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But she knew she couldn’t really blame the manager. Holly’s behavior at times was a bit erratic. She had already lost two jobs in the past for being unreliable. Mostly because she’d drop everything if her sister needed her.
“Her car was in disarray. Like someone had been shuffling through her things. Would she have left a mess if she was trying to find something?”
Judging from the skepticism scrawled across his face and seeping into his signs, Miles didn’t think so. And Rebecca agreed. Her heart sank.
“Holly would never leave her things cluttered or messy,” Rebecca informed him. His mouth was moving as he told Jackson what she said. She continued, “Disorder of any kind bothered her. I sometimes tease her that if there was a fire she’d make her bed before leaving the building.”
The joke had made people laugh before. Not anymore.
“I want you to look at this picture,” Miles signed. “Is this the vehicle she would have driven to work yesterday?” He tapped the screen on his phone, then flipped it around so she could see the picture he brought up. It was a white Jeep. He swiped his finger across the screen. A second picture of the back of the vehicle. The familiar vanity license plate came into view.
She swallowed. Nodded. Any hope she’d entertained that there might have been some mistake disintegrated. Something caught her eye.
“Wait, what’s that?” She pointed to a large blot of color on the side of the car. It was a dark smear. It hadn’t been there the day before. It looked like paint. Or...
A wave of nausea hit her, causing her to sway. “Is that blood?”
Miles hesitated. But the answer was on his face even before he nodded.
Holly wasn’t just missing—she was hurt. Why, Lord? Hadn’t she suffered enough?
She pushed back from the table, stood and moved to the sink. She gripped the counter with both hands, so hard her fingers hurt. Her control was slipping. The trembling started in her insides and worked its way outward. The view out of the window above the sink blurred.
A warm hand settled on her shoulder. Miles’s fresh scent washed over her a second later. Without thought, she turned and burrowed into Miles’s shoulder, fighting back tears. He patted her awkwardly on the back.
What was she doing?
Stepping away, she wiped at her moist eyes. More to give herself a moment to regain control than because she was crying. As she wiped her sleeve across her eyes, she gathered up the courage to face him. The compassion she saw in his expression was almost her undoing. Almost. But she was made of stronger stuff.
“Sorry,” she signed.
He shrugged. “Not a problem. It’s a completely natural reaction. Here’s what we need to do. I need to bring you into the station to ask—”
“But I’ve done nothing wrong!”
He raised his hands, made a calm-down motion. “I know. We just have some questions for you, and they should be answered at the station so that we can bring in a certified interpreter to make sure there’s no confusion or misinterpretation.”
What? she thought. “You sign. Your ASL is beautiful.”
She watched, fascinated, as his ears turned bright red. It would have been cute in other circumstances. “Thanks. But it’s the law. You need a certified interpreter. Unless you agree to accept me as the interpreter for now.”
She sagged back against the counter. “Fine. I accept. I don’t want to go to the police station. What do you need to know?”
Miles took his seat back at the table. Reluctantly, she moved to sit down again.
The conversation started very generally. Age, birthday, job. Then it got more specific. Where did Holly grow up? Who did she live with?
“How did you meet Holly?”
“We went to the same school for years. Holly was a year ahead of me.”
Jackson said something to Miles, who interpreted, translating it into sign. “You grew up in Spartansburg, right?” She nodded. “You lived in different districts. How did you go to the same school?”
She cocked her head at the officer. “Holly is hard of hearing. We were both bused out of district so we could attend the deaf program.”
“Have either of you had an issue with violent boyfriends, or threats? Anyone hold a grudge against either of you at work?” Miles again.
She paused. “No.”
But what about before? Was it relevant?
He waved his hand, drawing her attention back to him.
“If there’s something that might be related, we need to know.”
She drew a large gulp of oxygen into her lungs. She hated talking about this, and hadn’t for years. Not even to Jess. But now she had to. Because Holly was in trouble.
“Ten years ago, when I was fifteen, I went out with Holly and three other girls from her school. Ashley Kline, Brooke Cole and Jasmine Winters. Ashley and Jasmine were older and had just graduated. Ashley was driving her mother’s van and pulled over to help some guy who seemed to have broken down on the side of the road.”
Abruptly, she stood and moved away from the officers. Memories of that day pulled at her, dragging her under. So much bad had come from one simple act of charity—stopping to help a stranger. Miles slowly got to his feet.
“Maybe we should go to the station.”
She shook her head. She could do this. “No, I’m fine. There was just one man. He looked innocent enough. But he wasn’t. He hadn’t broken down. He was high on drugs and had stolen the car. When we stopped, he pulled out a gun and forced his way into the van and drove us to his house. He kept us locked up in the basement for two days. Until we were found.”
