Chapter 6

The piercing ring of the doorbell broke through the soft-rock song playing on the music station on the television. Candace dropped her red marking pen on the coffee table and glanced at the clock on the mantel. Her stomach knotted. It was late—too late for a casual visitor.

She tossed the stack of papers onto the couch and crept to the living room window. Edging aside the heavy curtain, she peered outside. The front porch light illuminated a tall, dark-haired man standing outside her front door.

Aiden!

Her unease vanished, replaced by a different kind of nervousness. She ran her hand over her hair, tucking stray strands of hair behind her ears. Smoothing the wrinkles from her T-shirt, she walked down the hall to the front door. She twisted the deadbolt, slid back the security chain, unsnapped the spring lock, and opened the door. “Detective Farrell.” She leaned her head back. She’d forgotten how tall he was. She’d also forgotten he was drop-dead gorgeous.

No. She hadn’t forgotten. Not for one nanosecond. He’d featured prominently in her fantasies this past week. And now he was standing at her front door, looking impossibly handsome.

His cheeks were flushed from the cold night air, and his hair was rumpled, as if he’d run his fingers through the glossy, dark strands. “Mind if I come in?”

A wave of heat flooded her at the certainty he’d caught her drooling. God, she hoped not. “Of course.” She stood aside and gestured for him to enter the small two-bedroom townhouse.

He strolled past her, and she caught an enticing whiff of something spicy and definitely masculine.

By the time she gathered her senses and closed and locked the door, he stood in the middle of the living room.

“Nice place.”

Don’t just stand there gawking. Say something. Anything. He isn’t that good-looking. She snuck another glance at him and gulped. Who was she kidding? He was a curl-your-toes and knock-you-breathless hunk. “Um…ah…er…would you like to take off your coat? Can I get you some coffee? A glass of water?” Her voice was a thin squeak.

He grinned, and she stumbled back a step.

His smile widened as if he were all too aware of the power of that departing grin. “No thanks. This won’t take long.”

She tottered on wobbly legs to the couch and plopped onto the cushions.

He pointed at the papers on the couch. “Looks like you were working.”

“It’s the end of term.” She laid a hand on the pile and straightened the papers. “I have to get these graded by Friday.”

“I apologize for disturbing you at this hour.”

“It’s okay. I’m almost finished.” Their gazes met, connected, and locked. Another thing she’d forgotten—the unusual color of his piercing eyes—almost green and sparked with gold. She swallowed.

“Is it all right if I sit?” He pointed at a chair beside the fireplace.

“Of course.” Come on, Candace. Get a grip. “Please sit down.”

He settled on the flower-patterned, upholstered chair and stretched out his long legs and crossed his booted feet at the ankles.

The music, the warm spill of light from the table lamps, and the flickering flames in the gas fireplace lent the room a cozy, intimate ambience…almost romantic. Easy, girl. He’s not here for a social visit. She perched on the edge of the cushion and clasped her hands on her lap. “How can I help you, Detective?”

“For starters, please call me Aiden.” He smiled. “I thought we were friends.”

Friends. Oh my. She covered her mouth with her hand, hiding what was surely a goofy grin.

“The K9 team searched Creighton Springs State Park today. They found something.”

All thoughts of his muscled biceps vanished. “They did?”

“Right where you said you saw the footprints.” He smoothed the palms of his hands over his faded jeans. “I’m not an expert, but the dog handlers were pretty confident the canines scented human blood.”

“Really?” Vindication flooded her, and she clasped her hands together to stop from fist pumping the air. She’d been right all along. She hadn’t imagined the bare footprints or the blood spots. “How can they be sure? I mean, it’s been months.”

“The handler told me scent dogs are able to detect even the smallest traces of blood for up to twenty-four months.”

She tucked an unruly lock of hair behind her ear. “Are they certain it’s human blood and not blood from an injured animal? Can the dogs differentiate between species?”

“Lexington Rhodes’s dogs are highly trained. They’re one of the few K9 units in the country capable of conducting this type of search. He’s positive they detected human blood.”

A chill rippled along her spine, and she shivered even though the gas fireplace was on, and the room was warm. “Did they find anything else?” The missing girl? A body?

“That’s the hitch. The dogs followed the trail into the woods for another fifty yards or so, but then they lost the scent.”

“How can that be? Whoever made those tracks didn’t just vanish into thin air.”

He threaded his fingers through his hair. “The K9 team ran a complete search radius and scouted the area, but the dogs didn’t pick up any other hits.”

She blew out a breath. “So, where does that leave us?”

“Us?” The corners of his mouth twitched.

Her face heated. “I-I mean, you, the police, the investigation.” She stumbled over her words like a teenage girl crushing on the captain of the football team.

He flashed a grin, but before the full force of his smile struck, his face settled into somber lines. “Are you certain there wasn’t another vehicle in the parking lot that evening?”

She shook her head. “My car was the only one in the parking lot when I arrived and the only one there when I left.”

“And you didn’t encounter a vehicle on the access road?”

“Not until I turned onto the highway.” Unable to sit still, she crossed one leg over the other and swung her foot. “I didn’t see any people either, at least, not until I encountered the man with the beard.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs. His gaze zeroed in on her. “And this guy was standing in the trees near where you saw the footprints?”

She nodded. “His clothes were camouflage-patterned, and he was standing still, so I’m not sure I would've seen him if I hadn’t been on alert because of the two gunshots.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you speak to him?”

