Finding Harmony (Katie & Annalise Book 3) by Pamela Fagan Hutchins Page B

didn’t show it.
    Halfway through our conversation, Julie texted me: “No one at the airport knows where Nick went. Kurt still working on it.”
    Questions ricocheted through my head. How could no one know where he went ? Didn’t he have to file a flight plan? What if someone else took the plane?
    I told Officer Ferber that Nick’s plane was missing, too. The news discombobulated her, and she informed me she would consult with a superior officer on protocol for handling missing persons cases for individuals who had left the Virgin Islands.
    “But we don’t know if he left St. Marcos,” I said.
    “No, but just in case, I will ask. He could be anywhere, you know,” she said.
    Yes, I know.
    I left the station drained and numb. Even in the worst days of my battle with alcohol, I couldn’t remember feeling this emptied out. Nick. I pointed my truck toward home and somehow, half an hour later, made it back to Annalise and pulled to a stop in my own driveway.
    Inside, Julie had just put my kids—Nick’s and my kids—down for a nap. We hugged each other, dry-eyed and exhausted, and traded meager updates.
    “Kurt told me he’s calling the FAA to let them know the plane is missing,” Julie said.
    “Oh, thank God. I had no idea what to do, and the police were no help,” I said.
    “Kurt made me promise we would both sleep now, Katie. Take something, rest, and we’ll be refreshed so we can work again when we wake up. I’m going to see if I can fall asleep in Taylor’s room. Maybe Kurt will have more information when we wake up.”
    I retreated to the master bedroom. She was right, I had to sleep. But I had to do something, anything, first. I sat at the writing table and flipped open one of the spiral notebooks Nick kept in a stack there. Across the top of the page in strokes so firm the pen ripped the paper, I wrote “To Do List.” Just to make myself feel better, I wrote Search on the top line and Call Police on the next line, and then drew a line through each. Airport. FAA. Line. Line. Now move it forward, Katie. Call Ramirez. Check Nick’s email. Ransack files. Go through his clothes pockets from yesterday. Search Montero. Although Kurt had probably already done that. I chewed on the pen cap, but I couldn’t come up with anything else.
    Quickly, fading from exhaustion, I found Ramirez’s number where I had programmed it into my speed dial. No answer. Shit. I left a voicemail. “This is Katie Kovacs. Call me as soon as you can. Nick left the island yesterday morning to interview witnesses on the case for Petro-Mex. I don’t know where he went, and he never came home. The police are not helping me. I need to talk to you.” I left my number and hung up, then crossed out “Call Ramirez” and closed the notebook. I pressed my hand into its blue cover, hoping for an epiphany. Nothing.
    I went into the bathroom for a Unisom and put both hands on the mirror outside the lipstick SMILE Nick had scrawled for me yesterday. Come home, Nick.
    I stumbled back to our room without washing my face or brushing my teeth, without taking off my two-day-worn clothes, and huddled in our bed, alone.

Chapter Nine
    The sound of footsteps on our bedroom floor woke me.
    “Hey babe, what’s up?” Nick asked.
    “Where were you? I’ve worried myself sick about you!” I said.
    “Silly. I went to buy you presents. I found so many wonderful things for you that I just lost track of time, and then I didn’t finish in time to leave last night. I stayed over, and today I bought even more gifts for you.”
    Now I noticed the wheelbarrow in front of him. He pushed it closer to the bed. Presents on top of presents crowded its belly, each one wrapped in crisply folded bright paper and festooned with a white bow.
    “But it’s not Christmas. It’s not even my birthday!” I exclaimed.
    “It doesn’t have to be. I said I’d put a smile on your face every day for the rest of our lives. I missed a few days, so I bought you a present for