“Answer, dammit.”

Trevor paced his apartment. Lara had sounded so disappointed on the phone when he told her he couldn’t attend the museum opening with her, but he’d received a call saying a witness thought he spotted Ethan at a doctor’s office. It turned out to be a false alarm, but Trevor had to check it out. Reaching the nurse at seven p.m. had taken time. When he finally spoke to her, it was too late to go to the museum.

Lara’s voice mail clicked on. “Lara, it’s ten p.m. Call me. Okay? I don’t care what time it is when you get in.”

He missed her, but he was the first to admit he wasn’t fit company for anyone. With Ethan’s disappearance, he hadn’t been able to concentrate and didn’t want to inflict his foul mood on her.

When all this uncertainty was over, he’d try to pick up the pieces. Lara soothed his soul, understood his needs, and had a passion that matched his. Add in great sex, and she was someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but the timing wasn’t right. There was a lot about her he didn’t know, and clearly she wasn’t ready to let him into her life.

Trevor probably should have prevented her from going to work, but if he had, he would have hovered over her until he’d driven her crazy. Hell, he wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again. Yet, when he’d held her in his arms, she’d snuggled against him. She was like a lost soul in need of something he wasn’t sure he was capable of giving right now. And she did ask him out. He considered that a move in the right direction.

Trevor downed a scotch, crawled into bed, and flipped on the TV, waiting for her call.

His eyes flew open. The clock read midnight. Shit. When had he drifted off? More importantly, why hadn’t she called? Trevor dialed her cell and then crawled out of bed, too anxious to sleep. No answer. He hung up and called her house.

Again. No response. Something wasn’t right. Lara wouldn’t ignore him, not when he’d mentioned he had a lead on Ethan—unless her batteries had died, and she couldn’t hear the phone.

A dog. That’s what she needed. Given she chose to live an isolated life, he wanted to make sure she was okay. He quickly dressed and left. Once at her house, he cut the engine and sprinted up the porch steps. The place stood jet black against an equally dark sky. Not even the porch light glowed. He prayed someone hadn’t smashed the bulb.

There was no use knocking since she wouldn’t hear him. He ran to the back and peered in through the window. Her bed looked flat and unslept in, if the glow from the electric clock could be trusted. Damn.

Before he took off, he checked the garage side window. Her car wasn’t there, and his sixth sense went into overdrive. Lara was not home. The big question was whether she’d returned home after the showing? Or had she run off again like last time?

His insides churned.

Could she have had some inspiration about her skeleton and decided to work? He often rose in the middle of the night and gone into the station. He had HOPEFAL’s number programmed into his cell.

“HOPEFAL,” said a bored guard.

Trevor stated his credentials. “Did Dr. Romano sign in this evening by any chance?”

Keys clicked. “No, Detective. I haven’t seen her and nobody gets by me.”

“Thanks.”

Knowing he wouldn’t sleep until he found her, Trevor trucked down to the museum. He didn’t know what he expected to find at this late hour, but he needed confirmation she wasn’t stuck there with a flat tire or a dead car battery.

About five cars remained in the garage. There. In the middle of the third floor was Lara’s car. Trevor cut the engine and ran to her vehicle and looked inside. Nothing.

“Lara?” Trevor spun around, cupped his mouth and shouted again.

The whistling wind rushing through the cement walls broke the silence. She’d locked her car doors, so where the hell was she? Her tires even looked okay, and the hood was cool. He pounded on her trunk in the off chance someone had locked her in. Ear to the metal and palms on the surface, he listened. Again, no sound.

Desperate for an answer, he sped across the parking lot to the museum entrance. All was dark inside. He expected a security guard to be present, but no one was there. Damn. He debated calling Tampa Police, but what could they do? Given she wasn’t in her car, they’d have nothing to go on. Trevor slapped the cement wall. “Lara? Where are you?” he said to the night air.

With his back against the museum’s front door, frustration took a bite out of him. Move. He wouldn’t find Lara standing here. He sprinted back to his truck and sped out the parking garage.

Less than twenty-five minutes later, he was at Harry’s door. He didn’t care if it was one in the morning. He needed his brother’s help finding her. If nothing else, Harry would be clear-headed and unemotional.

The door creaked open a few minutes later. Harry stood there in pajama bottoms, his hair spiked in every direction. “What’s wrong? You find Ethan?” His shoulders angled forward.

“No.”

Without asking permission, Trevor barged in.

From the bedroom, Harry’s wife called out. “Hello, Trevor.”

“Cheryl, don’t get up. I just need to talk to Harry.”

His brother closed the door. “Tell me.”

He stomped over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. “Lara is missing.”

Harry stilled. “When did you see her last?” Straight to cop mode. Good.

“I spoke with her around seven. She planned on going to some museum opening.” He told Harry about finding her car in the lot and her not answering her cell.

“There has to be a good explanation.”

“Give me one.”

Harry filled two coffee mugs with water and stuffed the cups in the microwave. “Maybe she met a friend and hooked up with him.”

A blast of jealousy shot through him. “No way. Not Lara.”

Harry spread his fingers wide. “When did you last see her?”

“Yesterday. I dropped her off at her house. With Bernie in jail, I thought she’d be safe.”

“Did you call her today? Tell her you loved her?”

Trevor stilled. Love? “I’m not in love with her.”

“Lie to yourself, but it’s written all over your face. Besides, no one protects another person like you have unless there’s a lot of emotion attached to it.”

“She needed protecting.”

The microwave dinged and Harry removed two steaming mugs, dumped in instant coffee, and handed him the cup. “Here. Drink this. It’ll clear the fog from your head.”

