Mason snorted. “Then why target Henley? She’s not my kid.” What if Jake had gone missing? Guilty acid burned in Mason’s gut over the relief that his son was safe.

“Yeah, good point.”

The line was quiet as Mason’s brain shot in a million different directions, weighing scenarios. He suspected Ray’s mind was doing the same thing. He ran a hand through his short hair, making it stand on end and fighting an overwhelming urge to rush to the FBI command center and demand to hear what they’d discovered while he was sleeping.

He ended the call with a reminder for Ray to check Mason’s log on his calendar at work. They knew each other’s passwords. Seven years of working together had created a deep trust. He’d trust Ray with his son’s life, and he knew Ray felt the same.

Ray will figure out what’s wrong at Josie’s house.

He pulled himself out of bed and headed for the door. First a shower, then coffee. If he’d been at home, he’d do the coffee first. But he didn’t want to run into anyone while looking or smelling like he’d slept in a doorway in downtown Portland.

He turned the doorknob, noticing that he was taller than the entire Hello Kitty measuring chart on the back of the door. Someone’s size had been proudly highlighted at the height of Mason’s hip. He barely remembered when Jake had been that size.

Special Agent McLane stepped out of her room across the hall, fully dressed in jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved casual blouse. Blue eyes surveyed him in amusement.

“Morning, detective.”

Mason wanted to go back to bed.

Ava reviewed her email at the kitchen nook table, sipping hot coffee as she scanned the latest update from ASAC Ben Duncan. Someone in the Fairbanks house hadn’t slept last night. She’d found fresh homemade chocolate-chip scones, blueberry coffee cake, and cinnamon rolls on the kitchen counter. No one else was up, and the kitchen was as neat as a pin. Was Robin or Lilian the midnight baker?

She placed her money on Robin.

Taking a second piece of preservative-free coffee cake, she prayed Robin didn’t keep up the custom bakery routine. Ava had a serious weakness for homemade sweets. She kept her daily food choices as simple as possible, avoiding processed foods with seventy-five ingredients on the label, and from what she’d seen in Robin’s refrigerator and cupboards, the woman seemed to follow the same philosophy. No store-bought Twinkies, but bring on the home-baked goods.

If it calmed Robin to bake, maybe Ava could run what they didn’t eat down to the command center. It would save the FBI money on their donut budget and get the temptation out of Ava’s vision. Heck, she wouldn’t mind getting some flour on her hands. Her job was to stick with the family, so maybe they could have a big cookie-making day. Churn out a few hundred Christmas cookies. That would keep some minds occupied.

Guilt flashed through her. What if cookie making was a tradition with Henley and her mom or stepmom? Would the process be more painful than helpful? Ava had good memories of her mom, herself, and Jayne spending countless hours in the kitchen during the weeks before Christmas making lemon bars, frosted sugar cookies, thick oatmeal-and-cranberry cookies, and chocolate haystacks.

In the kitchen, Jayne had never turned baking into a competition. Unlike every other aspect of her life: grades, boyfriends, clothes. Jayne had always fought to be one step ahead of Ava in everything. And Ava had let it roll off her back. It’d bugged the hell out of Jayne that Ava hadn’t had the same urge to outdo her sister. Ava had always kept a cool head and ignored her sister’s rants. Even now, Ava took pride in the fact that she was the calm and mellow sister, while Jayne was the fiery and emotional sister. Was Ava passive-aggressive in how she handled Jayne’s competitive spirit? Absolutely. It was the one thing her sister couldn’t take away from her.

And look what I have here. On her screen was an email from Jayne with a dozen exclamation marks in the subject line.

That described Jayne in a nutshell: excessive exclamation marks. Ava counted to three and exhaled before clicking on the email.

Why are you ignoring my texts??? Call me, please!!! I need to talk to you about next weekend. I just need a place to stay for a few nights until I round up some roommates. It wouldn’t be more than a week. I’ve got a lead on a possible watercolor showing! This could be a big break for me!

XOXOXOX

Ava deleted the email. Jayne believed every word she wrote, but Ava knew they weren’t true; she’d been burned twice before. If she let Jayne under her roof for one night, she’d end up like Charlie Harper on Two and a Half Men, with the sibling who never moved out. Jayne would break her microwave, eat all her food, and leave her wet laundry in the washing machine for a week. And those were the small issues.

Never again.

The big issues would be the variety of men Jayne invited to sleep over and the illegal drugs she’d hide from her sister. Ava closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. Tough love. She wouldn’t let Jayne drag her down. Jayne claimed she’d been clean for two months, but Ava didn’t care. Jayne had a thirty-five-year history of lying to Ava, and it’d taken the last decade for Ava to break the bond her twin held over her.

Jayne and Ava might have been identical on the outside, but inside they seemed to have different genes. Somehow God had given Ava all the common sense, while Jayne got the judgment of a drunken flea.

Why? Why can’t my sister see who she is?

Because Jayne didn’t care. Something was missing inside of her. She operated as if the world revolved around her. She couldn’t see the needs of others. She couldn’t see the hurt and damaged people in her wake. As children, when Jayne was suffering, she pulled Ava down by whatever means possible to suffer along with her. She couldn’t bear to be alone in her misery.