Page 32 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

We became partners.

Two people dedicated to solve an important case together.

An unstoppable duo.

Friends?

When I stand and pass him, his palm presses into my lower back just above my ass as he guides us down the hallway. And dammit if I don’t shiver at his touch while my flesh heats where his hand rests. I attempt to push away wrong thoughts and focus on whatever shit-show we’re about to walk into.

As we reach the office, Dillon drops his hand and stalks off ahead of me. Stanton is standing beside the door, red-faced and heaving angry breaths.

What the hell did we do now?

Once inside, he slams the door so hard, I let out a squeak of surprise. Dillon growls and stands between Chief and me, as if to shield me from his rage. As much as that warms me, it’ll only piss our boss off even more. I touch Dillon’s arm softly before finding my seat. He follows after me.

“I want to know why you two thought it was okay to go against direct orders,” Stanton seethes as he lurches himself into his chair. He leans forward, elbows on his desk, and glares at me in particular.

“I don’t know what you mean—” I start, but he cuts me off with a slam of his fist to the desk.

“Bullshit!”

“Okay, Chief, you need to calm down,” Dillon barks.

But Stanton is far from calm. He’s enraged. I’ve pissed him off a lot, sure, but I have never seen him this out of control before.

“Alena Stevens. Missing girl. I told Lieutenant Wallis to have you two reassigned. You were to work the homicide at the doll shop. Why in the ever-loving hell would you continue to pursue the missing person case?”

Dillon jerks his head to me and frowns. I shake my head, rolling my eyes, my stare meeting that of Stanton’s. “I know, but I was in the neighborhood and thought the cases might be related. Turns out, they are.”

Chief’s face turns so red, I think he might explode. “Do you have any idea what sort of media catastrophe you caused, Phillips?”

I dart my gaze to Dillon and he’s just as perplexed. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Oh, don’t try the sir bullshit on me now, Detective.” He grips his computer monitor and drags it around for us to view. “You told that woman whoever took her daughter was the same person who took you all those years ago!”

“No!” I argue, my entire body tensing. “I told her maybe. That it was possible.”

“Not what the media claims,” he snarls.

It’s then I read the headline on one of our local news stations.

Cold Case is on Fire as Police Link Alena Stevens to Missing Girls from Twelve Years Ago.

I close my eyes and attempt to burn away the image of Alena’s face next to mine and my sister’s. Swallowing, I blink my eyes back open and look at Stanton. “I can explain. They have to be related. You see, the doll from the window—”

He barks out a laugh and slams his hand on his desk, making me jerk from the impact. “They found the girl.”

They found the girl.

Sickness stirs in my stomach.

“Are you sure you want to see these?” Dad asks me, plonking a box on the table before us with a thud.

Our eyes meet and my gaze is firm. “Just show me.”

After lifting the lid, he nudges the box toward me. Mom reaches across from her chair next to me and squeezes my hand.

I’ve been home a week. Just one week. My old room was unchanged, left exactly as it was four years ago, just like Macy’s.

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