“Have you had any calls at all about him this afternoon?” Miles asked. “Any sightings?”
“Nothing at all.” The receptionist looked past them out the glass wall to the swirling clouds and falling rain. “I sure hope he turns up. This is no kind of weather to be out in.”
Harper couldn’t argue with that. But all she said was, “Can you tell us how to get to Admiral’s Row?”
* * *
The receptionist’s directions took them to a short, leafy street of six grand, two-story Victorian mansions on a low bluff overlooking the ocean. The houses were identical and magnificent—each had a high, peaked roof and a spacious wraparound porch on both floors.
Number 6 was the last house on the lane.
Harper parked at the end of the street, and killed the engine.
“Nice place,” Miles observed, looking up at the huge windows. “I guess music pays.”
The low, menacing growl of the ocean was clear in the distance as they got out of the car.
Harper turned around, trying to get her bearings. She thought the lane was probably a mile from Spinnaker Cottage. And maybe half a mile or more from where gunshots had been reported the night before. But it was hard to tell without looking at a map. The island’s winding roads were confusing.
“What’s up?” Miles asked, glancing back at her.
“Oh it’s nothing,” she said, after a second. “Just thinking.”
It was too early to make any guesses about what was going on here. She had nothing substantial to connect this missing-person case with the gunshots. And the police didn’t believe there had even been any gunshots at all.
She didn’t want to blow a good story by hoping for a better one.
She glanced at Miles. “You want to come inside or head straight down to the beach?”
His eyes swept the impressive house. “I’ll come with you. I want to get a feel for the place.”
The front door was broad and sturdy, painted the same white as the house, with a fan-shaped transom window above it that looked as old as the building.
Harper took the lead, knocking firmly. A long silence followed. She was thinking of knocking again when the door was yanked open so unexpectedly she jumped back, bumping hard into Miles.
A man in his twenties glared at them. “What the hell do you want?”
He was tall and slim. His sandy-brown hair stood up as if he’d just raked his fingers through it. He wore a faded band T-shirt for a group called the Lumineers.
Remembering the names on the report, Harper said, “We’re sorry to bother you. Are you Hunter?”
His brow creased. “Who’s asking?”
He had a Northern accent—New England, maybe. He was trying to sound intimidating, but Harper could hear the nervousness that lay beneath his words.
“My name is Harper.” She kept her voice measured. “This is Miles. We heard about what happened with Xavier Rayne. We work for the Savannah Daily News.” At the mention of the newspaper, he flinched, and she hurried to finish. “The police have asked us to write about it. To spread the word. In case someone’s seen him or knows where he might be.” She took a step forward, keeping her eyes steady. “We just want to help.”
“Oh, man.” He rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead. “I didn’t think the press would find out so soon.”
His eyes were bloodshot. His shoulders sagged a little, as if the day pushed down on him. There was something boyish and vulnerable about him that Harper instinctively liked.
“Who is it, Hunter?” A woman about his age appeared just behind him. Resting a hand on his shoulder, she moved him aside gently.
She was stunningly beautiful. Long, honey-blond hair hung across one shoulder; her makeup-free face was fine-boned and poreless. She wore a flowing white skirt so long the hem brushed the tops of her small, bare feet. A white cotton sweater exposed one narrow shoulder.
This had to be the actress, Harper thought. Cara something.
“They’re from the newspaper in Savannah.” There was an unspoken warning in Hunter’s voice. “They want to know about Xavier.”
“We just want to spread the word,” Miles interjected. “To get people looking out for him.”
“He hasn’t even been missing a day,” Hunter began to argue, but Cara cut him off.
“He’s been gone since two A.M. We can’t assume he’s okay. Someone could have kidnapped him or drugged him.…” Her eyes filled with tears and she stopped, biting her lip. After a second, she stepped back and motioned for them to