"They weren't there."
Marisa's hope seemed to crumble.
Nate guided her to the sofa.
Brady continued. "But it was definitely where he'd been holding her. Thing is, the place has been emptied out. Either the guy never had any personal stuff there, or he cleaned it all out. No clothes. No food except some yogurt in the fridge. No shaving cream or soap or any of the stuff a man would need if he were living there."
Marisa nodded. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she made no move to wipe them away.
Nate snatched a tissue from the box on the coffee table and held it out to Marisa.
She looked at it like she had no idea what to do with it. "Did he know they were coming?"
"Doubtful," Brady said. "The cops only had the information for forty-five minutes before they acted on it. I think he just moved on."
"We're never going to find her."
"We know who he is," Brady said. "We know what he wants, and we can get in touch with him. Through the mistress, Jessica. Through his mother. Don't lose hope."
She stood and hovered in the space between the coffee table and the sofa.
"Where you going?" Nate said.
"I feel..." She wrapped her arms around her stomach, and her face paled. She bolted into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.
Nate stood, stepped toward the door.
"Wait."
He turned to see Rae lift Johnny and stand. "I'll check on her." She laid the baby on a blanket on the floor, where he fussed in the silence. Rae snatched a rattle out of her giant bag and handed it to him. "Here you go."
Johnny grabbed the rattle and shook it and smiled.
Rae faced Nate. "Okay?"
Nate stared after Marisa. "Yeah. Okay."
Rae disappeared into the bedroom, and Nate sat back down.
He knew how Marisa felt. They'd been close. But they were too late.
Brady cleared his throat. "I didn't want to say this in front of Marisa, but there was blood all over the living room. That's the murder scene. And maybe that's why he left. He hadn't made any effort to clean it up. Maybe he couldn't."
"What do you mean?"
"The murder was gruesome. Not the work of a cold-blooded killer. He lost his temper and stabbed her. And then he had to live with it. Maybe he just couldn't stand to be around the reminders."
Nate looked at the closed door before turning back to Brady. "Do they think...?" He could hardly say the word. "Is there any evidence that he hurt Ana?"
"They're analyzing the blood now. Garrison's partner's there, and he says that, at first glance, based on the spatter, he thinks all the blood came from a single victim in the living room. There's no reason to believe Ana was involved."
"But they don't know for sure."
Brady's lips thinned. "It's not an exact science, and they haven't had enough time."
"Poor Ana." Nate tried to imagine what it had been like for the little girl. Had she witnessed her aunt's death? Had she heard the screams, the violence?
Brady continued. "Thing is, it was a two-bedroom place, and the smaller of the two bedrooms had fresh urine stains on the mattress. Could be Ana's."
The girl was potty trained, of course, but under those circumstances... What child wouldn't regress?
"Fresh urine means she's alive," Brady said, "or at least she was when they left. That's good news."
"You need to tell Marisa that," Nate said. "But not the rest." He glanced at Sam, who'd been oddly quiet throughout the exchange. Her elbows were on her knees, her head in her hands. Her eyes were closed, and tears dripped off her cheeks. He slid to the far end of the couch and touched her knee. "Hey, you okay?"
She looked up and swiped a tissue. "My heart just breaks for them."
He couldn't speak for the emotion. He nodded and dropped his head.
Sam lowered her head and resumed praying. If there were a God—and Nate had never wanted more to believe—then if anybody could reach him, it was Sam.
They needed all the help they could get.