Chapter Two

Colorado, Tuesday, November 2008

A veil of heavy, damp evening air draped the tangled trees surrounding the nearly deserted campground. Vicky Robeson relaxed in her camp chair, feet propped on an ice chest, tea at hand, enjoying autumn in Eastern Colorado and the very fine view of Pete Harris as he stoked the fire. As always, the pungent smell of burning wood sharpened her senses, pleasantly this time.

Her brand-new smartphone buzzed. A news alert: missing girl, possible kidnapping, Walkers Corner, Missouri. A harsh wave of memory surged through her body as it did whenever she learned of a lost child. She shivered and zipped up her hoodie, barely breathing as she waited for the story to load. The alert was one of dozens she’d signed up for over the years, one of her many newsgathering habits.

Walkers Corner. She’d never expected, or wanted to, hear the name of that tiny town in Missouri again.

Her eyes burned. The campfire smoke now smelled dangerous. She lifted her camp chair away from the fire, away from the heat and light, closer to the RV so she’d have something solid behind her. She read and reread the short article about the missing girl. Ten years old, disappeared from in front of her house while playing with a friend. No witnesses.

Fear and terrible images of a child taken, tortured, possibly killed—especially in Walkers Corner—swept away all thoughts, except for what she needed to do next. She might not be able to undo the past, but this time she would do everything she could to help save the child.

It would definitely blow a hole in the camping trip, though, her first with the delectable Pete Harris in his eight-year-old RV. Damn. She liked the way he traveled, the way his mind worked, the way she felt with him. His jeans and plaid shirt hugged him nicely. He moved smoothly while making sure everything was just so.

When he came over and kissed her, the fire reflected in his smiling eyes, color melting somewhere between chocolate and caramel.

Her return kiss was quick. “Sorry, something urgent’s come up. Would you mind driving me back to town?” Even to her own ears her voice sounded tight and strained. “I need to go to Missouri for a few days.”

“What? Now?” He stepped back, appearing concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, fine. I hate to disrupt our trip, but I need to check into something. A girl’s gone missing there, outside St. Louis.”

Pete tilted his head. A lock of light brown hair threaded with gray fell onto his forehead.

A bit more explanation might be called for. “There’s an Amber Alert. Her name’s Rose Willwood. I want to help find her. I might write about it. And follow up on another story I covered there back in the day.”

Pete’s brow cleared. “Want me to go with you? I have free time. We can take the RV. If we start early and both drive, we can make St. Louis by late tomorrow.”

Just like that, no more questions? What an amazing guy. They’d been together for about six months, and he just kept getting better and better. Would he be like that if they lived together? She was still absorbing his suggestion last week that they do just that.

“Really? That’d be great. The place is an hour or two this side of St. Louis.”

“No problem.” Pete started folding the tarp he used as a tablecloth. “I’d like to see more of Missouri.” He put the tarp and a lantern in one of his crates, already packing for an early departure. “How long do you think we’ll be there?”

****

They left before dawn, with an hour-long detour to Vicky’s house outside Denver to grab a few things and hitch up her car, which was just back from the body shop. One good thing about being unemployed—she could get up and go. Almost three months ago, the new owners of the TV station dumped her, then installed their own news director. Understandable and expected after a top-level change. Besides, the severance package gave her time to decide her next move. And now she had an opportunity to find out whether her travel writing hobby might one day turn into a paying gig. Some day.

“Make a left there, where that red car is.” Vicky glanced around at what would likely soon be her former neighborhood. She didn’t have much longer to decide whether to accept the out-of-state job offer. “You know you don’t have to do this.”

“I know. I want to.” Pete made the turn. He’d bought the RV about a month before they met. He’d told Vicky his life plan had been to teach history, but his father got sick, and his mother needed help with the family furniture business. Now just turned forty, with both parents gone and the store sold, he had a spreadsheet of places he wanted to see. He wanted to stand in the actual locations where history was made, to absorb whatever was left of what had been.

“I appreciate this. There aren’t any hotels near Walkers Corner, so it’ll be great to have somewhere to stay.”

“Like I said, this is good.” Pete gave her his charming half-grin. “You okay?”

“Perfect.” She blew a tiny air-kiss and straightened her jean-clad legs. She flipped down the visor, slid open the mirror, and applied tinted lip balm. She ran her fingers through her unruly brown hair. She needed a haircut. That could wait. “A bit stiff, though.”

“From your accident? But you insisted on lifting things last night.”

“It was just a fender bender, really." Nothing broken, just bruised. Good thing the car that T-boned her two weeks ago was a small one. “I just slept wrong.”

The truth was she’d barely slept at all. Too much on her mind, starting with Pete’s unexpected invitation to live together. Did she want that big a commitment? What she faced in Missouri reminded her of how badly she’d screwed up there. Could she make up for it now? Should she take the job in Dallas? Plus, the RV bed was uncomfortable. It’d be worth fixing that before they went camping again. If they did.

“I hope I can find a yoga class tomorrow. I need to work out the kinks or I’ll barely be able to walk. I swear, I hit thirty-six and everything started aching. I hate to think what forty’s going to feel like.”

“Forty’s not bad. I feel pretty good.”

“Oh, my yes, you certainly do.” Vicky mock-leered and squeezed his thigh. It was nice and taut. This might be a good time to mention the Dallas job offer, but he was now giving her the full version of the grin that tickled something in her. She didn’t want to change the mood. There was already enough to think about.

He passed a small sedan. Even towing her car, they were making good time. “So other than yoga, what’s the plan when we get there?”

“Depends. First, get the lay of the land. I’ll sign up to help search, connect with whoever’s in charge. Get a feel for the town in case I do write about it.”

She took a deep breath. “When I worked in St. Louis, I covered a strange story in Walkers Corner, about a little mystery girl. A farmer found her walking alone on a levee, covered with blood, right near where Rose went missing. Middle of nowhere.”

She hadn’t spoken of that story, even obliquely, in nine years. What if the two cases were connected? Maybe this new little girl wouldn’t be missing if Vicky had done her job right all those years ago.

“Which kid are you going to write about?”

“Depends. Maybe both. I’ll focus on the places where the crimes happened and how they changed after. A true crime travel article.”

The hallmark of Vicky’s travel stories was a darker take on places people might like to visit. Well, it wasn’t a hallmark yet, since she’d only sold one article, but it would be, once she had something to hang it on. It was still more idea than brand, but she had time, a general plan, and now, a potentially intriguing topic.

Vicky wasn’t entirely proud she’d find opportunity in a kidnapping, but this was also the perfect time to follow up on the levee girl mystery and find out, once and for all, whether her actions affected whatever became of little Lisa Dee.

Pete passed an old station wagon. “I checked out Google Earth. It’s mostly swamp and wild land outside town. Maybe she just got lost.”

“Don’t think so. She disappeared from in front of her house.”

“Do you think the cops will talk to you?”

“Hope so. It’ll be different not working for a news station.” Vicky’s voice was light, though her lips tightened, and her gut clenched. “It’s been a few years, but I still know people.”

“Sounds good.” Pete didn’t seem to notice her disquiet. He was usually attuned to her moods, one of the many things she enjoyed about him. She had never liked so many things in one man before.

Now, however, he apparently had something else on his mind. “There’s not a lot to see right around Walkers Corner. I might take a couple of side trips to Civil War sites.”

“Good. You should. I’ll be busy.” Besides, she’d rather not have anyone, not even Pete—or especially not Pete—looking over her shoulder as she poked around in the past.

Her past.