While the first three quadrants she’d mentally mapped off around the barn had produced zilch, this find more than made up for all the hours spent poking around in finger-and-toe-numbing cold.

Assuming the earring belonged to Stephanie.

A reasonable possibility, given the fleur-de-lis design that was in keeping with the girl’s French surname and the excellent condition it was in, which suggested it hadn’t been here long.

Her father might recognize it—or perhaps Kayla could confirm it was Stephanie’s.

Straightening up, Cate pocketed the piece of jewelry. Not bad for a Thursday afternoon’s work.

And with the sun beginning to dip . . . with stray pellets of ice beginning to prick her cheeks . . . it was time to call it a day.

She adjusted her hood and set off down the trail that led back to the school, a cup of steaming coffee high on her priority list. That would help chase away the chill in her bones.

Five minutes later, as she was planning next steps in her investigation, a twig crunched behind her.

Pulse surging, she swung around and gave the forest a scan.

Inconclusive.

The deciduous oaks and maples had shed their leaves, but the proliferation of cedars and pines restricted her view.

In all probability, a deer was scavenging nearby. There were always a few around during her walks, though in general they kept their distance.

And no one had been skulking about while she was at the barn. Thanks to the high alert she’d maintained there after her close encounter with Fischer, she’d have spotted them.

But dropping her guard during the hike back may not have been wise.

No harm done, however—and a useful reminder to remain vigilant no matter where she was in the woods.

She picked up her pace, gaze sweeping right and left as she hurried through the lengthening shadows. In another fifteen minutes, it would be pitch dark—but her diligence had paid off.

If the earring proved to be Stephanie’s—and the girl had been wearing it when last seen—they’d have a solid clue to her whereabouts on the night she’d disappeared.

Rereading the interviews the case detectives had done could be helpful, assuming the last people to see Stephanie had provided a detailed description of her attire. If they hadn’t, another chat with them to probe their memories for specific details they may have neglected to mention would—

The tackle came from out of nowhere.

One second she was on her feet, the next she was pitching forward, into a face-plant on the rotting leaves that covered the trail.

Adrenaline surging, she rolled to her side—and gasped as the toe of a hard boot connected with her rib cage.

Despite her down-filled coat, the kick sent pain ricocheting through her.

As she struggled to inflate her lungs, the attacker drew his foot back again.

No!

Her shock morphed into anger.