I have to force myself to stop thinking of her. I covered every inch of her sister’s place and left no stone unturned. I searched it up and down and found nothing.
Evan wouldn’t give me all the details over the phone, and at first it pissed me off. Now it’s left me with a churning feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. I’m not sure what he had a lead on or where it will take him, but he knows where I am. He knows, and now Marcus knows since I left him a message. Delilah’s sister knows too as I reached out to her, telling her I’m an investigator on her sister’s case, needing to get any information I could, but only reached a voicemail.
Every trail has led to a dead end.
What’s to come is uncertain, and without control and without allies … without knowing Delilah is still alive, it feels as if death has its grip on my shoulders. Holding me down and forcing me to watch as the devil strips everything from me, claiming his pay for my sins.
Knock, knock, knock.
The thuds on the door aren’t gentle or expected, and instinctively, my right hand jolts to my gun on the side table. Until I hear her voice.
“Special Agent Cody Walsh?” She knocks again. “Are you in there? Please! It’s about my sister.”
Delilah introduced me to her sister years ago, but it still takes me a moment to realize it’s her sister. The rhythm and subtle inflections in her tone mimic Delilah’s. The ache that travels through my chest is undeniable.
If only Delilah would knock on my door. If only it was all a misunderstanding.
I’m silent but swift as I rise, eager to find out if her sister knows anything at all. I’ve read through the reports a dozen times. She gave her statement and, in those lines, she didn’t know a damn thing that could help. If she does, she isn’t aware of it. The details she doesn’t think are important are the ones I’m after. The ones she didn’t think were worth mentioning.
Her small hand is fisted and prepared for another rap against the door, her lips parted and ready to call out once again when I open the hotel door.
Her deep brown eyes widen at the sight of me, and her mouth slams shut. It’s only then I realize I must appear disheveled at best. Unhinged at worst.
“I … I didn’t mean to wake you.”
You didn’t. The answer stays glued to my tongue. I still haven’t slept. It’s going on thirty-six hours since Delilah was taken, and I’m still wearing the wrinkled trousers and the shirt I was in when I got the call.
Cadence’s gaze travels lower, noting that I’m not in sleepwear.
Tightening her cream wool coat around her waist, she straightens her shoulders to state, although it’s more of a plea, “I need to talk to you.”
“Come in.” My answer is raspy and I find myself clearing my throat as I open the door wider for her.
She’s halfway into the room, staring between the bed and the chair in the corner when I start by saying, “I read your statement. Have you remembered anything since you gave it?”
I hesitate to do it, but I lock the door before offering her a weak smile. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable—”
“No, please.” Inhaling deeply, she drops her coat to the middle of the bed and then takes a seat on the edge. “After what happened,” she says and her voice drifts off, leaving the statement unfinished.
“Right.” I give her a small nod and resume my place in the corner chair, turning it to face her. “Have you remembered anything?”
“I came to ask you questions,” Cadence blurts out, nearly interrupting my question, a hint of skepticism in her tone. After a second, she huffs a humorless laugh that doesn’t reach her eyes. With a frown pulling down the corners of her lips, she wipes the edges of her eyes with the sleeve of her deep ruby designer sweater. “Sorry,” she says. “I just … I have questions.”
Staring back at Delilah’s sister, seeing every resemblance I can find in the woman across the room, I offer her another smile, although this one is weaker. “You remind me of her.”
Cadence’s smile is tight but genuine, and dampened by the pain in her eyes. “So you remember me, don’t you?”
With a nod, I answer, “I do. Cadence Jones, Delilah’s sister. We met years