Mission: Without a Trace - Nicole Edwards Page 0,67

the DAs can figure out the rest.”

Brantley knew he was right. Deep in his gut, he knew it. But he couldn’t help thinking about Juliet Prince, the woman who had kidnapped Travis’s daughter. He’d been keeping track of the FBI’s investigation. Unfortunately, Juliet’s trail had gone cold, which meant they were no closer to bringing that woman to justice.

“Look,” Reese said, voice low. “I figure there’s a reason the governor wants us to take point on this. Corinne’s his daughter. He doesn’t give a shit how you find her. Leave it to APD and the state troopers or the Texas Rangers to skim the textbook on how to cover our asses later.”

“Off the books,” he said, thinking about Travis’s comment when they’d discussed the task force originally.

“Exactly.”

Well, as long as they were on the same page.

“Then I say we head back to the barn, see what else JJ’s dug up,” Brantley suggested.

Reese snagged the Frosty he’d set aside. “And I’ll take this for the road.”

***

Getting back to Coyote Ridge took roughly half an hour thanks to Sunday afternoon traffic, or the lack thereof. They’d both remained relatively quiet, the weight of this case beginning to add to the tension. When they’d been looking for Lauren Tyler, there hadn’t been a sense of urgency. Being that she’d been gone for nine years, the hurry-up-and-solve mentality wasn’t there. But with Corinne … Reese knew they couldn’t slow their momentum. They had to continue to pursue any and all leads, pull on threads until they unraveled the mystery behind who took the governor’s daughter.

As Brantley steered the truck down his driveway, Reese looked at the property. Really looked at it. He had to assume Brantley owned roughly ten acres, maybe a little more. There were no neighbors on either side. Not that he could see, anyway. More farmland, most of which was being utilized, unlike Brantley’s land.

But it was the house that caught his attention like it usually did. From the outside, it looked much like a lot of the white farmhouses in the area. Two stories, wraparound porch complete with swing. It was the second story that made him curious since he’d never gone up there before, despite the fact he’d been staying over at Brantley’s for weeks now.

“Just curious, but how much space do you have in that house?”

“Too much. I use the kitchen, the bedroom, and the bathroom. Why?”

“You don’t even go upstairs.”

“Nothin’ up there but some bedrooms, a game room, and a coupla baths.”

“No furniture? Really?”

“What?” Brantley smirked. “You think I’m hidin’ a couch and dining table up there?”

Reese chuckled. Funny how he’d never really paid much attention to the house. Now that he was, he had to admit, he liked the charm of it. Didn’t necessarily suit Brantley, but it was nice.

“How many square feet?” he asked, curious.

“Thirty-nine hundred or somethin’ like that.”

Wow. That was a lot.

“And no, to answer your silent question, I didn’t need all that space. I bought it because it was the only thing on the market at the time.”

Reese fully understood that. Coyote Ridge real estate was in high demand.

“You plan to do anything with the upstairs?”

Brantley shrugged, putting the truck in park. “One day. Maybe.”

Reese climbed out of the truck, followed Reese to the porch.

“Gonna make some coffee,” Brantley said as they walked into the house. “Want some?”

“More than my next breath,” he admitted.

While Brantley set the pot to brew, Reese moved to the refrigerator, snagged the carton of milk, then took two mugs from the cabinet.

When he turned back, he found Brantley leaning against the island, arms crossed over his chest.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

Reese grinned. “That’s not your nothin’ face.”

Brantley laughed, dropping his arms and stepping toward him.

Reese didn’t back up, didn’t try to get away. No, when Brantley was close enough, Reese reached for him, curling a hand behind his neck, pulling him in closer.

“I didn’t get to wake you appropriately this mornin’,” Brantley muttered, their lips brushing.

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of mornin’s for you to do so.”

Brantley pulled back, locked eyes with him. Reese could see something brewing, wasn’t sure what it was.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get to find out because rather than speak, Brantley leaned in, their mouths melding together. Not that he cared to talk when they could be doing this. It probably should’ve been a simple kiss considering the task they were tackling, but it wasn’t. Then again, nothing about Brantley was simple.

Next thing he knew, Reese was pinned between Brantley’s body and the island, the hard ridge of