But it feels like she’s telling me the truth. And my intuition is rarely wrong.
I’ve seen the scared look in her eyes when she sees something new. That fear isn’t a lie.
So, until I can say for certain that they’re all whacko, I’m in this for the long haul.
“It’s cool that you have access to the Fed’s files,” Millie says and smiles.
“I’m hoping it helps us figure out at least a pattern,” I reply, entering stats into the search engine.
Dark hair.
Blue eyes.
Average height.
New Orleans.
And then hit go.
I glance up to find Brielle’s bright blue eyes focused on me. She’s quiet, but her face is tight with worry. All of this is taking a toll on her.
How do I know that?
How is it that I just met her a few days ago, and yet I feel as if I’ve known her for ages?
“How are you, darlin’?”
She shrugs a shoulder. “I’m okay.”
“Holy shit,” Millie mutters, pulling me back to the task at hand.
“What?” Daphne asks, hurrying over. Brielle doesn’t join us.
She knows.
“Dozens,” I mutter, paging through the names, the photos. “I only put in a five-year time span.”
“Extend it,” Brielle says. “Go back ten.”
I do as she asks and feel my stomach drop. “There are more, but not many. It seems the number is far less until six years ago. At least girls missing from New Orleans. I’m going to look through each one to get more information. We’ll look for girls taken in the French Quarter to start, and then we’ll expand from there.”
“With that list, it’ll take you all night,” Daphne says.
“You guys can go home,” Brielle says quietly. “Get some rest. Maybe we’ll have more information in the morning.”
“This is going to take time,” I agree and nod. “Brielle’s right. Get some rest, ladies.”
“I’m exhausted,” Millie admits. “And I need to look in on the café before I head to bed. But I’m a phone call away.”
“Same,” Daphne says. “I don’t live as close as Millie, but I can be here quickly.”
Both sisters flank Brielle, all of them wrapping each other in hugs. They quietly whisper something in unison, like a prayer, and then once they’ve said their goodbyes, it’s just Brielle and me.
“How many do you think?” she asks.
“I haven’t dug around—”
“Ballpark.”
“A couple dozen, at least. Some of these cases will have likely been solved. But once I narrow it all down and weed through it all, there will still be a couple dozen unsolved, I’m sure.”
She blows out a breath and scratches her nose. “What do you need from me?”
“Coffee. This is going to take a couple of hours at least. You should get some sleep.”
“I’m afraid to sleep,” she admits softly. “And that pisses me right off, Cash. I told you, sleep has always been my safe place.”
“And it will be again,” I assure her. “As soon as we figure this all out.”
“I hope it’s sooner rather than later.”
She pads into the kitchen, and I watch as she brews me a cup of coffee, adding just the right amount of sugar and cream.
I’ve never told her how I take my coffee.
When she delivers it to me, I set my computer aside and pull her onto my lap, cuddling her close.
“How did you know how I take my coffee?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again and gives me a shy smile. “I don’t know. I just knew.”
“It’ll be handy having you around.” I smack a kiss on her cheek and then set her next to me on the couch.
“For my coffee-making skills?”
“Among other things,” I say absently while I sip my coffee and gaze at the computer screen.
“You’ve never kissed me.”
I glance over at her. “I kissed you just a moment ago.”
“On the cheek.”
Ah, here we are.
“Does it bother you that I haven’t kissed your sweet lips yet?”
She shrugs that shoulder again and blows out a breath. “Maybe.”
“Once I start kissing you, I won’t want to stop there. You’re a game-changer, Brielle, and we’re a little busy right now. I don’t want to fuck it up. Do I want to put my hands on you? My lips? Hell, yes. Who could resist you?”
She blushes and opens her mouth, but I press my finger against her lips, shushing her.
“I want many things with you, and we’ll get there. But in the meantime, I need to figure out how to get these damn dead people to stop tormenting you so I can have you all to myself. Is that what you wanted to know?”
She puckers those lips still pressed to my finger and kisses the tip of it lightly, then smiles.
“Yeah. That’s what I wanted to know.”
My computer beeps, drawing my attention.
“Okay, I’ve sorted out the unsolved cases, including the cold ones.”
“Cold cases?”
“Don’t you watch TV?”
“Not much.”
I smile and answer her question. “Cold cases are those that are old and never solved, ruled to be unsolvable.”