A Winchester, Tennessee Thriller

His disappearance changed her life forever.

Twenty-five years ago, Halle Lane’s best friend vanished from their Tennessee town. When a childhood photo brings Liam Hart to Winchester, Halle is certain the man is the same child who disappeared. Now Liam seeks out Halle to help him investigate the circumstances of his mysterious past. Can Liam and Halle uncover the truth before a killer buries all traces of the boy Halle loved—and the man he may have become—forever?

DEBRA WEBB is the award-winning USA TODAY bestselling author of more than one hundred novels, including those in reader-favourite series Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and Shades of Death. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra has a love of storytelling that goes back to her childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com

Also by Debra Webb

In Self Defense

The Dark Woods

The Stranger Next Door

The Safest Lies

Witness Protection Widow

Finding the Edge

Sin and Bone

Body of Evidence

Dark Whispers

Still Waters

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Before He Vanished

Debra Webb

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90499-9

BEFORE HE VANISHED

© 2020 Debra Webb

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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This book is dedicated to the many, many children who

go missing every day and the determined folks who

work so hard to find them.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

About the Publisher

Chapter One

NOW

Friday, March 6

Winchester, Tennessee

Halle Lane listened as her fellow newspaper reporter droned on and on about the upcoming community events in Winchester that he planned to cover, which was basically everything on the calendar for the next month.

She couldn’t really complain. Halle was new. Hardly ninety days on the job, but she knew Winchester every bit as well as Mr. Roger Hawkins. She couldn’t bring herself to call him Rog. The man was seventy if he was a day and he’d covered the social events of Winchester for about fifty of those years.

How could she—a fading-star investigative journalist from Nashville—expect to get first dibs on anything in Winchester? Hawkins had the social events, including obituaries. Her boss and the owner of the newspaper, Audrey Anderson-Tanner, generally took care of the big stories. The only potential for a break in the monotony of covering barroom brawls and petty break-ins was the fact that Audrey was pregnant. At nearly thirty-eight, she was expecting her first child.

Halle had wanted to jump for joy when she heard the news last month. She was, of course, very happy for Audrey and her husband, Sheriff Colt Tanner, but mostly she was thrilled at the idea that she might actually get her hands on a real story sometime this decade.

So far that had not happened. Audrey had covered the big federal trial of Harrison Armone last month. His son’s widow, the sole witness against him, had been hiding out in Winchester for months. Surprisingly for such a small town, Winchester had more than its share of big news happenings. This time last year a body had been discovered in the basement of this very newspaper building. Halle’s gaze shifted to the head of the conference table, where her boss listened with seemingly rapt interest as Hawkins went on and on.

It seemed Winchester also had more than its share of family secrets, as well. A man posing as a Mennonite had turned out to be a former member of a Chicago mob. Not a month later, Sasha Lenoir-Holloway had uncovered the truth about the deaths of her parents. Cece Winters had come home from prison a few months back and blown open the truth about her family and the cult-like extremists living in a remote area of Franklin County.

Nashville had nothing on Winchester, it seemed.

“This all sounds good, Rog,” Audrey said, her voice pulling Halle back to the here and now.

The boss’s gaze shifted to her and Halle realized her mistake. She had been silently bemoaning all the stories she’d missed and now it was her turn to share with those gathered what she was working on for this week’s Sunday edition.

“Halle, what do you have planned?” Audrey asked.

For five endless seconds she racked her brain for something, anything to say.

Then her gaze landed on the date written in black across the white board.

March 6.

Memories whispered through her mind. Voices and images from her childhood flooded her senses. Blond hair, blue eyes…

“The lost boy,” Halle said in a rush. The words had her heart pounding.

Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that last month or the month before?

Audrey frowned for a moment, then made an “aha” face. “Excellent idea. We’ve just passed what? Twenty-four years?”

“Twenty-five,” Halle confirmed. “Andy Clark was my neighbor. We played together all the time as kids.”

Brian Peterson, the editor of the Winchester Gazette, chimed in next. “What makes you think Nancy Clark will allow an interview? She hasn’t in all these years.”

