them.
As far as Sean could see, the car was fine. Better than fine, actually. It was gorgeous. Sleek, black and shiny, even with a thick coat of road dust on it. He felt a ridiculous urge to pat it on the hood and tell it that everything was going to be okay.
“Nice, huh?” Harding asked, seeing the expression on his face.
“Nice doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Sean agreed.
“Belongs to Devon Rock,” Dan told him. “Ever hear of him? No? He’s an actor, just did a big reality show with a bunch of pretty girls competing for a chance to marry him. My wife loved that show.”
“So of course you just had to watch it with her.”
“Shut up, Spiffy. Anyways, poor guy had a really bad night. He was supposed to get married on live TV, and the bride just took off, right in the middle of the show. Left him standing there at the altar, jilted in front of God and everyone. Then the poor guy goes outside and finds out his car has been stolen.”
Sean winced sympathetically. “So you need me to tow it back to the Police lot?”
“Yeah, after I look inside.” Dan sighed, shooting a dirty look at the lawyer. “Apparently, I’ve got to treat it as a crime scene because of the missing bride. A car like this deserves better than a fat old cop with a Slim Jim, and you’re the only one I trust to open the lock without damaging the car.”
Sean almost dropped his tool box. “M-missing bride?”
“Her name is Maeve Renault,” Ben Jacobs told him. “She hasn’t been seen since she left him at the altar. Since she and the car disappeared at the same time, I think it’s safe to assume that the two disappearances are somehow connected.”
Sean knelt beside the car and went to work on the lock, his heart pounding.
“Of course they’re ‘connected’,” Harding snorted. “She stole the car and ran like hell.”
“We don’t know that for certain,” Ben corrected him. “The show publicist wants us to believe that the girl was kidnapped by whoever took the car.”
Harding snorted again.
Both men were silent as Sean finally managed to get the car door open. The dome light came on, and all three gathered close to peer inside.
Harding spoke first. “Don’t touch anything,” he snapped, all traces of humor gone from his voice.
Sean stumbled backward, wishing he had never seen the smears of blood on the cream-colored upholstery or the torn bits of gray duct tape on the floor near the passenger seat. He closed his eyes, trying to un-see the small heaps of long blonde hair littering the floor near the duct tape.
“When --” No, his voice sounded strangely high-pitched, even to his own ears. Sean cleared his throat and shook his head. “When did this happen?”
“Monday night, probably sometime around midnight.” Dan told him, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Show started at nine, bride and car disappeared shortly after that, and it takes about two and half hours to get here from Chicago.”
Monday night. The same night he had seen a mystery woman in white running down a dark and lonely road in the middle of the night. A white wedding gown, perhaps?
She hadn’t been a hallucination; she’d been running for her life.
And he had driven away, leaving her there alone with her kidnapper.
Oh, God.
“You all right over there, Spiffy?” the Chief asked. “Looking kinda green.”
“Just . . . thinking about that poor missing girl. What was her name again?”
“Maeve Renault.”
Maeve Renault . He said her name to himself, over and over again as the night wore on. At one point, Ben pulled up a publicity still on his smartphone, and Sean found himself unable to get the image out of his mind.
She was a glamorous woman in a frilly, sequined wedding gown with a full skirt and long train. She had a dark beauty mark on her left cheekbone, with heavy make-up that emphasized almond-shaped eyes and full red lips. The mass of bouncy blonde curls tumbled wildly down to her waist from beneath an
As far as Sean could see, the car was fine. Better than fine, actually. It was gorgeous. Sleek, black and shiny, even with a thick coat of road dust on it. He felt a ridiculous urge to pat it on the hood and tell it that everything was going to be okay.
“Nice, huh?” Harding asked, seeing the expression on his face.
“Nice doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Sean agreed.
“Belongs to Devon Rock,” Dan told him. “Ever hear of him? No? He’s an actor, just did a big reality show with a bunch of pretty girls competing for a chance to marry him. My wife loved that show.”
“So of course you just had to watch it with her.”
“Shut up, Spiffy. Anyways, poor guy had a really bad night. He was supposed to get married on live TV, and the bride just took off, right in the middle of the show. Left him standing there at the altar, jilted in front of God and everyone. Then the poor guy goes outside and finds out his car has been stolen.”
Sean winced sympathetically. “So you need me to tow it back to the Police lot?”
“Yeah, after I look inside.” Dan sighed, shooting a dirty look at the lawyer. “Apparently, I’ve got to treat it as a crime scene because of the missing bride. A car like this deserves better than a fat old cop with a Slim Jim, and you’re the only one I trust to open the lock without damaging the car.”
Sean almost dropped his tool box. “M-missing bride?”
“Her name is Maeve Renault,” Ben Jacobs told him. “She hasn’t been seen since she left him at the altar. Since she and the car disappeared at the same time, I think it’s safe to assume that the two disappearances are somehow connected.”
Sean knelt beside the car and went to work on the lock, his heart pounding.
“Of course they’re ‘connected’,” Harding snorted. “She stole the car and ran like hell.”
“We don’t know that for certain,” Ben corrected him. “The show publicist wants us to believe that the girl was kidnapped by whoever took the car.”
Harding snorted again.
Both men were silent as Sean finally managed to get the car door open. The dome light came on, and all three gathered close to peer inside.
Harding spoke first. “Don’t touch anything,” he snapped, all traces of humor gone from his voice.
Sean stumbled backward, wishing he had never seen the smears of blood on the cream-colored upholstery or the torn bits of gray duct tape on the floor near the passenger seat. He closed his eyes, trying to un-see the small heaps of long blonde hair littering the floor near the duct tape.
“When --” No, his voice sounded strangely high-pitched, even to his own ears. Sean cleared his throat and shook his head. “When did this happen?”
“Monday night, probably sometime around midnight.” Dan told him, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Show started at nine, bride and car disappeared shortly after that, and it takes about two and half hours to get here from Chicago.”
Monday night. The same night he had seen a mystery woman in white running down a dark and lonely road in the middle of the night. A white wedding gown, perhaps?
She hadn’t been a hallucination; she’d been running for her life.
And he had driven away, leaving her there alone with her kidnapper.
Oh, God.
“You all right over there, Spiffy?” the Chief asked. “Looking kinda green.”
“Just . . . thinking about that poor missing girl. What was her name again?”
“Maeve Renault.”
Maeve Renault . He said her name to himself, over and over again as the night wore on. At one point, Ben pulled up a publicity still on his smartphone, and Sean found himself unable to get the image out of his mind.
She was a glamorous woman in a frilly, sequined wedding gown with a full skirt and long train. She had a dark beauty mark on her left cheekbone, with heavy make-up that emphasized almond-shaped eyes and full red lips. The mass of bouncy blonde curls tumbled wildly down to her waist from beneath an
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