Page 8 of Claws and Feathers

She gave him her signature eye roll. “Abby was a bit moody and sarcastic. She was super into photography. I don’t know how it happened, but we both went to some house party and ended up bonding over Rum Runners.”

“Was?”

Daphne paused, blinking at him with her fake eyelashes. “What?”

“You said ‘Abbywas’. Past tense.”

She continued to stare at him for a moment before the color drained from her face. She raised a hand to her parted lips. “Oh, my God. I didn’t even realize. Jesus.”

Cooper returned his attention to the box. He sifted through Abby’s personal items, pulling out picture frames, knick-knacks, and a worn teddy bear. “Go on,” he encouraged.

“R – Right.” Daphne inhaled slowly, seemingly regaining her train of thought. “Abby lived with her grandmother. I don’t know much, but her parents died when she was a teenager, and her brother moved out as soon as he turned eighteen. Her grandma was filthy rich – the Stone family owned a ton of car dealerships along the north shore suburbs. They were well-known, and they had a lot of pull in town. Her grandma died a few weeks ago and left Abby with everything.”

Cooper stood up, his interest piqued. This could certainly be a crime driven by financial gain. If so, the chances of Abby still being alive had just gone up substantially. “Was she seeing anyone? Boyfriend?”

Daphne shook her head, her strawberry stained hair bobbing over her shoulders. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. She was with this guy, Jordan, for a million years, but then he cheated on her. I’m pretty sure the breakup, combined with her grandma dying, was why she got the hell out of dodge.”

So, it was unlikely a crime of passion, but he couldn’t rule it out. He just didn’t know enough about Abigail Stone yet. Was there a secret romance? A salacious love affair with a married man? Everything was in question. He also couldn’t rule out a crime of opportunity – though, a violent transient passing through Crow’s Peak was dubious at best.

Cooper ran a hand through his tousled hair. He desperately needed a haircut, but he hardly had time to sleep, let alone indulge in the finer things in life such as personal grooming. He scratched at his stubbled jaw, reminding himself he needed to shave as well. “Are you able to give me her ex’s last name and any information you have on him?”

Daphne nodded.

“And let me know if you think of anything else,” Cooper continued. “I’m going to compare notes with Walker and see if we can catch some leads.”

Daphne halted him, wrapping her cranberry claws around his upper arm. “Cooper…”

Cooper turned to face her, noticing the softening of her usually stubborn features.

“Look, I know we have our differences. I don’t even really like you,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Thanks.”

“But you’re a real good cop. And Abby’s my friend. I know if anyone can find her… you can.”

Cooper dipped his head agreeably before turning to leave.

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe thatso damn bad. But Cooper was well-versed with the odds. He knew that when pretty girls go missing, they don’t always turn up. And if they do, it’s often in a ditch, or in the woods, or in a shallow grave.

Cooper shuddered, his mind conjuring up all sorts of morbid scenarios. He didn’t enjoy it – no, it was simply something he had to do: prepare for the worst and hope for the best. It was a solid motto.

It was a cop’s motto.

Where are you, Abigail Stone?

Chapter Three

T W O W E E K S L A T E R

She heard something. A muddled choir of gibberish. Broken, fractured sounds. Abby felt like she was deep underwater; drowning, spinning, flailing.

Voices.

Gargled and clipped. She blinked slowly, her eyes accustomed to only seeing darkness. The Man had not been back in five days. He had left her there to die – to starve to death. To wither and wilt and rot away. It was not the way she had anticipated going. The Man had threatened her every day since she’d been locked up in this prison, so she knew she was going to die – but not likethis.

Never like this.

The Man was sometimes calm, sometimes wrathful, but his words of warning never faltered.

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