I finally look at the man holding me back. He’s a firefighter, his helmet off. But I’m not really looking at his face. My mind is trying to decipher what he just said to me.
“I’m sorry,” he says, sweat beading across his face as he yells over the sound of the trucks and fire tearing Everly’s house to ash. “By the time we got here, there was no way in. The flames were too high.”
“It’s all my fault,” I mutter to myself. “I never should have left her here.”
“Can we call someone for you? Is this your house?”
I can’t answer him. My mouth hangs open, my eyes wide as I just walk like a zombie back to her car. Dropping into the seat, a weight settles itself on my chest as I try to breathe. She can’t be dead. She was fine just a couple hours ago… She came to my game this morning. We got into a fight. We had sex, and I left. Now, she’s…gone.
Fighting the rising emotion clogging my throat, I rest my head against the steering wheel. What now? Where do I go from here?
And there’s only one face in my vision. His. He killed her, and now he has to pay.
21
Everly
There was no use calling him. Shortly after he left, I found his phone lying on the table next to my laptop. But I couldn’t just sit around and wait for him to come back. I knew if Cullen found his dad, he would kill him. And I couldn’t let him do that.
So I threw his phone in my sweatshirt pocket, grabbed my laptop and all of my research, ordered a ride to campus, and headed out front for them to pick me up.
My car wasn’t at his dorm when I arrived, so I had the driver drop me off at my office. There’s no use driving around town looking for him. But if I stay on campus, then at least I’ll be near his dorm. He’s not going back to my house. That much is for sure.
Walking in the front door of the building, my phone rings. I have so many voicemails from campus security and the head of my department, checking up on me after they heard about the attack last night, but I haven’t had a free moment today to answer them all. It’s all happened so fast.
Looking down at my phone, I see Thomas’s name on the screen. After clicking the green button, I hold my phone up to my ear.
“Jesus, Everly, where are you? Are you okay? I heard about the attack! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Thomas, calm down. I’m fine.”
As I unlock the front door and head to my office, I get chills, remembering how things happened last night.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at home,” I lie. I don’t want Thomas knowing I’m back at the scene of the crime. He’d worry too much.
“Everly! Are you alone? Don’t you realize that Ayers was behind that attack?”
I freeze, standing outside my office. Of course, I thought about that. I could never say it to Cullen. I didn’t have much of a chance before everything fell to shit, but the thought definitely crossed my mind. The real question is if it was an act of revenge for what I did to him.
It doesn’t seem like enough to me.
I have a sneaking suspicion there’s more George Ayers doesn’t want me to find out, and he somehow caught onto my digging into the past and tried to stop me. Which only means there’s more for me to know.
It also means he won’t stop until he succeeds.
“I already gave a report to the police. I’m just trying to fly under the radar right now. I’ll be fine.”
“Everly, you’re being reckless. It’s like the case all over again.”
Getting into my office, I quickly lock the door and clean up the mess we left last night. There are papers and the mess from a plant that was knocked to the floor. I try not to think too much about the memory.
“Everly,” Thomas says through the silence. “Why do I feel like this has something to do with that kid? You’re hiding something from me. I can tell.”
For a moment, I freeze. Emotion wells in my throat. I hate lying to Thomas. He’s been my best friend for years, and at times the only person I’ve had on my side. I need him, but right now, I can’t get him involved in this.
“There’s nothing, Thomas. I promise. I’m not making any waves or causing any problems. This will all blow over. Now I’m going to grade these papers, and I’ll check in later. Okay?” My voice cracks on the last word, and I know he heard it.
“Fine.” He sounds angry with me, and I hate it. But when the line goes dead, I drop my phone on the desk and pull out my laptop.
Getting right to work, I compile as much of the research I can, grabbing a pad and paper to jot down names and dates. The only thing that can possibly distract me from the train wreck today with Cullen is work. So I dive deep, digging out as much as I can about the nanny. I feel like I’m onto something big, and it’s pulling me in.
Finally, I find a hit. There was a video interview of George and Valerie after Cullen was born. During the interview, Valerie is holding Cullen who looks to be about six months old. As he starts to get fussy, she turns to someone off camera, and calls out for Sasha.
Immediately, my finger pauses the video, replaying it three or four times, but there’s no visual to confirm who she was talking to, but it’s a lead. Jotting down the name, I continue my search, and it’s another hour of scouring missing person cases with that name eighteen to twenty years ago.
And when I find her, everything stops. The picture of a fifteen-year-old girl with dark hair and olive skin smiles at the camera. The photo looks like it was taken at a school dance. It’s her, not a doubt in my mind.
Sasha Yates. Disappeared from her home in Hartford, Connecticut at fifteen. Believed to be a runaway.
As I stare at her photo, I can’t take my eyes off the blue of her eyes and the warm tone of her skin. The dark brow and high cheekbones. I don’t want to imagine something that’s not there, but this girl looks so familiar it hurts. He looks like her.
I feel a sad sense of hope that the girl in this photo is still alive and maybe Cullen could have the reunion he deserves, although the realistic part of my brain knows better.
Before I know it, it’s dark and two hours have gone by since I sat down at my desk. There are no new notifications on my phone and no sign of Cullen. If he had been back to the house, the doorbell camera would have alerted me, but there is nothing.
Packing up my things, I decide to go back to his dorm to check for my car again. The walk across campus is long, and there are students strolling around the common areas.
When I spot my white SUV parked in front of the dorm, my heart speeds up. Relief mingles with dread as I approach his building. He will still hate me, and he might try to run, but I need to stop him from doing whatever it is he wants to do. Hopefully he’s had enough time to cool down since he left my house.
Assuming he’s in the dorm, I jog past my car, straight for the front door of his building. Halfway up the sidewalk, I hear a door open behind me.
“Everly?” His voice pierces my heart, the sound of my name on his lips. As I spin around to see his face, a gasp bursts out of me. There are heavy bags under his eyes, which are so bloodshot, the crystal blue of his irises practically shine in the moonlight.