“No. I just need to find him.”
Clarice pursed her lips, almost seeming disappointed. “I don’t remember what time he came in, maybe around seven?”
Bree checked the time. It was almost nine. “Was he alone?”
“No.” Clarice shook her head. “He was with a woman. They sat in that corner.” She pointed to a pair of leather chairs near the travel section.
That information should have eased Bree’s worries, but it didn’t. “Can you describe her?”
“She was pretty, with dark hair.” Clarice propped a hand on her hip and stared at the ceiling. “The gentleman bought a book on artwork in the Vatican and a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories. The lady didn’t make a purchase, so I didn’t get a good look at her.”
Matt studied the ceiling. “Do you have surveillance cameras?”
Clarice grimaced. “No. They broke years ago, and I can’t afford to replace them.”
“Thank you.” Bree led the way out of the store.
Matt stood on the sidewalk and scanned the street. “I don’t see any businesses close enough for their surveillance cameras to have captured the front of the store in their feed.”
“No.” Bree eyed the building across the street, a bridal shop. The entrance of the shop was located around the corner, on Main Street. If they had cameras, that’s where they would be. “So, we don’t have a picture of the woman he was with.”
Matt took her hand. “They could have gone somewhere after the bookstore. At least you know he was fine two hours ago.”
“Yes.” She nodded. But it felt like steel bands encircled her chest. She wouldn’t breathe easy until she’d talked to Adam. “I know I’m overly protective. He’s an adult. He’s entitled to a personal life.”
“He is, and it’s great that he’s dating,” Matt said. “I love your brother, but he can be forgetful, especially when he’s deep into a project. He probably forgot to charge his phone. Try not to worry too much.”
But Bree knew that wasn’t possible. She always imagined the worst.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I steer my vehicle down a side street. The roads are wet and slick. I avoid a patch of black ice. An accident would ruin my evening.
Grey’s Hollow is a small town. Not much happens at night. Flurries drift through the halos of streetlamps. Taillights glow at the next intersection, in front of the only open business, a chain drugstore.
A quarter mile down the road, I slow to read the numbers on the houses. I can’t check my location on my map app because I’ve left my phone at home. I don’t want to be tracked. Not tonight.
The sheriff said they were investigating persons of interest. The sheriff is blowing smoke out her ass. She’s fucking with me, trying to pretend she has real leads when she has nothing. That reporter knows as much as she does.
What I don’t fully understand is why her cluelessness bugs me. I should be glad, right?
Instead, I’m irritated, which is extremely fucked up. Whatever. I have a surprise in store for the sheriff. I’ll expose her incompetence.
As I drive, I read the numbers on the mailboxes. Twenty-seven, twenty-nine. I’m going to house thirty-three. I’ve been here before, but the houses on this street are close together and look alike, all old and narrow. I glide to the curb when the house comes into view, making sure to park in the darkest location between streetlamps.
Like most houses in town, this one is Colonial in style. The facade is comprised of a small front porch and attached garage. The living area is in the back of the first floor. Spencer’s bedroom was also at the back of the house, but upstairs. The windows above the garage look into the spare bedroom, currently outfitted as a home office.
The windows of the house are dark. It doesn’t appear as if anyone is home yet, but the homeowner should be here any minute.
My second target is Julius Northcott. He’s the kind of man who puts a capital A in Asshole. Everything about him is douchey. Unlike Spencer, who dumped women after fucking them a couple of times, Julius prefers to juggle many women at once. He isn’t just a liar; he’s also a cheat. He doesn’t bother to actually break up with any of them. To him, they are interchangeable. If they catch him cheating, he doesn’t care. If they become demanding, he loses interest. Then he ghosts them.
Tonight, Julius is going to get ghosted—literally.
I turn off the engine, zip my jacket, and slide down in the seat. Without the heater running, cold seeps into the car, but I won’t have to wait long. The auto dealership where Julius works closes at eight. It’s nearly nine now. He’ll be home soon.
Headlights approach. The giant black truck pulls into Julius’s driveway. I snort out loud. I’ll bet five hundred bucks Julius has never driven the vehicle off-road. Not even once. Don’t get me wrong—it’s a useful vehicle for a contractor or a farmer, a real workhorse. But it’s a ridiculous choice for Julius. He doesn’t even mow his own grass.
There’s no PIN pad entry system, so I can’t slip in and lie in wait for him. I’ve watched the exterior of his home multiple times, but I’ve been inside only once. Two weeks ago, I slipped in while the house cleaner was working upstairs. She wears earbuds and sings while she cleans. She never heard a thing and made it easy to avoid her. Getting into the house undetected tonight will be a little more challenging, but I have a plan.
I always have a plan.
I step out of my vehicle and shrug into my backpack. I’ve turned off the dome light. Not that Julius would even notice me. He’s usually very focused on himself. I jog across two lawns and press my back to the side of Julius’s house just as the pickup pulls into the garage. The engine quiets. I hear Julius get out of his truck. Hard-soled shoes clomp across the concrete floor away from me. The overhead door begins to rattle down. An interior door squeaks open, then closes. Julius never waits until the door is fully down before going into the house.
I wait until it’s nearly closed, then hit the ground and roll under it.
I’m in.
The door touches down with a metallic thud. I crouch between the truck and the wall. A few minutes later, the light goes out. I sit on the concrete and check my watch. I need to wait for thirty minutes. Julius has a sex addiction problem. If he isn’t having sex, he’s watching it. On nights he doesn’t have a date, he stays in with his porn. He’ll grab a bite to eat, pour a double scotch on the rocks, and settle in the den in front of his big-screen TV.
I know this because his den looks over the backyard, and his blinds are inadequate.
As I wait in the cold, I run through my plan over and over in my head. Excitement rushes through my veins, keeping me warm. My plan is so perfect.
So utterly appropriate.
And after I finish with Julius, I have a surprise in store for the sheriff. Several, actually. I rub my palms together, anticipating how the evening and next day or so will play out. The half hour passes so slowly. I feel like a child waiting for Santa to come.
Finally, it’s time. I get up, stretch, and loosen up my muscles. A cramp at the wrong time could ruin everything. I open my backpack and push aside the knife to remove the stun gun and zip ties. Shoving them into my pocket, I press onward.