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“I should go home.” But even as she said the words, she knew she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to leave her demon’s embrace yet.
“Mmm. Stay.” The seductive timbre of his voice sent chills of desire rippling through her body.
She hesitated. Would it be so bad if she stayed? This need for him didn’t make sense. She never even asked his name.
“What’s your name?” Her breath hitched as his rough hand trailed lightly down her hip.
He nuzzled her ear and dipped his fingers between her legs. “Do you often have hot sex with men you don’t know?” She couldn’t tell if it was amusement or annoyance in his voice.
“No.” She gasped and arched into him, pushing against his touch, desperate for more. “This is the first time.”
His deep rumble of laughter resonated through her body as he began to trace circles around her aching clit. “But that’s not true, is it? Because you do know me.”
No, she didn’t. She couldn’t. She never would’ve done this with someone she knew because how could she face him every day with such intimate, carnal knowledge of his body?
He was a stranger.
He had to be.
She closed her eyes and grabbed his wrist with the intention of removing his hand, but didn’t follow through. Instead, she let him continue to tantalize her with his skilled fingers. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. Say my name, Sasha.” He continued to circle her clit as he waited for an answer, but instead of giving him one, all she could do was moan. His voice dropped low in anticipation. “C’mon, who’s your demon? Say my name, and I’ll let you come.”
The pleasure was deep and relentless, but he held back just enough pressure to keep her from release until his name left her in a pleading gasp. “Donovan.”
A triumphant growl rumbled from his chest. He sped up the movement of his hand, replacing his thumb with two fingers. “Say it again.”
Desperate now, she cried out. “Donovan, please!”
He pinched her clit between his fingers, and the orgasm ripped through her like wildfire. She was still pulsing as he wrapped his arms around her and tucked her tight against him.
“That’s right, angel,” he murmured into her hair. “That’s right. And you’re mine now.”
Oh, no. No, no, no. She couldn’t be his. He wasn’t part of the plan. Tonight was only meant to be a short, wild detour.
But even as the halfhearted denial crossed her mind, her body softened and molded against his. Her eyes drifted closed, and she gave in to the pull of a blissful, sated sleep.
episode 2: the search
Hey there, Truth Seekers! Welcome back to Cold Truth, the true-crime podcast that dives deep into the most challenging cold cases. I’m Alexis Summers, your host, and today we’re continuing our investigation into the disappearance of Darcy Cantrell, the teenage girl who vanished without a trace. In our last episode, we explored Darcy’s life. Now, we’ll be examining the efforts made to find her and bring her home. So, grab your detective hats, and let’s get into it!
Sheriff Jerald T. Tennison Sr., or Sheriff Jerry as he was known around Steam Valley, was a twenty-year veteran of the Lost County Sheriff’s Department and in 2007, he’d recently won a hard-fought election to the sheriff’s seat. On Halloween day, he was waiting in line at the local coffee house for his morning caffeine hit when he received a call about a missing teenage girl.
It had been five days since the party at Hidden Beach.
Nobody noticed Darcy was missing until she didn’t show up for her waitressing shift at The Grove. The diner’s owner, Gwenda Prescott, was instantly worried. It wasn’t a secret that Darcy wanted to leave town, but she’d already made plans with Gwenda to stay and work full-time through the summer tourist season after graduation because she needed money. She showed up for every shift and often picked up extra hours before and after school. In the three years she’d worked for Gwenda, she’d called off only a handful of times and never no-called-no-showed. So when calls to her cell phone went unanswered, Gwenda decided to contact the police.
Law enforcement was very familiar with the Cantrell family. Sheriff Jerry had responded to many domestic disturbance calls at their trailer over the years and had been first on scene when Sissy overdosed. It was a rough environment for a child to grow up in, but nothing could be done since Sissy always refused to press charges against her husband, and Darcy never complained of abuse after her mother died, even though she often showed up to school with unexplained bruises.
So, of course, Sheriff Jerry’s first thought was that Darcy had run away. Nobody would’ve been surprised if she’d decided to leave. At eighteen, she was legally an adult and could disappear if she wanted. The sheriff’s office simply had to confirm that she’d left willingly, then they could close the case.
Franklin Cantrell was at sea and hadn’t seen his daughter in nearly two weeks, but he gave his reluctant permission via radio for a search of the house—a search that would ultimately leave investigators with more questions than answers.
Darcy’s suitcase was in the closet with a thin layer of dust on top, and she’d been in the middle of doing laundry. A load still moldered in the washer. Her purse was on her dresser, and inside, they found her cell phone and eighty dollars in ones and fives—tips from her Friday evening shift—along with her ID and debit card. They found more tip money stashed in a shoebox under her bed, totaling five hundred dollars, and bank statements that showed she had another thousand in savings. A call to Sheriff Jerry’s wife at the credit union proved her account remained untouched.
If Darcy had left of her own accord, she’d at least have taken her money.
Where was she?
