“I spent a lot time working narcotics in Los Angeles, never once met an actor who wasn’t holding something. And I don’t know how well you got to know Caitlin,” he said with a smirk, “but she doesn’t mind the occasional puff.”

Greenwood turned away, maybe to hide his blush. “Makes sense.”

Mike moved on to the third page, a much larger map with four times as many dots—the drive from Bloomington to the Indianapolis airport.

“How long was she at the guesthouse?”

“Hour and fifteen. Started driving to Indy around five twelve, got to the rental return at six thirty-five.”

Mike set the maps on Greenwood’s desk. “You got any traffic cams or footage from the rental return or airport?”

Greenwood shrugged. “The maps suggest she left town.”

Mike noticed an older woman in a beige blazer perched at the edge of the room, arms crossed, standing next to a no-nonsense man in a government suit. “Airlines confirm that?”

Greenwood looked like he hated the words coming out of his mouth. “I’ve got calls out, but nothing back yet. Same with the cell company.”

Mike nodded toward the woman. “You got a female captain?”

Greenwood smiled. “Chief, actually. That’s Renton’s way of saying we’re done here. Other guy’s FBI.”

Mike knew the look. “Because all signs point to Caitlin leaving Indiana. And even if she’s missing, she didn’t go missing in Bloomington. Who’d she piss off the most?”

Greenwood turned away from Renton’s gaze. “You were on the job, so you know I’m not gonna bad-mouth my department to a complete stranger. I’m in the middle of some major shit and can’t do much more for Caitlin, but I’ll let you know if I get any replies.” He offered Mike the pages again.

Mike grabbed the maps. “When and if you get any.”

“Unless you’ve got some way to speed up the process, something with a bigger dick than the FBI.”

Mike thanked him and walked away under the chief’s hawk eyes. Five feet out the door, he called the bigger dick.

“Special Agent Martinez, this is Mike Roman.”

Chapter 65

CHAPTER

65

CAITLIN SNAPPED AWAKE, her brain embracing the sensation of unbound movement. Nothing held her down to the mattress.

Alone again in the bedroom. The overhead light gave a warm daylight wash, but was it really daytime? Was this Saturday?

She smelled something familiar. Caress body wash, the same scent she used at home, and something else—Aussie brand shampoo. Her hair was wet. Branford had bathed her, yet she had absolutely no memory of the process. What else had he done during her mental gap?

Something felt off between her legs, awkward and foreign.

She reached for the sheet, felt immense, hot pain at both of her wrists. Both ankles felt tender as well, ripped skin rather than muscle damage, like she’d strained against straps.