Gone In The Night. Anna J. Stewart

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      “You really don’t need me to remind you that you’re like my big brother, right?” Allie said, appreciating the lighthearted banter.

      “Ugh.” He fell against the wall and clutched his heart as if she’d shot him. “And here I was finally recovering from Simone’s ‘you’re a great guy’ and ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech. I guess taking you for a weekend ride in my new car is out of the question.”

      Allie chuckled.

      “I don’t mean to interrupt.” Max Kellan’s shotgun voice made Allie jump, her face flushing for no reason other than he’d caught her being hit on, however ineffectively. “Your fellow detectives were able to track my brother down. Joe took an early flight and should land at Sac Metro in the next fifteen minutes. They have officers waiting at the gate to bring him home.” His amber-specked brown eyes shot disapproval, first in Jack’s direction, then in hers. “As you were.”

      “Now, hang on—” Jack got slowly to his feet. Allie grabbed hold of his arm and shook her head.

      “He needs to be angry at something,” she murmured. “It gives him focus.” On something other than fear.

      “Then let it be me. You don’t deserve it.”

      Didn’t she?

      “Max, I could use your help going through some of Hope’s belongings.” Allie leaned around Jack. “Are you up for that?” She didn’t really need his help, but he needed a distraction and she needed to know more about this man who could prove vital when it came to finding Hope.

      “You serious?” Jack’s brow furrowed.

      “Go back downstairs. Check in with Cole. And see if you can track down Simone and Vince. I’m guessing we might need their input on this.”

      “More detectives?” Max asked.

      “More help,” Allie explained and hoped it would suffice.

      “While you’re at it, see where we are with tracking down my sister-in-law,” Max added. With his arms folded across his torso, he resembled one of those Roman statues declaring battle, this time with the well-meaning detective.

      “I’ll check.” Jack glared at Max. “Ease up, hose monkey. Allie’s one of the best assets you’ve got in this.”

      “Hose monkey?” Allie asked Max once Jack was gone.

      “One of the nicer things cops call firefighters.” It wasn’t until Max looked at her that she saw the reluctant respect glistening in his eyes. “What is it you’re hoping to find in here?”

      Just like Allie, Max didn’t seem in a rush to step into Hope’s room; he’d probably feel more comfortable if the room was on fire. “You know her better than anyone. Is there anything that seems off to you? Things that aren’t familiar?”

      Maybe little gifts she’d been sent like the mementos Allie, Eden and Simone had received over the past few months. Notes. Pictures. Flowers. Every one of them a stark reminder of when they’d lost Chloe and that her killer hadn’t been forgotten.

      Or that he hadn’t forgotten them.

      “Hope’s a pretty open kid.” Max finally moved inside and peered behind the door at the filled-to-the-brim bookshelf. “She’s a terrible secret keeper. I don’t like the idea of snooping through her stuff.”

      “If it helps us get a handle on exactly what’s going on, I doubt she’d mind.”

      “What about her laptop?” Max gestured to his niece’s desk.

      “Tammy, the head lab tech, will go over that. Hope doesn’t maintain any social media presence that I know of.”

      “Yeah, Joe doesn’t allow it. One of the benefits of being in on the expansion of the internet. He keeps it as far away from Hope as possible.” He ran his fingers along the spines of her books. “I suppose you think that’s too restrictive, too controlling.” He glanced at her, the accusation clear on his face.

      “I can see both sides of that argument, but, as I don’t have children, it’s not necessarily my place to say.” Except in the confines of her office.

      “Of course not,” Max sneered. “Fixing the messes people make of their kids keeps you employed.”

      Allie’s chest tightened. “Forgive me for dropping all the psychology on you, but that’s what we in the business call projecting. And Hope isn’t a mess.”

      “No, but her parents are.”

      Allie couldn’t argue that point. Joe Kellan, Hope’s father, avoided conflict at all costs, especially when it came to his wife. Whereas Gemma Kellan knew precisely what buttons to push to get what she wanted. The two were a seriously toxic combination and it adversely affected their only child.

      Allie prided herself on being able to read people. It was, after all, a big part of her job. She could walk into a situation and assess the people involved from the start; give her a file and some background and she could, if necessary, get exactly what she needed from them, either child or adult. At the very least she could find a clue as to how to help.

      But Max Kellan? Oh, boy. Allie brushed her fingers against the space just over her heart. For whatever reason, she couldn’t get a good read on him, and Allie didn’t do well in uncharted territory. The only thing she could be certain of was that he cared about Hope and he’d do whatever it took to bring his niece home.

      And that might just be the most attractive thing about him.

      As much as she hated keeping a family member in the dark, openly connecting Hope’s disappearance to any previous crime, especially a case as contentious as Chloe Evans’s unsolved murder, would only make finding Hope more difficult.

      Allie and her friends had lost to this monster once already. She wasn’t going to lose again.

      If that meant sticking close to an unknown entity like Max Kellan, so be it. She had enough psychological weaponry in her wheelhouse to keep both of them occupied.

      “You don’t have any affinity for psychologists, do you, Max?” Turning the conversation into something productive could work to her benefit.

      “Affinity?” Max pulled out a stack of books and peered behind it before he moved to the next shelf. “In my experience they enjoy putting people on edge. Like the way some of them use big words they think their patients might not understand.”

      “Nice to know you’ve painted us all with the same tainted brush.” She did some more wandering and zeroed in on the small table behind the closet door where Hope kept a mix of little-girl and big-girl makeup. “Calling me a shrink was my first clue, in case you’re wondering. I’m a psychologist, not a psychiatrist.”

      He snorted. “Like there’s a difference. They both mess with people’s heads.”

      She arched a brow, locked her jaw. “Only one is a medical doctor with prescription privileges.”

      “Noted. I won’t СКАЧАТЬ