Olga’s recollection coincided with that of Megan’s coworkers as well, both of whom he’d spoken with on the phone and confirmed their previous statements. Ramone Garcia, a physician’s assistant, had seen Megan leave at her regular time, right after 5:00 P.M., and his coworker, Andie Jeffries, an RN for the McEwen Clinic, had agreed. The parking-lot camera had filmed Megan leaving work and getting into her Toyota at 5:09. The doctor who owned and ran the clinic, Thomas McEwen, MD, had been at the hospital that afternoon, and there was nothing more that he could add, only to say that everyone who worked at the clinic was trustworthy and that Megan had done a good job as a bookkeeper who worked with the insurance companies. Other than having trouble getting to work on time, Megan Travers had been “an asset to the team.”

Rivers wondered about that, but didn’t say as much. He directed search teams from both the county and state police to look carefully in the area near or past the summit. It appeared she’d gotten that far, at least, but then what?

He and Mendoza also double-checked Megan’s phone records and credit-card receipts. Her checking account had been untouched, no debit activity since the last time anyone had seen her. Unless she had a secret identity or a helluva lot of cash stashed away, or a friend who was hiding her and letting her use his or her funds, there was no way she wouldn’t be spending her money for gas, food, and lodging.

His frustration with the case grew. It was over a week since Megan’s disappearance, and he had no idea what had happened to her. Was she alive? Hiding? Kidnapped? In a bad accident, trapped somewhere? Or, he worried, dead?

“Any word from the state police?” he asked again, glancing at Mendoza, who was, as usual, looking at her phone.

She shook her head. “Don’t you think I would’ve said?”

“Maybe we can nudge them again.”

“Like we did yesterday and the day before.”

He looked through the windshield at the vibrant blue sky. “It’s clear today. They could send a chopper up.”

With a lift of one eyebrow, she sent him a get-real glance. “I think they’re on it.”

“Just check, would you?”

He reached into a pocket and grabbed his sunglasses as the glare of sunlight off the snow was blinding. The road was clear until they reached the foothills, where the plows hadn’t been able to keep up with the snowfall and the road was packed with ice, snow, and, in some spots, gravel.

He wondered about the little Toyota. It too had disappeared. Was it secreted in a garage somewhere? Or already out of the country, as the Canadian border was only a few hours north? Or buried deep in the snow at the bottom of a steep ravine in these craggy mountains?