their homes. With other people around. Exactly seven days apart.
It made no sense.
There should be forced entries, blood stains, signs of a struggle. Noises parents and siblings had heard. A suspicious vehicle. Or person.
And there was nothing.
But there was a first. Or a botched attempt or something. And she’d find it.
Amanda stepped inside the bar. At ten p.m., the place was packed. Loud music filtered from the stage, where a live cover band played various rock tunes. Four college-aged guys threw darts to her left.
Groups of men and women filled the tables covering the space between the door and the dance floor. A young, skinny, blonde girl hung on a muscular man, her arms wrapped around his neck. Their gazes were locked as if they were alone in the world.
A dozen women danced in front of the stage, their colorful, yet skimpy, outfits attracting the men directly behind them. One woman had a crown on her head that read bride.
That explained it.
She and Robinson had skipped the traditional prenuptial partying and opted for an evening with their closest friends and family, at a private restaurant Robinson had found. There’d been stellar food, prepared by their own chef for the night, unlimited drinks and great music, in a cozy atmosphere.
Not a cheap club they’d hopped to in a limo filled with vomit.
In her peripheral vision, she noted three men at the bar, to the right of the stage, taking shots of whiskey. The tallest of the group, turned in her direction.
Something sinister climbed up her back. A byproduct of dealing with a deranged serial bomber, for sure, but a feeling she didn’t ignore. Ever. Amanda held back a shiver of disgust. Spotted Jordan and McKenna at the bar, adjacent to the men. They faced the band, their profiles toward her.
Her friend leaned toward her husband. Whispered something in his ear with a smile. A goofy grin covered Jordan’s mouth.
Oh, boy. Something was up.
“Hey, guys.”
The couple’s gazes swung to her as one. “You came.” McKenna hopped off her barstool and wrapped her in a hug.
“I said I would.” She scanned the people around them. Didn’t spot any of the Charlotte FBI Agents. Didn’t bother looking for Robinson. She’d be amazed to see him after their morning, even though the idea set her heart to a faster beat.
Stupid organ needed to get a clue.
“I didn’t know if you would with everything.”
Amanda could have studied those missing girls’ profiles more. Watched any matching crimes pop up in her search. Worried about Ariana and the day’s impact. Called Robinson and made sure he didn’t need anything.
Like her company, conversation and…complete trouble, if the naive youngster locked inside her body had any say.
“You look like you need a beer.” Jordan didn’t wait for an answer, but flagged down a bartender.
Her stomach rebelled against the thought. “Where is everybody?”
Jordan took a swig from the long-necked bottle in his grasp. “Rupert had to take a phone call.”
McKenna leaned closer to Amanda as if she were sharing a deep secret, one hand cupping her mouth. Her voice was above a whisper when she said, “It was a woman.”
Jordan shook his head. “You don’t know that.”
McKenna shot her husband a smirk. “Wanna bet?”
His eyebrows rose on his forehead. “Feel like losing twice, there, sweetheart?”
“Fat chance.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. At least something was normal, tonight. “The betting never gets old, does it?”
Jordan shrugged. Sent a sly smile toward his wife.
“So, we all know what Rupert isn’t doing. Max and Saragosa are over there.” He pointed toward the crowd on the dance floor. The two men were similar in age, height and build. Tall and muscular with sandy blonde hair. They worked well together. Often got teased about being twins, but Max was a little more straightforward. And Saragosa didn’t know how to embody seriousness. Even now, he leered toward one of the blondes to his right.
It made no sense.
There should be forced entries, blood stains, signs of a struggle. Noises parents and siblings had heard. A suspicious vehicle. Or person.
And there was nothing.
But there was a first. Or a botched attempt or something. And she’d find it.
Amanda stepped inside the bar. At ten p.m., the place was packed. Loud music filtered from the stage, where a live cover band played various rock tunes. Four college-aged guys threw darts to her left.
Groups of men and women filled the tables covering the space between the door and the dance floor. A young, skinny, blonde girl hung on a muscular man, her arms wrapped around his neck. Their gazes were locked as if they were alone in the world.
A dozen women danced in front of the stage, their colorful, yet skimpy, outfits attracting the men directly behind them. One woman had a crown on her head that read bride.
That explained it.
She and Robinson had skipped the traditional prenuptial partying and opted for an evening with their closest friends and family, at a private restaurant Robinson had found. There’d been stellar food, prepared by their own chef for the night, unlimited drinks and great music, in a cozy atmosphere.
Not a cheap club they’d hopped to in a limo filled with vomit.
In her peripheral vision, she noted three men at the bar, to the right of the stage, taking shots of whiskey. The tallest of the group, turned in her direction.
Something sinister climbed up her back. A byproduct of dealing with a deranged serial bomber, for sure, but a feeling she didn’t ignore. Ever. Amanda held back a shiver of disgust. Spotted Jordan and McKenna at the bar, adjacent to the men. They faced the band, their profiles toward her.
Her friend leaned toward her husband. Whispered something in his ear with a smile. A goofy grin covered Jordan’s mouth.
Oh, boy. Something was up.
“Hey, guys.”
The couple’s gazes swung to her as one. “You came.” McKenna hopped off her barstool and wrapped her in a hug.
“I said I would.” She scanned the people around them. Didn’t spot any of the Charlotte FBI Agents. Didn’t bother looking for Robinson. She’d be amazed to see him after their morning, even though the idea set her heart to a faster beat.
Stupid organ needed to get a clue.
“I didn’t know if you would with everything.”
Amanda could have studied those missing girls’ profiles more. Watched any matching crimes pop up in her search. Worried about Ariana and the day’s impact. Called Robinson and made sure he didn’t need anything.
Like her company, conversation and…complete trouble, if the naive youngster locked inside her body had any say.
“You look like you need a beer.” Jordan didn’t wait for an answer, but flagged down a bartender.
Her stomach rebelled against the thought. “Where is everybody?”
Jordan took a swig from the long-necked bottle in his grasp. “Rupert had to take a phone call.”
McKenna leaned closer to Amanda as if she were sharing a deep secret, one hand cupping her mouth. Her voice was above a whisper when she said, “It was a woman.”
Jordan shook his head. “You don’t know that.”
McKenna shot her husband a smirk. “Wanna bet?”
His eyebrows rose on his forehead. “Feel like losing twice, there, sweetheart?”
“Fat chance.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. At least something was normal, tonight. “The betting never gets old, does it?”
Jordan shrugged. Sent a sly smile toward his wife.
“So, we all know what Rupert isn’t doing. Max and Saragosa are over there.” He pointed toward the crowd on the dance floor. The two men were similar in age, height and build. Tall and muscular with sandy blonde hair. They worked well together. Often got teased about being twins, but Max was a little more straightforward. And Saragosa didn’t know how to embody seriousness. Even now, he leered toward one of the blondes to his right.
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