Page 98 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Jillian nodded. “She’s lovely, Nathan. Very kind. You’ve found yourself a beautiful young woman.”

He smiled, even as he wished to be gone. “Thank you. I’ll see you again soon.”

“Bye, dear.”

He moved to the door just as his cell phone started ringing. His shoulders relaxed and he smiled as he pulled his phone from his pocket—until he saw that Gwen was calling. Not Callie. “Hey,” he answered on his jog back to the Tahoe.

“Have you heard from Callie?” Gwen wanted to know.

Tension coiled tighter in his stomach with his sister’s question. “No. Why?”

“She said she was going to meet me after she gave Jillian a hand at the library, but she hasn’t shown up yet. I tried her phone and she’s not answering.”

He turned over the ignition and pulled out of the lot, heading to the house well above the speed limit. “When did she say she was coming by?”

“She said she thought she’d be about an hour. That was a good thirty minutes ago.”

“I’m on my way home now. Let me call you back after I find out what’s going on.” He didn’t wait for his sister’s response as he ended the call and gave the accelerator more gas. Something was wrong. Something happened while Callie was at the library. He tried her phone as he approached his road, got her voice mail, and swore. Tossing the phone on the passenger seat, he took the turn, fishtailing before the Tahoe’s wheels found purchase on the dirt. Within moments, he was pulling up next to his truck parked in the driveway and heading inside. “Callie,” he called as he shut the door behind him, pausing in the silence. Typically, the stereo was playing and some delicious scent was wafting from the kitchen. Normally she met him in the entryway for a hug and kiss and to talk about their days. But not today.

“Callie,” he called again as he walked into the kitchen and spotted her cell phone on the counter, then the overturned chair by the table. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered as his heart slammed in his chest and he unholstered his gun. Making a quick sweep of the living room and office, he then ran upstairs. “Callie,” he hollered as he rushed down the hallway and glanced in both guest rooms on the way to the master suite. Stepping inside, he noted that one of her drawers had been rifled through and clean clothes had fallen to the floor. “Fuck,” he said, looking in the bathroom before heading back into the bedroom. He spotted her UGGs and jeans in a heap on the carpet by her side of the bed—as if she’d stepped out of them and left.

He settled his mind long enough to realize that her running shoes weren’t next to the nightstand where she always toed them off before she headed for the shower after her daily jog. It was pouring outside and no more than fifty degrees, but she wore her Nikes only when she went for a run. “Fuck,” he said again and ran downstairs to the Tahoe. He got behind the wheel and picked up his radio as he looked toward the path Callie typically took through the woods to get to the road and water beyond. “Kay, get Mac in a patrol car and have him head up Route 1. Callie went out for a run, and I can’t find her.”

“I’ll tell him right away.”

“I want him to let me know if he gets to The Point and hasn’t spotted her.” Nate was miles from the northern tip of the island, but Callie was a seasoned runner and she could move. “Have him stop off and make sure she didn’t get on the ferry.” It was highly unlikely, but they were going to dot all of their i’s and cross all of their t’s until he found her.

“Sure thing.”

He put the radio back and turned over the ignition, cursing the fact that there was no direct access to Highway 1 from his spot in the woods. Typically, he loved the quarter mile of trees separating his place from the road, but he couldn’t say that right now. Gunning the engine, he put on his blue lights as he headed back the way he’d come less than ten minutes ago. He turned right—in the opposite direction Mac would take, figuring one of them would head her off eventually. If that didn’t work, he was going to have to take a hike through the woods, but his gut told him he was going to find her by the water. He moved through town, giving several chirps of the siren to get people out of his way, and headed to the quieter side of Sanderson, rolling down the window despite the chilly day, slowing as he approached the area along the cliffs she often stopped at.

“Nate,” Mac’s voice came over the radio. “Callie didn’t get on the ferry.”

Relief warred with another wave of fear. He wanted her here with him on Carter Island, but if she were a passenger on the boat, at least he would know where she was. He grabbed the radio. “Thanks,” he answered with a calm he didn’t feel. “Head up Route 1, will you? Check the lighthouse.”

“Sure thing.”

Nate put the radio back and kept moving. “Where are you?” he whispered, growing more frantic and gripping the wheel tighter as he hit the four-mile mark from his place, then five. Where the hell was she? He braked when he came to Mary’s Bluff and pulled the Tahoe along the side of the road across from the lookout area. He didn’t see any signs that Callie had been there, but he was letting his instincts lead the way. Grabbing the portable radio, he got out in the pouring rain and put on his yellow slicker, then snagged a blanket from the back just in case.

“Nate, I’m not seeing her at The Point or the lighthouse grounds.”

He clenched his jaw. “I’m at Mary’s Bluff. I’m going to check the cave. Will you circle around this way, hit town again, and check my place—just in case she came back?”

“I’ll let you know if I see her.”

“Thanks.” He walked across the street to the railing at the edge. The tide was out. Callie could be anywhere, but he started down the treacherous embankment anyway, spotting signs that small rocks had tumbled and the sand had been disturbed. He moved faster as he got to more stable ground and let his shoulders sag with relief when he made out her figure in the shadows. He lifted his radio. “Mac, I’ve got her.”

“Good to know. I’ll head back to the station before I start my next patrol.”

“Copy that.” He hooked the radio back on his belt and flipped on the flashlight, moving to where she stood by the carvings in the rock, tracing the letters as Mary was said have done well over a hundred years ago. “Jesus, Callie, you scared me to death.”

She dropped her hand but didn’t turn. “I’m sorry. I forgot to call,” she said so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

“How long have you been here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“You’re soaking wet.” He closed the distance between them and pulled her around to face him, staring into her shattered eyes, noting her puffy nose and blotchy cheeks—telltale signs that she’d been crying. “Your lips are blue. Take off your sweatshirt. We need to get you warm.”