I open my eyes then regret it immediately when the light pierces my eyeballs like bolts of lightning, so I slam them shut. I clutch the sides of my head, trying to stop the rhythmic pounding. It doesn’t fucking work.

“Ahh… fuck me,” I groan, my mouth feeling like I swallowed a bag full of cotton.

I roll away from the offending bright light and keep going because there’s no more fucking couch left. Luckily, I catch myself before my nose meets the hard floor.

“Goddammit,” I mutter and just lay there, thinking.

For a minute, I forget why I’m even on the couch and not in my bed, but then the memories of the past thirty-six hours roll in. Betsy having a fit at the window then later, waking up to gunshots, seeing a dark figure in a car driving off, checking on Reece because my fucked-up brain demanded it and having him throw it in my face, then at the bar and coming so damn close to getting the guy who took Aislin away from me. Thank God Tavers was there because there’s no telling what I would have done to the drunkard running his mouth. Even sleeping ten fucking hours at the station to sober up did nothing to lessen my rage. If anything, it fueled it. Even if he hadn’t led us to believe he might be the suspect I’ve been looking for all these years, the guy was a disgusting bastard. In the end, he wasn’t the guy, which only amped up my anger because that means he’s still out there.

Something wet touches my hand, and I slowly crack open one eye. Betsy’s lying on her stomach, her head on her front paws with her snout right by my hand. The old girl looks worried. Putting her at ease, I lift a hand and pet her head.

“I’m okay, girl,” I tell her, and she licks my hand again.

I groan and grumble when I pick my tired body up from the floor. I steady myself on the cushion to keep from doing another almost face plant. My head pounds harshly as I stagger to the bathroom. I probably shouldn’t have drunk that bottle when I was forced home by Captain yesterday evening, but dammit, my nerves were shot to hell, and all I wanted to do was dull the pain of once again failing.

I turn the shower on to warm up then turn to the medicine cabinet. I pop a couple of aspirin in my mouth and down them with water cupped in my hand. Once I’m stripped naked, I grab my toothbrush and load the sucker up with way more toothpaste than needed. With the toothbrush in my mouth, I step into the shower. The water hitting my back already makes me feel half human again. I rinse the toothbrush then toss it on the shelf in front of me

I stand there for several minutes as the water beats down on my tense shoulders, letting the aspirin make its way into my system. An image of the guy at the bar appears behind my closed eyelids, and anger has my fists clenching. The guy acted remorseful, saying he regretted what he did, but his feelings of guilt did nothing to calm my anger and disgust. The guy was a sick fucking bastard who needed his face pummeled into the ground. No matter how much grief he felt for his actions or how much he claimed it was an accident, he still did what he did. Death is way too easy for someone like him. He deserves to rot in the lowest bowels of hell. Since the closest thing we have to that here on earth is prison, that’ll have to do. I’m not worried, though. There are two things most prisoners can’t stand and will fuck a fellow prisoner up for; men who abuse women and men who abuse children. Those two are sacred to many of the inmates.

I wash my hair and soap up my body. Minutes later, I turn off the shower, grab a towel, dry off, and pull on some jeans and a t-shirt. My head’s still thumping out a low rhythm, but it’s slowly going away.

I notice it’s just past noon when I snag my phone from the coffee table as I make my way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Caffeine probably isn’t the best thing for my head, but fuck if I’m giving it up. Right as I’m placing my phone on the counter, it chirps at me. Looking at the screen, I see a name I haven’t seen in a while.

I continue my trek to the counter where the coffeemaker is and swipe my finger across the screen.

“Mac. How’s it going?”

Opening the cabinet, I grab the coffee grounds and filters. Mackai Weston, or Mac to most people, is someone I met in my search for answers about Aislin. Three years ago, a tip led me to a small town called Jaded Hollow in northern Ohio, just a couple of hours away. Mac is the sheriff in that town. According to my source, a man who was wanted for abducting and severely beating several women was said to be hiding out in Jaded Hollow. Word was he had a girl with him who fit Aislin’s description. By the time I made it to town, there was no sign of the man, but several weeks later, the Virginia State Police picked him up. The girl he had was brutally raped over and over again, covered in bruises and cuts, had fractured ribs, and was extremely malnourished. She also wasn’t Aislin.

While a big part of me wished the girl was Aislin just so I would have her back, a small part was glad she wasn’t. It meant she could still be out there whole and happy. Although the likelihood of that happening was slim. Again, there’s no way she would have left me like everyone claimed. I didn’t know the girl who was with him, but even a stranger could tell she was just a shell of herself. She would be forever haunted by what her abductor did. She’d never be the same girl she was before. I wanted to find Aislin, but it terrified me to think of the condition she would be in when I did.