Trevor sipped the weak concoction and burned his tongue. It didn’t matter. The pain in his chest overshadowed any physical discomfort. “I don’t know where to turn. First Ethan, now Lara. I’m losing it. I have to find her.” He’d already buried Claire. Add in a father who might not survive this bout with cancer, and Trevor almost wished he’d never become attached to her.

Harry sat across from him at the kitchen table. “You need to get some sleep. We can’t go looking for her until the morning anyway. Maybe one of the museum workers noticed her talking to someone.”

“Maybe.”

“If someone did take her, who’s your prime suspect?”

He dropped his head in his hands. “I don’t know. Bernie Laxman’s in custody. It has to be someone else.”

“You don’t know she isn’t safe. She left before. It’s possible she split again.”

He raised his head. “Without her car?”

“We do have cabs in Tampa. Did you check the airport?”

“No.”

“Try the bus depots, local car rentals. She might have left on her own. Maybe she knew you’d come after her and wanted to get away without you following her.”

He didn’t believe it, but no other option made sense. “She might want to keep away from me, but the Lara Romano I know would never leave her job. Finding the identity of the second skeleton means the world to her.”

“You’re the Missing Persons expert. Use your resources. Hell, use Carla at HOPEFAL. She’s helped before. Talk to Phil. Lara might have called him.”

“As always, your advice is good. I can call the airport and bus terminal now. Then if I can’t get a hold of Phil or Carla tonight can I crash here until daylight?”

“The couch is all yours.” Harry wrapped an arm around Trevor’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

Trevor’s cell roused him from a deep sleep. He blinked, trying to figure out where he was—Harry’s sofa. He fumbled for the phone, which was not in his pocket. Trevor cracked open his eyes and spotted the damn thing on the coffee table. Early morning light streamed through the windows. Shit. He’d overslept.

He reached for the ringing nuisance. “Lara?”

For a brief moment he dreamed these past few days had never happened.

“It’s Willard. You need to come to the station.”

Trevor’s brain was too fogged to register his boss’ intent by his tone. “What is it?”

“Laxman wants to talk.”

“Does he know where Ethan is?” The department had taken him into custody before Lara disappeared. “Or Lara?”

“He won’t say. Why Lara?”

“She went missing from some Native American exhibit at the Tampa Museum.”

“Native American? I don’t like that.”

“Me neither.”

“I trust you’ve been up most of the night looking for her.”

“Hell, yes.” Had he done enough? Looked hard enough? Maybe Lara had visited some girlfriend, someone he knew nothing about. She had enough secrets. Why should he assume he knew everything about her? He fisted the coffee table.

“Come in, and we’ll see what we can do to help.”

Without waking his brother, Trevor raced out and climbed into his truck. As soon as he made it to the station he’d call Harry to let him know what happened.

Captain Willard was waiting for him at his desk. “Laxman will only talk to you.”

“Why me?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

“Did you ask him about Lara?” His pulse raced.

“He said he knows nothing about that, but he seemed rather upset when I told him she was last seen at the Tampa Museum opening. I think he liked her.”

“Everyone does. That’s the problem.”

He followed Willard to the interrogation room, his hands clenched. Christ. He was no better than a rookie cop allowing his anxiety to eat him up. Through the two-way mirror Bernie sat with his arms crossed and his leg bouncing fast.

“I’ll be right outside,” Willard said.

Trevor nodded, praying he didn’t lose his temper with this scumbag. He pushed open the interrogation room door, and Bernie shot to his feet.

Laxman nodded toward the window. “I don’t want anyone to hear me. Can you turn off the camera and the sound?”

Willard’s voice came over the system. “Can do.”

Trevor pulled out a chair. “Talk.” He didn’t give a damn about being nice, not when he needed answers.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about who could be framing me.”

Trevor nearly spit. “Laxman. We found a dead woman’s scalp in your car. We found a piece of your shirt at the scene of a break-in. We found my missing brother’s blood on the underside of a piece of jewelry you had. How does that add up to you being innocent?”

“Like I said. I think I know who’s doing this to me.” He dropped his gaze to the table. “But I want immunity.”

“Immunity? You’re fucking crazy.”

“I’m being framed. I wasn’t sure at first, but I’ve been putting all the pieces together. The theft of the Algonquin Fox necklace and the stashing of the scalp in my car can mean only one thing.”

Trevor straightened. “Tell me, and I’ll see what I can do for you.” Or not.

“I’m not proud of what I’ve done in my past. I’ve made mistakes and ended up with the wrong crowd.”

Trevor slapped the table. “Spare me the life story of how your mother ruined you and your father abandoned you, or whatever dysfunctional family dynamics you think made you the fuck-up you are today. Cut to the chase.”

“I gambled at the Indian Casino and got into debt. A few of the locals hooked me up with someone who could help me out.”

No new information there. “I need a name.”

“He’s not important. What is important was the night Billy Jumper and I attacked a man because of a silly insult. A man who killed Billy and shot me.” He pulled open his orange jumpsuit and twisted around, exposing a healed welt on the back of his shoulder the size of a nickel.

The name Billy Jumper sent shards of awareness to Trevor’s brain. “You know who killed Jumper?”

“Yes, and he might have Lara.” Bernie’s face softened and a glint appeared in his eye.

His brain nearly stopped working the second he said her name. “Tell me, dammit.”

“Are you going to give me immunity now?”

Trevor swallowed. “I sure as hell will try.” He would give up his badge if need be to find her. “Who is he?”