Chapter 8

Candace yanked open the heavy, glass-fronted door to the Briggston Police Station and stepped inside.

Uniformed cops and civilians milled about the cavernous lobby, their voices echoing off the vaulted ceiling.

She joined a snaking line of people waiting to pass through security. Once through the metal detector, she approached the front counter.

A bald, heavyset, uniformed officer looked up from a file he was reading and peered at her through thick smudged lenses. “Yes?”

“I have an appointment with Officer Mulhoney.”

He tapped computer keys and consulted the screen before him. “Your name?”

“Candace Cooper.”

He stiffened and his eyes narrowed, probably in recognition of her infamous name, but he pointed across the lobby. “Down the hall. Third door on your left.” He kept his gaze on her as she turned and crossed the lobby.

She followed his directions, but she halted in the wide hallway before a large bulletin board filled with posters of wanted felons and missing persons stapled to its pitted surface. Amanda Jacobs’s name jumped out from a tattered poster, and her heart skipped a beat.

Amanda’s slim, heart-shaped face was framed by long, wavy, dark hair that hung past her shoulders and was held back on one side by a red, plastic hair clip. She had trusting blue eyes and the open, friendly smile girls her age possessed, confident nothing bad would ever happen to them.

Where was she? Were those her footprints Candace had seen in the snow at Creighton Springs State Park? Had Amanda run away from home and hidden in the forest? No way. No teenager would seek refuge in the middle of the wilderness, especially in the cold, wet days and freezing nights of November in the mountains. A young girl on the run would head to a friend’s house or vanish into the bright lights and crowds of a big city like Denver.

But what if someone abducted her and took her against her will to the isolated state park, and somehow, she’d managed to escape?

Candace’s stomach flipped over. If she’d followed the footprints into the forest that day, she might have found Amanda. Instead, she’d let her fear of the bearded stranger rule her, and she’d run to the safety of her car and left that poor girl out there. Guilt flooded her along with the sting of tears, and she fished in her purse for a tissue.

Twenty-two years ago, when Charlene disappeared, Candace had prayed for someone to find her. If a concerned citizen had come forward with a clue, some small piece of evidence, her sister could have been found, and Charlene wouldn’t have had to endure years of atrocities. If help had come even one day sooner, maybe Charlene would be here today, married to a wonderful man, a mother with children of her own, and Candace wouldn’t be so emotionally scarred, or…

She cut off the speeding train of toxic thoughts. She’d been over this scenario a million times. There were hundreds of maybes, a thousand what-ifs, but none of those wishes would change the stark reality of what happened, none would bring her sister home, and none would heal Candace’s emotional wounds. She swiped her hand over her damp eyes.

The nightmare days and weeks after Charlene vanished were seared into Candace's brain. After a few months, the police had stopped looking, the search parties had disbanded, and the media moved on to other tragedies, but she and her parents never gave up hope. They never stopped looking. The certainty Charlene was alive kept them going day after unendurable day.

Charlene’s abduction changed Candace forever, and the tragedy transformed the whole family. Their lives were divided into two distinct worlds—the golden times before Charlene was taken, and the dark nightmare after. After wasn’t a good place. Not for anyone, especially an impressionable twelve-year-old girl, grieving the loss of the older sister she adored, and weighed down by a truckload of guilt.

The situation worsened when the other missing girls were rescued and returned to their families. At first, there was joy in their release and hope Charlene was finally coming home. The investigators found evidence that proved Charlene had been in the old farm shed where the other missing girls had been held, but she was gone when the police raided the farm.

Just hours before the police arrived, the kidnapper had freed Charlene of her bindings and dragged her, kicking and screaming, out of the shed. When no sign of either Charlene or her abductor was found, despite extensive searching, the police were convinced the man had killed her and buried her body deep in the woods where she’d never be found. After a few more months, they stopped looking. The suspension of the federal task force, with all its manpower and resources, was the worst—the total annihilation of hope.

Charlene wasn’t coming back.

Ever.

The family fractured.