Audrey made a frustrated face. “That is true. You tried to interview her for both the ten-year and the twenty-year anniversaries, didn’t you?”

Brian nodded. “I did. She refused to talk about it. Since her husband passed away year before last, she’s practically a shut-in. She stopped attending church. Has whatever she needs delivered.” He shrugged, shifted his attention to Halle. “Good luck with that one.”

Halle’s anticipation deflated. Hawkins looked at her as if she were something to be pitied.

“Still,” Audrey said, “if you could get the story, it would be huge. Maybe since you and the boy, Andy, played together as children before he vanished, she might just talk to you.”

Halle’s hopes lifted once more. “I’m certain she will.”

The conference room started to buzz with excitement. Titles were tossed about. Potential placement on the front page above the fold.

All Halle had to do was make it happen.

HALLE CRUISED ALONG the street on the east side of the courthouse, braking at a crosswalk for a mother pushing a stroller. That little ache that pricked each time she saw a baby did so now. Passing thirty had flipped some switch that had her yearning for a child of her own.

Now that she was back home, her chances of finding a partner, much less having a child, had dropped to something less than zero.

Winchester was a very small town compared to Nashville. With a population of around ten thousand, if you counted Decherd in the mix, it truly was the sort of place where everyone knew everyone else.

There were times when this could be a very good thing. Like when Andy Clark went missing twenty-five years ago. Halle had been just a little kid, but she remembered well how citizens from all over this county as well as those surrounding it had rushed to help look for Andy. Headlines about “the lost boy” scrolled across every newspaper in the state. His face was all over the news. Detectives and FBI agents were in and out of the Clark home for months.

But Andy had vanished without a trace.

Halle turned onto South High Street. The Clark home was on the corner of South High and Sixth Avenue. The historic Victorian was among the town’s oldest homes. A meticulously manicured lawn and sprawling front porch greeted visitors. She pulled to the curb in front of the house and shut off the engine. The ancient maple on the Sixth Avenue side of the lawn had been Andy’s and her favorite climbing tree.

Next door was Halle’s childhood home. Her parents, Judith and Howard, had been thrilled when she’d announced last Christmas that she would be moving back to Winchester. They had, of course, insisted that she move back into her old room. As much as she appreciated the offer and adored her parents, that was not happening. Eventually the two had talked her into taking the apartment over the detached garage where her Aunt Daisy, the old maid everyone always whispered about, had once lived, God rest her soul.

Considering she would have her own parking spot and a separate entrance, Halle decided it wasn’t such a bad idea. She would have her privacy and her parents would have their only daughter—only child, actually—living at home again.

A win-win for all involved. As long as she didn’t dwell on the fact that she had turned thirty-two at the end of last month and that her one and only marriage had ended in divorce two years ago or that her ex-husband had since remarried and had a child—no matter that he had said they were too young for children when she had wanted one.

Not.

Maybe the garage apartment was fitting considering her mother’s peers all now whispered about her unmarried status. Bless her heart, she’s like poor Daisy.

Halle heaved a weary sigh.

The divorce had turned her world upside down, shaken her as nothing ever had. She’d lost her footing, and the upheaval had shown in her work. Just as she’d begun to pull her professional self together again, she’d been let go. Cutbacks, they had said. But she’d known the truth. Her work had sucked for two years.

It was a flat-out miracle they had allowed her to keep working as long as they had.

Luckily for Halle, Audrey was open to second chances. She had understood how one’s life could go completely awry. Though the Winchester Gazette was only a small biweekly newspaper, it was a reasonable starting place to rebuild Halle’s career.

She climbed out of the car, draped her leather bag over her shoulder and closed the door. The midmorning air was crisp but Halle much preferred it to what would come between June and September. The melting heat and suffocating humidity. The not-so-pleasant part of Southern living.

Stepping up onto the porch, she heard the swing chains squeak as the breeze nudged this wooden mainstay of every Southern porch gently back and forth. On the other end of the sprawling outdoor space stood a metal glider, still sporting its original green paint, offering a restful place to sit and watch the street. But Mrs. Clark never sat on her porch anymore. Halle’s mother had said the lady rarely stepped out the door, just as Brian had also mentioned. But Mrs. Clark did come to the door as long as she could identify the person knocking or ringing her bell. Whether she opened the door was another story.

