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Chapter Twelve:

Nancy didn't speak as the TV flickered before her. She took in the face of the newly missing woman, mute, hands white as they curled around the dishcloth between her palms. Abruptly, she dropped the cloth and grabbed a light coat from the rack next to the door. Then, Nancy stepped out onto the street. She could hear the reporter's voice echoing inside her skull as she took the steps two at a time, down to the pavement.

Frank glanced helplessly at his brother.

"Go after her, you moron," Joe snapped.

Frank didn't need prodding. Gorgeous women were going missing in their neighborhood, and Nancy was vulnerable out in the dark. Besides, she was upset, and the thought of her by herself made Frank's heartbreak in two.

He found her walking purposefully toward the main road.

"Nance," he said, reaching out to grab her arm and turn her to him.

"I'm fine. Seriously. I'm going to the grocery store. I want a bottle of wine-"

"Nance," he repeated.

Her pale face remained hard for a moment, but then it crumpled. Her lower lip trembled, and she closed her eyes. "Frank, don't. I'm fine. I just…"

He caught her waist before she fell. He felt her slim body between his arms, and he wondered at the smallness of her. Sure, Nancy was fit and strong, but she'd been picking at her food like a bird lately. And she wasn't sleeping. The way she was neglecting her needs was wearing away at her body like waves on a rockface.

Frank stroked her hair. "Come on. What's this about, really?"

She glanced over his shoulder as if she expected an audience, someone to make judgments about the state of her. But they were alone. She could hear the distant sound of traffic, kids yelling as they played basketball at a nearby park. Life went on.

"I just… I let Mia in, I wanted to. I wanted a friend. But… I let Luke Chircop in… before..."

And Luke Chircop had been shot to death as he sat by her side on a stage, before hundreds of people. She'd been charged to protect him. Yet, he'd still been killed. On her watch. It had been her first mistake, her only flaw. But it had only needed to happen once to tear her apart.

"Oh, Nance… that wasn't your fault."

"Does it matter?"

It didn't matter to her. She'd blame herself forever. Of course, Frank had put done the math in his head, calculated their past case, and he'd put it to bed. That was his way of processing things. He thought it was Nancy's too. But their last case had been different. Maybe she hadn't let it in the past like she normally did.

"Mia isn't Luke Chircop."

"I know. She's a young, vulnerable woman in a big city. Chircop was a seasoned FBI agent, a Deputy Director. If he was murdered, what chance does a college student have?"

The odds weren't great. Not when they were laid out like that.

"Besides, people think I'm insane. They think I'm seeing monsters in the shadows. But this… this third woman? Frank, I'm seeing a pattern. I don't want to, but it's there. And people are acting like I'm insane. It hurts. And it's worse when you're one of them. We always back each other up, no matter what. And to have you turn on me-"

"I'm sorry. I've had my own stuff… but I see it now. I won't let you down."

She heard the urgency in his voice. Frank was an open book at the best of the time, and as she looked up into his face, she saw the compassion and regret shining from his face like a sun. She kissed him then. And his lips were hot.

"Then come with me. Even if it's pointless. Even if it ends up in a wild goose chase."

He didn't reply. Instead, he took her hand in his. He squeezed her cool, slender fingers in his warm, strong hand. And he hoped he could help. Because he wanted to take away her distress. He wanted the old Nancy, the confident, strong Nancy, back by his side.

As they rounded the corner to approach the main shopping strip, they saw that there was a sudden flurry of activity. Just over a mile from the drug store parking lot where Leah Martin was found, a grocery store was open, lights inviting shoppers out of the dusk.

A camera crew was packing up. And a woman was interviewing late-night shoppers. A couple of uniformed police officers were piling into a car parked awkwardly at the curb.

Nancy approached the crowd, Frank in tow.

"Was this where the woman's things were found?" she asked one of the news crew staff.

The man looked up, disinterested in the couple before him. "Yeah. Her purse. I don't know much… the cops aren't saying much. But someone knows something, for sure. It was broad daylight. In the morning, for god's sake. No one just disappears like that."

"So, if she went missing this morning, why was her purse just found?" Frank asked.

"Nah. It was found around noon. Someone dropped it off in lost and found at the shop." The man pointed to the store behind him. "They only put two and two together when the husband came asking about his wife. He described her purse and…" the man spread his hands in a "who knows" gesture. "She wasn't like "famous, famous" but she will be now. Missing white, blonde woman. I reckon this story will get tons of views."

Nancy made a face of disgust and turned away.

Frank was already distracted, looking up and down the street. The man had been right. The store was one of many: a deli, a tailor, a dollar store. A fast-food restaurant stood on the corner. And an old, run-down coffee shop was still open in its' shadow, with old, wizened men sitting outside and smoking spent cigarettes.

"Why would someone take her from this spot?" he wondered out loud.

"I'm not sure she did," Nancy said. She showed Frank her phone. On it, she had Summer Skeigh's Instagram page up. The latest post was of a crinkled fast-food wrapper. "What if Summer went to the fast-food place after she got her groceries? I can see a shop assistant at one of these little shops missing her, but at a burger joint...? She could have dropped her purse when she left the grocery."

"What, and paid with her phone when she got her burger?"

Nancy shrugged. "It makes sense."

"What doesn't make sense is this: why was a model/actor, whatever, getting a burger for breakfast?" Joe asked when Nancy and Frank returned with sodas and fries. He could tell they'd managed to put their argument behind them, just from their loosened bodies and the glances they shot each other as they laid the late-night feed on the counter.

"Well, the manager at "Burger Break," said the police had asked for their CCTV, so we'll just have to wait and see," Nancy said. "But it makes more sense that she had a burger for breakfast than someone abducting her from the street. Besides, even models get cravings sometimes."

"I mean… I get it," Joe agreed, chowing down on fries.

"But you're not a model," Frank pointed out.

"I could be."

Nancy ignored the bickering. "So, according to IMDB, Summer Skeigh is actually Emily Jane Somerton-Skeigh. She changed her name when she went to acting school."

"I would too. That's a mouthful."

"Yeah, well, Joe… that's not all she changed." Nancy brought up some old school photos. "She dyed her hair and got a nose job after school, apparently. I guess that tracks. After all, she moved from Ohio to New York. It's a competitive industry in a competitive city."

Frank looked thoughtful. "Is she linked to the other women?"

Nancy shook her head, taking a swig of her soda. She had Frank's laptop in front of her and she'd already opened at least ten tabs. "Not aside from them all living in the same area. And their physical resemblance, of course. They all come from different areas, different backgrounds. From a quick search, it seems like Summer comes from a small town, and her family looks like they're solidly middle class. Yet, when she went missing, she was married, a celebrity. That's almost the opposite of Mia, who comes from a pretty comfortable family and when she went missing, she was a college student, a waitress. I'm leaving Leah Martin out of this for now. But her family are New Yorkers, and they seem to be really wealthy. But none of them seem to have known each other."

"Well, Mia knew of Leah Martin," Frank pointed out. "You said she was worried."

"But I was too. Many of us women fear for our safety on a daily basis. When another woman is harmed, it makes us think about the "what ifs," and we feel empathy for them because we've always got that fear of being harmed at the back of our minds." Nancy closed the laptop and sighed, leaning back in her chair.

Frank glanced at her. It had never crossed his mind that Nancy might be afraid. But he felt fear too. And he wondered if their move to the city had been a mistake.