I was in Mac’s neck of the woods for almost a week, and in that time, we became friends of a sort. Any time I need help, he’s there, and vice versa.

“Nothing much happens around these parts. You know that,” he remarks.

I lean back against the counter while my coffee brews, waiting for him to continue. Mac’s not the type to call to shoot the shit. There must be a reason.

He releases a sigh. “Listen, I may have something for you. Got a call from an old friend who works a few towns over. They nabbed a guy for domestic abuse and found some old pictures of some young girls tied up and beaten. Some pretty nasty shit. During questioning, the perp mentioned taking a girl years ago from the Cleveland area.”

He pauses, and my heart starts to pound. His voice is quiet, but his words echo in my ear as if he screamed them. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on pulling air into my lungs. The hand gripping my phone shakes so much it rattles against my ear. Could this be it? Fuck if I want it to. Screw that. I need this to be it. I need to catch this guy and watch as he rots in prison. I need to know that Aislin’s killer was given the justice he deserves.

“That’s not far from here. When did he take her?” I ask barely above a whisper.

“Guy couldn’t remember,” he answers, and I grit my teeth. “Just said it was about fifteen years ago.”

“Where is he now?”

“At the Wayfield precinct. They’re still trying to get answers out of him, but according to my guy Matthew, he’s starting to clam up. I called you as soon as I got off the phone with him. I told him about your situation a while back, and he thought there may be a connection with this guy. He’s supposed to call me as soon as they have more answers.”

I hear tapping on the other end of the phone. The coffeemaker steams behind me, but it’s long forgotten, my mind solely focused on the fact we may know who Aislin’s killer is today. Not only know who he is but also have him in custody. The years I’ve put into searching for answers about her could all be put to rest in a matter of hours.

I need this like I need air to breathe. Going so long without any answers at all is slowly killing me inside.

“You call me the second something comes in. I want it all, Mac. Every last fucking detail.” I clench my jaw and try to calm my nerves. Being this close and having to wait is going to be fucking hard, but I’ll deal with it.

“You got it. As soon as I hear back, you’re my first call,” Mac promises.

“Thanks,” I grunt.

I pull the phone away from my ear but stop when Mac calls my name.

“This could be it, Niko, but it could also be a coincidence. Don’t get your hopes up until we know for sure.”

I understand what he’s trying to say. I’ve worked so hard to find out what happened to Aislin. It’s been my focus for the past fifteen years. Even as a teenager when she first disappeared, I spent most of my time looking for any clues I could find. I walked from her house to the corner where the bus picked her up more times than I could count, hoping I would come across something to prove she didn’t just run away and something had happened to her. I didn’t find anything, but it didn’t stop me from doing it again the next time. I’ve been so close to finding answers so many times, only for them not to be the ones I’m looking for. I’ve been disappointed over and over again.

“Yeah. I hear you.”

“Talk soon.”

I pull the phone from my ear and drop it on the counter. Turning, I plant my palms against the counter and let my head fall forward. I draw in a few deep breaths and try to calm my racing heart, pushing back the hopeful feeling. Mac’s words of not getting my hopes up play over and over in my head. That shit’s easier said than done.

I lift my head and look out the window above the sink at Aislin’s house. I finished the last repair two weeks ago, but I still have no idea what to do with it. All I know is I’m not ready to let it go yet. I’m not sure if I ever will. I know it’s an unhealthy obsession to keep something that’s connected to a dead girl, but Aislin was so much more than just a girl.

I pull my eyes away from the window and look down to my empty coffee cup. Grabbing the decanter, I pour myself a cup of the dark liquid with shaky hands. It burns when it hits my throat, but I welcome it. It helps center me from the constant thoughts of knowing I can possibly put Aislin to rest finally. Grief hits me with the thought. I want more than anything to have all my questions answered and for Aislin to have her justice, but it also scares me shitless. What will it do to me to have them, and what will I do afterward? She’ll truly be gone once it’s over. I’ve grieved for years, more so when her body was found, but she was still there with me in a way. I still had a reason to keep her with me. Although the thread tethering us together shredded once she was found and my world turn dark, I still held on. But once that reason is gone, so will she. I’ll have no reason left. She was the one who kept the small spark of light shining off in the distance. Without her, that light will disappear for good. I may have family and friends who care for me, but I’ll still be alone because she won’t be there anymore.

