Facing It Read Online Free PDF Page A

considered a friend. Somehow, he knew Tick Calvert, now working with a small sheriff’s department in his Georgia hometown, wouldn’t appreciate Harrell knowing Ruthie lived in hell and not doing anything about it.
    “Well, I’m going to shower.” Jennifer unfolded herself from the chair and stretched. Harrell glanced away from the sleek perfection of her body. My God, the woman was in fantastic shape. She leaned over to drop a kiss at the corner of his mouth; he gripped the chair arms to keep from dragging her onto his lap and exploring every last inch of that gorgeous mouth of hers. “I know you’re going in early. I’ll look for our little birdie friends… If I don’t find them, I’ll give you a call on your cell.”
    He’d barely made it to the end of the street that led to their cul-de-sac when said cellular phone rang, his caller ID displaying Jennifer’s encrypted line. “Beecham.”
    “Beech?” Stress tightened Jennifer’s rich voice. “They’re gone.”
    “You’re sure?” He slowed for the stop sign.
    “Definitely. Her car’s gone, the housekeeper isn’t there. This isn’t good, partner.”
    “Maybe she just went for groceries or something.” One could hope anyway. If she truly had given them the slip…this might not be pretty.
    “Right. If she’s out of milk, she calls for delivery, remember? The woman doesn’t go anywhere without Chason’s permission. Besides, yesterday’s mail is still in the box and today’s paper is on the front step. I’m telling you, she’s gone.”
    “Okay.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Let’s give it an hour. If she doesn’t come back, you call me and I’ll come home. In the meantime, I’ll get a bulletin out on her vehicle.”
    Goddamn, he really hoped Ruthie hadn’t finally defied the controlling son of a bitch and instead had only run out for a gallon of milk while Chason was gone. For some reason, the idea of Ruthie Calvert Chason as a wild card made him really, really nervous.

Chapter Two
    “She’s definitely gone,” Beecham said and Jennifer didn’t miss the stress darkening his voice. “She hasn’t returned to the house, her SUV is in a parking tower downtown, and according to the attendant, it’s been there since yesterday afternoon.”
    Curled into one end of the plush leather couch in Beecham’s home office, she tucked her feet under her and eyed the phone on the big mahogany desk. As he’d promised, once Ruthie Chason failed to return, Beecham had come back to the house. Now they were embroiled in a quiet, doors-closed conference call with their supervising agent, Greg Weston.
    “Well, she’s not with Chason in Virginia Beach.” The speakerphone made Weston sound as if he were speaking at the end of a tunnel. “The agents there have visually confirmed he’s still at the hotel.”
    “Wonder if he knows she’s gone,” Jennifer mused. She didn’t see how he couldn’t. The man kept tighter tabs on his wife than the federal government did known terrorist groups. The level of his control over Ruthie made Jennifer’s skin creep with nerves. She glanced sideways at Beecham, elbows on the polished desk, head bent, face buried in his hands. The taut line of his shoulders screamed with tension. She would almost bet she knew what was going through his head—he was berating himself for this perceived failure.
    “Any idea where she is, Harrell?” Weston asked, his voice grim. Jennifer sloughed off a hint of pique that he seemed to be ignoring her. Beecham was the senior agent in their partnership, and he and Weston had a long working relationship. Besides, Weston’s disdain toward female agents in the FBI wasn’t exactly a state secret either.
    “My guess?” Beecham lifted his head, his blue eyes narrowed. “She’ll go to Calvert for help. She’ll think Chason would look at her mother’s first, and she’s probably right. She knows Tick would help her.”
    “Right. Good thinking. We’ll do an initial sweep with