“Why don’t I come with you?” Morgan hated to see him alone with only his worry to keep him company.

He shook his head. “It’s late. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning. Maybe I’ll have found a lead by then.”

“Call us if you discover anything important.” Morgan reached for the door handle and waited for his reply.

“I will.”

Morgan climbed out of the car. Sharp didn’t drive away until she was inside the house. She removed her heels in the foyer and left them by the door, then went looking for the family. She found her grandfather in his recliner in the family room, watching the news.

She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Is everyone in bed?”

“Gianna went to sleep early. She wasn’t feeling great. Lance put the kids to bed at eight, but Mia had a bad dream. I haven’t seen him since he went in to talk to her.”

She set a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

He put his hand on hers and gave it a squeeze. “Good night.”

Morgan walked down the hallway to the girls’ bedroom. Once the new master suite was finished, Gianna would move into the old master, and her room would become Sophie’s. Morgan’s youngest daughter still occasionally suffered from night terrors—aptly named because her screaming was terrifying to everyone except Sophie, who slept right through them.

Morgan opened their bedroom door. Light slanted from the hallway into the room. Three twin beds were crammed into the space. Lance lay next to Mia’s bed. His eyes were closed. After such a disturbing day, Morgan indulged herself in a few minutes watching him sleep. He was on his back on the hardwood floor, using a stuffed seal as a pillow, one hand clasped behind his head. The other held Mia’s hand. Morgan’s heart swelled with love and gratitude, and tears filled her eyes.

How did I get this lucky?

She’d found love a second time, with a man who was willing to take on the intimidating job of being a father to three young children. Morgan wiped her eyes and checked the girls. They were sound asleep. She nudged Lance’s shoulder. He opened his eyes and rolled his head as if his neck ached. He wore navy-blue sweatpants and a gray T-shirt. Silently, he stood and stretched, then followed Morgan from the room.

In the hallway, he whispered, “Did you eat dinner?”

“No.” Her stomach grumbled at the suggestion of food.

He took her hand and pulled her into their brand-new enlarged kitchen. The white cabinets gleamed, and undercabinet lights shone on the gray granite counters.

“Gianna made you a plate.” Lance opened the fridge and transferred a plate to the microwave. He pushed a button, and the machine hummed. “I’ll be right back.” He rushed out of the room and returned in a minute. “I bought this at the Halloween store.” He held out the rubber zombie mask. “Does it look like the piece of material Stella found next to Olivia’s bed?”

Morgan rubbed it between her fingers. “Yes. We should give it to Stella so the lab can compare the pieces. The color seems a little lighter to me.”

“There must have been fifty different masks in the store. Thousands must be available online.” Lance got up to pace. “Why would there be a piece of a Halloween mask in Olivia’s bedroom?”

Morgan’s brain whirled with possibilities. “I can think of no good reason.”

The microwave dinged, and Lance set her plate in front of her. She ate without tasting the food, her mind on the case.

Gianna walked into the kitchen, her face pale.

“Do you feel all right?” Morgan didn’t like her pallor, but Gianna was often fatigued after dialysis. Ironically, the process that kept her alive also drained her of energy.

“I think I’m getting a cold.” Gianna washed two Tylenol tablets down with water. “A bunch of kids in Ava’s class are sick.”

“The back-to-school virus. Maybe you should go to the doctor tomorrow,” Morgan suggested.

“It’s just a cold.” Gianna went back to bed.

Morgan and Lance walked back to their bedroom together. Lance doubled his pillows and lay down, his hands clasped behind his head. Exhausted but also restless, Morgan changed into pajamas, washed her face, and brushed her teeth.

She climbed into bed beside him and told him about her evening visit with the Cruz family. “It’s heartbreaking. They’re so scared.”

“So is Sharp.” He pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head. She rested her head on his chest. He turned off the light.

Morgan listened to his heartbeat and closed her eyes, but sleep did not come. Twenty minutes later, she shifted position, restless.

“Can’t sleep?” Lance whispered.

“No.” She sat up.

“Me either.” He turned on the light. “Did Sharp say where he was going after he dropped you off?”

“To Olivia’s.” Morgan checked the time on her phone. Eleven thirty. “He’s probably still there.”

Lance reached for a pair of pants on the bedside chair. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Eleven

Sharp stood in the middle of Olivia’s kitchen. He pictured her standing at the island, chopping homegrown herbs and drinking a glass of red wine. For a quiet evening at home, she’d wear worn jeans or yoga pants. Her hair would be up in a ponytail. She’d look up at him as he came into the room. Her face would brighten. She’d smile, and his step would lighten.

He could see her in front of him as if she were there. But the image faded too quickly. Bowled over by a rush of emotions that bombarded him faster than he could identify them, his chest tightened and he lost his breath. When the onslaught of emotions ended, he was left with only two: love and fear, intertwined like a Celtic knot.

Bowing his head, he hooked a hand around the back of his neck.

She couldn’t be gone. Their relationship was just getting off the ground. Missing her was a force, a pressure within his body that he wouldn’t have suspected existed yesterday.

Why did it take losing someone to make one appreciate them?

He had to find her. She’d only recently entered his life, but in a few short months, she’d become the first person he called when he received important news, good or bad. He enjoyed her quick wit, her clever banter, and the way she took absolutely zero shit from anyone, including—maybe especially—him. She was brilliant, often several steps ahead of him in any conversation. If he had vanished, she would have figured it out immediately.

He couldn’t imagine life without her.

Did she leave in the middle of the night to pursue a story for her next book?

She was a reporter. But no one had called her, either on her home phone or her cell, so the outing would have been planned. Olivia had plenty of street smarts. He couldn’t believe she would go somewhere dangerous without taking minimal safety precautions. She would have told someone where she was going, or she would have left a note. She’d been in the crime reporting business for twenty-five years. She took calculated risks for her job, not stupid ones.

Olivia’s call the night before played in his mind. She had wanted to talk to the three of them about a conflict she was having over her research. Was the issue with her research related to her disappearance?