Reclaim: A Recovered Innocence Novel by Beth Yarnall

struggling here. I also think she’s right to a certain extent. I have a lot to prove with this case, a lot to make up for. Trying to get into the pants of a lawyer from The Freedom Project would probably be a really bad way to prove I’m a professional.
    Not that she’s not worth the effort. I just can’t afford to give in to the temptation that is her gorgeous, curvy body and beautiful face. But
damn.
What I’m giving up for my career.
    “I’m glad you agree.” But she doesn’t sound like she agrees. She sounds like she wishes I’d try to talk her into another kiss. Or three. Or something beyond kissing.
    “Make a left where that white car is.”
    We ride the rest of the way in silence broken only by the directions I give her.
    John Martin’s house looks like every other house on the block only more run-down. Like its occupants went on vacation for a month or two. The lawn is mostly dead except for the nearly knee-high weeds here and there. The screen door hangs loosely from its frame at a slight angle. There are two cars parked in the driveway. As we walk past them I notice one of them is covered in dust. Probably Mr. Martin’s car. A trail of faded ceramic gnomes runs along the walk. The last one’s been decapitated, the head totally gone.
    I ring the bell, scanning the neighborhood. “We might want to talk to some of the neighbors,” I whisper to Lila. “They might give us more info than the missus. You never know. Nosy neighbors can be a PI’s best friend.”
    A woman answers the door. She’s younger than I expected. More attractive too. But then I’m not really sure exactly what I expected.
    “Hello, Mrs. Martin,” I say. “I’m Nolan Perry from Nash Security and Investigation, and this is my assistant Lila Garcia.”
    She holds the door open for us. “Come in.”
    The inside of the house is in much better shape than the outside. Everything’s clean and tidy. The air smells like fresh-baked cookies.
    “Can I get you two something to drink,” Mrs. Martin asks. “I made some cookies. Chocolate chip.”
    Lila’s stomach rumbles followed closely by mine and I realize that we never stopped to eat lunch.
    “They smell wonderful,” Lila says. “I’d love some cookies and milk if you have it.”
    “That actually sounds amazing,” I tell her. “I’d love some too. Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”
    She laughs. “You sound like my kids. Please have a seat and call me Debbie.” She waves toward the living room sofa. “I’ll be right back.”
    Lila sits on the couch, but I roam the room, getting a feel for how the Martins lived. There’s a neat little row of photographs on the mantel. Family vacation pictures from before Martin disappeared, I’d guess, since he’s in them. There are two children—a boy and a girl. The four of them pose together in one frame. Another is of Mr. and Mrs. Martin alone, their arms around each other. This was clearly a happy family. Not the kind of family a man willingly leaves.
    My mind circles back to the conversation I had with Cora and Lila about what might have happened to Martin. He’s either dead or in some other way unable to return to his life. I hope we find him for a whole set of new reasons. One of which is approaching us now.
    Mrs. Martin—Debbie—returns with a tray filled with a plate of cookies and three glasses of milk. She sets it on the coffee table. I take a seat next to Lila in time to be handed a napkin and a small plate. Debbie sits in a chair to my left.
    “Thank you,” I say. “I was just admiring your family photos. That was Yellowstone, wasn’t it?”
    She looks wistfully at the mantel. “Yes. We took that trip just before John disappeared.”
    “How exactly did he
disappear
?”
    Debbie examines a cookie like she’s going to take a bite before laying it back down on the plate in her lap. “He left for work one day and just didn’t come home. I called him in the afternoon, but he didn’t answer. He’d do that if he was with a