Facing It by Linda Winfree

speaking loud and clear. “He crushes.”
    Falconetti’s attentive gaze flickered to her. “What?”
    “A couple of months ago, there was a little stray dog that tried to take up at their house. I think Ruthie wanted to keep it. She fed it, watered it. Chason was…furious.” Jennifer shuddered. “He doesn’t let the anger control him, though. He killed it. In front of her, with his bare hands. Crushed its skull.”
    A sick expression twisting his face, Calvert muttered a pithy oath and looked away.
    Beecham stared at her. “You didn’t tell me that.”
    She swallowed, remembering still, recalling how she hadn’t wanted to relive the experience by verbalizing it. “At the time, it didn’t seem relevant to what we were doing.”
    Bleak realization haunted Falconetti’s eyes. “Tick…maybe you should talk to them.”
    His own lips formed a taut line. “Cait—”
    “I don’t think he’ll look for her at your mother’s first, like Ruthie said.” Falconetti caught his hand, intensity trembling in her voice. “He’ll want control of the situation. Control doesn’t involve him looking for her. Control means making her do what he wants, which is to—”
    “Come out of hiding,” Jennifer finished for her, queasy awareness settling in her belly.
    Calvert jumped to his feet. “How long has he been unaccounted for, Beecham?”
    Beecham’s face distorted. “Six to eight hours.”
    “He could already be here,” Falconetti murmured.
    “We don’t know that he knows she’s gone,” Beecham said.
    Falconetti and Calvert exchanged a glance. Calvert nodded sharply. “He knows.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Shit, shit, shit .”
    Beecham shook his head. “Cait, what do you think he’s—”
    “He wants her to come out,” Jennifer said quietly. “What’s the best way to do that?”
    Falconetti’s gaze met Jennifer’s, respect shimmering in the dark green depths. “Target her family. Probably the member he’d see as most vulnerable or the one Ruthie would be most attached to.”
    “Fuck.” Beecham closed his eyes on the whisper.
    “Call your mother, Tick.” Falconetti’s command vibrated with urgency. “Have you talked to her today?”
    “This morning, after…after. I called and explained, asked her to be careful.” He pulled his cell from his belt, his face pale beneath his tan. Phone at his ear, he listened, expression growing grimmer with each second. He slapped the phone closed. “She’s not answering. And it’s Wednesday. Damn it, Cait, she has Lee, remember?”

Chapter Three
    Tick glanced at his watch and tried to stifle a wash of rising panic. Six twenty-three. His mother not answering the phone didn’t necessarily mean something was wrong. She could be in the yard with Lee, as she was wont to do even with the shorter days. She could be on the porch, visiting with his aunt or another visitor, where she couldn’t hear the phone inside. She could have gone to run errands.
    Damn it, he was going to buy her a new cell phone and insist she carry it for sure this time.
    “Tick.” Caitlin’s voice held a nearly imperceptible tremor, one he was pretty sure only he picked up. Seeing traces of his own fear in her expression didn’t help.
    He straightened, calling up the years of training, letting his cop instincts take over for his father and son roles. “I’m going to run out there, make sure everything’s okay.”
    “I’m going with you.” His wife was on her feet instantly. He opened his mouth to argue, but she forestalled him with a look. “Don’t even try.”
    Urgency pounded under his skin with increasing intensity and he wasn’t going to waste time. “Let’s go.”
    Beecham took a step toward the door. “Do you want us—?”
    “Don’t care, but I’m not waiting on you to decide.”
    Outside, Caitlin’s cell phone rang as they hurried down the department steps. She lifted it to her ear, keeping stride with him across the small parking lot.