Page 92 of The House Beyond the Dunes

He moves toward me with even, steady strides. In the light of day, he’s composed, and the armor that slips when people get naked in bed is in place. Bulletproof comes to mind.

“When’s the last time you saw Nikki?” he asks.

“July 2, give or take.”

As this near stranger stares at me, I realize he also saw Nikki the night she vanished. Sure, he doesn’t have the income to afford a fancy car, but police impound all kinds of vehicles ready for borrowing.

“Have you found out anything?” he asks.

“Me first. What are you doing here? Why are you suddenly concerned about Nikki?”

“Joey called. He asked me to ask around. Said you were looking, and it might not end well.”

I can’t decide who I love more in that moment. Joey or Sully. My two antiheroes. “I thought you were in construction, Sully.”

“I am. Now.”

“Now? But not always?”

Sully holds my gaze. “No.”

“Let me guess, military police?”

“That’s right. Retired. Marines.”

“Did Joey file a missing persons report for Nikki?”

“No. He knows any investigation will have a low priority,” Sully says. “Nikki was over twenty-one, had been in the area less than two weeks, and was seen with various men.” He draws in a breath. “Now it’s your turn. How about you show me your driver’s license. I’d like to know who I’m dealing with.” He trusts me about as much as I trust him.

“I’d love to, but I lost it along with my phone,” I lie. “Been meaning to get a new one, but the lines at DMV are murder.”

“Lost it?” A smile teases his lips. “Where?”

“It’s a long story that’ll bore you to tears.”

“What about registration on your car?” He glances toward the silver four-door with Virginia plates. No doubt he’s committing the plates to memory.

“In the wallet I lost.”

Tension simmers under Sully’s direct gaze. “You didn’t say wallet.”

“All ID lost. Credit cards. All the stuff that makes a person a real person. I don’t even have a cell.”

His latex-gloved hands flex slightly. He knows I’m fucking with him, but he’s not a real cop, so I don’t care. “I can have you arrested.”

I’m smart enough not to smile. “Not my idea of foreplay.”

“I’m not screwing around, Stevie.” His voice deepens, sharpens. “What do you know about Nikki?”

Best not to keep poking the bear. “The night you and I met in Joey’s, I spotted Nikki in the back seat of a customer’s car. She was trying to get free, and he was forcing her down on the back seat.”

“Joey told me. He said the guy’s name is Pete. Do you remember the vehicle?”

“Pete Griffin, by the way. Drove a big black truck. Supposedly he lives in Chesapeake, Virginia.” I rattle off his plate.

“I’ve already checked into Pete Griffin,” Sully says. “He had an alibi the following night. Apparently, he was in the ER with a shattered knee.”

“That was a little memento from me.”

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