Does this look like a decorative item to you? she would’ve asked her, holding one up.

Today the flip-flop had the power to undo her. Swallowing down the unwanted emotions, Whitney shoved her feet into the flip-flops and reached for the doorknob.

“Where are you going?” Natalie was beside her in a matter of seconds.

“Apartment 204.”

“Don’t you think you should call McAvoy and tell him about it? Let him decide if it’s something to pursue?”

Whitney waved away her suggestion with a flick of her wrist. “Who knows where they are? This’ll be faster. I’m just gonna pop downstairs and see if he’s the guy. No big deal.” Before Natalie could stop her, she flung open the front door and burst outside. Cold air smacked her in the face. It had been so warm and stuffy inside that she hadn’t realized how much the temperatures had dropped out here. Hugging herself, she clambered down the stairs, Natalie at her heels.

She made it to the bottom and turned right, heading toward the park area—the place Becca had said they’d met up with the boys and partied together. They hadn’t lived here when Amelia was small enough to enjoy the green space. She’d always thought it was a stretch to call it a park—it was one picnic table, a slide and a tiny play structure—but she could see how teenagers and young adults might use it as a party spot. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the one at the apartment complex she’d thought was Jay’s. She still didn’t know what the deal was with him, but she couldn’t imagine him being the older guy Becca had referenced. It may have crossed her mind for a minute, but it couldn’t be him. Whitney couldn’t be that bad a judge of character, could she? He’d seemed so nice. So genuine. To be honest, it was the couple at that apartment that seemed shady. Rude. Not anyone she would ever trust. They could be lying, for all she knew.

Then why isn’t he answering your phone calls or texts? She ignored the question that sailed through her mind.

Focused on finding the boy from the picture and the poem.

This was a more concrete lead.

She scanned the numbers on the doors across the way: 198, 200, 202. Aha. 204.

“There it is!” She shot forward, and within seconds was pounding on the door.

“What are you gonna say if he answers?” Natalie asked, catching up to her.

Whitney shrugged. “I’m gonna ask him if he knows where Amelia is.” She smiled, a thought occurring. “What if she’s here?”

“Okay.” Natalie frowned. “Don’t get your hopes up. It might not even be him.”

Natalie was always practical. Logical. Usually, right. But this time, Whitney hoped she was wrong.