Candace isolated in her room, withdrawing, not talking, not feeling, not thinking, just existing.

Her mother died five years later of invasive breast cancer.

Two years after that, her father succumbed to a massive stroke.

But Candace knew better.

The medical diagnoses were wrong. Devastated by the loss of their oldest daughter, John and Marilyn Cooper had died of broken hearts.

Her own scars ran so deep in her psyche, she wasn’t the same Candace, and would never be the same person again, no matter how many therapy sessions or prescribed medications.

The grief and guilt had nearly killed her, but her anger at the authorities, the media, the townspeople, everyone who’d given up on Charlene, dragged Candace out of her misery and propelled her to action. She became a crusader, determined to do whatever it took to keep her sister’s name in the news, to force the police to keep looking, to convince everyone to not give up on Charlene.

Candace wiped her hand over her damp face and forced her thoughts from the past. Reliving the nightmare that had shaped her life wouldn’t bring Charlene back.

She studied the youthful face on the missing person poster. Had the same fate befallen Amanda Jacobs? Had she been abducted, and was she being held in some remote cabin? She shuddered. After all these months, was there a chance Amanda was still alive?

Candace bit down on her bottom lip, determined to do her best to describe the bearded man to the police artist and hope his picture would help the police track him down. He could be innocent and not connected to Amanda’s disappearance. Maybe he had been out for a walk in the forest, but every cell in her being screamed otherwise.

She turned from the bulletin board and smacked into a wall of solid muscle. A familiar male scent washed over her, and she stumbled back a step. Her breath whooshed out. “Aiden!” Mere inches separated her from the handsome detective.

His hazel eyes sparked with golden lights. “Hey, Candace.” He smiled and intriguing tiny lines creased beside his eyes. “You’re here to see the police sketch artist?”

She nodded.

He looked over her shoulder, and his smile faded. “You were looking at Amanda Jacobs’s poster.”

She nodded again though he hadn’t asked a question. “I hope you find her.”

His brow furrowed, and he studied the poster and then stared at her. He edged around her and tapped the poster. “You two could be sisters, you know that? You both have long, dark-brown hair and vivid blue eyes.”

She rocked back on her heels. He was right. The physical similarities were there. Amanda could be her younger sister. Her mouth dried. Why hadn’t she noticed the resemblance? “I’m sure that’s just a coincidence. There are hundreds of dark-haired, blue-eyed women in this state.”

“Yeah, probably.” His narrowed gaze kept switching from the photograph on the poster to Candace and back again.

She sucked in a steadying breath and made a show of examining her watch. “Look at that, I’m late for my appointment.” She backed up and smacked into the wall. Heat flushed her face. “I’d better go.”

“Don’t let me detain you.” He smiled, his eyes sparkling with tiny diamonds. “Thank you for doing this. It might help.”

Her legs turned rubbery under the full-wattage power of his smile. It was either stay and kiss the man or flee. Like a coward, she chose flight and sidled past him and fled down the hall, all too aware of his gaze pinned on her back. The desk sergeant had said the office she wanted was the third door on the right. She tapped on the battered metal door.

The door swung open, and a tall lean man with thinning red hair stood in the doorway. “You must be Candace Cooper.” He held out a large, bony hand. “I’m Officer Mulhoney.” After they shook hands, he gestured her into his tiny office. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re here now.” He removed a teetering stack of papers and books from a metal chair by the lone window in the small, messy office. “Have a seat.”

Once she was seated, he picked up a large sketchbook and a mechanical pencil from the overflowing metal desktop and sat on a facing chair. “Okay. Let’s get started.”

Recalling the frightening man in the forest and trying to visualize every detail drained her, but an hour later, the drawing was complete.

Officer Mulhoney held up the sketch. “What do you think? Does this look like the man you saw?”

She sucked in a breath and gripped the sides of the metal chair, holding steady as the room swirled. “That’s him! How did you do that?”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “You’re a good witness. You recalled an amazing amount of detail.” He stood. “Now—”

The door opened and Aiden stepped into the room. “All done?”

