Page 99 of Conrad

Oh?

And then he put his arm around her, pulled her against himself. “C’mon. The sooner we get answers, the sooner we solve this, and the sooner you’re safe.”

Maybe they should go back inside, forget this crazy idea.

She climbed in, and he set the GPS and headed west.

Darkness still sat around them in the early-morning hour, and he’d flicked on his headlights, a few cars negotiating the icy pavement as he pulled out onto Highway 7.

“Thanks for doing this.”

He wore a dark hat, a black jacket, and almost looked like a burglar. Except they weren’t going to burgle anything, really. He glanced at her. Winked.

Oh boy.

He slowed and turned off his lights as they pulled into the man’s neighborhood. The house sat at the end of a long drive, all black with wooden accents, clearly remodeled and updated, at least on the outside. The kitchen-remodel permit he’d pulled was dated only two months ago.

“He’s home,” Conrad said as he slowed. A late-model Acura MDX sat in the driveway, its roof covered in an inch of snow, the windows frosted over.

“Maybe. Or maybe he just has to park outside because his garage is full of appliances and remodeling supplies.”

He glanced at her. “That’s your hunch.”

“Yes, and . . . pull into the driveway.”

“So we can be caught on camera?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Listen, we can say we were doing a welfare check.”

He shook his head but parked behind the Acura. She got out and looked in the car. There, on the visor—the garage-door opener.

“Let’s knock first,” Conrad said and headed up the steps to the front door. She followed him, stood under the porch, and listened to the bell chime. Darkness bled through the sidelight window.

He rang again and waited. “Just in case he’s in bed.”

And not dead. But she didn’t say that out loud.

“I think he’s not here.”

She turned and headed down the steps, past the Acura, to his truck. “Can you pop your hood?”

He frowned but reached into his driver’s side and opened the hood.

“I need to borrow your hood stand.” She held the hood open.

“Why?”

“It’s a trick I learned from a previous boyfriend. He used to lock his keys in his car all the time.”

Conrad loosed the stand from the base, then gently closed the top.

She’d reached into his car and grabbed a snow scraper.

Then she peered into the Acura. It had a simple lock tab above the door handle. She just needed to flip it.

“How—”

“Watch and learn.” She worked the edge of the scraper into the door, pushing the top of the door open and wedging the scraper in to crack open the top of the door. Then she fed the hood latch inside, angling it down to the lock tab. It took a couple attempts, but she hooked the tab and flipped it forward. The door unlocked.

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