I guess I’m embarrassed I didn’t see it sooner. I didn’t think much of Josh. I’m surprised he was able to fool us so long.

I expect Cal and Dante have found him by now. They’ll probably call me any minute.

Idly, I turn Raylan’s phone over in my hands, waiting for the screen to light up with the call. When it doesn’t, I set the phone down on the kitchen table and open up the laptop instead.

I’m still distracted. My brain keeps floating back to my walk with Raylan down the birch avenue.

I miss him.

That sounds so ridiculous, but it’s true. I’ve gotten so used to him being by my side almost constantly. When he goes anywhere else, I feel his absence.

Raylan has become like sunshine on my skin. Warm, comforting, enlivening. When he goes someplace else, I feel chilled and dull. Like a flower, just waiting for the sun to return.

That’s ludicrous, I know. I tell myself to shake it off and get back to work. To lose myself in charts and documents and purchase agreements, to find my pleasure in a labor like I always used to.

I can hear the house creaking and groaning as the sun sinks lower and the warmth of the day fades away. The temperature change makes the old wood contract. It almost sounds like someone walking around upstairs, though I know Raylan and I are the only ones on the property at the moment.

I hadn’t bothered to switch on the lights. Now that the sun is going down, the kitchen is becoming dim and shadowy. The laptop screen is illuminated, so I don’t really need the light to work. But I still feel an impulse to get up and flip the switch. I feel uneasy, the tiny hairs rising up on my bare arms.

Raylan’s phone buzzes on the table, startling me. I pick it up, seeing Cal’s number.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey. I wanted to update you—we don’t have Josh.”

My stomach sinks down like an elevator. “What happened?” I ask.

“We called Uncle Oran and he said Josh hadn’t come into work today—he called in sick. So we went to Josh’s house instead. But there was nobody there. The place was a fucking mess. It was hard to tell if he’d packed up and cleared out, or if he’s just a slob.”

“His office is like that, too,” I tell Cal.

“We searched the streets to see if his car was anywhere around. Bribed his neighbor, but he said Josh left that morning at the normal time, and he hadn’t seen him come back. We’ve got eyes out anywhere we can think of . . . ”

“Did you check his girlfriend’s apartment?”

“Yeah, Uncle Oran told us about her. She was at work—said she hadn’t talked to him that day. We took her phone, tried texting and calling him. No answer. We made her give us her key and searched her flat. Fucking nothing.”