I finish my coffee and set the cup in the sink. My phone goes in my pocket, and I whistle for Betsy on my way to the door leading out back. Waiting for Mac to call me back is going to drive me crazy, so I need to distract myself. I squint when the bright sun hits my eyes, reminding me of my drinking binge from last night. I stand on the back porch for several minutes while Betsy runs off to the side yard to do her business. She stops, her nose going to the ground, as she picks up the scent from whoever was here the other night. The reminder has my fists clenching. It pisses me off that whoever it was got away.

“Come on, girl,” I call as I walk off the porch. It takes her several seconds to unglue her nose from the ground then she runs after me.

I pull the keys I swiped from the counter out of my pocket and unlock the back door to Aislin’s house. Fresh paint and the smell of wood hits my nose when I step inside the kitchen. It looks nothing like the shithole it was before. I wonder if Aislin would like the new look.

I trail my hand over the new slick countertop as I take in the rest of the kitchen. Everything is new. I didn’t leave one thing from the past behind, and I did that on purpose. This house wasn’t one of love, and the look now is deceiving. This looks like a place where a family would sit and laugh while they ate dinner. These walls haven’t heard laughter as far back as I can remember.

Betsy’s claws click against the floor as she explores each room. Leaving the kitchen, I follow her. The small living room is void of any furniture. The walls are white, and the floors are a dark brown hardwood. Again, an image of a family sitting and watching a movie while eating popcorn pops in my head. I shake away the thought as ridiculous. Maybe one day this house will be destined for that.

I walk down the dark hallway that leads to the three bedrooms. I pass by the bathroom with its new floors, freshly painted walls, and new toilet, sink, and bath/shower combo. The door to the bedroom on the right is open, and light filters in through the bare window, illuminating the white walls.

A door across from it is the linen closet. The door next to it is the room that scares me to enter. I still haven’t found the courage to walk inside it. It’s the only room in the house I have yet to touch. I place my hand on the door and swear I feel warmth. It’s an illusion that sends pain through me.

Yanking away my hand with a snarl, I turn on my heel and walk back through the living room to the kitchen then out the back door. As if sensing my dark mood, Betsy trots behind me until we’re both outside. I slam the door, lock the house, and stuff the key back in my pocket. I don’t even know why I came over here. Maybe as punishment. Maybe because it feels like I’m so close to it being over, and I needed a reminder of who Aislin was. I scoff. As if I could ever forget her. She’s so far ingrained in me that she’ll always be a part of me, no matter how long she’s been gone.

I stomp off the porch, anger making my movements jerky. I palm the phone in my pocket, willing Mac to call me back with good news. My eyes catch something as I walk across the yard back to mine. I switch directions without slowing and head to the corner of Aislin’s house. I stop at the small window that leads to the basement. The grass around the area is matted down. Squatting, I take a closer look. Footprints. Small and bare. No shoes.

Betsy steps up beside me, sniffs the ground, and starts whining. I reach out and run my hand down her back.

“What’s wrong, girl?”

She looks up at me, whines, and then sniffs the ground again. I look up and around me, noticing more worn patches of grass that lead around the side of the house to the front. Like someone’s been walking the same path over and over again.

What the hell?

I lean down and wiggle the small window and am surprised when it pops open easily. I grab my phone from my pocket, pull up my flashlight app, lift the window, and peer inside. The dirt and dust directly below the window have been disturbed, and footprints lead away from it. From the size of the footprints, whoever made them is small. I glance down and see a streak of red on the window frame. Blood. The wood is splintered and sharp. I make note to come back and scrape some off to take to the lab at work for testing. I may get lucky and the person’s DNA will be in the system.

I stand and follow the path around the corner then come to a stop when another set of prints appear. These are much larger and are shoeprints. They also look fresh, probably from last night.

What the fuck is going on? Obviously, the person who was here last night was shooting at someone. Was it the person who’s been sneaking into my house? And why has the person been breaking in? There’s nothing in the basement. That was one of the first things I cleaned out, which wasn’t hard to do because there wasn’t much there. I had originally intended to store Aislin’s things from her room in there, but being the pussy I am, I still haven’t sorted through it. The house is empty except for that one room, and there isn’t anything valuable in there.

Betsy barks, disturbing my train of thought, and I turn around. My neighbor Jeremy is walking across the yard toward me. He’s a middle-aged man who was probably a woman in a past life. He’s the gossip whore of the neighborhood, eating up and passing along any and all information he can get.

“Some night the other night, huh?” he says, whistling.

“What?” I ask distracted, looking back down at the footprints. “Oh, yeah.”

“Say, do you know if they caught the guy?”

I stuff my hands in my pocket and look up.

“No. He got away, and it was too dark for anyone to see the plate numbers.”

“Damn,” he mutters then looks at me earnestly. “So you don’t know who the person was after?”

“No.”

