He saw Rebecca’s face and then another . . . Megan’s visage, pale and watery, came into view. She’d held this pen, if only once, because he saw her only faintly. His throat closed for a second. Could this have been the utensil she’d used to write her hastily scratched note to James? He felt his heart thud in anticipation. Had Rebecca been there? In her apartment? Did Rebecca Travers know a lot more about the night her sister had disappeared than she’d admitted?

He sensed the presence of a man—James Cahill?—but couldn’t call up his face.

“Come on. Come on,” he whispered, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. “What were you doing?”

But the image faded, just the hint of deep emotion lingering a second. The rift between the two sisters ran deeper than Rebecca was saying. Was she here searching for Megan out of genuine concern, or were her demands that her sibling be found just an act? His eyes narrowed as he eyed the pen. Her feelings for her sister were mixed.

And those for James Cahill?

Hate?

Love?

Time would tell.

Rivers set the pen down and stared at James Cahill’s work gloves and sunglasses. Had he worn them recently, when the bright rays were blinding against the snow, or had they been sitting on his desk since last summer, taken off and becoming part of the landscape that he never noticed?

No time like the present to find out.

First, Rivers picked up the polarized shades, feeling the plastic between his fingers, trying to find images. He saw himself, as James, behind the wheel of his SUV, the dog usually on the seat next to him. James was worried. About the business, about finances, and about women. He had to break up with one because of the other . . . but neither one was right for him. He knew that; he’d probably known that for a long while. Through Cahill’s eyes, Rivers saw images of the women, but the one that came into the clearest focus was Rebecca Travers, and the phrase the one that got away seared through his brain.

The images of Megan were filled with anger and guilt.

There was no memory of Jennifer Korpi, but Sophia was ever present.

Sophia excited James, and sexual images flashed before his eyes—her wet blond hair as she stepped from a shower; her long legs as she bent over and worked them into a boot that was too tight due to her broken toe; her smooth, perfectly round rump; the freckles that bridged her nose and were visible on the back of her neck. And then, again, the image swung to Rebecca.