Into the Fading Twilight (Starlight Grove, #2) (53)

“Try to breathe,” Roger told him. “We’re doing everything we can to find her.”

The female deputy next to him lifted her phone a little higher. “Can you walk us through your trip one more time?”

Roger turned and headed in my direction, looking tired as hell. “Hey, man. Thanks for coming.”

“Tell us what happened,” Pete demanded as he stepped up to our huddle.

Roger’s gaze flicked to the man before he turned back to me. “They woke up around seven this morning. No one else had been at the site.”

“It’s a little late in the year for camping,” I surmised.

Roger nodded. “Fuckin’ cold at night. But Heidi, our missing person, went off to relieve her bladder and never came back.”

“How’s the boyfriend look?” It was always the first question that needed an answer.

Roger scrubbed a hand over his face. “Doesn’t read as guilty, and he has no record. But you never know.”

Pete scowled at both of us. “Shouldn’t search and rescue have started already?”

Roger sent him a look that said he thought Pete was an idiot. “Takes time to assemble a team, divide quadrants. They need to prep for a safe search so we don’t end up with more casualties.”

I crossed to the boyfriend, Roger and Pete following behind. “Do you remember which direction Heidi walked in?”

The man with the red-rimmed eyes just pointed toward the forest. “That way.”

I started walking, Pete hot on my heels.

“What are you doing?” Pete asked.

“Tracking, hopefully.” Something I liked to do alone. “Why don’t you listen in on the boyfriend’s interview?”

“So you can cut me out of the good stuff?”

“No,” I ground out. “So we can cover all our bases.”

Pete didn’t move for a moment.

I didn’t want to have to pull rank—it was an asshole move—but I did it anyway. “I’m the senior officer, and I’m asking you to listen in on the boyfriend’s interview in case this is related to the case we’re working.”

It was likely a coincidence, as I’d told Roger. But it could be someone inspired by Travis’s heinous crimes.

Pete glared at me, his eyes flashing in anger before he stalked back to the boyfriend.

Roger let out a low whistle as he approached. “Looks like that’s been a laugh a minute.”

“Don’t even get me started,” I grumbled.

A throat cleared. “Excuse me, Special Agent Archer? Would you mind if I followed behind you? I promise not to get in your way. I just want to be ready to collect any evidence we might need.”

The woman who walked toward us was tall and willowy. Her light-brown hair was streaked with blond and pulled back into a ponytail. She looked to be in her early to mid-twenties and peered up at me nervously through black-framed glasses. She had interesting eyes behind those frames, a light hazel, but one eye had a lot more brown, almost making it look as if her eyes were two different colors.

“Livie, you don’t gotta call him Special Agent,” Roger grumbled.

“It’s respectful,” the woman hissed.

“You can call me Kol,” I said, holding out a hand.

She blushed. “I’m Olivia Bishop, crime scene investigator and lab tech. But most people call me Livie.”

It was rare for someone to be both an investigator and a tech, but with how rural our community was, a handful of folks in the crime lab did double duty.

“It’s nice to meet you, Livie. As long as you’re quiet and stay behind me, you’re welcome.”

Roger rolled his eyes. “Kol’s gotta do his psychic mind meld with the land.”

I flipped him off. “You’re the one who called me in, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, get going,” Roger mumbled. “I’ll stay behind you, too.”

I started moving in the direction the boyfriend had pointed. Scanning the surrounding forest and brush, I saw a little unofficial trail our vic would have likely taken. “What was she wearing?”

Roger pulled out his phone. “Sweats. Green top, blue bottoms.”

Sweatpants and sweatshirts didn’t lose strands as often as other kinds of material did, but it might still give us something.

“Was she wearing a shirt under the sweatshirt?” Livie asked.

Roger frowned. “Yeah. A plaid pajama top. Red, black, and pink.”

Livie made a note on her phone. “That might shed more easily than the sweats.”

I sent her a grudging nod of respect and refocused on the work at hand. Stepping onto the trail, I crouched low and scanned everything in front of me. The morning sun broke through the trees, casting a patchwork of light and shadow on the underbrush.

One of the patches of light illuminated some brambles, and on one of them, I caught sight of some long, brown strands of hair. I pushed to my feet and strode ahead. Pointing to the branch, I turned to Livie. “Bag and tag? Could be hers.”

Livie jerked her head in a nod, lifting a camera from around her neck to take a couple of shots before pulling gloves and an evidence bag from her pack.

I kept on going, surveying the path in bits and pieces. We repeated the process when I found a red and pink thread, another strand of hair, and a few footprints in the deeper dirt.