Page 21 of All the Missing Pieces

He brightened slightly at that. “I could smash one of these. They’re fire.”

I chuckled. “It’s all yours.” Dean grabbed the plate, and I grabbed my coffee. “See you around.”

“See ya,” Dean called, his mouth already full of burrito goodness.

I hurried toward the door but didn’t miss the cool stare Ezra sent me as I went. Somehow I didn’t think I’d be getting any more menu recommendations when I came in.

Unlocking my bike, I hopped on and secured my helmet. I’d already memorized the town’s map and knew exactly where Emerson’s house was. It would be a bit of a ride since she lived just outside of town, but I’d likely be less intimidating showing up on a bike versus in a van. And I wasn’t sure I had time to go back and get my vehicle anyway. I was racing against the clock.

Flipping on the electric power, I started out. Even though I was in a hurry, I couldn’t help but take in the streets I traveled down. Once I was out of downtown, there was a mix of neighborhoods, everything from small older homes to newer builds with more flash. I passed through an area that seemed to be struggling a bit more with overgrown grass and trailers that had seen better days.

But the moment I got outside the town limits, the properties grew in size. The houses here looked like they sat on multiple acres, with sprawling yards and some with accompanying barns. The road became lined with tall pine trees, casting eerie shadows over the pavement.

I caught sight of the sign that readSpruce Laneand guided my bike onto it, the trees growing thicker as I did. The road went from cement to dirt, and I thanked my lucky stars that I’dupgraded the bike with all-terrain tires. A sign on one tree readDead End—Property Owners Only. It wasn’t an official street sign, but the warning could land me in handcuffs if there was an overzealous cop involved.

The thought had an image of Colt’s face popping into my mind. The grumpy scowl and then that hint of humor as he threatened to write me a ticket. I hoped like hell he wouldn’t be the responding officer if Emerson did call the sheriff’s department.

Just when it felt like the trees were going to swallow me whole, the road opened up into a clearing. The sun poured in through the opening in the trees, shining down on a house that was meant for sunbeams. The exterior paint was a bright yellow, not neon, but like the sun itself. It had a wraparound porch painted white, and every available surface was brimming with flowers. So many I didn’t know how one person could tend them all.

As I stopped my bike, all I could do was stare for a moment. The house didn’t fit its setting deep in the forest, and yet it was perfectly at home here. Slowly, I got off my bike and lowered the kickstand.

I knew I had all the gear I’d need in my pack. I traveled light when it came to necessities. My phone could pair with two wireless lavalier mics I always kept on hand just in case an impromptu interview presented itself. But I’d never go in sticking a mic in someone’s face. Especially someone who’d been through what Emerson had.

Images filled my brain, ones my imagination had painted in vivid horror about what she’d endured. The panic as she was struck, darkness closing in around her. The terror as she woke bound in the back of a vehicle. Only it wasn’t Emerson’s face I saw as she escaped the burlap sack and threw herself from a speeding truck. It was Avery’s.

I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment, trying to force the pictures from my mind. When I opened them again, I focused on the flowers. The beautiful rainbow of them all, no two blooms alike.

Taking a deep breath, I headed for the steps. It took me only a matter of seconds to spot the cameras. The ones tucked just under the eaves and the one positioned above the door. They weren’t a bad thing. Hopefully Emerson wouldn’t see any threat when she looked at me.

Still, I didn’t move quickly. I took my time with each step, hoping I gave Emerson a chance to prepare, to do whatever she needed to feel safe. The doormat hadI Hope You Like Dogsscrawled onto it. Before I could knock, I heard a deep woof from the other side, followed by yappier barks and even a howl.

Expert early-warning system.

I lifted my hand and knocked on the door. The barking intensified and then muffled as if the dogs had been put in another room. Then I heard one lock turn, another, and finally a third. Each sound drove invisible ice picks into my sternum, but I did my best to keep my reaction relaxed.

Slowly the door inched open. It was less than a foot of space, but it allowed me to get my first glimpse of Emerson Sinclair in the flesh. My first thought was that she was stunningly beautiful. Her golden-blond hair hung in loose waves around her shoulders, and her eyes were a hypnotic shade of hazel, the gold and green swirling together. My second thought was that she had a very large dog.

Emerson’s fingers gripped the dog’s collar as he stood between her and me. A Bernese mountain dog, if I wasn’t mistaken. And while massive, he wasn’t exactly menacing. But I had a feeling that could change if I made any sort of move against his owner.

Emerson’s gaze swept over me, a mix of wariness and confusion. “Can I help you?”

“Hi. I’m Ridley Sawyer.” I’d gone over and over in my head what I wanted to say to her, but suddenly it all flew from my brain, my tongue growing heavy in my mouth as if I’d just been to the dentist and gotten shot up with Novocain.

“Hello?” She said it like a question, and I didn’t blame her.

“Sorry—I—I have a podcast. I work on cold cases, and yours came across my desk.”

A blank mask slipped over Emerson’s features, as if she suddenly turned the world from color to grayscale. “I don’t talk about it.”

Even the words themselves sounded numb. Devoid of any emotion. I understood it. Felt for her. Felt more than she would ever know. But still, I took a deep breath and went on.

“I get that. I just want to tell you one thing, and then if you want me to leave and never come back, I will. Promise.”

A little life flickered back into Emerson’s face, a hint of color. “Okay…”

“I think your abduction was the first in a string of abductions, assaults, and murders. I think the man who took you went on to kidnap twenty-three others. And he’s never been found, the cases never linked.”

Emerson’s jaw went slack. “Twenty-three?”

---