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“More what?” Bethenny asked, her eyebrows weaving together as she studied him. In the daylight, his eyes looked more blue, less gray.
“Dead bodies. She might not be the only one,” he said, his eyes still on the forest.
She sighed. “True, but let’s find out who she is and who killed her—because even if it was the man you chased off the cliff, there might be another person involved in this.”
He looked to her, his lips turning up at the corner. “Is that how you deal with the trauma and stress of your job?”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, frowning.
He gave a small smile. “Being a warrior for justice. I mean, everyone in our field wants it for the victims, but there’s a level of determination in your voice and your eyes that I don’t see often.”
She sighed. “I see every one of their faces in my mind before I sleep—and I probably will for the rest of my life. If I don’t fight for them, who will?”
He looked to her, a sadness creeping into his eyes. She knew he understood—even if he didn’t see the victims’ faces of the cases he’d worked, he saw Eden’s. Of that, she was sure.
Mitch’s team rolled up, arriving with hot coffees. They were swarmed by the officers as warm blankets were wrapped around them. The medics did a quick assessment, then ushered them into the cars.
Bethenny climbed into the back seat, tilted her head back, and snuggled into the blanket. She sighed softly, exhaling the stress of the last twenty-four hours.
What. A. Day.
What. A. Night.
What. A. Nightmare.
She sank lower into the car seat, closing her eyes, letting the car bouncing over the uneven dirt roads that wrapped around the woods lull her. She knew it would be at least a two-hour drive until they were out of the area.
“Her name is Kiera Johnson,” Mitch said from the front passenger seat.
Bethenny mumbled, opening her eyes. “Are you talking to me?”
“The woman you found in the grave. We got an identification match almost immediately. Kiera was reported missing ten days ago. Twenty-three years old, never turned up for her night shift—she was a nurse at the Hidden Hills Psychiatric Hospital. She lived in Melrose, about a ten-minute drive from the hospital, with roommates who said she left for work and seemed normal. But she never made it to work. The team that initially looked at her case couldn’t trace her on CCTV footage, but interestingly, her home-security camera showed her reversing out of her driveway and turning in the opposite direction she should’ve turned to go to work.”
Bethenny chewed on her cheek. “She was planning to make a stop first, then.” It was weird, though, that her roommates said she was acting normally. She either knew the person she’d gone to see, or she might’ve stopped somewhere—like a coffee shop—and something had happened.
“How many diners, gas stations, coffee shops around the area?” Bethenny asked. “You’ll need to see if they have security cameras. She must’ve made a planned stop, or planned to meet someone.” Melrose was a small town, from what Bethenny could remember, but admittedly it was a long time since she’d driven through there.
“Will do,” Mitch said with a nod.
Bethenny wondered why the previous officer hadn’t looked at local surveillance. Maybe they had, but they’d missed something?
Her mind reeled with possibilities, but she forced herself to close her eyes and take a few deep breaths. She sighed more heavily now.
She opened her eyes and realized they’d passed the police station.
“Where are we going?” she asked, sitting upright, more alert.
She met Mitch’s gaze in the rearview mirror. His eyebrows threaded together. “To your house. Where did you think we were going?”
Bethenny paused. She thought she was going to the station to begin a long day of paperwork and looking over reports.
Mitch raised an eyebrow. “Take the day off. Come back with a clear mind tomorrow. We’ll make a start on the surveillance footage and the usual workup for a case then you can look at it tomorrow. You need to rest and get some sleep,” he said, knowingly.
Bethenny nodded, but anxiety crawled up her throat like a spider climbing a web.
She’d never taken sick days in the past, nor had she ever taken a day off to rest. It seemed weak to her. She knew, of course, that wasn’t the case, but she applied a different set of rules to herself than to others. Given she’d been the lead detective, with a team of men, she’d always felt the need to prove herself—and that meant working when she was in pain or unwell. There were a million lessons in that, she knew, but she didn’t want to think about any of them.
“It’s not a request,” Mitch continued. “I’m ordering you to have the day off. Both you and Detective Taylor are on leave today.” Finality laced his words.
