“A girl on the trail below along the river waved at me. Smiled too.” Frost blushed. “I guess it was enough that someone noticed me. Made me think maybe I’d be missed if I was gone. So, I turned around and went home.”

Charlie swallowed as the memory of finding Lane on that same bridge pushed to the front of his mind. What would she have done if he hadn’t shown up? He still didn’t know if she had been planning to jump that day, but he couldn’t imagine a single day without her in his life. She had to know—had to believe—that she’d be missed. And he was willing to do whatever it took to convince her.

The van brakes squeaked to a stop and a second later Edmonds slid the door open. “Let’s move.”

Frost pushed his glasses up his nose with a shaky hand.

“Stick by my side and you’ll be fine.” Charlie patted Frost’s shoulder and slid the van door open. His phone vibrated. He didn’t recognize the number and let it go to voice mail.

“Nice and easy.” Edmonds’s voice came through the ear mic. “Alpha team on approach.”

Charlie and Frost fell into place behind Edmonds. Two other agents closed the ranks. The group was gathering curious looks from people on the streets, but a Metro cop was encouraging them to move along.

The inside of the gallery was dark. It was barely past six. The hours posted on the door said the gallery should be open for another two hours.

“Alpha team: we’ve got locked doors. What’s your status, Bravo?”

“Why would the gallery door be locked?” Frost’s whisper was strained.

An internal alarm rang inside Charlie’s head. On the battlefield, when there was a variance in routine it was usually an indication that something was wrong. He flexed his hands a couple of times to release the adrenaline pounding in his ears.

“Bravo team: back door’s been breached. Entering premises now. Stand by.” Beams of light flashed through the gallery. “Lower level clear. Bravo team approaching front entrance.”

An agent with a dark bandanna covering the lower half of his face opened the front door of the gallery. “My guys are heading upstairs.”

Charlie’s unease was confirmed when they entered the building. Paintings had been stripped from the walls. Frames were broken. Canvases were slashed. The computer at the front desk was smashed on the floor.

“What happened?” Frost looked around.

“Someone got here before us.” Glass broke under Charlie’s feet.

“Bravo team: building cleared and secured.”

Someone found the light switch and illuminated the ransacked gallery in fluorescent lighting. Charlie followed Edmonds upstairs to an apartment. It was decorated in modern furnishings in shades of gray as cold as the woman who lived there. A single bedroom was off to the side. The drawers were opened, clothes scattered on the floor.