Jamie nodded. "She had a problem with drinking too." The cigarette waved in the air, back and forth, sending a few flecks of ash fluttering on the breeze beneath the gray skies. "Addie had her own demons..." Jamie snorted, shifting. "Do you want to hear something funny?"

  The scent of the cigarette had now reached Cora. She inhaled slowly, the odor stinging her nostrils. "What?"

  "Addie killed herself because of what happened to her daughter."

  Cora frowned now. "What do you mean?"

  "Not everyone knew it, but she had Caitlin young—her daughter just turned eighteen a few months ago. She was hanging with some of the wrong sorts. Coming home at strange hours." Jamie shrugged, shaking her head. "We thought it was the usual stuff. Addie would come, complaining about it, but I told her it was all going to be okay." A note of bitterness crept into her voice.

  “Then she disappeared."

  Cora felt a prickle along her spine. "What do you mean?"

  "Exactly that. She disappeared. Was kidnapped, we think. We haven't seen her in months. And when Addie reported it to the police, the investigators looked at it and closed the case in a day. Said that because of the people she was hanging around, she was probably just a runaway. But none of the people she spent time with had seen her. One of them said they saw her being forced into the back of a car, but she was too high to remember anything." Jamie shook her head, the bitterness having returned to her voice.

  Cora frowned now, interjecting, "Wait a moment," she said. "Her daughter was kidnapped? How come I didn't know Addie had a daughter?”

  "She didn't want anyone to know. She was embarrassed. She had Caitlin when she was only fifteen; our mom took care of her for the years she was off in the navy; it wasn't an easy life, but we had a good life," Jamie said, taking another long pull from the cigarette, and closing her eyes in grief. Her voice shook as she sighed. "I'm sorry I don't mean to—it's just…" she trailed off, tapping one pale finger against the side of the cigarette, and watching as ash fluttered. Then she looked up, and her gaze was attentive, piercing. “So, you work for the FBI?"

  Cora frowned. "I used to. I don't anymore."

  But Jamie said, "I understand, but you would still have connections, right?"

  “What are you getting at?" Something about the tone of the conversation seemed to have shifted. Cora felt prickles along her skin.

  "I'm not getting at anything...I'm begging...my niece was kidnapped. My sister is dead and there's nothing I can do about it. But someone like you…" She trailed off, shrugging once.

  Cora studied the woman; she felt a strange shiver along the backs of her hands. In part, because when she looked at this young woman, heard the grief in her voice, Cora couldn't help thinking of her own life. There had been so many parallels between her and Addie. They had hit it off right away, but there were parallels after her death too.

  The feeling of helplessness. Of pain. Feeling trapped. Of wanting it all to end. Cora felt a shiver along her back. She exhaled briefly, trying to calm her nerves. "I don't know what you think I can do for you," she said carefully. Cora couldn't look at Jamie now, feeling a prickle of guilt that started as a knot in her stomach and spread in sharp pangs. She wanted to help. Every part of her wanted to help. But she knew that if she agreed to, there was nothing she could do officially. She'd been fired. The director had been clear; there were still discussions about pressing charges.

  She'd openly admitted to being drunk on cases in the past. There was photographic evidence of her purchasing illicit drugs. She hadn't denied it.

  She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose. "I can't help you," she said, and the knot in her stomach only intensified.

  Jamie's voice was pleading now, "I'm not saying you have to do anything crazy. But you've got to have some connections. Someone who can take a second look. The police station wouldn't even take my calls. The detective in charge said it was open and shut, and he only spent the day looking at the information." Jamie had dropped her cigarette now and was waving a finger around like a conductor's baton. Her voice was increasing in volume, clearly growing agitated. “I can pay you!" Jamie said hurriedly. "Not much. But I can pay."

  Cora winced, shaking her head. "It's not about the money. I just don't see how I can help you."

  Jamie frowned, pulling another cigarette. "Fine, I get it,” she sighed slowly. “Would you at least think about it?"

  Cora hesitated. She didn't want to lead the woman on. As sincere as she sounded, and as much as Cora wanted to help, there was nothing she could do. She wasn't an agent anymore.

  "I believe my niece is still alive," Jamie said, her voice shaking. “But no one's listening—no one is willing to help. Please," she said one more time, her fingers shaking so badly that she failed to light the new cigarette.

  Cora didn't reply; the organ music had stopped now. The voices had quieted. A few people, she spotted through the open doors, were shuffling by, passing the closed casket.

  Cora, again, felt that it was fitting she stay back, watching from a distance. So much of life had felt like a spectator sport. She bit her lower lip and exhaled. She wanted to say no. Wanted to give a firm reply cutting off any further request.

  She was fighting her own demons, after all.

  "There's no one else," Jamie said in a small, sad voice. "No one.”

  Still, even though Cora began to refuse, what came out instead was a question. "Where was your sister living when her daughter was taken?"

  Jamie perked up, her eyes widening. She kept her tone cool, though, as she said, "Here, near the Rockies. All of our families lived in the same, small town of Westville; it's not far from here.”

  Cora frowned. "And it was the police in Westville who refused to investigate?"

