Hide and Seek (Criminal Profiler #1)(53)

“Nothing that she told me about.” Martha squeezed her husband’s hand. “And we’ve racked our brains for any kind of clue.”

“Mrs. Roberson, do you have Rafe’s phone number?” Macy asked. “Or an address?”

“No. Debbie said his phone was disconnected and he moved around a lot.”

Mr. Roberson’s face twisted in a mixture of frustration, sadness, and futility. He tried to speak, but again it was garbled. His wife patted him on the hand. “Ronnie, I’m going to show these ladies some pictures of Debbie. We’ll be right back.”

His eyes cut to his wife. He knew she was shielding him from this stress. Finally, he nodded, and Martha led them down the hallway toward the front door.

“There are no pictures,” she whispered. “But I can’t bear to have any stressful conversation in front of him. It upsets him and he only ends up getting sicker.”

“Is that why you asked Debbie to take a little time off?” Macy asked.

“Debbie wanted to put her father in the Deep Run assisted living facility. I didn’t agree, and we argued. I’m not sending my husband away from the only home he’s had. He grew up in this house. He needs me.”

“And your daughter saw it differently?” Macy asked.

“She did. She works at the facility and thought she could negotiate the price down. Even with a discount, I couldn’t afford it. Not that I would even if I could.”

“Mrs. Roberson,” Bennett said, “we did find your daughter’s car at the state park entrance. We found her purse and keys, but there was no sign of her. What would she have been doing there?”

“Hiking. She loves those woods. She likes being outside. Is it good or bad that you found her car?”

“It’s a starting point,” Bennett said. “She was last seen at the convenience store, and now we have her car.”

Martha took Bennett’s hand in hers. “Find my daughter. I know Ronnie and I weren’t kind to you when you pulled him over a few years ago. I know we even made it worse for you when we filed a complaint, but please help us.”

“I swore to do my job, Mrs. Roberson, and that is exactly what I’m going to do,” Bennett said.

Tears glistened in the woman’s eyes as she nodded and released the deputy’s hand.

As Bennett stepped outside, Macy handed her business card to Martha. “If you think of anything, no matter how small, call me.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Don’t give up,” Macy said.

Macy followed Bennett outside and toward their cars. “What happened with Mr. Roberson?”

“I arrested him for drunk driving four years ago. He became belligerent and tried to hit me. I defended myself and he filed charges. Dashcam footage backed up my story. The judge sentenced him to thirty days in jail.”

“Does he have a history of violence?”

“He’d never been arrested before.”

“What did he do before he got sick?”

“He taught history at Valley High School for twenty-five years.”

“While Tobi Turner was there?”

“Yes.”



The mask rubbed against the stubble on his face as he caressed the soft skin of her neck. He loved the way her bruises matured from faint red marks to deep purple. Soon they would grow angrier and band around her slender neck like a collar.

Now that he was alone with her, a sense of power raced through his body, and the pressures of the world didn’t feel so overwhelming.

Her eyes fluttered open. It took several moments for her gaze to focus on him and register where she was. When she did, she flinched and tried to scurry away. A swift knee placed adeptly on her abdomen stopped her retreat and held her firmly in place.

She knew she was trapped. She knew she was going to die, and she was terrified.

“You shouldn’t be afraid now,” he said. “You know what’s coming next. This is our special time together.”

“Please.” Her voice was raspy, like rough sandpaper.

He’d done his share of begging, pleading, and borrowing from those who mattered most of his life, and it felt so damn good to be on the receiving end. “Please what?” he asked.

“Please, let me go. I won’t tell. Please.”

He rubbed his index finger over her lips. “I love it when you beg.”





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tuesday, November 19, 6:00 p.m.

The sun had just set and the temperature was dropping on the trail, but Nevada and Ellis were moving at a good clip. They’d discovered signs of bears and deer but nothing suggesting that Debbie Roberson had hiked this way. Nevada was an expert at tracking people, and he could tell this trail had been well traveled in the last few days. If Debbie Roberson or anyone else had trekked this path coerced, there was no way of knowing if any of the shoe depressions in the moist soil, bent leaves, possible signs of a struggle, or other clues had been left by Debbie.

With each passing minute, Nevada believed more strongly that she had never entered the park. “A shelter is up ahead. Let’s take a break and regroup.”

“The trail is wet and the climbing is harder. Do you really think she made it this far?” Ellis asked.

“No. I don’t.” He glanced up through the thinning canopy of brown, yellow, and red leaves toward the bright light of the half moon. “But let’s finish it.”