“Why?”

He glanced at his wife, then back at me. “We told her it was a private adoption. That records were scarce. She wanted more info on her birth parents. We tried to be vague, but she pushed. So, we told her about the explosion and the deaths.”

The hair on the back of my neck was standing at attention.

Alex Corzine ran a hand through his hair, deep lines gutting his forehead. “She said she didn’t remember any explosion. We told her that was probably normal, that she’d blocked it out. Too traumatic. But she was adamant. She didn’t remember any explosion. And that’s when she really started getting angry with us.”

I wondered what Elizabeth was like when she was angry. Did she yell? Did she withdraw? Did she slam doors? Was she like me? Like Lauren?

I didn’t have those answers and I despised Corzine for that.

“So, she went digging,” he said.

“Digging?” I asked.

“Through our file cabinets,” he said.

I took a deep breath, glanced at Lauren, who was deep in concentration, her eyes focused on Corzine. I turned my eyes back to him. “You kept her adoption paperwork in a file cabinet? Seriously?”

He shook his head. “No. We didn’t. There’s barely any paperwork to begin with. But we came home one night and she had the entire thing torn apart. Paper and files everywhere, screaming at us.”

“So, then you told her?” I asked.

He hesitated then shook his head again. “No. We still maintained we’d told her everything we could tell her.”

My teeth ground together.

“But then a week ago, she found it,” he said.

“What’s it?”

“The one piece of paper we had,” he replied. “With Gelson’s name on it. A phone number. A couple of other details about our meeting in Phoenix. We kept it in case we ever…I don’t know. We just kept it.” He exhaled. “Kept it inside the pocket of a pair of jeans that I don’t ever wear. Buried in my closet. But she found it.”

Valerie Corzine wiped at her eyes. “She called us liars. Called us a hundred things. She called the number. It was disconnected. Then she just refused to talk to us. Just stopped talking. Nothing for two days.”

“Then what?” Lauren asked, her hand still clutching my leg.

Alex and Valerie exchanged a look, then Valerie looked at Lauren, then me.

“Then she left,” Valerie said. “With Bryce.”

FORTY-FOUR

“Who is Bryce?” I asked.

Both of their expressions changed, concern and worry shifted into dislike.

“Her boyfriend,” Alex Corzine said. “He’s older. Twenty. And not a great influence.”

I was trying to create some distance as I asked questions, tried to separate myself emotionally from the fact that I was asking questions about my daughter, whom I didn’t really know.

“Not a great influence how?” I asked.

“He’s twenty dating a seventeen-year old,” he said, frowning. “No job. Doesn’t go to school. I know he’s taken alcohol from our house. Doesn’t respect our rules about curfew. Just not who you want dating your daughter.”

I resisted the urge to argue that she wasn’t his daughter. “So, she left with him?”

They both nodded. “She said he was driving her to the store. But they were both acting weird. We should’ve known something was wrong. But we were just happy that she was speaking to us again. So he came and picked her up and they left.” He swallowed. “We haven’t heard from her since.”

“Any idea where they went?” I asked.

Alex shook his head as his wife stared at the floor. “None. We don’t know his parents well. I’ve tried to talk to them, but have gotten nowhere.”

“I want the address,” I said.

Valerie looked up at me, unsure. Then she looked at her husband.

Who was still looking at me.

“We don’t know anything about you,” he said. “We’ve just told you everything we know and we don’t know anything other than you two are claiming to be Ellie’s real parents. So, how about if you share something before we give you anything else?”

I stared across the coffee table at him. “You want me to share something?”

He nodded.

“Easy,” Lauren whispered.

I turned to her. Smiled. “I’m fine. I’m happy to share.”

She eyed me, wary.

I turned back to Corzine, leveled my eyes at him for a long moment. He shifted on his sofa, uncomfortable under my stare.

“Here’s what I’ll share,” I said, slowly. “Eight years ago, I walked into my home for about two minutes and our daughter was taken from our front yard. Vanished. Gone. I lost my career as a police officer. I lost my wife. I lost my friends. And I lost my daughter. But I didn’t lose hope.”

Corzine glanced away, unable to hold my gaze.

“I’ve spent eight years looking for her,” I continued. “Every morning, I wake up and hope I’ll find something that leads me to her. I’ve helped hundreds of people find their missing children but haven’t been able to locate my own. Every night, I go to bed and wonder where she is, how she is, who she is. I don’t sleep. I wonder.”

He tried to look at me, but his eyes drifted past me to Lauren.

“I wondered who took her. If she was alive. If she was good at math. If she had a boyfriend. If she liked the color blue. If she liked snow. You name it, I’ve wondered about it,” I said, smiling at him. “And every morning, I forced myself to get up, to keep looking until I found an answer. One way or another.”

He leaned back in his couch, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

“And all of that, all eight years of sleeplessness and wondering and destruction to my own life has led me here,” I said, pointing at the coffee table. “Right here, right now. And I’m here to get my daughter. Today. I don’t care about you, your wife, the kid in the other room or your fucking pets. I don’t care. I’m here to get her. And if you ask me one more question, if you really think you have the right to ask me one more question about who I am or what I’m doing here, after what you’ve done—I swear to God—it will be the last question you ever ask. Anyone.” I leaned across the table. “And her name is Elizabeth. It’s Elizabeth Tyler.”

Except for a clock ticking somewhere in the background, the room was silent. I leaned back from the table, aware that sweat was running down my back beneath my shirt and jacket. Lauren was still next to me. The Corzines were looking down at their feet, unable to look at either of us.

“I will ask again for Bryce’s address,” I said.

Alex reached over and touched his wife’s hand. She nodded, stood and left the room.

“I’ll assume you haven’t contacted any authorities regarding her disappearance, given your relationship to Elizabeth,” I said.

He shook his head. “We have not, no. For exactly that reason.”

I wasn’t sure yet if that was a good thing or a bad thing. At that moment, I could make an argument for either side.

“You checked cell phone records?” I asked. “Her bank account?”

He nodded. “Yes. Both. Nothing’s been used since she left. I’ve turned her room upside down, looking for any clue and I can’t find a damn thing.”

“You should look at her room,” Lauren said.

Before I could say anything, Valerie returned and handed me a piece of paper with the names of Bryce’s parents, a phone number and an address.

“They live about twenty minutes from here,” Alex said as Valerie sat down next to him.

I took the paper, folded it up and put it in the pocket of my jacket.

Lauren stood. “I want to see her room.”

I knew that we needed to, that we needed to take a look and see if there was anything in there that might help us.

But I wasn’t sure I was ready to see where she lived.

FORTY-FIVE

I couldn’t go in.

Lauren sat down on the floor next to a bed covered with a lavender bedspread and dotted with small pillows. She looked up at me, standing in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

I tried to shrug. “Nothing.”