  Like a drowning victim reaching for a lifeline, Jamie spoke urgently, nodding her head rapidly in frantic motions. "Yes, exactly!” she exclaimed. "They didn't even try. Something is off about the whole thing."

  Cora could feel an urge threatening to return; all she really wanted to do was get on a plane, head home, pop a few pills, and wait to hear if the FBI was going to press charges.

  But in the SEALs, one of the major benefits had been the discipline they'd taught. The ability to do difficult and hard things.

  What was another day? It wasn't like she had anywhere to be.

  And most of all, though she hated to say it, didn't want to admit it to anyone, least of all herself, she wasn't sure what she might do if she spent the night alone, in her small apartment, drinking.

  What had happened to Addie? The demons that had been chasing her since their time together overseas finally caught up.

  Despair wasn't a friend to anyone, but it was a particularly deadly enemy to those who already battled on multiple fronts.

  Cora wasn't sure she could take much more.

  She said, her voice shaking, "Maybe I can stay another day. Just one day."

  As she spoke, Jamie's eyes widened.

  The woman let out a little squeal of delight and took a couple of steps forward as if to hug Cora.

  But the disgraced FBI agent held up a hand and shook her head. "I'm not promising anything. You have to come to terms with the fact that it may really be the case that she was just a runaway. The police might be right."

  "But you'll look into it?"

  Cora sighed, unsure how she had come from wanting to refuse to now giving this small concession. But then again, it really was only one day. What was the worst that could happen in a day?

  "One thing, you don't happen to have a place for me to stay, do you? I'm also going to need to borrow a car.”

  Jamie, still excited, was nodding quickly. "Mom never drives the van. And you can stay in the living room at my place. It's cozy, but clean."

  Cora nodded. "Cozy and clean will do just fine. I'll only be here for the one day. I mean it."

  Jamie was nodding along, too excited to pay much attention to this admonishment.

  Cora closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if she ought to change her mind. But nothing was waiting for her back in West Virginia. And besides, maybe just maybe, the police had missed something. Even though she had sometimes been drunk or high on the job, she'd also been good at what she did. She wouldn't have the same backup, or resources, or access to even the simplest of databases, but instincts and willful stubbornness were capable of going places that an amalgam of resources weren't.

  She turned, walking down the stairs towards the street. Over her shoulder, she said, "I'll be back in a bit, if you don't mind giving me a ride. I have something to take care of."

  Really, this was just code for, I don't want to speak with anyone who recognizes me.

  As she moved away from the small church, hands jammed deep into her pockets, she hunched her shoulders, the shaved portion of her head feeling chilly from a faint breeze.

  She wasn't sure what she had just gotten herself into; she had never confronted a police station before. Never had to double check someone else's work. But if a girl's life was on the line, she guessed it was the least she could do.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Caitlin shivered, her breath coming in rapid and wild gasps. The tremble along her arms, hands, and the backs of her legs had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the prickle of terror.

  Her shoulder bumped against metal. Her back scraped against the corrugated plastic floor of the jeep.

  They had thrown her in the back, and she could feel her arm brushing against another soft limb. The young woman next to her was crying.

  But Caitlin had already shed her tears; the blindfold was damp from both perspiration and her panicked weeping.

  But now, after nearly an hour, she could feel the fibers of rope. Small, broken pieces of plastic flooring she had managed to puncture with her fingers had exacted a toll in pain. Blood dripped from her fingers and sharp jolts of discomfort shot up her hands even as she worked at the ropes.

  But even so, she continued frantically. Rubbing back and forth, fraying ropes falling. Fibers and strands tumbling.

  She felt fear like never before. The harsh, male voices from the front of the Jeep were shouting something in a language she didn't understand. Suddenly, her body jolted, and she realized they had come to a stop.

  She could smell a verdant, lush breeze. Fresh air, like that of a forest, but different somehow. Strange scents and fragrances arose. The odor of cheap cologne and stale cigarette smoke wafted back from the front, competing with the other inferences.

  She could feel the ropes falling, and then, the front door slammed just in time to mask her own gasp of surprise.

  The bonds broke completely; her hands were free.

  She resisted the urge to congratulate herself, to remove her blindfold. Right now, she had to be careful and quiet.

  Her mother had been adamant that she needed to keep her cool in situations like these.

  Caitlin missed her mother. Things had been rough between them for years. She resented the first fifteen years of her life, being raised by her grandmother.

  The last three years, her mother had returned from service.

  Now, Caitlin wished she had done it all differently.

  She heard more sharp voices. A sudden flare across her blindfold of bright lights. And then, a horrible sound. A gunshot.

  The girl next to her let out a faint gasp, and Caitlin took this as her chance to tug at her blindfold, doing her best not to move too much.

  She left it skewed over her face, peering over the edge.

  She stared out, her eyes scanning, and she realized, startled, that they were in some type of jungle. The leaves above were not oak or fir. They were large, like elephant ears.

  She heard other sounds coming from the dark jungle. The night was illuminated by headlights from multiple vehicles. Their Jeep, by the looks of things, though she kept her head down as she scanned, was at the back of a convoy of four cars. The car in the front had pulled off to the side of the road, and two men with red bandannas, guns slung over their shoulders, were desperately trying to move toppled branches.

