She paused at the driver’s side, gazing across the top of the car at Riley. “I’m done playing catch-up here. We find Mrs. Wilks and then I’m doing whatever it takes to put this to rest.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Abby didn’t quite know how she’d do it, but she knew it was past time. There had to be some way to connect the dots and put a stop to this. Belclare was her town and she wouldn’t cower in a corner while terrorists dealt out fear. She put on the gloves to preserve any evidence and opened the driver’s door.
The driver’s seat was pushed back much too far for Mrs. Wilks’s smaller frame. “She didn’t drive herself,” she noted.
“Which might mean two perps. One to drive, one to control the hostage.”
Abby nodded, bending down for a closer look at the floor mats. “She’s feisty. It might have required two perps just to subdue her.”
“When does she prepare her coffeemaker?”
“Huh?”
“She has a programmable pot. It was full and turned off when we were in the house. She had to have set it at some point.”
“Typically, she does that during the commercial break before the news. At least, that’s what I’ve seen her do on the rare occasions I was there at that time of night.”
“All right. Neither of us saw any strange cars on the street when we got home from the fire.”
Abby’s face heated as she recalled those steamy kisses. “We weren’t exactly looking for anything out of place.”
He shot her a wicked grin, the one full of sexy promises that made her pulse kick in hopeful anticipation. She ruthlessly reminded herself they were at a crime scene.
“Look at that.” He pointed to the floor cushion in the backseat closest to her side.
She opened the back door and shifted, letting the bright sunlight fall on a pink smudge on the upholstery. She sniffed at it, recognizing the cosmetic fragrance. “Lipstick. Damn it.”
Abby stood up, pulling the crisp air deep into her lungs, willing her stomach to settle down.
“Well, it’s confirmation she or someone wearing lipstick was in the car,” Riley said, coming over to her side so they could speak without being overheard. “Unless she typically kissed her backseat.”
She opened her mouth to say they’d known that already, but he was right—without an eyewitness, they’d been assuming Mrs. Wilks had been a passenger in the car.
“Okay.” Abby took another deep breath. “You and I arrived in the neighborhood just after eleven. Mrs. Wilks would have made her coffee before that. Assuming the altercation was limited to the hallway, one or two men grabbed her from her house before the evening news wrapped up.
Abby might have heard something if she hadn’t been in the shower wishing she had the guts to invite Riley over to wash her back. A weak laugh slipped out at the thought. If she’d done that, bringing him out of his house, he might actually have seen or heard something.
“This isn’t your fault, Chief Jensen,” he said.
She cursed herself for allowing him to see the uncertainties nagging at her. “Not quite what I was thinking, but close enough.” She pointed to the tires. “I’m not seeing anything on the tread or wheel wells that I wouldn’t expect to find in Belclare.”
“So what did they do in between grabbing her and dumping the car?”
Refusing to let her emotions run amok down that path, Abby regained a small measure of control. Planting her hands on her hips, she said, “Let’s check the trunk.”
“No one’s done that?”
“They said it was empty, but I want to look anyway.”
“Fresh eyes?”
“Exactly.” She went around to the passenger side and popped open the glove box to hit the trunk release. The car shifted when the trunk lid opened. “There has to be some clue about what they’ve done with her.”
“Stop.” Riley held up a hand, his gaze locked on the interior of the trunk.
“What?”
“Back away and pull back the others, too.”
“Tell me why,” she insisted.
“Bomb.”
The single word, delivered so calmly, jolted her system. “The trunk was empty when they found the car. No one could have planted a bomb since my guys got here.”
“Abby,” he warned. “Listen to me. Please.”
What could he possibly know about bombs? But his face was pale and now his body was rigid with tension. “I’m not leaving without taking a look.”
He shook his head, sending her a ferocious scowl, but she didn’t care. He had to be wrong. Her people had already popped the trunk and declared it empty and void of evidence.