Across the Vanishing Sky (Starlight Grove, #1)(17)

“I’m not wrong. And even if I don’t have your help, that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop. Ever.”

Snatching my bag off the chair, I stalked out of the building and onto the sunbaked sidewalk. My breaths came in ragged pants until I got my temper under control.

“Brae.”

I stiffened at the sound of Roger’s voice but forced myself to turn around. The pity I saw written across his face was a sucker punch to the gut. “You think she’s gone, too.”

His blue eyes shifted to the side. “What I think doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me,” I said quietly.

Roger studied me for a long moment. “I think she likely fell into the river and it took her under. I don’t want to think she was kidnapped. Because if she was, she’s gone, and it’s not a pleasant way to go.”

My stomach twisted at the thought. Delving into the world of missing persons after Nova disappeared, I’d heard all the horror stories. Human trafficking. Serial killers. Rapists. I didn’t want any of that for my friend and sister.

“But,” Roger went on, “sometimes, we have to look for us. We need to go down every possible road so we can let go. So tell me, what do you need?”

He might not believe, but he’d still help. I’d take that. “I need resources. I have maps of movements and possible sightings. I have similar cases of missing persons. But I need…I need access to camera feeds from that time period and the reports of possible sightings.”

Roger winced and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Miller won’t let you,” I surmised.

Roger shook his head. “Said he’ll can my ass if I use company time or resources.” He let out a long breath, glancing over his shoulder as if checking to make sure we had a modicum of privacy. “I’m not sure why Miller’s taking such a hard line on this but he’s heaping more work on anyone’s plate who says they have time to look into Nova’s case.”

Anger stirred, a hot flush rising to my cheeks. I understood that they were a small department with limited to resources, but this was flat out cruel. “Then how am I supposed to get my hands on that footage?”

Roger studied me for a long moment. “It could’ve been erased by now. But…”

“But what?” I pressed, hope flaring.

“I’ve got a friend. He’s damn good with computers. Might be able to find some workarounds. Let me see.”

I stretched up, laying a smacking kiss on Roger’s bristled cheek. “Thank you.”

“Careful,” Roger warned. “You keep kissin’ me like that, I’m gonna keep askin’ you to dinner.”

“Sorry, pal. That particular shop is closed.” And it would stay that way. Sometimes, trust had been broken in too many ways to let yourself go down that road. It wouldn’t be fair to you or whoever you attempted it with.

Roger let his gaze sweep over me for a moment. “Damn shame.”

I laughed, starting down the sidewalk. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“It is one,” he called back.

I gave him a wave and turned to head down the block. I took my time, looking in windows to see if there were any Help Wanted signs. The one in the window of Barrel & Branch was a bust. They were looking for someone who could work nights. I dropped off a résumé at the bookstore and an art gallery before pausing in front of the dark wood facade of the Boot.

A bar almost certainly was looking for someone who could work nights, but when I peeked in through the open saloon doors, I saw that it was half-full at three in the afternoon. That had to mean something.

Brushing my hair back, I took stock of myself in the reflection of the front windows: blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail with a few wisps framing my face, the light makeup I’d taken time to apply this morning—something I rarely did in the summer months when Owen and I were outside more. I’d picked dark-wash jeans and a white boho blouse that read casual but professional and paired them with sandals.

I needed to get cowboy boots if I wanted to fit in with the locals. I hadn’t missed how about 75 percent of them wore the footwear or work boots, even though the temps had raised into the seventies.

Straightening my bag on my shoulder, I gave Nova’s friendship bracelet a tap for luck and headed inside. I quickly scanned the patrons and marked a variety of folks—a table of guys who were likely locals, given they looked as if they’d recently kicked off from a construction site. I took stock of a couple poring over a hiking guidebook and had to stop myself from a warning lecture. A family piled into a booth, along with a few other groups. Two guys and a woman sat at the bar.

The space itself had real character. Two walls were adorned with local signage, while a third had nothing but license plates. The fourth was dedicated to the spectacular bar. The woodwork looked hand-carved and expertly done. And the bottles lining the shelves were various shapes, sizes, and values.

A dark-haired man standing behind the bar looked up from his phone as if he had radar for people approaching his domain. He quickly swept me from head to toe, not in a lascivious way but in an assessing one.

That sort of thing didn’t bother me. I did the same, looking for any red flags or other alerts. So I gave him an easy smile. Not overly forced but warm. “Hi.”