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“And made him afraid?” Quinn hadn’t thought about that. Her sister was good at conning people. She knew how to work a mark and how to get what she wanted. She’d have recognized underhanded dealings, and she’d have known Jarrod was a fake.

Knowing her, she wouldn’t have cared.

Money was everything.

Until Jubilee became part of her life? Had nurturing the little girl made her want to clean up her act, get things right?

That’s what Quinn wanted to think.

Only Tabitha knew for sure.

Tabitha...

Was she okay? Hurt? Alive?

She shuddered, the thought of her sister lying somewhere injured—or worse—filling her with dread.

“If she knows something that he doesn’t want anyone else to find out, then yes,” Malone said quietly, his hand sweeping up her arm and settling on her shoulder. “We’ll find her, and we’ll figure it all out.”

“The best way to do that,” Stella remarked, her short hair springing in a hundred different directions, “is to find that husband of hers. Every word anyone says seems to lead us in that direction. Anyone have his phone number? I might be able to get a handle on where he is. Or, at least, how soon he can be in the New England area.”

“How—?” Quinn started to say, but Chance was already rattling off a number that he said he’d gotten from a friend who worked for Las Vegas police, and Stella was punching it into her phone. She waited while it rang, a satisfied smile on her face.

Jarrod’s voice mail must have picked up, because Stella left a short message about being a real estate developer in Boston and wanting to break into the Las Vegas market. She said she’d been following Jarrod’s career and was intrigued. She’d put up three-quarters of the capital for a fifty-fifty partnership. All he had to do was find the right project. She left a name—not hers. A couple of numbers. Ended the call, the satisfied smile still on her face.

“That should do it. If he’s as keen on money and prestige as everyone seems to think, it won’t take long for him to call me back.”

“Don’t you think he’ll check out your story first?” August frowned. “The guy knows the police and FBI are investigating. He’s got to know that they’re checking out his story.”

“I gave him the name of a friend who is a real estate developer in Boston. She’s a navy buddy.” She typed a text message as she spoke, sent it, her smile broadening. “And, now she’s been informed. She’ll play along. If he calls her office, she’s going to claim to be my assistant and direct him to my cell phone number. I do love when things work out.” She sighed happily. “Now, how about we find the police and get cleared to leave? I’ve got a hot date next weekend, and I want to be well rested for it.”

She strode off, her hair gleaming in the sunlight, her jeans black from smoke.

“Wow,” Quinn murmured.

“Yeah,” Malone responded, his breath ruffling her hair, his hand still warm on her shoulder. “She’s something.”

“She’s what I want to be when I grow up,” Quinn responded. The confidence. The assertiveness. The ability to solve problems. Those were things she was constantly striving for and wasn’t sure she’d ever achieve.

“No,” Malone said. Just that one word, and she met his eyes, looked long enough to see hints of gold in the deep brown irises. He had stunning eyes, thick lashes, and that scar that seemed to only add to his tough good looks.

“No what?” she asked.

“No, you don’t want to grow up to be Stella, because that would mean not growing up to be you, and I kind of like the you I’ve gotten to know. Looks like the police cleared us.” His hand slipped away from her shoulder, and he gestured to Stella who was running toward them, a pink backpack dangling over her arm, her free hand waving wildly.

“They’ve cleared us to go,” she called. “Let’s get out of here while the getting is good! This yours or the kid’s?” She shoved the backpack into Quinn’s arms.

“Jubilee’s. I should have given it to CPS. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Did you look in it?” Malone asked, taking the pack from her hands.

“Yes. My sister’s priorities are different than mine. Either that or she let Jubilee pack. There are a couple of stuffed animals, a few books and a change of clothes.” There’d been a small photo album, too. Pictures of Jubilee and a man who must have been Jarrod. Photos of Christmas gifts and birthday parties. One page had a Post-it note with Quinn’s name scribbled across the front of it. She’d only had time to glance at the picture of a man who’d looked a few decades older than Jarrod and Tabitha. A friend of theirs? One of Jarrod’s parents? She’d had no idea, and she’d been in too much of a rush to take it out of the album and look more closely.

