She goes into what she was wearing when she left her grandparents and offers the number for the police department line if anyone has any information.

I slowly lick my lips and look to Dean. “Huh. Two teens go missing from Holly Woods in one week.”

His lips thin into a grim line as he meets my eyes. “Yeah. Coincidence, Miss Noelle?”

“I’d like to say yes, but my gut says otherwise,” I say slowly, focusing on the screen.

It’s now showing a press conference with Melissa’s parents, Suzie and Guy. Both are crying, and Suzie can barely talk through her tears. My heart clenches at their obvious pain.

I can’t imagine how they must feel.

Dean quietly puts the remote down and pushes his hands in his pockets. “Kids don’t go missin’ here, Miss Noelle. No one does. Missin’ people are usually just lost or runnin’ away to spite their parents.”

And that’s what makes this so horrifying. Two kids, both sixteen, have vanished into thin air. No one has been able to contact Toni Thompson for four days now. While teenagers do go missing, it doesn’t happen here. Our community is too tight knit, and if you don’t know someone, at least five people you know do. It’s nearly impossible to keep secrets in this town.

“Carlton!” I yell, rubbing my temples.

Yeah, yeah. So the phone is right there. Big deal. The dialing of the numbers is too difficult before two cups of coffee.

“You called.” He appears in my doorway, his lean, muscular frame hugged by dark jeans and a slim-fitting, gray top. His dirty-blond hair is swept across his forehead, as messy as ever, and it brings a smile to my face. God, I wanna attack that mop with a hairbrush so badly. Maybe a little conditioner. Soften it up.

“Yes. Melissa Samuel. Can you pull up her information?”

“The girl on the news?” He darts his deep-blue eyes toward my television screen. “Sure. Anything in particular?”

“Yeah. I wanna know if there’s a reason she might run away legitimately. Check her school records for any signs of bad grades or bullying. Then her medical records for possible pregnancies.”

I want to believe that her disappearance isn’t connected to Toni Thompson. Fuck, how I want to believe that. If only my gut weren’t disagreeing the way my nephew does when you try to get him to clean up his toys. If you’ve ever had that fight with a four-year-old, you’ll know just how stubbornly my gut is behaving right now.

“Got it.” Carlton turns.

“Oh, oh, oh!” I tap my desk. “And the boyfriend. But I don’t know his name…”

“Brook Meyers,” Bek announces, holding out a tray with space for six cups of coffee. Two spots are empty. “Bottom left. Your bottom left,” she tells Carlton.

He grins and takes the cup.

Then she swings around to Dean. “One on the bottom,”

He takes his, and then she shuffles to my desk and sits in one of my much-loved tub chairs reserved for clients.

“How did you know that?” I ask her, taking my cup. Brook Meyers. Why do I know that name?

A wide smile stretches across her face, and she puts a medium-sized paper bag on the desk. “Mom teaches them both. She’s real worried right now, and she knows she’ll face a ton of questions when she gets to school.”

I grimace. Bek’s mom is one of the sweetest women on the planet, and she’s always felt everyone else’s pain as if it were her own. I’m real glad I ain’t her today. That’s all I’m saying.

“Brook Meyers, Carlton,” I remind him.

He gives me a thumbs-up and disappears, sipping his hot coffee.

“Dean, what are you doing today?”

“Not much till my latest leaves for a business lunch.” He has that excited energy we all get at the knowledge that we have the chance to close a case. “Been followin’ the chick for three weeks and she hasn’t seen another guy. If this lunch is what it appears to be, I’m closin’ the case and we’re getting paid.”

I smile. “That’s what I like to hear.” The non-cheating-woman-and-getting-paid part.

I don’t like finding cheating spouses. I never have. It doesn’t give one much faith in a relationship, I’ll be honest. Makes you more likely to take a butter knife to a pair of balls before you ask questions.

Bek unloads the paper bag as Dean leaves to do his thing. She deposits a cupcake box and a pastry bag in front of me, and I breathe in the rich aroma of Rosie’s bacon and cheese twist pastry. I grab the bag, and oh my shit, it’s still warm. I rip the bag open and tear into the calorific goodness like I’m a starving woman.

My best friend simply raises her eyebrows. “Hungry?”

“Mmph,” I answer around a mouthful of food, nodding.

“Where’s Drake today? Jessica was in Rosie’s with a mammoth coffee order and two other lackeys, so I’m assuming she’s been banned from the station.”

I grin, biting into my pastry again. Hell yeah, she’s been banned. From random drop-ins, at least. She has to call Sheriff Bates beforehand for clearance, and she can only enter to see him. Let’s just say Drake isn’t the only person who has a stick up his ass about her insistent harassment, and Sheriff Bates, as my father’s best friend, would rather see Drake’s fine Texan-Italian ass with my even finer Texan-Italian ass.

Mostly because he doesn’t wish to suffer Nonna’s wrath.

Oh, fuck. That reminds me. I need to talk to her about the wedding. I’ll stop by the store for wine before that conversation. And cupcakes.

Why can’t I have a normal family?

“Earth to Noelle.” Bek raps her knuckles on my desk and goes back to delicately nibbling on her pastry.

I, on the other hand, am almost finished. I make no apologies for my appetite.

I do, however, apologize to my jeans for the battle they’re gonna have with my belly if I keep ignoring my treadmill. Oh, who am I kidding? Damn pants should come with a stretchy waistband. Not my fault they’re unforgiving little bitches.

“Right. Sorry.” I explain why Jessica is no longer allowed to inundate Drake with her messages. “But that doesn’t really mean a lot, since as of tomorrow afternoon, when the fair opens, they’ll both be in open air. She isn’t supposed to talk to him, but we both know she’ll do everything she can to attach herself to his side.”

Bek’s face wrinkles into an expression of disgust. She hates Jessica by default, and even if she didn’t have to as my best friend, she probably would anyway. The woman is positively fucking intolerable. I’d rather have my eggs individually removed from my ovaries with tweezers than spend any time in her presence.

“Ugh,” she mutters, finally finishing her pastry and reaching for her coffee. “Does she not know how obnoxious she’s being?”

I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. I guess she doesn’t think Drake and I are serious and she can worm her way back into his life.”

“Are you serious?” One of my best friend’s perfectly arched eyebrows quirks upward in question.

I look down and run my tongue across my teeth. Well. If I knew, I could answer. We’re just…Noelle and Drake. Or Droelle, as my flame-haired bestie kindly shipped us several weeks ago. I’ve never put a label on us or really thought about it. We’ve been dating for reals for a month at best. That doesn’t equate to serious in the time sense, does it?

“I don’t know. Does spending five nights a week together count as serious?”

Bek grimaces. “Uh. As in evenings, or hubba-hubba nights?”

“Hubba-hubba nights.” I can’t help it. I grin.

The man has a GPS that gives him a shortcut to my G-spot, and let’s just say that Little Miss G is loving the visitor. For a part of my body that should be used to tourists, she was neglected in previous months.

Thankfully, Detective Nash and his skillful usage of his cock has rectified that. Swiftly.

“I’m gonna say you’re in the honeymoon phase just so you don’t freak out on me.”

“Thank you. You get me,” I say, sipping my coffee.