“How could she have disappeared?” He bent double, bracing his hands on his knees as his stomach rolled. “Are you sure? How can you be sure? The Vandermonts were home when I drove her up there last evening.” Everything had been fine when he’d left. Hope had been so happy and excited, she’d run off without even saying good-bye.
Good-bye.
“Let’s go sit down, Mr. Kellan. Get you something to drink to calm your nerves.”
“I don’t need to sit down.” His spine stiffened against the fear coursing through him. Hope missing? How was that possible? He pushed off the wall, walked to the kitchen and poured himself the coffee he’d been looking forward to for the last mile. Once it was swirling in the mug, all he could do was stare down and feel himself fall...falling...
“What are we looking at? A kidnapping for ransom? A stranger ab—” He dropped his chin to his chest, unable to complete the thought. He needed to find some logic here, something to grab onto like the plans made to combat a nasty out-of-control fire. But where was logic when a child was missing? When there wasn’t anything other than complete and utter panic.
“We’re considering every possibility,” the detective told him, but he found the statement far from reassuring.
“My brother—”
“Mr. Kellan. Max.” Detective MacTavish stood across the counter from him while Dr. Hollister remained just inside the doorway, those eyes of hers scanning the room like a laser beam. “I realize this is difficult, but we need to know if you’ve heard from your niece since you dropped her at the Vandermonts’ yesterday evening.”
“Um, yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She sent me a text message before she went to sleep. It’s our routine.” Max spun in a circle. Where had he left his phone? “Here.” He pulled it free of the charging station and handed it over. “There’s a picture of her with her friends. I think they were eating s’mores. It’s all over her—” He couldn’t think. Why couldn’t he think? He stared down, transfixed, at the grinning image of the only person who brought him a modicum of joy these days. “I need to call my brother.”
“Please.” Detective MacTavish nodded, but Max could tell the cop was humoring him.
Max dialed, clenching his teeth so tight his head ached. “Voice mail. Typical. Joe, it’s me. Call me back. Now. It’s about Hope. She’s...” He scrubbed his hand across his forehead. Missing? Dead? Gone? His chest hurt from breathing so hard. “Just call me back, man. Please.” He clicked off, let out a sound that might have been a laughing sob. “Can you believe my brother’s invented some of the most advanced technology on the market and half the time he forgets to turn on his cell?” He tossed the phone on the counter, barely noticing when the detective picked it up. He needed to move, to think. To do something, anything.
“You haven’t heard from Hope since she sent you that picture?” the detective asked.
“No. You said you’re considering everything. That means she might have gone off.” Was she out there? Alone? God, he hoped she was alone. But she could be freezing. Hurt. Scared. “I know there’s some pretty thick wilderness around the home. I didn’t think it was anything—”
“Again, we aren’t ruling anything out,” Detective MacTavish said. “We have sheriff’s deputies searching the property around the Vandermont home. We also have officers going door-to-door in case anyone saw anything or anyone suspicious in the area in the last few days. Do you have other contact information for your brother besides his cell number?”
“Yeah.” Max returned to the mug, watched the steam swirl up but still couldn’t bring himself to drink. “Yeah, he wrote it down and stuck it on the message board.” He walked around the detective to the recessed desk, pulled the paper off the corkboard. “He’s been working on a merger with a Japanese company interested in his latest invention, app, something I don’t understand.” Joe with all his big ideas that always paid off. Out to change the world, make it better. For everyone. For Hope.
“Do you know where we can find Gemma?” Dr. Hollister asked.
“She said she was going to a spa until Joe got back.” Because his morning wasn’t going bad enough, now he had to think about Hope’s mother. “Joe wanted her to go with him, thought maybe they could work out some of their issues. She refused. Big knock-down, drag-out fight the night before he left. Nothing violent,” he added when he realized the impression that statement would make. “Joe would never hurt either of them. But things have been difficult between them. As I’m sure she knows.” He glanced at Dr. Hollister, who gave a nod of agreement. What was wrong with the woman? She knew Hope; she’d been treating her. Why did she look as if she didn’t want to be bothered to be here?
“Do you know what spa Mrs. Kellan was going to?” Detective MacTavish asked.
“Honestly, I don’t pay much attention to anything Gemma says.” Max blinked. “And no, before you ask, I haven’t heard anything from her since she took off. She knew she wouldn’t have to worry about Hope with me around.” Guilt walloped him in the gut.
“I’d agree with that assessment,” Dr. Hollister said as she flipped through something on his phone. “Gemma isn’t the most hands-on parent, but if she stayed local, I’d lay odds on the Camellia Day Spa off Fair Oaks Boulevard, Jack.”
“We’ll have one of our officers work on tracking her down,” Detective MacTavish said. “May we have your permission to search your cell phone and the house? Maybe there’s a chance someone picked her up and dropped her off here late last night.”
“Search whatever you want,” Max said. “Hope hasn’t been here. I’d know. I don’t sleep much.” Maybe never again.
“Hope told me you’re living in their guesthouse,” Dr. Hollister said as she returned the phone to the detective.
“Officially, yes, but I moved in here when my brother left so I’d be close to Hope. The guest room is on the other side of the stairs. You’re wasting your time questioning me.” But he knew they had to. How many child abductions led to relatives or friends of the family? Frustration began to swirl. “I should be out there trying to find her.” He couldn’t just sit—or stand—around and wait. He needed to be doing something.
“We are doing that, believe me.” Detective MacTavish left the room with a gesture that he’d soon return.
Max stared at the doctor, anger boiling inside him as he pushed aside those warm, fuzzy feelings that had descended out on the street. The last thing he needed in his life again—in any capacity—was a useless doctor. “Stop looking at me like I’m a specimen under your microscope, Doc. I won’t lose it completely.” He gripped the edge of the counter, leaned over and squeezed his eyes shut. “Not yet, anyway.”
“I haven’t used a microscope since college.” She walked over and picked up his coffee, carried it over to the sink and dumped it out. She searched the cabinets, pulled out another mug, one of the ones Hope used for her hot chocolate, and filled it with coffee. “Here. Drink.”
He wrapped both hands around the white ceramic, his eyes falling on the cartoon princess frolicking with her animal friends. “Why did you do that?”
“To give you something of hers to hold on to.” Dr. Hollister pressed her hand over his for a brief moment, long enough to warm him in conjunction with the coffee.
