“Hot wench! Hot wench!”

I dreamed all night that I was being chased by an angry, horny hoard of bright-green-and-yellow parrots. Each one had a pair of panties encased in its beak, and every now and then, the incessant flapping of their wings was interrupted by the yell of, “Hot wench!” or a catcall.

It’s the closest thing I’ve had to a nightmare since I was about to graduate high school and dreamed Nonna would turn up naked to embarrass me. Turned out she could do it fully clothed—not that anyone was surprised. Because she wore her Sunday best—which, ten years ago, was much shorter than now. Let’s just say it was a very windy day in June and someone had forgotten her underwear.

It wasn’t me who forgot.

Long story short, horny, panty-carrying parrots are why I woke up at four thirty and decided it wasn’t worth going back to sleep. I’d already tried that shit three times and every time the parrots came back.

I don’t think Gio is good for my health. Or my mom’s, come to think of it.

I’ve been poring over the information Carlton managed to provide for me on both of the missing girls. Toni Thompson, the first girl to go missing, is sixteen years old and, by all accounts, the perfect daughter. She has a three point eight GPA, is on the honor roll, and is one of the best cheerleaders in Holly Woods High, the high school that serves both Holly Woods and some more rural areas of Austin. She’s also on the volleyball team, and according to the report Carlton—hmm. Let’s say borrowed. Yeah, borrowed—from the police department, she is single but last went on a date with Brook Meyers.

The boyfriend of Melissa Samuel, the second missing girl.

I sip my second mug of coffee and read further. Apparently, Toni’s mom remembered his name, because once she found out he was eighteen, she forbade barely sixteen Toni from seeing him any further. Toni apparently agreed, according to the interview Drake did, and as far as her mom is concerned, that was that.

Yeah. If Toni never saw Brook again, then I’m a virgin.

I grab Melissa’s report. I already know most of this from the TV report, but I wonder if there’s anything from Drake’s interview with her parents. About Brook.

I want to think it’s a coincidence. After all, they all attend Holly Woods High. Let’s be honest, when you’re that age, unless you’re head-over-heels, madly in love with your high school sweetheart, you’re gonna date around like you’re a bee in a garden center. As long as you don’t get around like a bee in a garden center. And if you’re going to, make sure you’re protected.

Safety first and all that.

Damn it, Noelle. Focus your ass.

I take another sip of coffee and skim through the rest of the report. According to Suzie Samuel, her mom, Melissa’s relationship with Brook is relatively new. She thinks they’ve been dating for around two months, but exclusively for just over one. Another mom not happy about it, but it seems like Suzie took the route where she spoke about everything with Melissa and pretended to agree. Melissa’s date of birth also shows that she’ll be seventeen in a couple of weeks, so that could be another reason…

This is where I’m getting confused. Like Toni, Melissa is at the top of her academic game. She’s holding a high GPA, on the honor roll, and applying to two Ivy League colleges, and the others she’s planning on aren’t exactly easy targets, either.

Why would these two girls date the troublemaker known as Brook Meyers? Is it really the bad-boy thing?

The files Carlton has dug up on Brook are extensive and confusing. His police record is the longest non-record I’ve ever seen. He must be the biggest legal criminal I’ve ever met in my life… But only because I don’t personally know any politicians. That and I’m trying to be nicer to Mayor McDougall.

Note that I said: trying.

Jesus. I really shouldn’t get up at four thirty. It really messes with my concentration.

I pick my coffee mug up, but it’s empty. I should make another… But, given my already hyperactive focus, it’s probably best I don’t. Also, the coffee machine is on the other side of the kitchen, and I’m, well… I’m not exactly comfy, but my butt isn’t numb enough for me to care yet.

Back to Brook’s list of misdemeanors that don’t seem to be misdemeanors at all.

Yowza. This kid has been arrested more times than those chicks in porn movies that get screwed by “police officers.”

Not that I know much about that. Ahem.

In all seriousness, of which I don’t have much, he has a seriously impressive list of naughties he’s never been charged for. Like, shit. I’m almost jealous of his skill. Graffiti in the park, attempted car robbery, slashing tires, general vandalism, indecent expo—

Oh. Apparently, he had sex with someone up against a tree in the middle of the local park, but by the time the police got there, he was gone. And he’s eighteen. I’m not sure if I’m horrified or kind of impressed by his bravery.

By the looks of things, he’s gotten away with everything he’s been involved in because there’s never been any ironclad evidence. For the graffiti, he never touched a spray can. He just happened to be there. Same with the slashed tires—he never touched a knife. No fingerprints, no DNA, just eyewitness accounts that put him in the places with the proven culprits that could simply be coincidence.

Coincidence is likely what’s tying these disappearances together. He’s a kid. It’s not as if he’s been arrested for rape or assault in the past. It’s a damn big jump from maybe-graffiti and watching tires be cut. It’s a rare switch for someone to make, especially someone as young as he is. If he had assault on his record, then it’d maybe be a different story. Still…

I glance at the clock. It’s seven. Wow. It’s a wonder I’m still awake.

Oh, no. That wonder will be coffee. Hmm.

I pick my phone up and dial Drake’s number before I can think it through. He’s probably going to kill me for subjecting him to a full conversation right as his alarm has just gone off, and then he’s going to dismember me for discussing an open case—which, despite his request for information, I am not allowed to do anymore—but oh well.

I figure he dragged me into this in the first place. He knew I’d read these files. I’m too nosy for my own good. Although it has been proven in the past that my nosiness has been for everyone else’s good, because it seems to come with a great murderer identifier.

“If you’re callin’ me this early, it can’t be good,” Drake says gruffly.

Damn. That sleepy voice.

I shiver. “Maybe I just want to say good morning.”

“Nope. You’re never this cheery this early. What’s wrong?”

“Ah, fuck. You’re smarter on a morning that I give you credit for, Detective.”

He yawns. “It’s why you call me Detective.”

Yeah. That’s the reason.

“You also only call me that when you’re pissing me off or you’re preparing to.”

He’s starting to get to know me too well. I might have to cut him loose.

“Now that isn’t fair,” I say. “I call you all sorts of things. Honey, handsome…”

“Asshole, dickhead, bastard…”

“I say them in the nicest way. Just like you do when you call me a bitch.”

“Yeah. I wish I could agree with that. Chances are, if I’m calling you a bitch, you’re being one.” Sheets rustling come down the phone, and I grin.

Hard to argue with the truth. I wear my bitch badge with pride.

“What do you want, Noelle?”

“Did you interview the boyfriend yet?”

“How did I know you were gonna say that?” he grumbles, and the toilet flushes in the background.

“Did you just pee on the phone with me?”

Silence.

“Now, I’m hoping you peed on the phone with me,” I say hesitantly. Wow. This relationship is going at warp speed.