Page 20 of The Vanishing Wife

So much for her brother running interception.

She answered and raised the phone to her ear. “Director.”

“Agen’ Brody.” The Behavioral Analysis Unit’s director accentuated her Os each time she said Leigh’s name. At first, the accent—coupled with the woman’s severe ponytail, skirt suits, four-inch heels, and impressive resume—had intimidated the hell out of her. But the past few months and Leigh’s determination to apprehend Lebanon, New Hampshire’s resident serial killer had put them on even ground. “I’m calling to check in on your recovery. How are you feeling?”

“Antsy. And pissed.” Both were true. Though for very different reasons. She recentered herself back in front of the laptop. If the director was about to sever her access to the database, Leigh was going to get as much as she could. She couldn’t request a geofence warrant for Sensorvault to obtain Elyse’s GPS information. Not without Detective Moore or the director submitting a request to a judge. Neither of those were an option right now. She’d have to find another way. “Staying still has never been one of my strong suits.”

“I can see that, but I hear Gulf Shores is nice this time of year.” Director Livingstone let her words sink in for a moment. Just before Leigh was logged out of the database. “Enjoy the beach, Agen’ Brody. We’ll talk when your medical leave is over. Oh, and by the way, Chandler is a terrible liar.”

The call ended.

Leigh tossed her phone across the desk. More frustrated with herself than anything else. She’d known the risk, and she’d accepted it. She’d just hoped she’d have a little more time. But she’d already made the choice. Medical leave wasn’t going to stop her from finding Elyse.

She brought up the warrant request template stored on her laptop and filled it out.

Then hit Send.

FOURTEEN

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Wednesday, September 18

6:12 a.m.

Wesley hadn’t been in their room when she’d come home last night.

Guilt ate at her as she’d slid into bed, her hand reaching for him. Only to find his side of the bed empty. It hadn’t been until she’d come downstairs into the living room that she noted the blanket and pillow folded on one end of the couch. Their heated conversation wound circles through her brain. How she’d accused him of not putting her at the top of his priority list. How she’d thrown his mistakes in his face. How she’d left him standing there in the middle of the trail. This… wasn’t her.

In all honesty, she didn’t like the woman she was becoming. Disregarding her husband’s concern for her safety. Putting her needs before anyone else’s. Even Ava’s. Elyse couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had a full conversation with her daughter. What fourteen-year-old enjoyed that anyway? Wesley had made the choice to have an affair all those years ago—maybe even again—but she was the one putting a wedge between them now. Between her and the very people she cared about the most.

Elyse stepped off the trail. Knowing full well there was no going back from this. She’d thought it through. Waited for the right time. The truck usually parked beneath the beach house had left a few minutes ago with Samuel Thornton behind the wheel. It was now or never.

She jogged across the sand. Watching for early-morning runners along the shoreline or fishing boats that might be able to place her in the area. There was no one. Not even the sun had dared raise its face this early. Flashlight in hand, she followed the all-too-familiar trail leading to the back stairs of the beach house and cut straight for the storage room.

The door was still ajar. Elyse powered on the flashlight and wrenched the door back on its hinges. And froze.

It was empty.

She crossed the threshold. No mattress. No pillow. No strewn food wrappers across the floor. All gone. She shook her head as if the movement would rewind time and convince her she wasn’t crazy, but it changed nothing. A worn broom with a dustpan that attached to the handle tilted against the wall. Nothing else. “That’s not possible.”

Elyse backtracked through the door. A padlock protested as she bumped the edge. Someone had been living in this storage room. Someone had been locked inside against their will, and she was going to prove it. No matter what it took.

Her footsteps were much more sure climbing the stairs to the deck level this time. There was no question of who’d attacked her two days ago. And now she had motive. Why Samuel Thornton might not want anyone coming around his house. Why he’d resorted to getting rid of the phone she’d buried in the sand out front. Why he’d lied to Detective Moore. Because anyone who’d taken the time to look closer would’ve seen the truth: Samuel Thornton was dangerous.

She bypassed the amazing view staring out into an entire empty void of black and tested the doorknob on the first set of double glass doors leading into the house. Locked. It made sense. With the events over the past few days, a homeowner possibly holding a person against their will couldn’t be too careful. Elyse followed the curve of the deck. She tucked the flashlight into one of the thigh pockets on her running shorts, planted her palm against the nearest window, and shoved the pane upward. It wouldn’t budge. She tested the others too, with the same result. There was no getting inside.

Unless… Elyse stepped back, studying the second deck overhead. Four columns supported the underside of a balcony she assumed attached to the main bedroom of the house. She’d already taken a dive off the main level. There was no telling what kind of damage she’d sustain if she fell trying to climb to the second story. Or if she’d survive at all. But there didn’t seem to be any other option without breaking a window. The second Samuel Thornton suspected a break-in, he’d accuse her of having something to do with it. He wouldn’t be wrong, but she couldn’t take the risk. Not yet. And suspecting there might be a hostage inside was enough to make this all worth it.

Which meant she had to find a way to get to that second balcony. She targeted the dining table set perfectly positioned at the other end of the deck for an exquisite view at sunset. Funny how a man like Samuel Thornton—a man she suspected of kidnapping—put so much attention to detail on making this house look picture-perfect. Maybe that was what had fooled people for so long. Kept the community from looking too closely. From what she’d been able to gather over the past twenty-four hours, he isolated himself. No pets to take care of. No romantic interest or coworkers dropping by. She would check in with the nearest grocery store and see what else she could get from his mail, but for all intents and purposes, Samuel Thornton was alone. And he liked it that way.

Elyse pulled the dining-set chairs away from the table and cleared a path. Her shoulder argued its protest, but she couldn’t let it stop her now. The table was heavier than she’d expected, catching on planks of composite. And most likely leaving scratch marks behind. She didn’t care. After centering the table beneath the balcony, she climbed onto the surface. Just reaching the first safety wire on the handrail. The flimsy wire—more decorative than functional—lost its sturdiness in her hand. Would it snap under her weight?

There was only one way to find out.

She gripped the wiring with both hands and pulled. Her toes left the stability of the table, and she kicked out to give herself a bit of momentum up. The muscles in her shoulder were screaming now, threatening to tear. Her insides burned with oxygen stuck in her chest. She’d made it this far. She wasn’t going to give up. Elyse put everything she had into one hand and rocketed her free hand to grab for the next wire.

Her shoulder gave out.