The chill spreads outward and down. Maybe because he’s seen her on TV before, either as an actor or when her missing persons bulletin was on the news every hour.
Reilly's grin slips off by degrees as he cops my crestfallen face. He sits back and drops his hands between his knees, lacing his fingers together.
“Is it Amber?” I ask, closing my eyes for a second, trying to gather myself.
"We think so.” He flattens his lips. “Sorry, Harris. We only got the description through just before you came in. I was going to come and find you."
Taking a second before I speak, I suck in a deep breath and bite the side of my tongue hard to keep the tears at bay.
"It's okay." I keep my voice as flat as the words. "Nothing you could do about it."
"Might not be her," he offers, but then I think, well, even if it’s not Amber, it’s someone else’s sister, daughter, or wife.
That isn’t any better.
Morrison sets his doughnut down on the foil wrapper, gently, as if it's suddenly fragile.
"Shit, Harris. I'm sorry. You’ve busted your ass on this one." Cautiously, he says what everyone else is thinking. “I mean, it’s a miracle she’s still alive, but now, I mean, surely Dimitri’s on his way out of the country, or at the very least, planning it. And I doubt he’s going to want to bring her with him.”
It would be way too risky. The safest option would be to wait until you’re out of town and confident the police aren’t on your tail. Then once you’re sure you’re on your way out, kill her and dispose of the body somewhere it doesn’t get found any time soon.
“Well, we just have to find him first,” I say, with a confidence I don’t feel right now.
Holt has gone quiet. He turns his cup in a slow half-circle against his thigh and says nothing. We all know her chances are slim, and despite our personal differences, nobody here wants to see anyone get hurt.
"You'll let me know when there's a confirmation," I whisper, backing away slowly.
I need some fresh air. Frustrated at being so close to finding her only for the rug to be pulled, I march toward the front door, rattled.
"Yeah, Harris. Course." Holt clears his throat, and I turn around to hear what he has to say. He picks the cup back up,one finger tapping against the rim. "Although, you could just ask your friend Beau. Or his family."
That stops me in my tracks. I bite back the immediate rush of adrenaline dumping into my veins.
Holt drinks now, taking his time over the swallow. When he lowers the cup, he's looking at me again with that smug expression he gets when he thinks he's about to get one up on me.
"You think he might know something?" I keep my face neutral. "It seems a bit far-fetched."
"Does it?" Holt raises an eyebrow and studies me closely.
"Beau’s a good guy." I say it as level as I can manage, because the rest of me is in open revolt at the idea that he could be sitting at a table with a man like Kozlov.
Holt's smile lifts at one corner. "Sure. Maybe Beau. But what about the rest of them?"
I do not have an answer for that, and he knows it.
"Word is Bodhi's been over at Chase Walker's compound the last two nights with a woman named Emma. Plucked her out of Kozlov's hands the day before the cabin happened. Seems convenient."
Now I can’t hide that I’m glaring at him.
"Just sayin’." Holt lifts a shoulder, not caring one bit what I think of him and his theories. "Gotta admit, it's a hell of a coincidence, though."
I let the silence sit before deciding that sticking up for Beau won’t do me any good.
“I’m not saying it's a bad thing that Kozlov’s gone. Just that there’s a link there we need to look at.”
On that part, we can agree.
Morrison gives me a nod that’s more apology than acknowledgment as I push away from them and walk with myback straight to my desk, laying my hand flat on the file I closed before I went over.