“That’s what was so weird. When I first spotted him, I waved and called out hello—” She swallowed, but her mouth was too dry. “—you know, like you do in the backcountry when you see someone? But he didn’t respond. He just stood there. His silence unnerved me, and he had a rifle.” The lump in her throat was the size of a boulder. “And then—” She snapped her fingers. “—just like that, he vanished.” She blew out a breath. “It freaked me out, and I got the heck out of there. I ran all the way to my car.”

“And that’s when you saw him again.”

She shivered. “It was almost full dark by the time I reached the parking lot. I started my car and pulled out of the lot. I wanted to find cell service so I could call the police. Something about that man frightened me. I knew he was up to no good, and I was worried that someone was out there in the cold, injured and bleeding.”

She uncrossed her legs and bounced her toes up and down, tapping a frantic beat on the hardwood floor. “When I turned out of the parking lot onto the access road, my headlights shone into the trees, and there he was.” The image of the bearded man and his sinister grin flashed before her, and she rubbed her arms for warmth. “He’d followed me. I jammed my foot on the gas and sped out of there. I don’t know how I stayed on the road.” She stopped drumming her feet.

A weighty silence descended, sucking all the oxygen from the room, making it hard to breathe.

The antique clock on the mantel ticked the seconds, each sonorous tick sounding like a deafening boom.

A vehicle passed on the street, the whirr of its tires on the wet pavement filtering through the living room window.

Somewhere, out in the neighborhood, a dog barked.

He cleared his throat. “Could you identify this man if you saw him again?”

“I think so.” Who was she kidding? Of course, she could. It'd been dusk, and the bearded man was in shadows, but when her headlights swept over him, he’d been in full view as if under a spotlight.

His tall, burly form was clad in a camouflage-patterned parka and baggy cargo pants, and he wore knee-high, heavy rubber boots. A gray wool toque had been pulled low over his forehead, but she was able to make out his large, crooked nose and unkempt, bushy black beard. The shadows under the trees were too deep to see his eyes, but she’d felt his feral gaze and sensed the danger. She jumped to her feet and crossed to the fireplace and switched the flames to high.

“I’d like you to meet with a police artist and see if the two of you can come up with a sketch of this man.” His eyes narrowed. “Would you be okay with that?”

“I guess.” She swallowed. “Do you think the man I saw, and those footprints, are connected to the missing girl?”

He tapped his long fingers on his thighs. “I don’t know. The dogs proved that at some time in the past several months, human blood was spilled in that forest.” His gaze zeroed in on her. “You saw footprints and blood spots in the snow around the same time Amanda Jacobs went missing. That’s quite a coincidence, don’t you think?” He stood and stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I’m following up on every lead, no matter how tenuous—anything I can do to find her and bring her home to her parents.”

He seemed sincere in his desire to find the missing teen. She shouldn’t lump him in with all the other investigators she’d butted heads with over the years. “Of course I’ll meet with your sketch artist. Anything I can do to help.”

He nodded. “Good. I’ll see if I can set something up for tomorrow, if that works for you.”

“I’ll make it work.”

Her cell phone rang, the piercing tone loud and strident. She stared at the phone vibrating on the coffee table and slid a glance at the mantel clock. A chill rippled through her. Damn. She’d forgotten to mute the ringer.

Every night for the past two months, like clockwork, the phone rang at ten o’clock. She’d answered the first call expecting it to be from a friend or a student needing help on an assignment. The caller hadn’t said a word, but she’d heard heavy, labored breathing.

She’d hung up.

The next night, she received another phone call. She’d answered that one as well and again, was met with unsettling silence. The third night, she didn’t answer, but the phone rang again and again, until she finally picked up and clicked Answer, only to be met with more silence and heavy breathing.

After that, she ignored the calls. No matter how many times the phone rang at night, she didn’t answer. She’d considered going to the police and reporting the disturbing calls, but her experience with Detective Breacher and other cops like him had taught her she couldn’t count on the authorities. They wouldn’t take her seriously. And so, she’d gotten into the habit of turning off her phone’s ringer in the evening. Somehow, she’d forgotten tonight.

The strident ringing persisted.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Aiden’s piercing gaze studied her.

Her hand shook as she reached for her cell phone on the table beside the couch and checked the call display.

Unknown caller.

As she’d expected. She shut off the ringer, silencing the insistent noise, and schooled her expression to mask her unease. “Telemarketers.” The lie slid off her lips.

“It’s late for them to be calling. Those companies have no shame.” He headed for the door. “I’ll leave you to your marking.”

She followed him.

He eyed the elaborate locking system on her front door. “Are you afraid of something?”

“Afraid?” The word choked in her throat. “What are you talking about?”

He nodded at the sturdy metal latch, chain-link door guard, and the jimmy-proof dead bolt she’d paid a fortune to have installed three months ago after her encounter with the bearded man in the forest. “This is quite the setup.”

She forced a laugh. “Just being safe. You know…a woman living alone.”

“Smart. You never know what weirdos are out there.” He undid the locks, one after the other, opened the door, and stepped onto the well-lit porch. “I’ll be in touch.” Tightening the collar of his brown suede jacket, he bounded down the steps and strode along the sidewalk to the gleaming black SUV parked under a streetlight. He climbed into his car and slammed the door closed.

She released the breath she’d been holding, closed and locked the door, twisted the deadbolt into place, slipped the chain into the security guard, and slid the metal safety latch to the closed position. Following her nightly ritual, she prowled around the house, moving from room to room, examining each window and ensuring the latches were secure. When she returned to the front door, she activated the high-end alarm system.

Only then could she breathe.