In middle school, Jayne had wanted to embrace the movie-star lifestyle, wearing only dresses to school and sneaking into their mother’s makeup. She’d been twelve when she’d decided she needed to be blonde for the first time. Their mother had cried at the sight of Jayne’s horrible orange dye job. Later attempts at becoming blonde were more successful, but Jayne never seem satisfied with who she was. She was always searching for her true self and involving people in her immediate circle in her quest.

Ava had been dragged into Jayne’s drama for years. If Jayne was unsatisfied, then she seemed to think that Ava should be, too. If Jayne hated their algebra teacher, then Ava should, too. If Jayne thought a boy was hot, then Ava had to be in love with him, too.

Ava had fought it. On principle she’d take the opposite stance. It didn’t matter if Chris Stemple was the hottest boy in the seventh grade. If Jayne was interested in him, then Ava found him lacking. If Jayne wanted to know who Ava liked, she kept it to herself. She’d learned that any interest she had in a boy or a dress or a bike resulted in that object being consumed by Jayne. She had to hide her likes, her emotional reactions, everything.

Jayne couldn’t enjoy her own life; she always wanted Ava’s.

Her sister’s morning email flashed through Ava’s mind. There was no way she was letting Jayne get a toehold in her current existence. She’d been in the Portland office for several years and liked it. Part of her reason for requesting a transfer to Portland had been to be closer to her sister, to help keep an eye on her. But she’d quickly learned she had to keep a wall between them. She loved her sister. She worried horribly for her sister, but she couldn’t let Jayne’s poison seep into her own world. Jayne was a human tornado, uprooting emotions, tossing them carelessly, and then leaving behind a disaster as she moved on to the next victim.

Ava used too many paper towels to dry her hands, delaying reentering the real world. It was time for Special Agent McLane to be strong for a teenage boy who was missing his sister. She threw the towels in the trash bin, risking one last glance in the mirror. No Jayne.

I’m not like her.

She found Detective Callahan in a discussion with Agent Sanford and two other agents at one of the workstations in the big room. She swore the timeline on the wall had lengthened by three feet during Jake’s interview, and another wall had vanished behind more charts and photos. The bureau in motion. She didn’t see Jake as she moved to join Callahan, who stepped aside to let her in their group.

“They’ve got a partial image from the neighborhood of a black or dark-gray Toyota Sienna minivan at seven fifty. Within the time frame that Henley vanished. No one on that street owns one of that color or model,” Callahan announced.

Excitement rushed through Ava’s chest as she focused on a blurred picture on the computer monitor. “Excellent.” The image showed the rear third of a minivan. She squinted. The license plate was partially cut off.

“Can they get the rest of the plate?”

“We’re working on it,” said the agent seated in front of the monitor.

She stared harder at the image, willing the blur to focus, hoping to see a child’s face through the dark privacy glass on the rear windows. “Where was the image taken?”

“Two houses past the bus stop. As you can see, the family’s camera was set to cover the driveway. Their son’s car was broken into one night, so they keep the camera trained on the driveway, and we got lucky that it covers part of the street. We didn’t see any other vehicles.”

“Did you catch the bus going by?”

“Yes, the bus goes by eight minutes after this minivan.”

Ava fought to keep her excitement down. “That has to be it,” she whispered.

The agent in the chair raised and dropped one shoulder. “It’s a good lead,” he said. “Best we’ve got going at the moment.”

“Where’s Jake?” she asked Callahan. “Has he seen this?”

“Bathroom.”

She nodded. Was he seeking the same quiet she’d needed?

She always needed alone time to refuel after intense situations. Jake’s interview hadn’t been too intense, but her concern for the boy’s feelings and Callahan’s apparent distraction had yanked her emotions in too many directions. The three agents moved into another discussion, and she stepped back, touching Callahan’s sleeve.

“What happened before the interview, detective? You were totally distracted in there.”

Surprise flashed in his eyes. “That obvious?”

She shrugged. “Probably not to anyone else. I notice things.”

He broke eye contact, looking toward the screen with the minivan. “Crap at work. It’s nothing.”

The tension in his jaw shouted that it was more than nothing. She waited. She wouldn’t push. He looked at her again, and she kept her gaze neutral. “Does this affect the family?” she finally asked.

“No, definitely not.”

“We’ve got a press conference scheduled in two hours,” Sanford interrupted. “I assume the parents don’t want to make a statement?”

“No,” Callahan replied. “I’ll talk to them and find out what they want said.”

“It might be good to see the moms on camera. It could personalize his captive,” Sanford added.

Ava knew the mentality Sanford was referring to. Sometimes kidnappers compartmentalized their victims as “things.” It was easier to destroy or hurt a thing instead of the daughter of a crying mother on television.