Tyler Snell - Manhunt

That is, until one rainy night changed everything.

Tom seemed to realize the bad mood was relapsing. He shifted in his seat and turned up the radio. The cool sounds of 103.1’s program of all things ’80s pumped through the truck’s speakers. Normalcy returned in the small cab.

The end of September had crept up on the town, though the Culpepper heat still radiated like it was August. Sweat pooled beneath Braydon’s white polo shirt, adhering it against his suntanned skin. One of the perks of his promotion—shedding the uniform. Despite his reformed sensibilities, wearing the cop getup pricked against his inner rebel.

It was a twenty-minute trek from the Alcasters’ back to the station at the heart of town. Braydon spent the rest of the drive watching the rural part of Culpepper transform into neighborhood turnoffs, industrial buildings, shopping boutiques and the few dilapidated structures littered in between.

This part of town had once been run-down—a meeting place for drug dealers, prostitutes and people who liked and used both. It wasn’t until six years ago that Richard Vega had pumped life, and money, back into the four-block stretch. The New York City native had a business acumen to be reckoned with and enough funds to open Vega Consulting—a company of marketing strategists created to serve not only Culpepper, but all of North America.

Braydon didn’t know the extent of how Vega Consulting operated, but he had to believe they were doing well. Richard Vega lived at the end of Loop Road with an electronic gate surrounding the five acres of land he had purchased without batting an eye.

The partners had fallen back into a comfortable silence the last few minutes of the drive. It was as though the growing distance from the dock was lifting a sour weight from Braydon’s shoulders. When the police station came into view, the ill feelings had all but disappeared, though Braydon knew he wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.

“Langdon,” Tom answered after his phone did a vibrating dance.

Braydon pulled into the parking lot that butted up against the side of the station. The building dated back to the ’50s and had been renovated at least three times. It was all brick, cracked tile and offices that were small enough to pull double duty as closets. When most officers, Tom included, complained about the state of the building, Braydon found he didn’t share their sentiments. He never felt more at home than when he set his eyes on the place.

He turned off the truck and met the humidity with a deep breath. It was midmorning, and the heat was at its worst. The rain that had bathed the town hours earlier had done little to reduce the temperature. He smiled to himself. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Despite all of the opportunities he’d had to leave his hometown, it was beautiful days when the sun was shining that reaffirmed his decision to stay. A person just couldn’t beat a beautiful day in Florida.

“Okay, we’re right outside now.” Tom hung up the phone and followed Braydon around the building to the front double doors with Culpepper Police Department hung in rusting letters above them.

“There’s a woman waiting in your office,” he said, holding the door open. “And apparently she’s not too happy.”

Braydon quickly ran through the list of women he had been with in the past few years, trying to find a name that stuck to someone who might be pissed. Well, recently pissed. Angela had been the last woman he had been with but that had been two months ago. Surely, she wasn’t the one in his office pitching a fit.

“She’s from out of town,” Tom offered, cutting off Braydon’s line of thought. “Probably got a ticket from John and wants to complain to someone.” John was a policeman who loved giving tickets to tourists passing through. Some people loved golf, John loved giving tickets. Braydon sighed.

“I’ll deal with her,” he said, feeling his nerves switch to annoyed. He’d never had much of a stomach for outsiders.

“Sounds good to me. I’m going to call around and see if I can’t find Miss Alcaster.”

They parted ways after walking through the lobby and into the largest room in the station. Rows of desks, computers, chairs and coffee cups filled the room. Some were occupied with Uniforms—a few colleagues Braydon didn’t like and a few who didn’t like him. John the Ticketer’s chair was empty. He was probably writing someone up right now, Braydon mused. Along the far side of the room stood four doors that led to a break room, Tom’s office, Braydon’s office and the conference room. To the left, with the blinds always shut over the window in the door, was Captain Westin’s domain.

A man was smart to avoid that office when the captain’s temper was high.

Braydon walked across the room and let out a sigh as he saw his door was closed. Why they had left a stranger unsupervised was an issue he would bring up as soon as he ushered her out. Not only was it an invasion of privacy but also breaking regulation.

He reached out to grab the doorknob when the old oak slab flung open.

“It’s about damn time!”

Braydon stepped back, caught off guard. He furrowed his brow at the woman standing before him. No one in Culpepper would believe she was anything but an outsider. Despite the heat and humidity, she was wrapped in a black pantsuit with a blazer that covered the length of her arms and a shirt that dipped low in a V. Although Braydon tried to keep his gaze up, he couldn’t help noticing the suit hugged her chest and hips in a very attractive way. Her skin was creamy porcelain, another sign that Florida was not her home. It stood out like a shock against the glossy dark hair that was pulled high in a bun. Although her eyes were a deep shade of sage, there was no denying the fire that sparked behind them.

“I’ve been waiting in here for almost half an hour!” she fumed.

Braydon put up his hands. “Whoa, calm down. Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll get this all straightened out.” He moved around her, catching a whiff of perfume. It filled his senses with its sweet aroma.

The woman hesitated, as if unable to immediately obey, before she dropped down into the seat across from his desk.

“Now, Mrs....”

She waved her hand through the air. “Miss,” she corrected impatiently. “Sophia Hardwick.” The name sounded vaguely familiar but Braydon couldn’t quite place it. The red-lipped Sophia had scrambled his attention. “And like I told the man out there, I’m here about my sister.” She was gearing up to explain, her hands intertwining on the top of the desk. The way she leaned forward a fraction, didn’t improve the hold on his concentration.

Before she could start, Tom appeared in the door. His brow was furrowed. He didn’t bother with knocking.

“Braydon, we need to talk.” He tipped his head toward Sophia. “This will only take a minute, ma’am.”

Sophia slammed her hands onto the desk. She stood with such speed that Braydon mimicked the act, hand flitting to his holster.

“Are you serious? You just got in here. I’ve only had time to tell you my name for heaven’s sake! You will not put me off anymore,” she said, looking between the men. “I’m here because my sister is missing and I need you idiots to do something about it.” There was a pause as all of the air seemed to rush out of her. Color tinted her cheekbones, whether from the exertion or her makeup, Braydon didn’t know.

“I didn’t know Amanda had a sister,” he said, lowering his hand but still on guard. Sophia may have been petite but her passion was seeping out of every pore.

“What? Who’s Amanda?” she huffed. “I’m here about Lisa.” Braydon looked at Tom, who had turned white as a sheet. Something must have happened as soon as Tom had gone to his office.