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happens when you’re bad, and we wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to the Fletchers, now would we?”
    I shook my head as vigorously as I could. He smiled. He released the back of my head and stroked my hair. “Now, are you going to tell Daddy honestly where you were after work last night?”
    I nodded. He loosened his hold on my throat but didn’t let go. I coughed, trying to draw in air. “I took some of the large dogs for a quick walk before I locked up,” I choked.
    He studied me. I reached up and pulled his hand away from my throat. Finally he said, “Okay, Lynn. That’s okay. I just worried.”
    “Yeah,” I said, massaging my neck. “Sure.”
    He smiled at me, the loving smile of a father. It made me want to retch. He stood up and straightened his clothes, stroking the lapels of his jacket repeatedly until he could look at me again.
    I made a conscious effort to keep the look of disgust from my face. I had to remain carefully neutral. It was the key to my survival.
    His face was bright red. “Well,” he said. “Okay.”
    He fidgeted with the buttons on his shirt. I stared at him blankly. Silently, I urged him to go. It seemed like an eternity before he moved to the door. He stepped outside and once again, flashed his beneficent smile. My stomach twisted into a knot. He hopped down the front steps. Quickly, I pulled the door shut after him.
    I let out a sigh and my body relaxed back to its natural state. Mentally, I coaxed my pulse to slow, perspiration to cease and the sound of blood rushing in my ears to ebb. I willed my muscles to loosen and my stomach to stop churning. I went to the window over the kitchen sink and pushed aside the curtain. I watched him walk briskly across the deserted road and disappear into the tiny clapboard house opposite my trailer.
    Then I locked the door again.

CHAPTER SIX
     
    Connor had no recollection of being invited into the living room, but there he was minutes later, ensconced on the Fletchers' couch, a cup of coffee in his hand, staring at the two remaining Fletcher siblings.
    “It can’t be,” he blurted.
    Not even his skills as a detective prepared him for this kind of shock. This was a woman he’d seen—touched—in the flesh. In all of her flesh. He’d kissed her, smelled her. She was real.
    Brianna Fletcher sat across from him, arms folded tightly across her thin chest. Her cold blue eyes chilled him. He was glad looks couldn’t kill, because from the glare he was getting, only the coffee table between them stopped her from castrating Connor and leaving him for dead.
    “If this is your idea of a sick joke, I’m calling the police,” she spat.
    Tom rested a hand on her knee. “Brianna,” he said softly.
    “I am the police,” Connor muttered.
    “What?” Tom said.
    Connor set his coffee down and fished his ID and badge out of his pocket. He tossed it onto the table. Brianna snatched it up and studied it before handing it to Tom. The harsh lines of her face softened somewhat. Tom looked at it and slid it back to Connor. “Detective,” he said.
    “Connor. Please.”
    Tom smiled grimly. “Connor. Our sister, Claire, has been missing for ten years. The woman who gave you this address was mistaken.”
    Connor shook his head. “No,” he said. “She said her name was Claire Fletcher.”
    “Maybe she just didn’t want to see you again,” Brianna sneered.
    The wheels in Connor’s head started turning again, slowly. “But why give me the name and address of a missing woman? She could have just given me a fake phone number.”
    Claire’s face flashed in Connor’s mind.
    “I think we should call Mitch—before Mom gets home,” Brianna said to Tom.
    Let’s toast to being found, she said.
    Interesting, he said.
    Indeed.
    Which of us has been found? he asked.
    That remains to be seen.
    “No,” Connor said abruptly. “She sent me here.” He looked beseechingly at Tom.
    Tom shook his head. “It wasn’t her.”
    Brianna rose. “Dammit, Tom.