said it as an excuse. Like what she really felt was that it was a lot more. He was afraid he felt the same.
Braden reached the police station doors and opened one, standing aside as Arizona entered. Kissing her had been a big mistake.
Arizona didn’t believe in mistakes.
Not what he intended, then. Diving had served to take his mind off his worry over his sister, but now every minute couldn’t be wasted. Once they talked to the police, he’d take the investigation into his own hands. He couldn’t afford the distraction of sexual attraction to interfere.
Inside, Arizona asked to speak to someone about Tatum McCrae.
The dark-skinned woman in a black uniform appeared confused. “Who?”
Braden stepped forward. “We’re here from the United States to find a missing person. Tatum McCrae.” He pulled out a picture of her. “Her last known whereabouts were in Frenchman’s Cay.”
The woman looked at the picture and then back at Braden. “Sorry. Never seen her before.”
“May we speak with Monty Crawford?” That was the officer his parents had spoken with.
“Have a seat.” The woman went to find the man. It was a small police station.
Braden watched her cross the open room of four desks and stop before a tall, thin man with a big nose and a severely receding hairline standing just outside an office beside another, heavier man with a less dramatic hairline. The woman spoke to the big-nosed man, whose gaze shifted over her shoulder toward the front of the building. He responded with something and then turned to the heavier man, who nodded once and left to go sit at one of the desks in the open area while the woman retraced her steps back toward the front desk.
“You can go on back,” she said.
Braden led Arizona through a swinging half door and approached the officer, the sound of fingers tapping on keyboards accompanying them.
The officer wore a grim face as he waited in front of an office.
Braden stopped before him. “Officer Crawford?”
The man nodded, extending his hand. “You’re Tatum McCrae’s brother?”
“Yes.” He introduced himself and Arizona, who stood beside him. “I was told you were the one looking into my sister’s disappearance. ”
Crawford nodded a few times, still grim. “I’ve spoken with your parents. Anytime a tourist goes missing, we take it very seriously.”
“Have you received any more leads?” No matter how small.
“I’m afraid not. She was seen getting into a taxi. That’s the best we’ve got so far.”
Which wasn’t much.
“Are you sure she didn’t mention anyone she might be meeting down here?” Crawford asked.
Braden shook his head.
“Do you think she might have met someone?” Arizona asked.
“She got into the taxi willingly. That suggests she at least went somewhere on her own. What happened after that is a mystery. The driver was killed, and none of the others we spoke with could tell us anything. There wasn’t even a record of him picking her up.”
“What do you know about his murder?”
“He was shot late that night. Hours after your sister was seen getting into his cab, and nowhere near Frenchman’s Cay.”
“Any leads on his killer? Any witnesses?”
Crawford shook his head. “None that help. He stopped at a coffee shop about an hour before that, but didn’t say anything to connect his murder to your sister’s disappearance.”
This was discouraging. “How do you know he was the driver?”
“We’ve questioned all the others.”
“Are you sure you didn’t miss any?”
“As sure as I can be. We’re still looking into it for that very reason.”
He appeared to be doing everything he could.
“Are you sure she didn’t meet someone she knew and doesn’t want to be found?” Crawford asked.
“She would have called our mother,” Braden insisted. “She knows she would worry.”
The detective nodded again in that same somber way.
Braden pulled out a card and handed it to Crawford. “Will you call me if anything changes?”
Crawford took the card. “Of course.” He pulled out his wallet and removed his own card. “I can understand why you traveled all this way, but I should caution you that this may take some time.”
Braden put the detective’s card in his back pocket. “All I want is my sister back.”
“We’ll find her.”
Dead? Or alive?
* * *
Riding in the back of a taxi with Braden to Frenchman’s Cay, Arizona ignored her building attraction to him. The urgency of finding Tatum superseded everything else. Entering into a relationship with him made her shudder as much as the idea of having kids did. She would concentrate on the task at hand instead.
Located on a twelve-acre peninsula a short drive from Road Town and connected to Tortola by a bridge, Frenchman’s Cay was a sleepy island community. Restaurants and shops in Soper’s Hole were colorful and well maintained. Bougainvillea, poinsettias and hibiscus abounded. White sandy beaches beckoned. And a lucky few called the forested foothills home. On Frenchman’s Point, Braden drove to a stop at the Island Hotel.
Arizona stepped up to the white-painted porch. It wasn’t a large hotel. Twenty rooms, maybe. Inside, the lobby opened to wide expanses of light-colored tile. Custom art hung on the walls.
They approached the stone registration desk.
A young girl looked up from a book. Braden asked to speak with the general manager. The clerk went into an office behind the counter and emerged with a dark-skinned man with cropped white hair.
“What can I do for you?” he asked.
Braden showed him a picture of Tatum. “We’re looking for this woman.”
“Oh, yeah. Police came asking about her. Pretty lady. That’s why I remembered her.”
“Did she check in?”
“No.”
The clerk’s gaze shot from Braden to the manager.
Why would she get a taxi here if she hadn’t checked in? Did the clerk find that odd, too?
“Are