“Not much seeing as how the kid was leaving home for good.”

“I know.”

“Get in!” Stella demanded, gunning the engine for emphasis.

In seconds, they were on the road, speeding north toward Maine. Hopefully, they could follow Tabitha’s trail from there.

“I wonder if Agent Spellings is done with my phone, and if there were any more phone calls while she had it?” she said aloud. “If Tabitha is in danger—”

“I got a call about that, sis,” August interrupted. “Sorry. So much happened I forgot to tell you. They’ve determined that the scream was dubbed. They also found the phone.”

“Where?”

“Dropped in a trash can just outside of Echo Lake. They dusted for prints. Found Tabitha’s and an unknown set. Probably the guy who made the call.”

“No sign of Tabitha, though? Did they see any of her clothes? Her purse?” Quinn could imagine her sister, tied up and gagged, lying somewhere alone.

Please, God, let her be okay.

The silent prayer filled her mind, and she wondered if she’d get the answer she wanted. Something more than the no she’d received when she’d begged for Cory to be healed.

God’s ways are best.
That’s what all her friends had said, but it didn’t feel best when someone you loved was sick and hurting and God didn’t provide the healing they so desperately needed.

“Quinn,” August said. “You need to stop worrying about Tabitha. She’s fine. She staged this whole thing so that the police would point fingers at her husband and forget that she stole hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of cash and jewelry.”

“Seems pretty far-fetched to me.” Malone shifted, his thigh brushing against Quinn’s leg. Somehow she’d ended up between him and Chance again.

“What?” August asked. “That my lying con woman of a sister would lie and con the most naive and easily tricked—”

“How about you stop?” Malone said. “Before you say something you are going to regret.”

“What I’m saying is the truth. Quinn has always been—”

“Smart,” Malone interjected. “She believes Tabitha is in danger. Until we have evidence to support that, we’ll act on her assumption.”

“You don’t have to stand up for me, Malone. I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

“Just because you
can
do something alone, doesn’t mean you have to,” he responded.

“If Tabitha’s phone has been found,” Stella said, “are the police taking the threat against her any more seriously?”

The question was directed toward August, and Quinn was interested in the answer.

“Agent Spellings is great at saying that she’s looking into things when she doesn’t want to directly answer a question,” he responded, shifting in his seat and meeting Quinn’s eyes. “I’m sorry, kid. There’s bad blood between me and Tabitha, but it has nothing to do with you. I shouldn’t let it influence the way I act. If you think that she’s in danger, I’m willing to go along with it.”

“It’s—”

Before she could finish, Chance’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. Frowned. “My sister Charity has been watching local Echo Lake news. She works for HEART, and helps us keep track of events in the locations where we’re working. There’s been a body found in the water. Local PD is on the scene.”

“Male or female?” Quinn said, her body icy with fear, her throat tight with it.

“No news on that, yet. She called but local PD won’t answer questions.”

“So, it could be Tabitha.” The words echoed through the silent car.

No one responded.

Quinn guessed that they had no idea what to say.

* * *

Seven hours, one stop for gas and a few terse conversations, and they were riding through what looked to Malone like a Norman Rockwell painting—well-lit houses on quiet streets, old Victorian homes standing on distant hills, water gleaming in the moonlight.

Stella pulled up in front of a row of brownstones—the pretty brick buildings nestled one right next to the other, their pitched roofs and dormered attics quaint and charming. Five shops were housed in the buildings, their door signs turned to Closed probably hours ago. It was a nice street in the business district of a small town. Malone imagined it got very quiet at night, and very lonely for anyone who might be renting space above one of the shops.

Anyone like Quinn.

Sure, the crime rate was probably nil, but being alone made a person an easy target. Especially if that person was young, female and attractive.

Stella parked, and he got out of the SUV. Here, the air held more than a hint of fall, the coolness of it bathing his face as he offered Quinn a hand.

“Finally home,” he said, and she nodded, climbing out of the vehicle.

