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Schmidt’s vehicle had been cleaned as thoroughly as the hotel room. No prints. No fast-food wrappers or hair left behind. Boucher’s task to uncover what the detective had been doing when not working this case hadn’t resulted in much either. Schmidt had kept to himself while at the hotel, never ordering room service or speaking to the staff. The Do Not Disturb sign had been in place each time the cleaning crew had made their rounds. Security footage of the floor and lobby had suspiciously stopped working the day Schmidt had checked in. The hotel manager had concluded after several attempts to fix the system that someone was taking it down on purpose. He’d been prepared to put in a call to police when cameras had suddenly started working again.
Leigh pinched the Lego figure between two fingers and pulled Troy’s old toy soldier from her blazer pocket in comparison. “One step forward, two steps back.”
A hard knock on the door separating Boucher’s room from hers jolted her nerves into overdrive. She pocketed both figures, shoving to her feet. As much as she wanted to share the burden of a psychologist’s head games and her interest in a missing boy from Fruitland, Montana, Boucher had made his position clear from day one. It’d take hard evidence for him to accept she’d been right about Chris Ellingson all along. Evidence she didn’t have. Yet.
She flipped the deadbolt and opened the door. “I didn’t order room service, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“You’re such a smartass.” Boucher raised a grease-spotted paper bag. “Thought you could use some real food rather than that granola bar made for rabbits you’ve been carrying around.”
Her stomach growled at the promise of too many calories, saturated fats, and salt, and Leigh widened the door to let him in. “Rabbits can’t eat nuts. It’s bad for their digestion.”
“I know it’s hard to understand, but most people would just say thank you.” He took in her room in record time, trying to make it seem he wasn’t cataloguing everything she’d left in sight. Including the Lego set on the desk. He looked good in civilian clothes. Relaxed, if that was possible. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I was interrupting an all-night rager.”
Leigh swiped the bag from him and took up her position on the edge of the bed. “From what I remember of the academy, they don’t teach cadets how to be assholes. You must’ve come by your tendencies naturally.”
“Right. You were with Concord PD.” Boucher shook off her insult as he drove his hand into the bag of food and pulled out an oversized burger. Setting up on the opposite queen-sized bed, he made quick work of the wrapper and took a bite. “I looked you up, Brody. You graduated the academy at the top of your class. You had your pick of assignments according to your TO. Said he’d never seen any rookie as gung ho about the job as you. He swore you were going to be running your own precinct with the big boys in under a decade.”
Leigh tried to concentrate on unwrapping her own burger rather than what came next.
“Then one day you up and resigned.” Boucher shook his head as if the concept of not being a police officer was so foreign to him, he might as well be talking to the cow who’d sacrificed its life for his burger. He hid it well by grabbing a few fries out of the bag she’d set between them on the nightstand. “No two weeks’ notice. No job in the pipeline. You left your uniform, your badge, and your gun in your locker and never came back. Then I looked at the date.”
Her gut soured, the idea of taking a single bite of her burger along with it. “People leave the force for all kinds of reasons.”
“I remember your mom,” he said. “I crashed my bike in front of your house. Must’ve been about thirteen. You would’ve been gone by then. Rumors around town said the place was haunted. My parents told me to stay away because of the evil that lived there. I was being stupid and trying to race past there as fast as I could on the way to a friend’s house so I wouldn’t get kidnapped and murdered along with your brother and his friend. Didn’t see the rock under my tire until it was too late.” Boucher stared down at the food in his hands. “She came right out with a first-aid kit and a bottle of water, helped me clean up, made sure nothing was broken. Didn’t seem very evil to me. Even with your next-door neighbor screaming at her to get the hell away from me.”
Her heart jerked at the guilt trying to convince her she should’ve been there. She should’ve stayed to take the brunt of Lebanon’s hatred, but time and distance had given Leigh a truer perspective. Her mother hadn’t died the day she’d set a gun against her temple and pulled the trigger. She’d died right along with Troy. “There aren’t any patterns in this case. I can’t… Every time I think we have something solid, it slips through our fingers. The man responsible for Derek Garrison’s death didn’t deviate from his pattern when he killed my brother. Killers have their own unique set of rules they follow, but?—”
“But this one isn’t letting you get a peek at his guidebook.” He took another bite of burger.
“Yeah.” Leigh didn’t know why she’d revealed that part of herself, the insecurity, the doubt closing in around her every decision. Other than she had no one else but the lieutenant who could possibly understand the fear seeping past her defenses. The fear of losing what was left of her family. For good.
Boucher’s phone vibrated with an incoming call. He tossed what was left of his burger on the nightstand and answered on the second ring. “Boucher.” Every muscle in the man’s body solidified with battle-ready tension. The lieutenant shot to his feet. “I’m on my way. Keep her calm until I get there.” He didn’t bother with pleasantries, ending the call. “I’ve got to go.”
“What’s going on?” Leigh’s mind raced with the possibilities. Another body. A domestic disturbance call at the Pierce home. Her heart rate jumped the gun, shooting into her throat. Boucher was already headed for the door, not bothering with his belongings in the other room. She reached out to slow him down. “What happened?”
Boucher turned on her, all that caged fury breaking the surface. His jaw set. He was practically vibrating having to stand still, and she instantly regretted stopping him from leaving. “My son is missing.”
TWENTY-THREE
Lebanon, New Hampshire
Monday, March 15
11:45 p.m.
The cruiser’s tires skidded into the dirt driveway.
Leigh launched forward to catch herself against the dashboard.
She’d tried. She’d tried to keep Boucher from visiting the scene but had gotten nothing but low growls from the lieutenant the entire drive from Concord. It was too late. His greatest fear had come to life, and there was nothing she could do to keep him in the car. No amount of logic or warnings would get through. Boucher’s promise to Katherine Garrison rang in her head, over and over. I’d tear apart the son of a bitch responsible with everything I had left.
Carter, Boucher’s ten-year-old son, was missing.
Heaven help anyone who got in his way.
From what she could see in the red-and-blue glow of police cruiser lights spinning around the front yard, the Boucher home was newer than the surrounding properties. Horizontal orange siding and white trim had worn from weather and neglect, the inset front door adding to the barn-like design. The structure sat on twelve acres of open land. One garage. Seven picturesque windows with perfectly styled white curtains facing toward Dartmouth College Highway. Multiple entry points. Any number of ways Carter Boucher could’ve disappeared.
Or been taken.