She stopped. The memories were hitting hard and fast now. Overwhelming her. She could feel the cement wall against her back, smell the damp moldy basement.
Miles approached her carefully, as if he expected her to bolt. “I’m sorry you went through that,” he signed. “And I hate that I have to ask you to relive it, but—”
“I understand,” she interrupted. “It’s for Holly.”
“The man who abducted you, do you remember his name?”
As if she could ever forget. “Terry Gleason.”
“Terry as in Terrence?”
She shook her head. “Just plain Terry.”
Miles turned his head. Sergeant Jackson must have asked something. Miles nodded and then returned his focus to her. “The other girls, did they know the man?”
“I think some of them might have known him. Jasmine seemed to. She was the oldest. Already eighteen. And possibly Ashley. I don’t know about Brooke. But I don’t know from where. I didn’t really know the other girls. And none of them could sign. Only Holly.”
“You said you were fifteen? Did you still go to school together?” Miles pressed his lips together. She could almost see the thoughts running through his mind.
“No. I was still Amish back then so I only went to school through eighth grade.” Regret surfaced, but she pushed away the feeling. Now was not the time. “The deaf program was a small group of students in a public school with a teacher of the deaf. Most of us went to her for Language Arts. The rest of the day, we were in classes with hearing kids and interpreters. Jess, Holly and I were the only three girls in the program. Jess left soon after I did to go back to her home school. That’s when Holly started to hang out with the older girls. I met her again a few years later. I was in the middle of my Rumspringa.” She signed “running around,” using the direct translation. That was the only sign for the word she knew.
“Whatever happened to the man who kidnapped you girls? Please tell me he went to jail.”
She nodded. “He went to jail. So it probably wasn’t him. I testified at the trial. My parents did not want me to. Law enforcement and trials are not something Amish people usually get involved with. But I couldn’t not testify.”
Miles nodded, sympathy deep in his eyes. “Did all five of you testify?”
The dark hole she kept closed in her mind started to open, letting a few images spill into her brain. She slammed it shut, but some things could never be unseen. “Not all of us. Jasmine was strangled the day we were rescued.”
Miles paled. His jaw hardened. Jackson’s lip curled and his nostrils flared.
“I had never seen such evil. He left the rest of us after he had killed her. The police came while he was gone. Two officers. He came in behind them and attacked them with a bat. After one fell, the other knocked him down and handcuffed him. I didn’t learn until the trial that the other officer had died from a blow to the head.”
The officers looked at each other. Some kind of communication went between them. Their expressions darkened.
Miles puffed out his cheeks. She thought he resembled a blond chipmunk. Then he let out the breath and her pulse fluttered. This was no cute little boy. The man who stood before her was all cop, and his eyes were fierce. She trembled at the way his gaze sharpened.
“I need to find out what happened to that man. And if he is still in jail. That was ten years ago, so there is a chance he’s free now. Not a very good one, seeing as an officer and one of the girls died. But I’m not comfortable not knowing everything.”
Miles asked a few more questions, making sure he had the names of the other girls spelled correctly, and that he had the dates written down both of when they were taken and when they were found. Then he closed his notebook. “Our focus now is finding Holly. We’ll pull Holly’s driver’s license photo from the database. Send it around to see if anyone recognizes her.”
“Wait.” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “That picture is almost four years old. She’s lost weight and changed her hair.”
Darting back into Holly’s room, she grabbed Holly’s tablet and clicked on the photo app. She used her finger to scroll through the pictures until she found the one she wanted. Perfect. It was recent enough that it had Holly’s new trendy haircut.
She rejoined Miles and Sergeant Jackson at the table and handed over the tablet.
Miles took the tablet and held it so Jackson could see it, too. “That’s Holly,” she signed, and pointed at the laughing girl. Miles smiled, but his eyes narrowed. He had something else on his mind.
A second later, he proved her right. He tapped a second picture. When it filled the screen, he pointed to the girl next to Holly and signed, “Who’s this?”
“That’s Ashley. It must have been taken a few years ago, because she and Holly don’t hang out anymore. They had some kind of argument over a man they had both dated.”
“Ashley—” he checked his notebook “—Kline? Holly’s friend from high school?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
He handed the device to Sergeant Jackson, continuing to sign as he spoke so that Rebecca would know what he was saying.
“Do you recognize her? I know I have seen her face somewhere, but can’t place it.”
Sergeant Jackson took the tablet and studied the photo. A frown etched itself into his face as he considered the image.
“Yeah, I have seen her before. But I don’t know where. We need to get the pictures to the station, have them compared to the database. Could you email these images to us? Or maybe we could take the tablet, in case there are better images?”
Miles’s hands flew as he interpreted. When he finished, Rebecca nodded. “Will Holly get the tablet back?”