There’s no way I’d give this guy the answer even if I knew it.

We both turn and face my front yard where the deep ruts from the guy peeling out are. My phone creaks in my hand, and I have to force my fingers to loosen around it. My phone is my only connection to Mac right now.

“Did you hear?” he asks, leaning toward me.

“What?”

“They picked up a girl the night of the shooting a block over,” he whispers.

My eyes swing to him. His are dancing in excitement.

“What do you mean a girl was picked up?”

“I mean a girl was found wandering the streets, and she was picked up by the police. I heard it on my scanner.” I raise my brow, and he shrugs. “You know how everyone’s in everyone’s business around here and leaves their scanners on all night. Anyway, she was limping or something. Not wearing any shoes and her clothes were torn and dirty. They had an ambulance come out and everything.” His eyes narrow. “Hey, why don’t you know this already? I thought all you cop dudes kept each other in check with everything. Especially since it was in our neighborhood.”

I scowl and wonder the same thing.

“When was this?”

His eyebrows drop as he thinks for a moment. “It was a few hours after the gunshots.”

I keep back the growl that wants to slip free. I was at the department for hours yesterday. Why the fuck wasn’t I told about this? This is my neighborhood, and the courteous thing to do when something happens in a law enforcement officer’s neighborhood is to tell them.

My eyes catch on the footprints on the ground at my feet then slide over to the side of the house where the small prints are at the basement window.

“You said she was barefoot?”

“Yep.”

I rub the back of my head, feeling my headache coming back. Could she be the same person who’s been sneaking in my house? And if so, why? What was she doing in there?

Vibration against my leg has me scrambling for my phone in my pocket. When I look down and see Mom’s name on the screen and not fucking Mac’s, I scowl at the device and force back the snarl that wants to rip from my chest. I reject the call, jam the phone back in my pocket, and then turn to Jeremy.

“Have you seen anyone around here who doesn’t look familiar?” I ask.

“No. Not that I can think of.”

“No one looking suspicious or out of place?” I press.

He shakes his head. “No. Why?”

Instead of answering him, I tip my head back and close my eyes, frustration taking hold. There’s too much weird shit going on with not enough answers.

An engine has me lifting my head to see Tavers pulling into my driveway. I didn’t expect to see him today. Last night after my near meltdown, Captain forced me to take a few days off to get my head on straight, claiming my obsession with Aislin’s killer is fucking up my judgment. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, that he didn’t know what he was talking about, but I couldn’t. Not only because he was my boss, but because he did know what he was talking about. I know this shit’s fucking with my head. I know my need to finish this may be unhealthy, but I won’t stop until it’s done. I’ve let Aislin down once; I won’t do it again.

Without looking back at Jeremy, I leave him and meet Tavers at his truck just as he shuts the engine off and climbs out.

“What’re you doing here?” I ask.

He pets Betsy, who has run up to him with a wagging tail, and lifts his chin to the house, indicating he wants to go inside. I lead us to the back door since the front is still locked.

“Why are we going in the back door?” he asks.

“I’ll explain later,” I throw over my shoulder and push open the door.

I lean against the counter with my arms crossed as Tavers makes himself at home by pouring a cup of coffee. This isn’t anything new: him treating my house as his own. He’s been here more times than I can count—not only since I’ve been back, but as a kid as well.

After he takes his first sip, he lets out a sigh. “Damn, that tastes good. Mindy bought the fucking decaf kind by accident yesterday.” He takes another swallow, and I almost laugh when his eyes roll back in his head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“No,” he says, refilling his already half-empty cup. “What I am is caffeine deprived.”

I shake my head. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I check the time. It’s been forty-five minutes since Mac called. What the fuck is taking so long? Anxiety eats at me from not knowing what the hell is going on. I put the phone on the counter and bring my eyes to Tavers.

“Aren’t you on the clock today?”

He nods and sets his cup down then turns to mimic my stance on the counter across from me, crossing his ankles. “How ya feeling this morning?”

“Like shit.” I scrub my hand down my face. “Was her body found?”

Anger lights his face when he answers. “Yes, and the condition we found her in makes me want to slice his dick up and force the fucker to eat it.”

I ball my hands into fists and fight back the urge to punch something. It takes me a minute, but the need to do damage lessens enough for me to talk again.

“Why wasn’t I told about the girl who was picked up the night of the shooting?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

He blows out a breath, looks to the side, and then brings his eyes back to me. “You were too fucked up, and I didn’t think you needed to add more to your plate at the moment.”

“That wasn’t your call to make,” I grit. I get why he didn’t want to tell me, but it still wasn’t his decision. I should have been told.