She seemed steady enough, okay enough, but she’d been quiet during the trip, all her usual questions and speculations kept to herself.

She was worried about her sister.

He couldn’t blame her. They still hadn’t been given information about the body. Agent Spellings hadn’t returned calls, and Charity hadn’t been able to dig up any further information. The police were keeping quiet, the medical examiner was mum, all they knew for certain was that a body had been pulled from the lake.

“I’ll let you guys in, and then I’m going to the sheriff’s office. I know him from church. He’ll tell me what I want to know.” She jogged past him, racing up metal stairs that stretched up the side of the last building in the row.

He followed, grabbing her hand before she could unlock the door. “Careful,” he cautioned.

“Of what?”

“You’re deep into this now, Quinn. Anything could happen.” He took the keys, the metal staircase clanging as the rest of the group ascended. “Let me check things out before you go in.”

The door creaked open before he inserted the key, and he gestured for Chance and Stella to move in. August followed behind them.

“What’s going on?” Quinn whispered as if talking loudly would bring danger down on their heads.

He ignored the question, easing the door farther open as Stella hit the landing and positioned herself behind him.

“Door was unlocked,” he said quietly and felt her nod as he cleared the threshold and walked into a dark living room.

He knew something was wrong before he turned on the light. A table had been upended, pillows lay on the floor. He ran his hand along the wall, flicked on the light.

Trashed.

That was the best way to describe it.

Cushions slashed, books torn off shelves. Damp splotches on the carpet. A porcelain lamp lay shattered next to the fireplace.

He pulled his gun, heard Quinn gasp. Stella would keep her out. Chance would call the police. Malone was going to search the place, make sure it was as empty as it seemed, see if there was any sign that Tabitha had been there.

What better place for her to hide out?

From August’s description, she was street-smart and savvy. She knew how to work a situation to her advantage. She’d have known that Quinn’s apartment would be empty for a night or two. Why not break in? Sleep? Maybe take a few things she needed for whatever trip she planned to take?

He moved through the living room, eased into a narrow hall. The place felt empty but he wasn’t taking any chances.

There were three doors there. All opened. A bathroom. Empty. Office with futon and desk covered with knickknacks that had probably come from students. Also empty. None of the areas had been touched. No drawers pulled out. No cabinets emptied.

Whoever had trashed the living room hadn’t bothered there.

He walked to the final room, peering into a large space.

Like the living room, it had been wrecked. Sheets and blankets on the floor. Books thrown. A Bible lay spine up a few feet from the door, the pages fanned out and crinkled.

The floor creaked as Malone moved to a closet door. He opened it, found nothing but gauzy dresses and a few pairs of shoes. He turned, scanning the room, his gaze settling on the floor on the far side of the bed, the purse that lay beside it—contents dumped, money spilling out. Lots of money. More than he thought Quinn would ever carry around.

A splotch of red stained the wood floor a few feet away from it, and Malone crouched near it, studying what looked like blood. There was another splotch a few inches away. One on the white sheet that lay at the foot of the bed.

The mirror on the dresser had a crack in it, a bronze globe lying dented beside it.

The place hadn’t just been trashed. There’d been a fight there. A violent one. Based on the spots of blood on the floor and the bedding, someone had been hurt.

Tabitha and someone else?

He moved to the window. It looked out over an empty lot dotted with dry grass and spare plants. A few trees marked the edge of the property, and beyond those, several trees towered up toward the night sky. He could see the lake through them, the water gleaming with reflected moonlight.

A pretty view, but the lake and the empty lot made undetected access to the brownstones easy. All a person had to do was walk along the shoreline, cross the empty lot, pick a lock and enter the building.

“Malone?” Quinn called, her voice shaky.

Stella should have held her back, but she was there, in the doorway, her eyes wide. “What happened in here?”

“To me, it looks like a fight.” He tried to position himself so she couldn’t see the purse, but she moved into the room, Stella right behind her, her face red with anger or embarrassment.

“I tried to stop her,” she sputtered. “But she slipped right past me. I must be getting old. I’ve never had someone so puny get the better of me.”