Doing It Over (Most Likely To #1)(72)

It was Josie.

“What’s up?”

“Just wondering who this uptight bitch is asking questions about you and Mel.”

River Bend needed a small newspaper, then he could just put out word on the front page and eliminate the calls.





Her head was splitting and her neck was so stiff that looking in the rearview mirror took effort. Sleep was something for the weak, and Jo wasn’t giving in.

The FBI had taken over the investigation, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t dig into the criminal mind of a sleazebag who lured a child into the woods and pushed her off a cliff. Because the case was personal to her, Agent Burton did a fair job of keeping Jo informed of their progress.

Not that they’d gotten very far.

A sketch artist had drawn a picture based on the collective recall of everyone who’d seen Mr. Lewis. The image had been aired all over national television without any real hits. “It’s easy to change your appearance,” Agent Burton had told her. She’d gone on and shown Jo just how easy it would be to make their so-called Mr. Lewis into a balding thug with fake tattoos on his face and neck that would distract most people from really looking into his eyes to see the color. Mr. Lewis might have worn a wig once he left River Bend, donned a pair of shorts, and jumped on a party bus to Vegas. The possibilities were truly endless.

Between Jo and the FBI, they’d sat through countless hours of airport security cameras out of Eugene and come up empty-handed. The man either disguised himself as a woman, which wouldn’t have been all that easy with the body scans and pat downs, or he didn’t bother with the airport at all.

The rental car company had been given the same information that Miss Gina had received when booking Mr. Lewis’s room. The car had been returned at the airport rental location, and by the time they’d tracked it down, it had already been released to another customer.

The room he’d used at the inn had a forensics team dissecting it for the better part of twelve hours. It was apparent that some surfaces had been wiped down before Mr. Lewis left the inn. Because he’d taken time to do that simple task, Agent Burton and Jo were convinced he’d had a prior that put him in the database. They both agreed that Mr. Lewis had used the back stairs from the kitchen up into his room unnoticed, and the front stairs when he faked concern for Hope’s disappearance. An unusual amount of dirt was found on the back staircase, laying evidence to their claim, along with a couple of prints that partially matched those in his room. They just needed a break from the many prints they’d lifted to get the man’s real name.

So far, the only print that lifted clean and had a match was Zane’s. And it had come from the kitchen, where he’d been in and out the night of Zoe’s going-away party.

Jo was clicking through mug shot after mug shot when she was told she had a visitor waiting to speak to her.

Instead of inviting them into her office, Jo left her desk and came to the front of the station.

Her clerk offered the briefest of introductions. “Sheriff, this is Ms. Pensky.”

Jo’s first thought was Doesn’t that hairstyle hurt? From the pinched face, she imagined it did.

“How can I be of assistance, Ms. Pensky?”

The woman tapped a card she had been holding and handed it over. “I’m with Child Protective Services, investigating a case I believe you’re familiar with.”

Jo glanced at the card briefly and hid all the emotion from her face. Much as she’d love to tell the woman to leave, she didn’t think that would bode well for Mel and Hope. “Perhaps we should talk in my office.”

Ms. Pensky followed her inside and sat on the very edge of the seat.

“I don’t think this will take long,” Ms. Pensky told her.

The woman stared at her for a long minute before continuing. “I’m investigating the welfare and living conditions of Hope Bartlett.”

One of the things Jo had learned in the academy, and from her father, was the art of silence when she truly wanted information. “Oh?”

“A complaint came through our office stating that she’s in physical danger in her current living situation.”

Oh, Nathan . . . when I get my hands on you.

“That’s absurd.”

Ms. Pensky had a flatline smile. “How can you say that? Aren’t you searching for a recent guest of the inn in which Hope lives?”

“I am. So is the FBI.”

“Didn’t the man walk in, ask for a room, sleep under the same roof as Hope Bartlett, yet no one knows who he is?”

Jo felt herself being led down a rabbit hole. It was time to hide behind the law.

“The details of the investigation are not for public knowledge.”

Ms. Pensky did that staring thing.

Jo matched her.

“Are you not personal friends with Melanie Bartlett?”

“I am.”

“Has Hope ever slept in your home, Sheriff?”

“Why do you ask?”

Ms. Pensky let her eyes sweep up and down Jo’s frame. “Do you leave your weapons at the station when you go home, Sheriff?”

Jo’s back teeth started to hurt for all the grinding she was putting them through. “You’re wasting your time, Ms. Pensky.” She stood and indicated that Ms. Pensky do the same.