Page 4 of The Hanging Dolls
Scott recoiled. “Everyone should be beating themselves up over this.”
“The biggest case this town has seen in recent years was that guy killed in a bar fight. Open and shut. The FBI can be helpful.”
“I know.” He nodded. He wasn’t opposed to the help. His ego wasn’t nearly as big as people perceived it to be, especially with a missing little girl whose life was hanging in the balance. But still he couldn’t help feeling defeated that they had been searching for four days and not found a single clue. “I just hope it doesn’t become a pissing contest.”
TWO
Bop.
Bop.
Bop.
The sound of bullets flying out of the barrel blasted through the room, the noise dampened by her ear defenders. Dopamine pumped through Zoe’s veins at the sound of the gunshots. The paper man at the end of the row now had three holes in his body. One through the head, one through the chest and one through the groin. Satisfaction spread through her.
In her mind, the paper man was very much real. But he was faceless and nameless. Often, she would picture a stocky man wearing a purple suit, his face concealed by a shadow. A leathery, viscous shadow of impenetrable darkness—so solid and unyielding, almost like a mask.
Sometimes in Zoe’s nightmares, she would spend hours trying to rip that mask off the man’s face. Her nails would pluck off and her fingers would bleed but there was always another layer of shadows behind the one she would manage to tear off. Infinite layers sluicing off each other until Zoe would wake up with a jolt and a racing heart.
“Do you have a vendetta against men, Zoe?” Simon whistled beside her.
Zoe removed her ear protection and clicked the button to draw the paper close. “I did spend two years undercover with a rapist,” she said with an uncomfortable chuckle.
Simon’s face fell. “Are you sure you don’t want to take time off? I’m your boss, but I really don’t want to force you.”
“You can’t force me. Your department will fall apart without me,” she teased lightly.
He went to reply, but his phone vibrated in his pocket and he excused himself. Zoe watched his tall, muscular frame through the doorway. His golden locks crowded his forehead, but there was a ruddiness to his skin that came with age.
She still remembered how scruffy his jaw had felt under her fingers all those years ago when they’d foolishly spent a few nights together after she graduated from Quantico.
“I see. Yeah, I heard about that.” Simon twisted the wedding ring on his finger. His eyes flicked to Zoe and she looked away. “You got it.” He hung up and poked his head back inside the shooting range room. “Have you heard of Harborwood?”
“No.” Zoe frowned.
“You’ll love it there.” He grinned.
“What?”
“The local PD wants assistance.” Simon gestured for her to follow him. She had to sprint to keep up with his long strides as they made their way to his office. “They got a missing kid. Out of their depth on this one.”
The office was unusually noisy today. Phones were ringing off the hook. All interrogation and conference rooms were packed with quarreling lawyers in stuffy suits arguing over charges and negotiating deals. Zoe had to strategically cut her way through the mass of bodies around her, trying to focus onthe words coming out of Simon’s mouth. “Missing kid? How old?”
“Seven-year-old girl. They don’t deal with cases like these.”
“How long has she been missing?”
“Four days.”
Dread coiled like a rope around Zoe’s throat, squeezing it tight. She stopped dead in her tracks at the same time as Simon. “Well, that kid is probably not ali?—”
Simon raised his hand. “Zoe, I have known you since Quantico. I know you use dark humor as a coping mechanism. But Harborwood PD don’t. Be careful, okay?”
She bit her tongue, holding back another cheeky comment as she rocked on her heels. “Yes, boss.”
He released a breath and muttered, “I hope I don’t regret this.” He spun on his heel when Zoe interrupted.
“Why me then? There are others.”
