The Missing

church, and she had very much kept to herself.

    Coincidence?

    Jones didn’t believe in coincidences.

    “Sir?”

    He looked up to find Murphy watching him with a wary gaze. “It’s Special Agent Hensley out of Birmingham.”

    “Do they have Morgan?”

    She shook her head. “No, sir. Nobody matching his description got off the plane, although surveillance clearly shows him getting on in Atlanta.” Her eyes were wide and glowing with self-satisfaction. Clearly, she thought this was more evidence to her theory that the dad had something to do with Jillian Morgan’s disappearance.

    Jones was far from convinced, though. He was no psychic. He employed more than a dozen specially trained, highly skilled psychics. While he might not have their abilities, he had damn good instincts. And right now, as he studied the financial data before him, his instincts were singing. He reached for his own phone to call the grandfather, a Robert Morgan. Robert had told his son he’d be waiting at Cullen’s house, and Jones had given his men orders to make sure the grandfather remained there for the time being.

    In case an attempt at ransom was made, they needed a family member at the house. Since Morgan had pulled his disappearing act, the grandfather was the only option. At the moment, Jones was damn glad he had the grandfather so readily accessible. It answered several of Jones’s more pressing questions.

    “No coincidences,” he murmured as he disconnected from his conversation with Robert Morgan. Sitting back, he studied the board before him while his fingers beat out a tattoo on the table. It had an eight -by- ten picture of Jillian Morgan and below it, pictures of her father, grandfather, and the Paxtons, the people who’d been watching Jillian before she disappeared.

    Murphy ended her conversation with Birmingham, and Jones looked her way as she put away her phone. “They found him—well, at least they found out how he ditched them. Guy’s clever, we got to give him that. Disguised himself. They’re faxing the pictures now. We’ll have to . . . What?”

    “Morgan had nothing to do with his daughter’s disappearance.” He glanced down at his notes and then flipped them around for Murphy to read. “The Morgans purchased a condo in Gulf Shores, Alabama, sixteen years ago. They went down there fairly regularly until Cullen’s mother was killed twelve years ago, and then the condo was used as rental property for a time. Past few years, the grandfather has taken to going down there more often. They’ve got great fishing,” Taylor mused.

    Murphy continued to stare at him, not following. Jones pushed his notepad closer to her and said softly, “Would you like to guess who Cullen dated on his summers in Gulf Shores, Murphy?”

    She looked down at the pad, and her eyes widened. “Branch.”

    Jones nodded. “Taige Branch. He has a history with her, and I’ll bet you anything that he’s gone looking for her.”

    SO damn restless, Taige slept fitfully, tossing and turning. She couldn’t sleep for the life of her and hadn’t been able to for nearly two months now. Ever since Chicago, but Chicago didn’t seem to have anything to do with her insomnia.

    It was something else. Something new. She was waiting, but she didn’t know what for. Mumbling in her sleep, she rolled onto her belly. A jarring pain shot up her arm, and she groaned, automatically cradling her injured right wrist against her chest.

    The soft cast that went from her hand halfway up her forearm immobilized her wrist and hand, but it didn’t keep it from hurting when she moved wrong. The pain was enough to bring her completely out of sleep, and she lay on her back in the dark room, staring up at the ceiling. She could finally open her left eye again, but it still hurt like the devil. Taige lay there debating between getting up and finding one of the bottles of pain meds the doctors had prescribed or just finding a book and reading until morning.

    Wasn’t like she was going to be working for the next few days. Before that thought even made a complete circle through her mind, a chill streaked down Taige’s spine. Her breathing hitched. In a smooth, unconscious movement, she rolled out of bed and grabbed the jeans lying on the floor with her left hand. She shimmied into them without hurting her hand much, but she had to lie back to zip and button them, and that hurt.

    She shrugged the pain off and grabbed a tank top from the basket