Chapter 37

An hour later, Joshua’s phone hadn’t rung. Joshua figured Thad was probably an innocent business acquaintance of Rachel’s, and would listen to Joshua’s rambling, desperate message and believe Joshua was a nut job. He’d taken a wild shot in the dark by contacting Thad, and it was foolish to expect a pay-off.

Thinking that he ought to spend his time pursuing a better lead, Joshua logged onto the Internet to research Prescott Property Management.

The company had a comprehensive, professional-looking Web site. They had locations in Atlanta, Macon, and Savannah, with the primary office based downtown on Auburn Avenue. They managed properties throughout the state of Georgia, specializing in rental management of houses, condos, and vacation homes on Georgia’s barrier islands.

On the About Us, page, there was a photo of the president of the company, LaVosha Prescott. She was an attractive black woman in her thirties, with shoulder-length braids and a welcoming smile.

Joshua could not recall ever meeting her, seeing a picture of her, or hearing Rachel mention her name.

Yet Rachel had a business relationship with the company. They must have managed a property of hers. Why else would she have stored their number in her address book?

The place Rachel owned, wherever it was located, was where she’d gone. It was the only logical conclusion to draw from the available facts. She was staying in her hideaway.

He glanced at the profile of Dexter Bates. He thought about Rachel and their unborn child.

I’m going to find you, Rachel, whether you want me to or not. It’s too dangerous for you all alone out there.

Coco pawed Joshua’s leg, distracting him.

“What’s up, kid?”

Coco whined, tail wagging. Joshua noticed that her small food bowl was empty.

“My bad, Coco.” He rose from the kitchen table and retrieved the dog’s food from a sealed plastic container in the pantry. “I’ve been so busy I forgot to feed you.”

He dumped half a cup of kibble into the bowl. As he straightened, he had a line of sight from the kitchen into the two-story family room, where Rachel had hung so many pictures and pieces of artwork. A revelation rose in his mind, like a deep-water sea creature swimming upward to poke at the ocean’s surface . . . and then it plunged back into the murky depths of his subconscious.

He stood there, frozen, willing the thought to return. But the harder he strained for it, the farther it receded.

Coco was poised above her bowl, big eyes fixated on him, as if waiting for him to announce his great discovery.

“Never mind, it’s gone now,” he said. “Maybe it’ll come back.”