Officer Mulhoney nodded. “We just finished.” He held up the sketch.

Aiden studied the picture and then looked at her. “That’s the man you saw?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. We’ll have copies made and sent out to every patrol car and beat cop in the state.” He turned to Officer Mulhoney. “See if we can’t get this on the evening news. The more people who see this sketch, the better chance we have of tracking this guy down.”

“But what if he wasn’t doing anything wrong? What if he was just out for a walk in the forest?” Even though she was certain the bearded man was up to no good, she didn’t want to cause him trouble if he was just a fellow hiker.

“You said you heard two gunshots.”

“I’m pretty sure I did.”

“And he was packing a rifle. Shooting off firearms is illegal in the park, so if he’s the one who fired the shots, he broke the law.” Aiden scratched his whiskered chin. “I’d say it’s worth the risk of embarrassing him, wouldn’t you? A young girl’s life is at stake.” His eyes narrowed. “Besides, he spooked you. Over the years, I’ve learned to trust my instincts. If someone feels sketchy, they’re probably up to no good. At the very least, he’s a person of interest.”

She swallowed, her mouth arid dry. The bearded man had frightened her. Something about him—his wide-legged, aggressive stance, the way he smiled—something dark and forbidding, rocked her to her core.

Aiden nodded at Officer Mulhoney. “Email me that sketch, will you? I’ll get started.” He wheeled around and left the room.

Officer Mulhoney’s red eyebrows arched. “He’s a man on a mission. Let’s hope his hunch pays out, and—” He tapped the sketch. “—this guy’s our perp. We need to find that poor girl before…” He stopped, his cheeks flaming.

She shuddered at what he’d been about to say. Before it was too late. Before Amanda Jacobs was killed. Heart lodged in her throat, she rose and picked up her purse. “I guess we’re finished.”

“Thank you for coming in today. I know this wasn’t easy.”

She paused in the doorway. “I hope that sketch helps.”

He patted the paper. “This is more than we had an hour ago. With any luck, this picture will help us locate this guy, and we’ll figure out what he was up to in the park that day. If we’re lucky, he’s the kidnapper. We all want Amanda home safe and sound.”

Her legs wobbled as she retraced her steps out of the building, down the front stairs, and across the street to the shopping center parking lot where she’d left her car. She was exhausted. All she wanted was to get home and slip into a hot bath.

Her small, red, hybrid car was in the third row, squashed between a massive gray SUV and a dust-covered, blue minivan. She tugged out her keys from her coat pocket and hit the unlock button. The car chirped, and the doors unlocked. She walked around to the driver’s door but paused, her hand on the door handle. The back of her neck tingled with the unsettling sensation she was being watched.

The large parking lot was almost full. Vehicles of every description filled the slots. Shoppers, pushing overflowing shopping carts or carrying bulging plastic bags, exited the mall entrance in search of their cars. Others crossed the parking lot heading toward the main entrance.

She scanned the busy lot. Everything appeared normal, but the uncomfortable tingling continued. Was someone watching her? Or was she overreacting like she had so many times during the past months—thinking she saw the man from the forest behind every bush and in every car that passed her house?

A man and a woman held the hands of two small children who chattered in excited, high-pitched voices, as they weaved through parked cars toward the mall entrance.

A small white car wheeled off the street into the parking lot. The driver steered the car into a spot two stalls over. The car door opened, and an elderly woman climbed out. She shuffled around to the back of the vehicle and retrieved an armful of reusable shopping bags from her trunk and headed toward the stores.

Normal people going about their day.

Candace squinted against the glare of the midday sun and stilled.

One row over. A person sat behind the wheel of a battered gray pickup. The light reflected off the truck’s cracked windshield but revealed the driver’s dark bushy beard.

Despite the sunglasses covering his eyes, she sensed the penetrating power of his gaze. Her heart caught in her throat. The man from the forest! She rubbed the back of her neck. Don’t be silly. Recalling the facial features of the stranger she’d seen in Creighton Springs State Park for the police sketch artist had put her on edge. Lots of men had beards these days. Facial hair was in style.