Miles exchanged glances with Jackson. “If it’s at all possible, we’ll return it,” he signed. What he didn’t add was that it all depended on if they found Holly alive. It was in their expressions. She shivered. Please, let Holly be okay.
“I’m going to send those pics in now, actually,” Miles interjected. Jackson raised his eyebrow. “That way they can start looking for Holly, and run a search on Ashley. But we will still need to hold on to the device, just in case.”
Rebecca took the tablet back and shared the selected images in a text with Miles.
He pulled out his phone and looked at the images. Then he fiddled with his phone some more. “Done. I sent them in.” He put the phone back in his pocket.
His watch lit up. She started. She recognized it as one of those new high-tech watches. It was neon green. Funny. She didn’t often see people her age wearing watches. Watching his blond hair flop on his forehead, she decided it fit him.
“Lieutenant Tucker says he got the pictures and will make sure they are processed.” His watch lit up again. He tapped it and read the message. “He also says that the visual artist can be there later this morning. You can come in and give her a description of your attacker. Maybe you’ll remember something that will help us find him. We should head out. Jackson?”
The other officer nodded once, then got to his feet to head to the door. Miles stood as well, but instead of walking away, he moved toward her. He leaned forward, so close she caught the clean, sharp scent of him. No cologne, just soap, shampoo and Miles. “I can tell you this. I find it doubtful that you and your roommate would be attacked the same night by accident. Someone is after you. We just have to figure out who.”
* * *
It took some doing, but Miles was finally able to convince Rebecca to come to the police station with him to give a description to the visual artist. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to help. Turning to the police just seemed to be awkward for her. Growing up, her community didn’t go for outside help easily. He understood that. Even though she’d left the Amish community, she was still very close with her family. Those influences would be hard for her to overcome.
He also had a sneaking suspicion that her experiences with the legal system at the age of fifteen didn’t help. He knew from watching the trial after his stepsister was murdered that people could be brutal to innocents. Especially the press.
He remembered the agony his father had gone through after his mother had been killed in such a sensational manner. He’d only been four, but some memories stayed with you forever. He shuddered as he remembered the way his father had been hounded by reporters, who wanted to know more about the famous model who’d died in a car crash while running off with another man. Leaving her child behind.
His father had become a broken man. But he’d had the wisdom to send his only child to live with his parents and younger brother. Spending the next two years with his father’s deaf relatives had sheltered him from the worst of the drama, and connected him to a community he wouldn’t have learned about otherwise.
“Hey, catch you later.” Jackson sketched a casual wave and sauntered to his own car. Miles jerked back, grateful to be pulled out of his morbid memories.
“See you.” Miles opened the passenger-side door for Rebecca, then jogged around to his own side.
As soon as the door shut, she turned to face him.
“Do you really think someone kidnapped Holly?”
How to answer that? Miles wasn’t into giving false hope, but he also didn’t want to escalate the situation with unsubstantiated theories. “I think we need to consider all the possibilities.” There. How was that for diplomacy?
She wrinkled her nose. “But if it was the same person, why wasn’t I kidnapped when that man attacked me last night?”
He twisted his body so he could give her his full attention. “I don’t want to scare you. But we have no idea what your attacker would have done if you had not escaped. He may have meant to knock you unconscious and then kidnap you all along.” She raised her hands, and he motioned for her to wait. “I don’t have the answers yet. I intend to get them. Please, can you trust me a little longer?”
She didn’t like it. He could see that, but she relented and let him start the car.
Twenty-five minutes later, he pulled into the station. As he led her into the building, he could see her shoulders stiffen. Her arms were folded in typical closed-off body language. He wished she would look at him, just so that he could send her a comforting look, or try to make small talk. Anything to make the situation easier. But she wouldn’t look anywhere but straight ahead.
In the conference room, he saw that the interpreter had already arrived. Miles introduced the two women. Rebecca stared at the brunette with the edgy haircut with something akin to suspicion.
“Olsen!”
Lieutenant Jace Tucker approached, his forehead heavily creased. Uh-oh. Whatever happened, Miles wasn’t sure he wanted to know about it. Jace Tucker was known for his no-nonsense attitude. He was also fair-minded. A man who commanded respect. Most of all, he was good at remaining calm and impartial, rarely letting his emotions show while he was working. That he looked visibly upset right now was a very bad sign.
“Yes, sir?”
“Is Miss Miller in there?”
What was this about? “Yes. I just brought her in to meet with the visual artist. She hasn’t arrived yet.”
Lieutenant Tucker craned his neck toward the room where he’d left the two women. Miles followed his gaze. The women were sitting quietly. Rebecca was staring straight at them. The lieutenant motioned for Miles to follow him. Instincts in high alert, Miles walked with him. They went into Lieutenant Tucker’s office and shut the door. It took some effort, but Miles stood at attention, waiting for the other man to begin.
