Facing It by Linda Winfree Page B

both hands on his arms, holding his gaze. “She’s not here. The house is empty—”
    “Holy hell.” His knees weakened and he closed his eyes.
    “Look at me, Tick. Listen.” Caitlin held him tighter and he obeyed, trying to keep his legs under him. “There are signs of a struggle downstairs, a small bloodstain in the hallway, but there’s nothing to indicate she’s…that she’s—”
    “Dead,” Tick finished grimly. Oh Lord, not Mama too. He’d never really gotten over his father’s too-early death.
    “Yes. Cookie’s on his way and he’s calling out the crime scene unit from Moultrie. There’ll be leads, Tick, and we’ll find her—”
    “That son of a bitch is dead. I mean it, Cait, when we find him and she’s safe…” His voice cracked and Caitlin pulled him close, wrapping her arms about him. He held on while the fury and fear roiled through him and left tremors in their wake. “When she’s safe, I’ll kill him for this.”
    “Hush,” Caitlin whispered near his ear. She tightened her embrace and stroked the tense muscles in his back. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll find her, I promise. We will.”

    “Looks like the last person to have contact with her was Tori, around eleven this morning.” Investigator Mark Cook’s face was as taut with stress as his deep whisper. Jennifer stood just inside the kitchen doorway, listening as Calvert’s partner talked with Falconetti while the GBI’s crime scene technicians went over Lenora Calvert’s home with the proverbial fine-tooth comb. “And that’s not good.”
    Falconetti, her expression troubled, glanced toward the living room, where her husband watched every move the CSU guys made. “No. That’s more than seven hours and the statistics are—”
    “Yeah.” Cook ran a hand over his mouth. “Maybe he wants to use her as collateral or bait, something to draw Ruthie out.”
    “Unless it’s about revenge,” Falconetti murmured. “Punishing her for leaving, for defying him.”
    “You could tell us.” Jennifer stepped forward, drawing their attention. She held Falconetti’s gaze. “You know where she is, don’t you? You’re Bureau, one of us. Why won’t you cooperate?”
    The agent shook her head, her expression oddly gentle. “I may be ‘one of you’, but he matters more.” She tilted her head toward the living room, in Calvert’s direction. “You think I’m going to undercut him, especially now?”
    The impotent frustration scratched at Jennifer. Before she could speak though, the “him” under discussion strode into the room with Beecham close behind. Falconetti moved to Calvert’s side instantly.
    He jerked a hand through his already disheveled hair. “We got nothing. No prints outside, no tire tracks, nothing.” His voice verged on cracking. “God, Cait, how are we going to find her?”
    “Stanton’s spreading the net.” Falconetti ran a soothing palm down his spine. “He’s called in every available deputy, they’re setting up roadblocks and he’s mobilizing search parties.” She continued stroking his back in a calming up-and-down sweep. “There’s nothing you can do here right now. Why don’t we meet Stanton back at the station and you’ll know everything that’s going on?”
    Eyes closed, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “But what if a call comes in here—”
    “I’ll be here until the crime scene unit finishes,” Cook said. “Longer if you need me to be.”
    A distracted air settling on him, Calvert nodded and allowed Falconetti to pull him outside. Cook disappeared into the living room, leaving Jennifer alone with Beecham. Her lingering irritation and the feeling of exclusion dogged her, and she made sure her voice was cool when he turned to her, his face tense and weary.
    She shrugged. “So what do we do now?”
    He tucked his hands in his pockets lightly. “Weston wants us to stay here. He thinks it’s likely Chason is behind Mrs. Calvert’s disappearance, and that given