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“Are you following up about her case? Has the DNA returned?”
“Not yet, Miss Peters. I’ll be sure to contact you as soon as I have any new information.”
Sure, I’d just hold my breath and wait.
“What about the others that are missing?”
“We have open cases,” he replied without divulging anything else.
“Tell me you’re checking to see if these girls and their kidnappings are related to my sister’s attack.”
“Of course. We’ll do our job.”
Right.
“That’s not good enough. What are you doing to recover these girls?”
“I’m afraid I can’t comment on any open investigations.”
Fuming, I told him where he could shove it and stormed from the station, both worried and upset. Naomi was somewhere out there on her own, recovering from serious injuries. Where would she go? I couldn’t think of a single person to contact for help. Naomi had burned a lot of bridges over the years with her addiction, lies, and petty theft. Not many of her old friends remained in her life. My parents weren’t much help. They preferred to keep their distance and it was tragic.
My sister was entirely on her own.
The thought was terrifying.
I drove back home on autopilot. Once inside, I dropped my purse and keys on a nearby table and began pacing. I tried to place myself in her shoes. Where would I go? What would I do?
If I thought I was in danger . . . I’d run.
Shit.
Did Naomi have money? A connection somewhere?
My cell phone began vibrating and I pulled it from my pock
et, frowning as I noticed Mt. Grant Hospital’s employee line. I’d called the number multiple times before over the years when I needed to take time off. Swiping the screen, I answered hesitantly.
“Hello?”
“It’s Bethany.”
“Hey. Sorry I hung up on you.”
She didn’t seem to care. “That’s no biggie. You got a lot on your plate.” I heard what sounded like a door closing. She was trying to find privacy. “Listen, we had another girl come in through the ER tonight. She was another trauma victim like your sister.”
“No,” I groaned into the phone. “Is she . . .” It was hard to ask but my co-worker was speaking of her in the past tense.
“She was raped and burned,” Bethany whispered. “We just called it a half hour ago.”
“I’m so sorry. That poor girl.”
“Yeah, I think she was the recent one taken from Hawthorne.”
Swallowing hard, I wanted to dismiss the fact that she probably knew Naomi. “Was she a sex worker?”
“Yes, I think so. It’s hard to tell with the extent of the burns.”
I couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response.
