Page 12 of Before This Ends (Before)

“Bye, Mr. Thatcher.” Mrs. Huffel smiles at me before slamming the door closed.

I wait until I see Winter wave, and I wave back, then head out of the parking lot and drive toward downtown.

Like most mornings, traffic is a mess. Between construction and everyone and their mother visiting Nashville to party, it takes thirty minutes to reach the station, and when I arrive, I see Tucker’s truck is already in the lot. I shut down the engine, get out, and head inside. With the change of shift, it’s chaos with people coming and going.

A few men avoid making eye contact with me, but that’s not a surprise. When we took down Steven Green, Tucker and I made a few enemies within the department. His uncle, Patrick Green, is the pastor of The World Church, which is a megachurch outside of town, where more than a few of the officers working here are members.

One might think it’s a coincidence that Stedman, who is the Deputy Chief of Police, is also a member and requested to be a part of our investigation. He demanded to know what evidence we had prior to our arrest of Steven Green, but sadly for him, he is not our boss. Tucker’s and my reason for being in this department is a little more complicated than evenheunderstands. But he will once we’re able to build a case against him and his men for internal corruption, and that time is getting a little closer each day.

I enter the main room, where my desk is located, and as I begin to shrug off my jacket, I spot Martinez—a new detective who just transferred here from New York City - coming in my direction from across the room. I don’t know him well, since he just started last week, but I immediately recognize the look on his face. His dark brows are pulled tight over his equally dark eyes, and his jaw is clenched.

“Thatcher, I wouldn’t bother taking off your coat,” he mutters, motioning with a nod for me to follow, and I fall into step with him, shrugging my coat back on. “With Tucker heading out on vacation tomorrow, it’s just you and me today.”

“What’s going on?” I glance up at him. The guy is tall, probably six four, and built like a linebacker.

“Two girls were reported missing last night from Oak Hill, and an officer up in Summer County just found the car they were driving.”

“Do they suspect foul play is involved?” I ask when we step outside.

“The girls are best friends. One of their moms is a nurse, and when she got off shift last night and went home, her daughter called to let her know she was going to be late getting home and to make sure it was okay if her friend stayed the night with them. Apparently, she goes to college at MTSU but still lives at home, and rehearsal for a show she’s in ran late and they were going to get dinner with some friends.” We step outside, and he looks at his supped-up, hunter-green Dodge Challenger in the lot, then my SUV.

“I’ll drive,” I mutter.

“Figured.” He follows me across the lot, and I beep the remote to unlock the doors.

Once we are in and buckled, he continues, “Mom went to bed last night, figuring she’d see her daughter when she got up this morning, only she wasn’t home. And when she tried to call her, that call went right to voicemail. Mom used her family location app and saw that her daughter’s last location before her phone turned off was the Waffle House off of Highway 65. That was at ten thirty.”

“All right.”

“The mom’s dad is a retired chief in Davidson. When she called to let him know his granddaughter was missing, he didn’t fuck around, because he knows it’s not like her to not check in. So, he sent out a notice to the officers he still knows and set the ball rolling at six this morning. And now, her car has been found.”

“The officer who located the vehicle say anything about the state of the car?”

“I haven’t heard anything.”

“Right.” I drive us toward the highway, hoping like fuck that by the time we get to where we’re going, the girls get in contact with someone and say this is all a big misunderstanding.

CHAPTER6

miles

Idrive down an old country road that hasn’t been repaved in years, judging by the number of potholes and the missing shoulder from water erosion. The last gas station we passed was at least ten minutes back, maybe even a little farther, and the houses have miles in between.

There’s a mixture of smaller homes that are much older and newer ones that look like mini mansions. It seems the people who live out here either grew up in this area, or got sick of living in the city, or wanted out of an HOA subdivision with all the rules and regulations, desiring space to spread out and where no one could tell them what to do. It’s also an area you could easily dump a car without anyone noticing.

“Do you know if either of the girls know anyone out here?” I glance over at Martinez.

“I don’t know about Anna, but Grace’s mother didn’t think so,” he says from the passenger seat, where he’s spent the drive on the phone with Mrs. Taylor—Grace’s mom and the one who reported the girls missing this morning. He’s also been in contact with the grandfather of Grace, who will be meeting us at the car with a spare set of keys so we can avoid causing any damage, if possible. “We’ll know more when Anna’s parents call us back, but I’m guessing with them living in Seattle, the answer will also be no, but I could be wrong.”

I ignore the twist in my gut. Winter is still young, but as a parent, I can’t imagine waking to a missed call from a number I don’t recognize, only to call it back and find out that it’s an officer letting me know that my daughter is missing. And I hope in my life I never have to experience the kind of fear that would be attached to a call like that. Especially being who I am, with my career, and knowing the statistics.

As we pull up to the area where the car was located just a few hours ago, it’s obvious it’s all hands-on deck. Either that or this is the most excitement that any of these men have had in a while. There are more than a few police-issued vehicles parked on the side of the dirt road along with a single state police vehicle.

I park, then reach over and open the glovebox, taking out a pair of neoprene gloves before I get out and meet Martinez at the hood of my SUV. Then, the two of us walk to where a black Honda Civic is pulled carefully off to the side of the road, near where the officers are gathered.

A younger gentleman wearing a standard state police uniform is the first to separate from the men he’s standing with and approaches us with his hand out. He introduces himself as Kelly, and Martinez greets him, shaking his hand.

When he’s done, I introduce myself, then dip my chin toward the car. “Are you the officer who found the vehicle?”

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