I see you’re still inundated. Let me know if you need anything. You may want to think about making a statement. It might make them back off.

A chance to set things right. A chance to create some space. He wrote back almost greedily.

I’ll do anything. Tell me what to say, I’ll say it.

I’ll be there in three minutes. Back door.

* * *

Of course it backfired. Of course it did. Ethan was terrible on camera, for all the wrong reasons.

Robinson was a family guy. He wanted Ethan to play the family angle. Which meant mentioning Dashiell. He wanted Ethan to talk about the marriage, how happy they were, how far they’d come since their son’s death.

Ethan balked. Refused. All he wanted was to plead for Sutton’s safe return. They argued for ten minutes, and then Ethan quite effectively ended the discourse by marching to the front door. He swung it open and waited for the frenzy to begin.

* * *

Holly saw the news alert pop up on her phone. She opened the news app, watched the presser with astonishment. Ethan Montclair looked like he’d been on a three-day bender. His hair was sticking up; he was unshaven. His eyes held a glint, and the lights from the multiple cameras facing him caught it full-on. The result was a visage that was slightly demonic and definitely unkempt. The very expensive front door hung half-closed behind him. Joel Robinson was standing in the shadows, frowning.

She turned up the volume.

“Thank you for your attention to the disappearance of my wife, Sutton Montclair. We are unsure at this time of her whereabouts, and are very anxious to have her home. Sutton, honey, if you’re watching this, please call me. I’m worried sick for you. And you lot—” he pointed to the journalists gathered, hanging on to his every word “—instead of lounging around here, harassing me, why don’t you use your resources to look for my wife? Please, do the right thing. Help me bring her home. That is all.”

And the door shut.

There was a moment of collective silence, then Holly watched the whole scene devolve. She could hear the cacophony of voices through the microphone.

The reporter turned to the camera with a wide smile plastered on. “There you have it, classic Ethan Montclair, telling off the press. This is definitely going to feed the flames.”

* * *