Halle hadn’t attempted to visit her in years. She was relatively certain she hadn’t seen the woman since her husband’s funeral two years ago. The one thing Halle never had to worry about was being recognized. With her fiery mass of unruly red curls, the impossible-to-camouflage freckles and the mossy green eyes, folks rarely forgot her face. The other kids in school had been ruthless with the ginger-and-carrottop jokes but Andy had always defended her…at least until he was gone.

God, she had missed her best friend. Even at seven, losing your best friend was incredibly traumatic.

Halle stepped to the door and lifted her fist and knocked.

“What do you want?”

The voice behind the closed door was a little rusty, as if it wasn’t used often, but it was reasonably strong.

“Mrs. Clark, you might not remember me—”

“Of course I remember you. What do you want?”

It was a starting place.

“Ma’am, may I come inside and speak with you?” She bit her bottom lip and searched for a good reason. “It’s a little chilly here on the porch.” Not exactly true, but not entirely a lie.

A latch clicked. Anticipation caught her breath. Another click and the knob turned. The door drew inward a couple of feet. Nancy Clark stood in the shadows beyond the reach of daylight. Her hair looked as unruly as Halle’s and it was as white as cotton. She was shorter than Halle remembered.

“Come in.”

The door drew inward a little more and Halle crossed the threshold. Her heart was really pumping now. She reminded herself that just because she was inside didn’t mean she would manage an interview.

One step at a time, Hal.

The elderly lady closed the door and locked it. So maybe she anticipated Halle staying awhile. Another good sign.

“I was having tea in the kitchen,” that rusty voice said.

When she turned and headed deeper into the gloom of the house, Halle followed. She knew this house as well as she knew her own. Until she was seven years old it had been her second home. More of those childhood memories whispered through her, even ones her mother had told her about before Halle was old enough to retain the images herself.

Her mother had laughed and recounted to her the many times she’d had tea with Nancy while the babies toddled around the kitchen floor. The Clarks had not always lived in Winchester, Halle’s mother had told her. They had bought the house when their little boy was two years old, just before Easter. Judith Lane had been thrilled to have a neighbor with a child around the same age as her own. Halle had been twenty months old. Even the fathers, Howard and Andrew, had become fast friends.

It was perfect for five years.

Then Andy disappeared.

The shriek of the kettle yanked Halle’s attention back to the present.

“You want cream?”

“That would be nice.” She forced a smile into place as she stood in the kitchen watching Mrs. Clark fix the tea.

Nancy prepared their tea in classic bone china patterned with clusters of pink flowers ringing the cups. She placed the cups in their saucers and then onto a tray. She added the matching cream pitcher and sugar bowl.

Halle held her breath as the elderly woman with her tiny birdlike arms carried the tray to the dining table. To be back in this home, after so many years, to be talking with this woman who’d occupied a special place in her heart because of her relationship to Andy was enough to make Halle feel lightheaded.

“Get the cookies,” Nancy called over her shoulder.

Halle turned back to the counter and picked up the small plate, then followed the same path the lady had taken. They sat, added sugar to their tea and then tested the taste and heat level. Mrs. Clark offered the plate of cookies and Halle took a small one and nibbled.

Rather than rush the conversation, she reacquainted herself with the paintings and photographs on the wall. Beyond the wide doorway, she could see the stunning painting over the fireplace in the main parlor. Andy had been five at the time. His hair had been so blond, his eyes so blue. Such a sweet and handsome boy. She hadn’t a clue about what handsome even was or any of that stuff back then; she had only known that she loved him like another part of her family…of herself. They had been inseparable.

“Twenty-five years.”

Halle’s attention swung to the woman who sat at the other end of the table. She looked so frail, so small. The many wrinkles on her face spoke of more than age. They spoke of immense pain, harrowing devastation. Worrying for twenty-five long years if her child was alive. If he had been tortured and murdered.

If she would ever see him again.

“Yes, ma’am,” Halle agreed.

Nancy Clark set her tea cup down and placed her palms flat on the table. “You want to write an article about him, don’t you?”