“Fuck, Niko,” he says, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “You just had someone shoot up your front yard, had it out with your brother, got drunk off your ass, and thought you found the guy who took Aislin. How fucking much more could you have taken?”

A growl slips past my lips, and I push from the counter, pacing back and forth in front of Tavers. “I had a right to fucking know,” I growl, and swing my eyes to him, never breaking my strides. When I pass by him again, I stop. “Someone’s been breaking into my house. Not this one, but the one next door. I found footprints outside the basement window.”

“What?” he asks, his brow pulling down in confusion.

“I found bare footprints outside the basement window,” I say again. “The dust in the basement’s been disturbed too. I don’t know for how long, but someone’s been going in through that window.”

He picks up his coffee, chugs down the rest, and then sets the empty cup down before uncrossing his ankles.

“And you think this girl could be that person?”

“I don’t know.” I rub the back of my neck. “But it’s possible. The girl picked up was barefoot, right?” At his nod, I ask, “Where is she?”

“Taken to County General. She wasn’t in good shape and needed evaluation from the report I saw. I didn’t see her.” He pauses. “Think she might be the girl the shooter was after too?” he asks.

“Maybe. If not, it’s a big fucking coincidence, which just adds to the list of coincidences lately.”

I resume my pacing. On my way by my phone, I swipe it off the counter. I feel better knowing I have it with me. I know the damn device works; I just wish it would fucking ring already and give me the answers I want before I pull my goddamn hair out.

I turn back to Tavers. “Do me a favor. Get me a copy of the report. Not sure if Captain will let me step foot in the station before my forced vacay is up.”

“Why?”

I turn my back to him and open the fridge. My stomach feels like it’s trying to eat its lining, so I grab the carton of eggs then frown down at the carton. For some reason, the thought of the girl being the one who was sneaking in my house doesn’t bother me as much as it should. Had I suspected anyone else, I would have been livid, but Tavers’ description saying she was in bad shape doesn’t sit well with me. She obviously needed a safe place to stay. I’m curious to know why she was there, and what she was doing wandering the streets at night. And if the shooter was after her, why. What caused her to need to be medically evaluated? Was she shot? How bad off was she?

“Just do it,” I grunt.

Just then, my phone  rings in my hand. My head snaps out of the fridge, and my eyes goes straight to the screen. Mac’s name appears, and sweat immediately breaks out on my forehead. I slam the fridge door shut and ignore Tavers’ raised brows as I answer.

“What do you have?” I ask, my voice coming out shaky even to my own ears.

The tired breath Mac lets out has my shoulder hunching in defeat and my heart dropping. I know before he even says anything that it’s not good.

“It’s not him,” he confirms quietly. “The guy was doing a stint for domestic violence when your girl was taken.”

I prop my hand on the counter, drop my head, and heave in a few breaths, calming down the raging emotions running through me. So close. So fucking close and we’re back to square fucking one. One step forward and fifty goddamn steps back.

An image of Aislin’s sweet face pops in my mind, and I jab my fingers in my eyes to remove it. Guilt at still not finding the bastard stabs at my chest, stealing the air trying to make its way into my lungs. How in the hell is this guy still out there? How in the fuck does he hide himself so well? He had her for fifteen years, and if where her body was found is any indication, she was kept here in town. Someone who could do the damage he did to her is obviously fucked in the head. How is he out in society with no one the wiser of the fucked-up bastard?

“Niko.” Mac’s voice calls, reminding me he’s still on the phone.

I clear my throat and lift my head. “Thanks for the update,” I tell him, my voice monotonous. “Let me know if you need anything from here about the girl he took.”

“I’m sorry, man.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “No need. I’ll get him eventually. Fucker can’t hide forever.”

“You need anything from me, you have my number.”

“Yep.”

We hang up, and I drop my phone to the counter, not really caring now if the damn thing breaks. When I turn around, Tavers is watching me with concern.

Before he can ask, I tell him about our conversation. “That was Mac. He thought he had a lead for me. A guy that was picked up mentioned a girl he grabbed from around the Cleveland area years ago, but it wasn’t Aislin. Guy was locked up at the time.”

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“Yeah,” I agree.

I turn and brace my hands on the counter for several minutes, giving myself time to push back all the anger at once again coming up empty. Failing. I’m not coming up empty. I’m fucking failing Aislin at every turn. Red fills my vision at knowing the bastard is still out there. He won’t be for long, though. Although today was another setback, I can feel that I’m getting closer. Come hell or high water, I don’t care what the fuck I have to do; I’ll find him. And when I do, he’d better pray I’ll be able to control the beast steadily growing inside me and demanding I take revenge on the hurt and violence he put Aislin through.