Parker was going to see Avery for the first time in months. Well, technically, he’d seen her at Griffin and Finley’s summer cookout, but she had avoided him all night—or at least it had seemed that way. But from the details Avery had just shared over the phone, they were going to be partnered up like old times, if only for the night, and he’d gladly take whatever he could get. He hadn’t realized how strongly, how deeply, he cared for her until she was no longer at his side daily—working together in close quarters, in adrenaline-fueled situations, into the long, late hours of the night.
He loved Avery, but he still loved Jenna. Jenna was his first and, until now, only love. He’d been planning to propose at an appropriate time, like when he’d graduated from college and could have provided a solid future for them. He’d never shared that with anyone, given the circumstances—she was his best friend Griffin’s little sister, and only Jenna’s mom and Declan had known about the relationship. He’d wanted to tell Griffin from the start, but Jenna begged him not to. She’d insisted he’d interfere, that he wouldn’t approve of the four-year age difference. But everything imploded, including his ability to love fully, with Jenna’s brutal murder just days shy of her eighteenth birthday.
Then, after years of his suffering a torturous abyss, Avery Tate walked through his door and something sparked back to life. He hadn’t thought it possible, but little by little he’d come alive again—or as close to it as he ever believed he could. But it wasn’t fair to promise anything to Avery while he still loved Jenna. While her memory still danced through his mind and she still held a piece of his heart.
He pulled into the trailer park Avery had grown up in. She’d never told him about living here, but due to the sensitive nature of their work, he’d run a full background check when hiring her. She knew about the check but never commented on it or asked about what he’d uncovered.
He spotted Avery’s car parked in front of the trailer on the left, wondering which trailer had been hers, wondering what had occurred during her formative years to make her so formidable in the kickboxing ring. It was the only time he’d glimpsed the emotional turmoil beneath her strong veneer—when she laid it all on the table and fought the demons that clearly haunted her past. Her strength ran deep, but so did raw wounds—he just didn’t fully know from what.
Stepping from his Land Rover, he grabbed his equipment out of the rear. How would he act once he was in the same room with her? His hand was ridiculously clammy on his kit handle—though that he could blame on the hot, humid Maryland summer. He dropped his kit, swiped his hand across his pants, picked up his kit again, and headed for the door.
Avery opened it, and the air choked from his lungs at the sight of her in that dress. She gave him a half smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he managed to squeak out before she turned to lead him inside—the back of her dress consisting of a single satin ribbon running up the center of her graceful back to meet with two ribbons at her neckline, the three tying into some intricate knot to secure the satin sheath gown.
A delicate tattoo marked the hollow of her left shoulder blade. He couldn’t believe he’d never seen it before—a black feather that morphed partway up into colorful birds soaring free. It was delicate yet conveyed a powerful message. He longed to trail his finger along the curve of the feather.
“Thanks for coming, especially on such short notice.” Her sandy-blond hair was pulled up into a twisty knot, a loose strand grazing her bare shoulder. She slipped it behind her ear. “I hope I didn’t pull you from anything.”
Was she fishing for details about how he’d been spending his evening? Nah. He was being foolish—reading more into it than there was. Hoping for more. Hope. He hadn’t experienced any in a long time until Avery entered his life. “No problem at all,” he said, “especially if you suspect your friend is missing. You know the sooner the search starts, the higher the chances of locating her.”
She dipped her head. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “I haven’t done anything yet.”
She looked him in the eye, and his heart momentarily stopped. “You believed me,” she said, her green eyes mesmerizing.
His brow furrowed. “The police didn’t?”
She shook her head. “No. It didn’t help that the officer in charge knows Skylar.”
“Oh?”
“It was Kim Fuller. I didn’t mention it the times we worked with her, but the three of us hung out as teens. She knows Skylar hasn’t changed. I’d hoped . . .” She shook her head again. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, Skylar is flakey and takes off from time to time. Kim believes that’s the situation here.”
It was good Avery wasn’t trying to sugarcoat the situation or deny who Skylar was. But that wasn’t Avery’s style, and he adored her for it.
“Why do you believe differently?” he asked.
