Page 55 of Sleigh Bells and Snowstorms
Despite what I’d said to Maple, not in the slightest.
CHAPTER 14
Jensen
The drive back to Tilikum was frustratingly slow. Snow fell steadily and traffic moved at a glacial pace.
I tried ringing Natalie one more time. Still no answer. Tempting as it was to keep calling, a dozen missed calls from me would send the wrong message. I wasn’t stalking her. I was simply concerned.
Finally, I turned past the Welcome to Tilikum sign. Snow clung to it, making it largely unreadable, but the large Christmas squirrel still beamed his odd greeting at the passing cars.
The town was rather idyllic, decked out for Christmas and covered in snow. I passed snowmen being built in the park and the large tree sparkled with lights.
But where was Natalie?
Tension rippled through me as I made it to her street. I pulled up to her house and didn’t see her car. Did she park in the garage? She hadn’t before, but maybe she’d done so to get it out of the snow.
I parked and got out, heedless of the new-fallen snow on the walk up to the front door. I knocked, then stepped back and waited.
No answer.
I knocked again, harder. Still nothing. It was a weekday, which probably meant school for Annabel, and I assumed Natalie’s sister would be at work. But where would Natalie be?
Turning, I was about to return to my car—if I had to drive all over town, I was going to find her—when a thought hit me. What if Julian was behind the heist, and I hadn’t imagined his look of recognition? Everyone in that room, including him, had seen me with Natalie.
Had he done something to her?
Fuck.
After a glance around, I pulled a lock-picking tool out of my wallet. Standard issue. It only took me a second to unlock the door. I eased it open and went inside.
“Natalie?”
All was quiet. Small shoes and, child-size socks, and gloves were scattered around the entryway. I took a few steps inside and came upon what looked like signs of a struggle. A box of Christmas ornaments had been knocked over and lights trailed over the coffee table and onto the floor.
“Natalie, are you home?”
Still no answer, so I rushed around the house. A chair was tipped over in the dining room and a collection of gingerbread family pillows seemed to have been thrown down the stairs.
What had happened there?
I raced upstairs, but the bedrooms and bathrooms were empty. No sign of Natalie or her family. The little girl’s room looked like a fight had broken out. Discarded clothes and toys were everywhere.
Bloody hell, had he gotten to all of them?
Another stairway off the kitchen led to a finished basement. Large fans hummed loudly, but it was empty.
Trying to stay calm and think it through, I returned to my car. She could have been out running errands or doing whatevershe usually did when she wasn’t at work. I needed to eliminate the other obvious possibilities.
Work. She’d said they were on strike, but that could mean a picket line. I brought up the hospital on my GPS and headed across town.
It was easy to find—as hospitals generally are—and sure enough, a small group of men and women bundled up against the cold stood outside, holding up signs. I slowed as I approached, narrowing my eyes as I looked for Natalie.
I didn’t see her, so I stopped and lowered the passenger side window. A woman in a red-and-green stocking cap leaned closer.
“Hi,” she said. “If you’re looking for the emergency department, it’s open. Just follow the signs.”
“Actually, I’m looking for Natalie Thatcher. Do you know her?”
