Her First Mistake Carey Baldwin (ereader with dictionary TXT) 📖

Just the kind of behavior that set her teeth on edge.

Watching, while trying to appear not to, she saw him lift his arm, something shiny in his hand. It could be a knife… or a gun.

Her pulse ratcheted up along with his arm.

The glinting object touched his lips, and she exhaled.

Just a flask.

But what was he doing hiding out in the trees? In case she was ever asked to give a description, she made note of the furtive man’s appearance: muscular, golden hair in need of a cut, about six-feet tall.

“Hey, there. You here to volunteer?”

She jumped at the sound of a man’s voice, and then turned—it was the guy behind the volunteer table trying to get her attention.

“Yes, hello.” She walked over. “Is this where I sign up for duty?”

“If you’re at least eighteen,” he said, openly assessing her.

“I’m twenty-six.”

“Do you have identification?”

She slipped her purse from her shoulder and rummaged for her wallet. “Do you mind if I ask why?”

“Routine.”

Were the cops looking for suspects among the volunteers? She’d heard criminals often inserted themselves into investigations, helped search for the very victims they’d abducted. She certainly hoped the police wouldn’t waste time looking in her direction. She held her ID up for his inspection.

Apparently noting her discomfort, he smiled. “At ease, Mia Thornton. We can’t be responsible for minors is all.”

Well, that made sense. They couldn’t have a kid coming across morbid evidence or, heaven forbid, a dead body. Hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremor in her hand, she slipped her license back into her wallet and her wallet into her purse. She couldn’t keep blaming the caffeine. She needed to get her nerves under control.

“I’m Detective Griffin Samuels.”

Detective. He looked the part: shiny suit, no tie, close-cropped hair, a stare that dissected you like a scalpel. If anyone could catch a killer, it was this guy.

But Celeste wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be.

Turning her attention to the sign-up sheet, Mia picked up the pen.

Put it down.

Picked it up.

“Whatever you can do, the Coopers will be grateful,” the detective said. “Even if it’s something as simple as putting the hotline number in your email signature.”

“What a good idea. Where do I get that number?”

Detective Samuels pointed to the packet tucked beneath her arm.

“Of course, thanks.” She scrawled her name on the paper and filled in her phone and emergency contact information. “But what do you need me to do right now?”

“Today is about increasing awareness and gathering intelligence. We’re doing a door-knock and bar-crawl in the Gaslamp Quarter since Celeste visited a restaurant here on Friday. But if you’re not comfortable talking to folks, there are plenty of other ways to help. You could bring food for the other volunteers or pin information on your social media outlets. You’ll find suggested wording for tweets and messages in your packet. And we’ve placed flyers with Celeste’s photo in your materials. You can make copies and tack them up on windows, trees, any place conspicuous as you move through your normal day. Like I said, if you don’t feel comfortable talking to people there are plenty of other things that need doing.”

This detective seemed to have sized up her skills in the space of a minute and found them wanting. But she wasn’t going to let him dissuade her from helping where help was most needed. “I can knock on doors and crawl the bars. No problem.”

“Do you have a partner? Everyone needs to buddy-up for safety.”

“Can’t you assign me one?”

“If another single becomes available, we can, but right now everyone else is paired up.”

“I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Sorry, but you can’t go out by yourself.”

Mia’s shoulders stiffened. “I can do this, no problem.”

“There’s a good reason for the buddy system, and we have to stick to the safety rules.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “No partner, no door-knocking, no exceptions.”

His look told her he wouldn’t bend, and she hoped hers told him the same.

“I couldn’t help overhearing.” A pretty woman, around Mia’s age, maybe a bit younger, walked over, and Detective Samuels made room for her beside him. Her shoulder-length auburn hair shimmered in the midday sun.

Those hazel eyes.

She looked like…

“I’m Celeste’s sister, Angelica, and I need a buddy, too.” She extended her hand across the table to Mia.

“That’s awfully kind of you,” Mia said, suddenly finding it hard to keep her feet under her. The sight of the sister somehow made reality sink in.

Celeste was gone.

Just like Mia’s mother.

Mia gripped Angelica’s hand too tightly, then released it too quickly.

“You’re the kind one for volunteering,” Angelica said. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t get your name.”

“Mia Thornton. I teach at Harbor Youth Academy.”

“Oh, right. You were at the Piano Man with Celeste on Friday.”

“Like I said in my text, I just bumped into her. I’m so sorry I couldn’t fill in any details. We work together, but we don’t really hang out or anything.”

“Well, she’s spoken of you. I remember her mentioning that you were especially good with one little boy. Tennyson?”

Mia couldn’t conceal her surprise. “Celeste talked about me?”

“She did. You just missed Jane and the others, but I’m happy to go out with you.”

“You’re sure?” Mia could hardly believe Angelica Cooper would want to be her buddy.

“Absolutely. I planned to go out with Isaiah—our brother, but I can’t seem to find him. I think he might be deliberately avoiding…” She stopped talking mid-sentence, and her brow furrowed.

Mia followed Angelica’s gaze to the man who’d been hiding among the trees, now zigzagging his way over, a failed sobriety test waiting to happen.

“And speak of the devil,” Angelica said in a tight, quiet voice as Isaiah bumped into Mia.

“Who are you?” Isaiah asked in lieu of excuse me.

“Mia Thornton. I’m a friend of—I mean I work with Celeste.” She stuck out her hand, and it hung in the air for what seemed a lifetime before he finally touched his palm to hers in a sloppy shake.

Angelica said, “You remember Celeste mentioning the teacher who had a magic