Page 51 of Mated to the Mountain Bear
“I need to go through everything again. About Amber. Sometimes, details surface after the initial shock fades. Just in case they’re connected.”
My stomach clenches, a familiar sick feeling rising. Ben’s hand finds my thigh under the table, warm and heavy, keeping me grounded. His thumb traces small, soothing circles that he probably doesn’t even realise he’s making.
“The night she disappeared.” Beau’s pen hovers over a fresh page. “Walk me through it again.”
I close my eyes, calling up details I’ve replayed until they’ve worn grooves in my memory. The kitchen fades, and I’m back in Amber’s apartment, watching her fuss with her appearance. It plays over and over, like a film I can’t pause, each detail painfully clear.
“She had a late callback and was nervous, but excited. She kept changing outfits, asking my opinion.”
The last moments I had with her burn brightly and painfully. Amber held up dresses, twirling, her face glowing with hope. She’d borrowed my lucky earrings, the little gold stars she always said brought her good fortune. So normal. So final.
“I was out with friends, but she texted when she got home. Said it went great, and they seemed happy with her. That was at 11:17.” I know the exact time. I’ve stared at that last message until the screen blurred, willing another to appear below it.
“Then?” Beau’s voice is gentle but persistent as his pen scratches softly against paper.
“Then nothing.” I open my eyes and stare at my hands wrapped around the cooling mug. My knuckles are white from gripping too hard. “I got home and assumed she was in bed already when all the lights were out. The next morning, I went in and saw the bed hadn’t been slept in…”
I take a steadying breath before continuing.
“Our neighbor across the hall said he’d heard what sounded like a car accident outside around midnight and saw someone from their building had gone out to check. He’d seen a woman leave, thought it might have been Amber, but he couldn’t be sure from the fourth floor. He didn’t go down because his daughter was asleep inside.”
“The police did appeals, searches, and reviewed all the cameras, but found nothing.”
It doesn’t make any sense. Amber wasn’t Hollywood famous, but she’s been a hit character in a long-running series for a while now. She couldn’t go anywhere without being recognised.
Plus, she’s stunningly beautiful. Peoplenoticeher.
How could she have just vanished?
“And she never came back.” A statement, not a question.
“No. Her car was still in the garage. Her purse was on the kitchen counter. Phone too.” The details come out hollow, echoing in the small kitchen. None of it sounds good.
The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken fears.
Beau writes steadily, pen moving in smooth strokes. The sound is oddly soothing, with proof that someone is still looking, still trying.
“When did your stalker first make contact?”
The change of direction is abrupt. I take a shaky breath, trying to switch gears from my missing sister to my recent ordeal.
“I found a note under my windshield wiper.” My voice drops to barely above a whisper. “You belong to me.”
Ben’s hand tightens on my leg. I can practically feel his anger at those four words that have been haunting me for weeks.
The questions continue, each one leaving a wound on my soul. Amber’s routine, mapped out in painful detail. Her morning jogs through the park, always the same route and sametime. Her recent roles. Directors who pushed too hard, costars who got too familiar.
Anyone making her uncomfortable lately.
With each question, ones that the police had already asked a dozen times, my frustration builds.
“She was about to hit it big,” I say, voice cracking. “This role would have changed her life. They’re trying to make it seem like she had a breakdown, but she was excited. She wouldn’t have just walked away from it. From everything. “
Ben’s coffee mug sits, untouched, growing cold. He hasn’t moved except for the steady, grounding pressure on my leg.
Beau’s pen stills on the page. “No,” Beau agrees quietly. “She wouldn’t. Not willingly.”
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