Fury of Fire (Dragonfury Series #1)

you know how long I’ve been here, waiting?” Solares paused, no doubt to unclench her teeth. “Of course, you do. You’re the one who put me here.”
    Angela raised a brow, but stayed silent. If she opened her mouth right now, an apology for the tough-guy routine might fly out. Then where would they be? Eyeballs deep in No-Answersville with a potential suspect riding shotgun, that’s where.
    Mac shifted behind her, the scrape of his boots loud in the quiet, as he used his size to back her up.
    A good thirty seconds ticked past before Solares backed down. “Oh, for God’s sake.”
    Taking two steps, she grabbed the chair back and yanked. Metal screeched across wood before being slammed down a few feet from the edge of the table. With a grace that belied her attitude, the woman sank into the plastic seat. Crossing her arms over her chest, she settled in, her chin set at an obstinate angle.
    With a murmured “thank you,” Angela slid into the chair across the table and opened her notebook. She started with the usual questions. Had Ms. Solares seen her friend? Talked to her? Did she know where she might be? When the answers came back no, no, and no, Angela moved on. “Tell me about Myst…habits, history. How long have you known her?”
    “Look, I came down here to file a missing person report.” A crease between her brows, Solares crossed her legs, foot bobbing in the breeze. “I was telling the other officer everything when I got hauled over here. What’s going on?”
    “Just answer the quest—”
    “Please,” she said. “Just…tell me. Myst’s in trouble, isn’t she?”
    “What makes you think so?”
    “Well, I’m here… here! …in an interrogation room with you .” Worry in her dark eyes, she raised her hands, palms up, the gesture one of helplessness. “I don’t know what happened, but…I spent all day looking for her. I’ve checked her apartment, called her boss, talked to the nurses at the hospital. No one’s seen or heard from her since…oh, God. I knew something would go wrong. Had a feeling, you know? I tried to talk her out of it but…”
    Mac moved into her line of sight as Solares’s voice trailed off. Propping his shoulder against the wall, her partner tipped his chin, telling her he was back online. Thank God. She didn’t like flying solo.
    Angela raised a brow. “But?”
    “She promised to check in…after, you know? Myst never breaks a promise and she always… always …checks in. I waited up. I’ve called and called…but everything goes to voice mail.” Brushing her hair behind her ears, Solares shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense. If she could reach me, she would. Something is really wrong. She would never let me worry if she could…”
    The woman’s voice broke, and Angela took pity. “Listen, Tania, we’re—”
    “You don’t have a clue, do you?” Her dark brown eyes filled with tears.
    Angela tightened the grip on her pen to keep from reaching across the table to take the woman’s hand. It was hard. She understood that kind of panic…was too well acquainted with death not to recognize the upheaval of a missing loved one. And as Solares glanced away—crossed her arms, uncrossed her legs, fidgeted, and then recrossed everything to keep the pain at bay—Angela felt herself crack. The woman in front of her wasn’t guilty of anything other than caring about her friend.
    “God,” Solares whispered, wiping beneath her eyes. “I told her not to go out there…to just leave well enough alone.”
    “To the Van Owen house?”
    “Yeah. But Myst wouldn’t listen. She was so worried about Caroline.”
    “Why?”
    “Something about test results and missed appointments.” Glancing up, her gaze sharpened as she met Angela’s. “And that jerk of a boyfriend.”
    “Caroline’s?”
    “He was awful to Caroline, you know? Abusive. Myst didn’t go into detail, but it didn’t sound good and now…”
    “What?”
    “Myst’s dead, isn’t she? That asshole killed her.”
    “There’s no proof of that, Ms. Solares,” Mac said, entering the conversation. “Do you know the boyfriend’s name?”
    “Umm…Ryan something.” Frowning, she chewed on her bottom lip. “Brady, maybe?”
    Angela scribbled down the name, hope blooming hard. An abusive boyfriend equaled a solid lead. The guy had a history of violence and a motive—the baby. So, where did the missing nurse fit in? Was it a wrong time, wrong place scenario? Was she a hostage or the