Page 76 of The Italian Reckoning
“You need to make sure she’s not with friends or family.”
“Her family is back in Montana.”
“I can make a call. It’ll take some time,” Domenico says. “Anything else?”
“No friends except work—she could be at work!” It’s a long shot and something deep down tells me it’s useless, but Domenico is right. I have to exhaust all possibilities before jumping to the worst scenario. Even though that scenario blares like a siren at the forefront of my mind.
We leave Sarah’s apartment after a search for her cat, but I can’t find Iris anywhere. I hope that’s not a sign.
The drive to the police station is achingly slow and I nearly take the desk sergeant’s head off when he acts like my presence is somehow a great hindrance to the entire police department. Luckily, Domenico is able to pull a few strings and talk to cops he knows personally, and their answers tell me what I already know.
Sarah isn’t here.
No one’s seen her since she wrapped up her shift hours ago.
Fuck.
Fuck!
Outside, the night air feels thin and no matter how deeply I breathe, it doesn’t seem to be enough to satisfy the air I need. My head spins as too many thoughts collide with one another, and despite Domenico’s attempts to calm me down, they are not enough.
We’ve searched her home and her work. She’s not answering calls.
At the bottom of the steps where Sarah once accosted me for harassing her witness, I stand with my back to the police station and my heart hammering wildly in my chest. He has her. Somehow. I don’t know how, but I know it’s a fact. Domenicosteps away to take a call and when he returns, the look on his face speaks a thousand words.
His contact in Montana did a check-in with Sarah’s distant relatives. No one has heard from her.
“What do I do?” I scan Domenico’s face for answers but find none.
“You do what you are good at,” he replies, his voice soft. “You find her.”
Finding her isn’t something I can do alone, and the prospect of facing my father and fighting for help turns my stomach. So I call the only person who pops into my head who might help.
Cormac Gifford.
He agrees to meet me at the Black Ox in half an hour, barely needing to hear any details about why I need to meet him so late at night.
He’s thankfully already there by the time I charge through the door and nearly knock Hazel clean off her feet.
“Hey!” She yelps as my shoulder clips hers. I catch her by the waist and duck the tray flying in her raised hands, spinning her into Domenico as I pass.
“Sorry!”
I leave Domenico to apologize properly and make a beeline for Cormac’s table. He greets me with a tight smile and slides a glass of Scotch across the table to me as I sit. I down it in a single gulp which causes him to raise his brow.
“Wow, you’re having a bad night, huh?”
“You’ve no idea,” I gasp around the burn of the alcohol streaking down my throat. “I have no right to ask you this, but Cormac, fuck, I need your help.”
His brows crease with concern. “Talk to me.”
“It’s Sarah. I… I know in my gut that this sounds insane, but that fucking serial killing prick has her. I know he does!”
Cormac’s eyes darken as he frowns. “Tell me everything.”
So I do.
I pour out every detail of Sarah’s history with that fucker and pray she won’t hate me for spilling her secret. I detail the months she spent working on his case and tracking him until she became one of his victims. I’m light on the details of her torture, but I make it clear that she died by his hands and was brought back by some unexplained medical fluke that makes her the one that got away. Domenico joins us as I explain the connection between what happened to Mary and Sarah’s sudden disappearance, including my missing bike. By the time I finish, I’m breathless, and my knee bounces so hard that my thigh aches.