“Because she was so excited about tonight. This was a big opportunity, to have worked with a significant photographer.”
Maybe he was off base, but it seemed like Avery might have been excited about tonight too—like there was more involved than the show itself.
“And yet she posed for someone else?” No reason to dance around that fact. Skylar had to know that would stir an enormous commotion. Perhaps that’s what she wanted—how she thought she’d make a name for herself, but if so, she’d only shot herself in the foot.
“True,” Avery conceded, “but she’s not answering her cell, and when I came to check on her an intruder bowled me over.”
She cricked her neck to the side again; it was obviously still bothering her. “As you can see the place is a mess,” she continued. “But this”—she pointed to the clothes flung willy-nilly over furniture and in a mound on the eighties-style pile carpet—“is sadly Skylar’s norm. The cops said the place hasn’t been tossed, and after looking around, I agree.”
He tried to rein in his thoughts and gain some composure. “You also mentioned they found no sign of a break-in?” He set his kit down on the only open space on the otherwise magazine-and-mail-filled table. An empty pizza box sat discarded on the floor beside it, a handful of empty beer and soda cans on the shelf beneath the coffee table.
“No.”
“Okay. Did they file a missing persons report?”
“No, but they said if her boyfriend—who occasionally lives with her for all intents and purposes when they are ‘on’—reports her missing as well, then Kim said she’d file the report.”
“Did the police track Skylar’s cell?”
“Yes. Kim tracked it as a favor to me.”
“And?”
“It’s not showing up. Not tracking.”
“Did she have an iPhone or Android?”
“It’s an iPhone. She just messaged me a couple days ago all excited about the showing, which is why this makes no sense.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why does it make a difference which type of phone Skylar has?”
“Because an iPhone will still emit a signal even if it’s turned off, and since you can’t pull the battery out . . . if it’s not tracking, then it means it has been destroyed.”
She swallowed.
“Third,” he said, this question being most important to him, “did the police file a report about the assault on you?”
“Yes, on the assault report. No, on the break-in since . . .”
“There were no signs of a break-in, despite someone being inside. Any chance Skylar knew the intruder? Perhaps he had a key?”
“Then why the flashlight?”
Parker glanced at the tiki lamp beside them. The lights were clearly working.
“Don’t worry. I wore my gloves when I turned them on,” she said.
“You still carry them with you?” She now worked photographing vitamins and supplements for a major pharmaceutical company out of Baltimore. Gloves not required.
She shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Old habits . . .”
He smiled, glad to hear that, because the habit of working with her at his side wasn’t dying for him at all. The loss of her in his daily life still stung deep. He’d wondered if she felt the same, and the gloves were the first sign that might be the case. He glanced around before his hopes got too high. It could just be habit, like she said. “Any idea what the intruder was after?”
“Not a clue, but that’s why I called you. I thought we could run the place as if she’s a missing person. Find some clue to the circumstances under which she left, when she did so, and I pray some clarity as to where she was headed. Not to mention what the intruder was after. Also, I have the secondary photograph I told you about in my car. Wrapped as securely as I could manage with what I had on hand.”
“You removed evidence from the crime scene?”
“You sound just like Declan.”
“Declan?” He frowned.
“Crazy enough. Turns out he is the federal officer who responded to Gerard’s call about the art theft.”
“Art theft is not Declan’s area.”
“He’s doing a favor for a friend.”
“I see, but why did you remove evidence? I can only imagine how Declan flipped out.”
“I had a call waiting from Tanner when I came to. When I called her back, I got Declan. That was fun. But as I explained to him, Gerard was going to throw the portrait in the trash. I did what I had to do to keep it protected. It’s in my car. Declan wants you to process it when we get to your lab.”
“Okay. We’ll finish here and then head for the lab, but one thing first.”
“Of course.”
“You didn’t allow the paramedics to check you out, did you?”
“I’m—”
“Fine.” He cocked his head. “You said he knocked you down and out.”
“Yes.”
“So you hit your head?”
She bit her bottom lip.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He wiggled two fingers in her direction. “Come here, lass. Let me check you out.”