  A few other men, standing near the Jeep she was in, were being beckoned forward by a man who barked in an authoritative voice. He was pointing at something, and the men with guns moved away from her Jeep.

  Her heart pounded. She felt a sudden surge of adrenaline. Now or never.

  She tore the blindfold down and began to rise.

  But just then, there was a flash of headlights. A car pulling up behind them. More angry shouting.

  "What are you doing?" came a small voice next to her. It was a relief to hear English.

  But Caitlin didn't reply. She paused, peering towards the glaring lights behind her. Then towards the woman at her side, who was crying.

  Caitlin bit her lip. She couldn't just leave the woman here, could she?

  But if she didn't, they were both as good as dead. She had heard stories of how things like this ended.

  Her hair stuck to her skin, sweat slicked.

  She glanced at the woman who was blindfolded and bound next her. She spotted caramel skin, and rich curls behind her blindfold.

  Then, with a huff of frustration, she dropped back and pulled the blindfold over her eyes once more, as much as it pained her to do it.

  She hid the ropes in the gap under the cracked plastic. And then pressed her hands in front of her, as if they were still bound.

  She lay down on the plastic ground next to her fellow captive. "Stay quiet," she whispered. “It looks like something is blocking the road."

  But the young woman was crying again. "What are they going to do with us?" She asked through a sob.

  "Nothing nice," Caitlin said, finding her own voice shaking. But in moments like these, she channeled her mother or, at least, she tried to. As different as they were, and as many difficulties as they had faced, she had always respected her mother, the woman who had shown more courage than most people she'd ever known.

  She couldn't wait to get out of here and tell her mom just how much she meant to her. It had been weeks, maybe longer since they'd seen each other.

  Caitlin shivered, remembering the last time she'd been in town.

  "Please, please, let me go."

  The girl next to her was crying, her voice rising in volume. Caitlin winced. The last thing she needed was attention. She hissed sharply, “Quiet! Keep it down!"

  But the young woman with the dark hair was shaking her head, voice cracking. There was the sound of thumping boots, more slamming doors. And then the engine roared to life. Someone barked something contemptuously, and there was a hand that slapped at Caitlin, coming from the direction of the front of the Jeep.

  They said something again, in a language she didn't know. But then, in English, heavily accented, the same voice snapped, "Shut up!"

  This only caused Caitlin's fellow captive to cry harder.

  Caitlin reached out suddenly, wincing as she did, and hoping that no one noticed her free hand. It took her a second to find the young woman's arm. But then she held the woman's wrist, and gave it a quick, comforting squeeze. She whispered softly, "It's going to be okay."

  This, of course, was a lie. Another thing her mother had taught her. Lying to keep someone from being scared. Lies like, I'll be there for your birthday. Or I'll see you next year. Or don't worry, I'll come home. Lies that she had believed as a child. But now, as a woman, she knew far better than to expect a happy ending.

  But that didn't stop her from utilizing the same tactic. She kept her hand gripping the young woman's shaking arm.

  The girl seemed to quiet. The angry voices returned to a more regular volume and then the jeep grumbled back to life; they were moving once more.

  Her hands were free, but Caitlin realized, with dawning dread, she may have just missed her only opportunity to escape.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Cora tugged uncomfortably at the sweater she had borrowed from Jamie.

  Her hair was still somewhat damp from the shower, and her back ached from that horrible, hard chair of the minivan she'd been allowed to borrow. But her belly was full, following a pulled pork and potatoes dinner after the wake with Jamie and her mother.

  Now, she faced the small Westville police station.

  As she moved up the parking lot, studying the place, she realized just how small the station was. Only the size of a two-story townhouse. With, by her count, two cars in the parking lot.

  Westville wasn't a particularly large town. When Jamie had agreed to bring her home, and allow her to sleep on the couch, Cora wasn't sure what she had been expecting. But the place felt more rural than anything. The Colorado Rockies stood out in the town's backyard, a permanent postcard over the fenced in acreage.

  On the drive to the police station, she had spotted a small library and even a public pool. But beyond that, there had only been one restaurant, and the grocery store was not one she recognized. No auto shop and no hospital. Though, she had spotted a veterinarian.

  A small town, with a green sign leading in that posted a population of 900.

  In a place this small, one outsider stood out like a sore thumb.

  In part, that was why she had asked to borrow a sweater. Jamie was a size larger than Cora, but it was better than walking into a police station wearing her old, smoke smelling Navy uniform, and instantly standing out as an object of suspicion.

  She took the stairs leading up to the police station's sliding doors.

  Perhaps it was big city living, but she was surprised when the glass doors didn't slide open automatically.

  She reached out with the back of her hand, pushing the door open, and stepped into the police station.

  A small bell rang overhead, as if she had entered a grocery store.

  A couple of men sitting behind a desk, and another behind the counter, glanced in her direction.

  She could hear an angry voice in the back of the office, coming through an open door. She couldn't quite make out what the voice was angry about, but the volume was only increasing the closer she got the desk.

  "Can I help you?" said the man behind the desk.

 

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