“People have died for a lot less,” said Hawes. “It doesn’t matter what the truth is. If someone believes that you are a danger to them, they’ll do what it takes to eliminate that danger.”

Violet.

Her hand twitched in Chris’s, her fingers ice-cold. Her gaze didn’t leave the detective. “So we need to know exactly who was after my father. Because apparently they believe Violet and I present some sort of threat.”

“That’s exactly what we’re thinking. Following the trail left by your father also might help us find whoever took Violet. From what we’ve been able to track, your father moved to the Portland area about a month ago.”

“What?” Gianna rose halfway out of her seat. “He moved here just after I did? Where did he live before that?”

“Here and there,” said the detective. “We’re going off address changes and some scattered utility records. He doesn’t appear to have stayed in any area for very long.”

“Do you think he moved here because I was here?” Gianna murmured.

“I suspect your uncle is the only one who can speculate on that.”

“Saul said my father rarely remembered he even had a daughter.”

“Right. Saul told me of his brain injury. Perhaps he was finally able to keep you straight in his head.”

Two tears rolled down Gianna’s cheeks, and Chris wanted to murder someone. Anyone.

“Do you have a local address for her father?” Chris asked.

“Yes, that’s our next stop.”

“We’re coming,” stated Gianna.

Chris pulled into the apartment parking lot behind the detectives and the truck rocked as he hit two potholes. “Nice,” he muttered.

It wasn’t nice, Gianna observed. She wouldn’t let an enemy live in her father’s apartment building. Snow still covered the roof, but the parking lot and tiny patch of lawn were covered with deep puddles. The 1970s-style building housed eight apartments with tiny windows. Even with the snow, Gianna could see where the roof line sagged at the center. A drain spout had detached from the gutter and stuck out at an awkward angle, water dripping from the end. Two overflowing dumpsters blocked a few of the parking spaces, and the cars in the lot looked like they were from an auto parts salvage yard.

She wanted to cry.

Misery pummeled her heart and her brain. Between losing Violet and learning about her father, she was ready to crumble. Accompanying the detectives was a distraction from her thoughts, but every time she realized she wasn’t thinking about Violet, guilt swamped her.

She was being torn in two.

Detective Hawes had initially stated Gianna and Chris couldn’t accompany her and Becker to her father’s old apartment, but the detective hadn’t sounded convinced. Gianna pressed the issue, suspecting Hawes was just going through the motions. Compassion shone in the detective’s eyes, and she’d given in to Gianna’s insistence. Becker had stiffened when Hawes agreed but kept his mouth shut. Gianna suspected there had been words between the partners on the way to the apartment.

Hawes had laid down the rules. They weren’t to touch anything. The landlord had already opened the apartment for the police. Officers had secured the scene and one was waiting for the two detectives.

“Is there a crime scene unit there?” Chris had asked.

“Not yet. We want to look through it first. According to the officers who did the initial check of the apartment, it’s practically empty. No crime happened there.”

“But he’s been murdered,” Gianna had interjected. “Shouldn’t someone be collecting evidence?”

“We’ll make a decision when we get there.” Hawes had the final word.

A uniformed officer stepped out of the bottom-floor apartment closest to the dumpsters, his face resigned. “Done with me?” he asked Hawes as she stepped out of Becker’s car. The detective asked him a few questions that Gianna couldn’t hear and held her hand out for the key. She dismissed the officer, who made an immediate beeline for his patrol car, glad to be done with apartment babysitting.

The four of them stepped under the stairs that led to the upper apartments. “He said it’s unlocked.” Hawes looked at Gianna and Chris. “Give us a minute to take a quick look.” Gianna nodded as she and Becker stepped inside. They closed the door, and Gianna was left to look at the blistered, peeling paint on the door.

Will something inside lead us to Violet’s abductor?

“I can’t stand this,” she whispered. Chris said nothing but wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Images of her father swimming in the ocean off Spain and skiing in Colorado flashed in her head. How had he lived here?

She wanted to scream at the detectives to hurry up. Her daughter was waiting.

The door opened. Becker’s face was grim. “Okay. Once again. Touch nothing. Look all you want, but there’s not a heck of a lot to see.”

The light in the apartment was dim. A single bulb burned in the center of the kitchen ceiling, the light cover missing. The carpet in the living area had matted spots where furniture must have sat at one time. Now there was a single chair and a television tray table. No television. The kitchen revealed a glass by the sink and a tiny white coffee maker with dirty yellow stains.

One of her father’s habits hadn’t changed: a box of organic bran cereal, a plastic bag of bulk quinoa, three avocados, and two tomatoes huddled in a corner on the counter. Gianna paused, studying the food, remembering how her uncle had called her parents “health nuts” and how she’d once received an Easter basket filled with fresh fruit. She’d been crushed.