Gone In The Night. Anna J. Stewart
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up residence behind a country club had never been in Max’s plans. He was as blue collar as they came. His kid brother had gotten all the brains and earned his status by turning his ideas into a freaking fortune. Who was Max to complain when his new digs came with an amazing, inspiring jogging view?
He rounded the corner, picking up the pace as he headed for the driveway, his body already humming in that way it had when it knew he was nearly done with his daily overexertion. Coffee. Max’s blood pumped in anticipation. He needed coffee, stat.
He gave a cursory glance to the sedan parked on the street in front of one of those dinky wannabe SUVs. As if his appearance had triggered their release, two people climbed out of the sedan and approached him. He stopped jogging, planted his hands on his thighs and bent over, took slow, deep breaths to bring his pulse down to normal. He pushed his too-long hair back when it fell over his eyes. “Can I help you?”
Cops. The blazer one man wore wasn’t the only giveaway, nor was the badge on the waistband of his jeans or the uniformed deputy right on his heels. Despite this guy’s congenial expression and California-boy good looks, Max had spent enough time around the police to identify one from thirty paces.
The deputy behind him, however, appeared barely old enough to shave, with that fresh-faced blue-eyed optimism still shiny and new. Max tilted his head. He’d give it another year, two tops, before he tarnished. He shifted his attention to the woman shuffling about as she climbed out of her car.
She barely reached the detective’s shoulder. Jet-black hair that curved over her ears and brushed over concerned brows, along with the pale pink pants and shirt reminded Max of those flitting-fairy animated movies Hope was so nuts over. Not his type, Max told himself, trying to recall the face—and figure—of the last woman he’d dated. Instead, all his mind could come up with was this smiling pixie of a woman.
“Joe Kellan?” the seasoned cop inquired.
“My brother’s on a business trip.” Max didn’t have as easy a time catching his breath as he usually did. Probably because his pulse was beginning to hammer in an unsteady rhythm. “What’s this about?”
“You’d be Max Kellan, then.” The detective scanned the area as he approached. Between the steady hand on his badge and the serious tone in his voice, Max’s skin prickled.
“That’s what my driver’s license says, Officer.” Grudging respect didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy ribbing the boys in blue. He planted his hands on his hips and let his gaze return to the woman as she joined them. Any thoughts he might have had about aiming a smile at her faded as he caught the uneasy glimmer in her eyes. Wow. Max took a sharp breath. He’d never seen such dark eyes before, eyes that reminded him of the deepest dives he’d taken in the Keys.
“I’m Detective Jack MacTavish. This is Officer Bowman and Dr. Allie Hollister. Do you mind if we go inside?”
Doctor? Max’s smile vanished. “Not until you tell me why you’re here.” Cops and doctors on the doorstep first thing on a Sunday? Alarm bells Max hadn’t heard in months, had hoped he’d never hear again, clanged in his head. “Is Joe in some kind of trouble? Did his plane—”
“As far as we know, your brother is fine,” Detective MacTavish said. “We’ve been unable to get in touch with him or his wife. We’ve also been trying to reach you for the last few hours—”
“Yeah, my cell phone’s charging. It’s insi—” The words he planned to speak vanished from thought. “What is this about? Wait.” He searched his memory, eyes pinned to the woman’s face as she very lightly, almost imperceptibly, flinched. “Dr. Hollister. I know that name. You’re Hope’s shrink.”
“I’m her therapist, yes.” Dr. Hollister’s eyes narrowed in a way that told him she didn’t appreciate the moniker. “Please, Mr. Kellan—”
“Max. It’s Max. Tell me what’s going on.” His heart picked up speed, racing faster than it had at any time during his jog. His entire body went cold.
“Please.” Dr. Hollister took a step toward him. “Let’s go inside so we can talk. It’s about Hope.”
He dug in his pocket for the house key. Once inside, he managed to hold out until they had closed the door behind them. “Tell me.”
He leaned against the wall and stared blankly at the three people in his brother’s foyer. He focused on Dr. Hollister, daring her to blink, to look away. She didn’t blink. Nor did he see anything other than cool detachment in her stoic expression.
“Your niece has been missing for at least four hours. The Vandermonts contacted us when they realized she was gone from their property. We’ve been searching ever since,” Detective MacTavish said. “We still have people searching for her as we speak.”
“How could she have disappeared?” He bent double, bracing his hands on his knees as his stomach rolled. “Are you sure? How can you be sure? The Vandermonts were home when I drove her up there last evening.” Everything had been fine when he’d left. Hope had been so happy and excited, she’d run off without even saying good-bye.
Good-bye.
“Let’s go sit down, Mr. Kellan. Get you something to drink to calm your nerves.”
“I don’t need to sit down.” His spine stiffened against the fear coursing through him. Hope missing? How was that possible? He pushed off the wall, walked to the kitchen and poured himself the coffee he’d been looking forward to for the last mile. Once it was swirling in the mug, all he could do was stare down and feel himself fall...falling...
“What are we looking at? A kidnapping for ransom? A stranger ab—” He dropped his chin to his chest, unable to complete the thought. He needed to find some logic here, something to grab onto like the plans made to combat a nasty out-of-control fire. But where was logic when a child was missing? When there wasn’t anything other than complete and utter panic.
“We’re considering every possibility,” the detective told him, but he found the statement far from reassuring.
“My brother—”
“Mr. Kellan. Max.” Detective MacTavish stood across the counter from him while Dr. Hollister remained just inside the doorway, those eyes of hers scanning the room like a laser beam. “I realize this is difficult, but we need to know if you’ve heard from your niece since you dropped her at the Vandermonts’ yesterday evening.”
“Um, yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She sent me a text message before she went to sleep. It’s our routine.” Max spun in a circle. Where had he left his phone? “Here.” He pulled it free of the charging station and handed it over. “There’s a picture of her with her friends. I think they were eating s’mores. It’s all over her—” He couldn’t think. Why couldn’t he think? He stared down, transfixed, at the grinning image of the only person who brought him a modicum of joy these days. “I need to call my brother.”
“Please.” Detective MacTavish nodded, but Max could tell the cop was humoring him.
Max dialed, clenching his teeth so tight his head ached. “Voice mail. Typical. Joe, it’s me. Call me back. Now. It’s about Hope. She’s...” He scrubbed his hand across his forehead. Missing? Dead? Gone? His chest hurt from breathing so hard. “Just call me back, man. Please.” He clicked off, let out a sound that might have been a laughing sob. “Can you believe my brother’s invented some of the most advanced technology on the market and half the time he forgets to turn on his cell?” He tossed the phone on the counter, barely noticing when the detective picked it up. He needed to move, to think. To do something, anything.
“You haven’t heard from Hope since she sent you that picture?” the detective asked.
“No. You said you’re considering everything. That means she might have gone off.” Was she out there? Alone? God, he hoped she was alone. But she could be freezing. Hurt. Scared. “I know there’s some pretty thick wilderness