Halle dared to nod, her heart pounding. This was the moment of truth. Would she be able to persuade Mrs. Clark to open up to her, to give her the answers she needed as much for the story as for her own peace of mind? “It would mean a great deal to me.”

“If you’ve done your homework, you’re aware I’ve never given an interview. Nor did my Andrew.”

“I am and I understand why.”

Her head angled ever so slightly as she stared down the table at Halle. “Really? What is it you think you understand?”

Halle nodded. “How can you adequately articulate that kind of loss? That sort of pain? You loved him more than anything in this world and someone took him from you. How could you possibly find the right words?”

Mrs. Clark’s gaze fell first, then her head bowed.

Halle held her breath. Whether the lady believed her or agreed with her, Halle did understand. She had loved Andy, too, and she had missed him so very badly.

Deep down she still did. A part of her was missing. There was a hole that no one else could possibly fill. The bond between them had been strong.

When Mrs. Clark lifted her head once more, she stared directly at Halle for so long she feared she had said the wrong thing. She was making a decision, Halle knew, but what would it be?

“Very well,” she said slowly but firmly. “I will tell you the story and you can find the right words. It’s time.”

Halle’s lips spread into a smile and she nodded. “I would love to.”

Silence filled the room for a long minute.

“I was almost forty before the good Lord blessed me with a child.”

Halle reached into her bag for her notepad and a pen. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

A glint of bravado flashed in Nancy’s gray eyes. “I’d mind if you didn’t.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up in Halle’s throat, and she relaxed. She placed her notepad on the table and flipped to a clean page, then readied her pen.

“Andrew and I were so happy when Andy came into our lives,” Nancy said, her voice soft, her gaze lost to some faraway time and place. “We wanted to raise our boy somewhere safe, with good schools. We did a great deal of research before selecting Winchester.” She sighed. “It was perfect when we found this house right next door to a couple who had a child almost the same age.” She stared at Halle for a moment. “Andy adored you.”

“I adored him.”

Distance filled her gaze once more. “We were happier than we’d ever believed it was possible to be.”

“What do you remember about that day, Mrs. Clark?”

It wasn’t necessary for Halle to be more specific. The other woman understood what she meant.

“March 1. Wednesday. I walked to school with you and Andy that day. It was chilly, like today.” Her lips—lips that hung in a perpetual frown—lifted slightly with a faint smile. “He was wearing that worn-out orange hoodie. He loved that thing but it was so old and shabby. I feared the other children would make fun of him.”

“I remember that hoodie. I begged my mother to get me one just like it but, you know my parents, they’re hardcore Alabama football fans. No orange allowed. And don’t worry, no one ever made fun of Andy. All the other kids liked him.”

Mrs. Clark dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Thank you for saying so.”

“My dad picked me up early that afternoon,” Halle said. “He’d had to take Mother to the hospital.”

Nancy nodded. “I remember.”

What Halle’s mother had thought was a lingering cold turned out to be pneumonia. She’d almost waited too long before admitting that she needed to see a doctor. They’d hospitalized her immediately. Halle had stayed with her Aunt Daisy for a solid week in that garage apartment where she lived now.

But that day, March 1 twenty-five years ago, the police had arrived before supper. Within twenty-four hours reporters from all over the state were camped out on the street.

Andy Clark had vanished.

“I was late,” Nancy confessed, pain twisting her face. “Andrew was at work in Tullahoma and I had a flat tire. With your parents at the hospital, there was nothing to do but call someone to repair my tire. By the time I was backing out of the driveway, school had been out for only fifteen minutes but that was fifteen minutes too long.”

“According to the police report,” Halle said, “witnesses stated that Andy waited about ten minutes and then started to walk home.”

She nodded. “There were witnesses who saw him less than a block from home.”

Whoever took him had snatched him only a few hundred yards from his own front door.

“There was never a ransom demand,” Halle said. “No contact at all from the kidnapper.”

“Nothing.” A heavy breath shook the woman’s frail shoulders. “It was as if he disappeared into thin air.”

“You and your husband hired private investigators.” Halle’s parents had said as much.