Page 3 of The Vanishing Wife

“I’m well-trained in walking active scenes, Detective Moore.” Leigh handed off her business card. “If you have any questions about my capabilities to preserve evidence, google my name. Excuse me.”

Leigh maneuvered around the detective and grabbed for a pair of booties and gloves positioned in flimsy cardboard boxes at the door. The forensic team was already collecting evidence. Time was their greatest enemy, and Leigh was the best chance Elyse had of coming home.

She powered through the glass double doors standing as sentry to the darkness inside. In contrast to the bright freshly painted blues and whites on the exterior, old faux-wood flooring creaked with her weight. She followed the grain through the two-story entryway, ignoring the curved wood staircase leading to the second level for now. A sharp hint of dust and age invaded her senses as activity caught her attention from the main room ahead.

Detective Moore kept on her heels. “We’re set up in the living room.”

Tile took over beneath Leigh’s feet and spread out through what felt like the remainder of the house. It was one of the things Elyse had said she hated the most. She’d wanted to rip it out as soon as she and Wesley had the money. A too-small galley kitchen took shape at Leigh’s right, with the living room on the left.

Evidence tents peppered the couches, the floor, the TV stand.

The weight of attention pressurized at the center of her chest as an oversized, dark-haired, impossibly handsome man set his sights on her. His shoulders stiffened in recognition, but Leigh was certain they’d never met before. Wesley Portman. Elyse’s husband. His conversation with another officer—presumably to give his official statement—cut short. Agitation rippled through him.

“You.” He pointed at Leigh and broke free of the officer’s attempt to keep him corralled in the corner of the room. Away from the evidence. “Elyse trusted you. How could you let this happen!”

“Get him out of here!” Detective Moore’s order was obeyed instantly. Two officers wrestled the grieving husband down the hall and out the front door. Nerves had reached an all-time high. Detective Moore nodded at the forensic tech blocking Leigh’s view of a section of flooring. He moved on command. “You wanted to know what’s going on here.”

A pool of blood soaked into the beige tile Elyse hated so much.

And everything inside Leigh went cold.

“You were right, Agent Brody. Local PD doesn’t consider a victim missing until twenty-four hours has passed,” Detective Moore said. “But as you can see, we thought we might want to make an exception this time.”

TWO

Gulf Shores, Alabama

Monday, September 16

9:30 a.m.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

Elyse didn’t have a ready answer for that. She should’ve expected the question considering the bump to her head. That was all it was. A bump. But the brightness from the penlight gouged through to the back of her brain as the physician checked for dilation in her eyes. Her brain automatically wanted to fill in the blanks of this morning. Only there was nothing to fill in. One image flittered into awareness. “Getting dressed. To go for a run.”

“And before that?” The doctor slid back on her rolling stool, taking the assault on Elyse’s vision with her. Just one part of the neurological exam Elyse had been put through in the past few minutes. The physician had already checked her balance, vision, hearing, and coordination.

“Reading in the living room.” She couldn’t sleep in that damn house. Not with the sway of the pylons and the grittiness of the sand clinging to her every second of the day. The sheets felt like sandpaper. “I’m usually up before anyone else.”

“Are you having any trouble recalling a word or names in the last few hours?” The physician wasn’t much older than Elyse, perhaps five or six years, but those precious years hadn’t been kind. Strings of gray interrupted brittle, bleached hair. One side was slightly shorter than the other, fragile strands broken from lack of care or overuse of hair barrettes. Wrinkles that shouldn’t have started making an appearance for another few years framed thin, dry lips. Worse, the woman just looked tired. Overworked and underpaid. Despite the fact this was just an urgent care clinic within South Baldwin Regional Medical Center, the staff here still dealt with broken bones, severe cuts, concussions, and first symptoms of something larger, and all Elyse wanted to do right then was take over her own examination and send this doctor to take a nap in one of the back rooms. The physician made some notes on the computer shoved off to one side of the room.

“No. My cognitive functions are fine. Just a slight headache.” Everything would work out for the best. Repeating her inner motto always helped in a crisis. However, a few minutes ago, every word had been punctuated with the sting of a needle and thread as the nurse prodded and stitched the laceration over her eyebrow.

“Good,” the doctor said. “That’s good.”

Wesley carved another path of concern—back and forth, back and forth—across the private room. It was nothing. A couple of scrapes and some bruises. She wasn’t dying, for crying out loud. “Wesley, you’re running on empty. Why don’t you get something from the vending machine in the lobby? Watching you is making me dizzy.”

“I’m not hungry.” Her husband brought himself to a halt. Dark eyes hyper-focused on her, and right then she was thrown back into a doctor’s office not too different from this one. One they’d both left heartbroken and changed forever. “Is she going to be okay?”

His worry scraped her nerves raw. It was uncomfortable and all too familiar. This visit wouldn’t be like the last time. This was nothing more than a fall. There was no reason to panic.

“You’re experiencing dizziness now?” The physician locked wide eyes on Elyse. “Do you feel as though you’re going to throw up or pass out?”

Both, but she wasn’t going to tell this woman that. Her husband was the one who was about to lose it. Elyse worked very well under pressure. She had to as a physician’s assistant for Dr. Wilson. Growing a human came with risks. She knew that better than most, and she had to be prepared for all kinds of situations for the women who came into their office. Just in case. A silly fall during her run wasn’t going to shake her. “No. I’m fine.”

It’d been a fall, right? That was what made the most sense considering her injuries. The scrape on the side of her hand had stopped bleeding, but she was starting to feel the one over her eyebrow. It pulsed in time with her heart rate as adrenaline drained from her body. Sand grated between her toes and filled her running shoes. She was dressed in the shorts she preferred to work out in, even wore her sports bra and racing T-shirt she’d earned during her last half-marathon.

Except she’d never fallen on her route before. And her palms weren’t scuffed up. Like she hadn’t even bothered to throw her hands out to stop herself from hitting the ground face first. Or maybe she had, and she’d misjudged the angle, landing on the side of her hand instead. The physician had examined the rest of her with ease of a thin, gaping gown instead of her clothing. Her back hurt, but there wasn’t anything more than a bit of soreness. She didn’t usually run with headphones, but shouldn’t she have come home with her phone? Had she set it down and forgotten where she’d put it in the wake of Wesley’s panic to get her to the hospital? Maybe her cognitive functions had taken a hit. Accidents like this were one of the reasons she’d started banking her blood. Well, hers, Ava’s, and Wesley’s. There was no telling what kind of emergency would strike without warning. It just made sense.

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