Page 1 of Lost Lake
1
She was missing—maybe dead—and it was all Gabe’s fault.
Kenna. His best friend for twenty-five years. Her four-year-old daughter, too. Gone.
Kenna. Lucy.Where are you?
He scanned the shoulder of the narrow winding road, headlights cutting through thick fog. One last attempt. His Lost Lake Locators team had already searched every route from Kenna’s house to Lost Lake.
Nothing. Not a trace.
The others had returned to the office, urging him to come with them. He couldn’t. Not after her voicemail around six p.m.—her voice shaking, whispering she was in danger. She’d said she was just leaving home, starting the one-hour drive.
That was nearly two and a half hours ago.
So where was she? Where was sweet little Lucy?
His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Sweat slicked his palms despite the cold April air. “Get a grip, man. You’re no good to her like this.”
He reached the intersection for Lost Lake Road and forced his breathing to slow. She shouldn’t have taken this turn. Itdidn’t lead anywhere she needed to go. Unless Lucy had begged to see the lake.
No. The fear in Kenna’s voice hadn’t belonged to a woman stopping to sightsee.
Still, he and his team had no leads after searching for two hours. None. A quick loop around the lake would take fifteen minutes. That was all.
He crawled forward. Wind howled and buffeted the vehicle. He scanned both sides of the road through the thick mist.
Nothing.
Then—something.
A shadow in the ravine below. Large. Metallic.
His stomach sank. He coasted to a stop at the overlook and killed the engine.
Flashlight. He yanked it from the console and jumped out. Forty-degree air. Misty rain. He jogged to the edge. The beam sliced through fog, catching weeds and rock. The shape below was half-buried, indistinct in the shadows, impossible to make out.
He shifted the flashlight to his left hand and gripped a sapling, easing down the steep incline. Slow steps when every instinct screamed to run. His feet skittered down the slope. Brambles tore at his jeans. His heart pounded in his ears.
Closer. Closer he came.
The light caught a wave of turquoise.
Then cream trim.
No. Please no!
A vintage Volkswagen bus. License plate SUNSHN, the custom plate Kenna had added just last week.
Her bus.
“Oh, God. No. Please.” He let go of the sapling and slid the rest of the way down, landing hard beside the vehicle.
He scrambled to his feet and yanked open the driver’s door. Cream dashboard. A little flower charm hanging from the mirror. Every detail screamedKenna. But maybe…
He lunged across the seat, ripped open the glove compartment, and jerked out the registration.
Confirmation. Kenna James.
