It was not like there was a curfew in Casa Poe. But since she had stood in the abandoned house and stared at the first Jane Doe, Jordan’s worries for Avery had resurfaced. She was going to do her best to hide her concerns from Avery. Jordan resented people hovering, and Avery was no different. However, Jordan was the older sister, and in the universe, the first one out of the womb had claim to certain rights and privileges. Worry was one of them.

Headlights swept over the living room as Avery’s car pulled in the driveway. The fifteen-year-old sedan’s engine chugged to a stop. Home thirty minutes early. Not typical but maybe one of the other guys in the café had closed up for her. “Take the wins where you get them,” Jordan’s old boss used to say.

Rising out of her chair, she carried her half-empty cup of decaf to the kitchen sink, poured it out, and moved to her bedroom. She closed her bedroom door as Avery entered the front door. Lying in bed, she listened to her sister’s less-than-delicate footsteps as she flipped on a light and rummaged in the refrigerator.

Jordan lay back on her pillows and stared at the white plaster ceiling. All the chickens were home to roost, a rare event indeed, so she closed her eyes and willed sleep to take her.

But slumber refused to be bossed. It would come when it damn well pleased, and she could wait.

As tempted as she was to check her phone, viewing the screen’s light was a recipe for insomnia. So, as she listened to Avery move about the house, she counted not sheep but the names of missing women. Tammy. Susie. Casey. And she tried not to picture any of them wrapped in plastic, struggling to breathe.

Jordan was in a dead sleep when her phone rang. She sprang up fully awake, a trick learned after twelve years on the job. She glanced at her display. The name did not register at first. Was she still sleeping? When the phone rang a third time, she picked up. “Detective Poe.”

Silence was the first response. Jordan swung her legs over the side of her bed. “Is someone there?”

The caller was still quiet, but distinct breathing was detectable. It was fast, panicked.

“Who is this?” Jordan demanded.

“This is Casey.”

Jordan stood up quickly, stepped on a book she had left by her bed, and stumbled before she righted herself. “Where are you?”

“I’m not sure,” she whispered.

“What’s that mean?”

“I’m in a basement. It’s dark.”

“Your phone has been off.”

“He took the other one. He doesn’t know about this one.”