I wasn’t lying when I said Remi gave me too much credit if she thought I could track her down with a name and phone number. But I have a hell of a lot more than I need in the end.

The end comes almost two weeks after I land in Texas with Chase. Remi sent her picture, and then nothing. No texts or calls. I’ve struggled over the stalker aspect of looking for her, showing up where I last knew she was. But none of this makes sense. Remi vanishing without a word is wrong, and the hollow feeling in my gut wins out.

Ashfield, Ohio. A café with a town square across the street. The house almost too easy to find.

No, it is too easy. When I pay for my coffee, the police chief’s address is written on a pink piece of paper and taped to the counter. Chief Kane.

I fish my phone out as I return to the rental car. The picture of Chase kissing his bicep like a total douche covers my screen with the incoming call. He’s texted a dozen times over the past hour, but my head hasn’t been in the right place. I tuck it away without reading the messages, still not there.

The last two days, he’s been on another level. He’s wanted to go climbing, bungee jumping, and to the bars every night. I think he’s trying to cheer me up or distract me. But nothing will work until I find her. I can’t let it go. I can’t let her go.

I park on the street in front of a two-story, white with black accents. My breaths shallow when I spot a trellis against the side of the house, barely visible through hedges and tree branches. She mentioned it once, how she sneaks in and out. Seeing it in person unsettles me because where the fuck is Remi?

Less and less sure about this, I climb out of my car. A black BMW sits in the driveway. Extra antennae, lights on the side mirrors, and a radio inside when I walk by it tell me it’s an unmarked police car. I step up to the door, look at the brass knocker. Fuck, my pulse is thundering in my neck, chest weighing me down.

I skip the knocker and rap my knuckles on the door.

After a few seconds, a middle-aged man answers. “Can I help you?”

The piece of shit stepdad. He has a hardness to him, light brown hair, jeans, and a gray button-down.

“Uh, yeah,” I say, the doubt seeping through my pores, but the wrongness overpowers. “I’m looking for Remi.”

His forehead barely creases before returning to neutral, eyes quickly scanning me. “You know Remi?” I nod, and he steps back, opening the door wider. “Come in out of the cold, son.”