Heart hammering, she yanked open her car door, leaped inside, and slapped her hand on the door’s lock button. She dropped the key fob twice before sliding the key into the ignition.

The car roared to life.

Mashing her foot on the gas, she backed out of the parking spot, sped through the parking lot, and shot onto the busy street, cutting off a black sedan.

The driver blew his horn and shot her the finger.

She careened down the street and sped through a yellow traffic light. Six blocks later, she checked the rearview mirror. Not a gray truck in sight. Easing her foot off the gas, she slowed to the speed limit.

Loosening her death grip on the steering wheel, she switched on her turn signal and eased to the side of the road. Wiping the dampness from her brow, she laid her head against the headrest and closed her eyes. What the hell was wrong with her? In her panic to escape the parking lot, she could’ve killed someone. And for what? Because she thought the bearded man from the forest was in the mall parking lot watching her?

She inhaled a shaky breath. People sat in their vehicles all the time while they checked their cell phones. Or he could've been waiting for his wife who was shopping in one of the many mall stores.

Maybe.

Or just maybe the pinging in her gut was right, and he was the man from Creighton Springs State Park. A chill rippled along her spine, and she sucked in a sharp breath. He’d followed her. The past several months she’d had the unsettling sensation she was being watched. She knew it was crazy, but she couldn’t shake her unease. That was why she’d had the extra locks installed on her doors and the expensive alarm system set up.

The previous night, she’d awakened in the early hours of the morning, and on her way to the bathroom, she’d slid the curtain aside and peered out her bedroom window.

A truck was parked on the street outside. The glow from the streetlight down the block shone on the vehicle’s light-colored hood, revealing a flicker of movement inside the vehicle as if someone were sitting behind the steering wheel.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She glanced at the bedside clock. At this time of night, the houses were dark, the street still. Her neighborhood was a quiet one, the houses filled with young, working families and retirees who were in bed by eleven.

She didn’t recognize the vehicle. The truck didn’t belong to one of her neighbors. A guest maybe?

The truck’s engine roared to life, and the twin beams of its headlights strobed the dark street. The vehicle pulled away from the curb and slowly moved down the street.

She blew out a ragged breath and nearly sagged to the floor in a wave of relief. The person in the truck was a late-night visitor leaving her neighbor’s house. That’s all. Nothing to worry about.

She continued to the bathroom, relieved herself, drank a glass of water, and headed back to bed. Stopping by the window, she slid the curtain aside and studied the deserted street.

Nothing out of the ordinary. No gray truck. No bearded man.

Closing the curtain, she crawled into bed.

Hours later, she was still awake, still wondering, unable to shake the anxiety percolating through her.

She’d seen the truck again. At least she thought the gray truck in the mall parking lot was the same vehicle. The truck the prior night had been light-colored, but under the glow of the streetlight, it was impossible to tell if the truck was gray, or light blue, or tan.

She rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers, hoping to ease the dull throbbing. Call Aiden. She grimaced. And tell him what? That she suspected the man she’d seen in the forest so many months ago was following her? He’d think she was nuts.

Her mouth twisted in a rueful smile. And just maybe he’d be right. She’d come so far, worked impossibly hard to conquer her crippling anxiety. The irrational fear that one day the man who’d taken her sister would return for Candace filled her every moment. She imagined monsters around every corner.

Her fears were ridiculous, but she couldn’t shake them. She threaded her fingers through her hair. Instead of freaking out and driving like a kamikaze through the downtown streets, she should be arranging a session with her therapist.

Or focusing on her afternoon class. She’d finished marking the students’ term papers. Some of the essays were poorly researched and filled with sloppy writing, and a few contained complete paragraphs plagiarized from well-known sources. Those students would not be pleased with their low marks. But a few of the essays were well-researched and well-written. Those students deserved their A grade.

She restarted the car and pulled back onto the road. Taking the next right, she drove with studied care, but she couldn’t stop checking the rearview mirror to ensure the gray truck wasn’t following.