are good.”
“It helps that they even looked.” Her voice was harsh, even a touch angry.
“The cops are understaffed, they have to play the odds,” he said. “And the odds say that an adult who’s still, as far as they know, texting her best friend, is okay.”
“And the friend who thinks something’s wrong with those texts is imagining things.”
“They have to justify the time they spend on cases. They have a lot on their plate. When they’re dealing with murders, shootings, robberies and the like, there’s not a lot of time left for...”
He’d been about to say “lesser things,” but managed to bite it back before the words got out.
“I get it. I know they have priorities. And they did try. They took the report, entered it into their system, put out flyers and released them to the press. But it pretty much ended there. I don’t really blame them, and I wouldn’t be upset if I weren’t so worried.” She sighed audibly. “I would have hired a private investigator, if I could afford it. But everything I have went into starting the shop.”
“Well, you’ve got in essence a team of them now,” Teague said.
“And you really do this for nothing? How does Foxworth afford it?”
“Charlie.”
“Charlie,” Laney said, “must truly be a genius.”
“In many ways. Plus being the only person on earth I’ve seen Quinn intimidated by.”
“That is a frightening thought.”
Laney laughed as she said it, and Teague was grateful the moment of tension seemed to have passed.
“I still can’t believe Amber got on a plane to Vancouver, though,” she said. “She seriously hates to fly. She got groped really badly once, and she’s never flown since unless she had no other choice.”
“All we know for certain is she bought a ticket,” he cautioned. “Or at least, her credit card did.”
Laney was looking at him; he could feel it, without even taking his eyes off the road in front of them. And when she spoke he heard the underlying note of fear in her voice, although he could tell she was trying to hide it.
“Are you saying somebody else bought it in her name?”
“The ticket was purchased online.”
“So all they needed was the card in hand.”
“Yes.”
“If she is with Edward, why didn’t he buy it?”
“Good question.”
“They said it was a round-trip ticket, though, right?”
Teague nodded. He didn’t point out that anybody paying attention these days would know a one-way ticket, especially one for an imminent flight, automatically drew more attention.
“So she would have been back by now, if she really had taken that trip.”
“If she kept to that schedule, yes. It’s taking our team a bit longer to find if the ticket was actually used. Passenger manifests are kept pretty close these days.”
She went silent then, but Teague sensed her mind was still racing. It was as if having Foxworth on her side had helped her go from helpless flailing to critical thinking, and now she was catching up in a hurry.
“It’s asking a lot to hope some ticket or airline agent will remember having seen her two weeks ago, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But there’s always a chance.”
“She is kind of distinctive.” She paused, gave him a sideways glance. “By that I mean beautiful. Stop-you-in-your-tracks stunning.”
He’d seen the photo they’d chosen to show, seen the others Laney had. He couldn’t deny Amber was a beautiful woman. Hair the golden color of her name, hazel eyes also more gold than anything. He preferred the warmth of cinnamon-brown, himself, but there was no denying Amber would have been noticed by any guy around.
Amber and Laney together would be enough to turn heads.
“You two must have looked like flip sides of the same coin.”
“Amber’s much prettier,” she said. It sounded like a reflex, an automatic response. Because she believed it? Because she’d said it so many times it actually was a reflex?
A third possibility occurred to him.
“If you were fishing for a compliment, consider it landed.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her head snap up. “No! I wasn’t. It’s a simple fact. I’m all right, but Amber is exquisite.”
He couldn’t deny the genuineness of her quick response; she really hadn’t been fishing. But what she said still surprised him.
All right? Is that really what you think, that you’re just “all right”?
It wasn’t just him, he told himself. Any guy breathing would think she was a lot more than “all right.”
But any guy wasn’t working for her—that’s how they were taught at Foxworth, you were working directly for the client—so he’d better keep his head straight.
No matter how difficult the woman sitting beside him made that.
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