The horrifying scream cut off as the hallway door closed behind me, sealing me in the building. I slipped the badass pink stun gun from my coat pocket and held it out in front of me as I made my way to the end of the hall.

I pushed my back against the side wall, giving myself a better view of the other door in the hallway-the place where the scream originated. Last night before bed, I watched five YouTube videos on stun gun safety. I honed my skills. Whoever caused that ear drum rupturing scream was about to get the surprise of their life.

Dark spots speckled on the gray carpet, and I paused, staring at them. Blood? My foot flicked at one, trying to rub it in. No. Just a design on the carpet. How had I not noticed that?

I reached the end of the hallway and stopped directly across from the door, took a deep breath, and then charged, kicking the large, heavy door open with my foot.

It slammed against the wall with a thud, and five tall men stared back at me on a self-built stage in the middle of the room. The one in the center bent at his middle and coughed, his body racking with the movement. He might lose a lung with that much hacking.

"What the fuck?" a blond holding a guitar demanded, jumping off the platform and stalking toward me.

"Ummm," I held the stun gun higher, searching for the screamer. "I heard a scream."

The guitar player laughed. "I told you that scream sounded girly, Sebastian."

"Fuck off, Leo," the man on stage with a microphone said.

"That scream came from him?" I lowered the stun gun but didn't put it away.

"Yeah, we're considering a switch to death metal, but Sebastian doesn't have the lungs for it."

The guy in question shot out a middle finger at his guitar player while he poured water down his throat from a plastic bottle and then sputtered, shooting most of it onto the wooden stage.

"Or the throat." He positioned the guitar over his back and held out a hand in my direction. "Leo."

"Vines. Vonnie Vines," I said, trying to sound cool like 007. I was still working on my tag line and greeting. I didn't love the sound of ripping off 007, but so far I hadn't come up with anything better. A name introduction set an entire mood, so it was important I get it right.

"Death metal?" I asked as the guy on stage wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Leo shrugged. "It's not a far stretch from our current rock. Thought we might have more luck with it, but poor Sebastian is going to put himself in the hospital at this rate."

"I said fuck you, Leo. Let's go again. I'm fine."

"Fuck yes," Leo said, and slung his guitar to the front of his chest again. "Sorry, Love. Time to work."

I took a step backward into the hallway and allowed him to close the door in my face, too shocked at not finding a half-dead woman but a confused rock band.

And I didn't get to use the stun gun. What a shame.

A drum beat pounded out from behind the closed door and I rambled my way back to my office, wanting to get out of the hallway before another bellow made its way through the space.

The next scream punctuated my ass hitting the seat of my chair. Ugh. Wonderful. I rolled it up to the desk and did my best to ignore the horrible sounds seeping in from the hallway.

My left eye twitched thirty seconds in, and I gave in to the madness. I'd get nothing done in the office if they planned to scream all night. I'd lost almost two hours with Anderson and his arrest attempt, and the night closed in quickly this time of year.

Screw it.

Katy's box was still chilling underneath my desk and I dragged it out against the dirty carpet and held it in front of my chest. I definitely needed some arm workouts, but Katy trusted me and I couldn't leave her box alone.

Again.

From here on out, I'd totally be on the box like white on rice.

Rather than call it an entire night and drive home, I took the box, the lost Brent flyers, and a box of thumb tacks to my car.

Night was already here, but that didn't mean I couldn't get a bit more progress in before calling it a day. I bypassed my street and continued on to Jimmy's home. It looked the same. No parties happening, no one removing chunks of carpet, and no mysterious new cars in the driveway.

I stopped on the other side of the street in front of his big bay window and stared. If Jimmy didn't move in his secret lover and blow the act of being the grieving husband, maybe he really was grieving.

It sucked, and I hated to admit it, but maybe Jimmy didn't kill Jalinda. If Jimmy didn't do it, and he didn't plan it with his lover, who killed Jalinda? What were their motives? How long until they collected?

I really didn't want to give up on "the husband did it" theory, but the evidence might force my hand.

Why couldn't my first big case be cut and dried? I could have walked in on the killer and snapped a picture.

A marked police car turned onto Jimmy's road, and I didn't believe they were there to question Mrs. Coogs on Brent, so I took my foot from the brake and inched forward before they spotted my car and asked questions.

I passed Mrs. Coogs' house at twenty miles an hour, giving her side yard a lengthy glance but not finding any signs of Brent. Damn dog. If I couldn't easily find a murderer, shouldn't the universe at least make Brent jump into my arms?

The street lights turned on as I parked at the end of Main Street and spent a moment gazing out over the ocean as waves crashed against the frosted shoreline. A freezing gust of air came in from the ocean and circled around me, forcing me to zip my coat up to my neck.

I balanced the flyers and box of thumbtacks on top of Katy's box and walked to the first telephone pole at the end of the street. They'd cleaned the sidewalks from snow, so I put the box on a dry patch. I planned to use the thumbtacks from my corkboard with red yarn to connect the people in Jalinda's death, but since I only had her and Jimmy so far, I could use a few on the hunt for Brent.

The hardware store closed at five and my SEAL hadn't shown up with the staple gun he said he'd provide. A girl couldn't wait around for the men in her life to get their shit together. She had to improvise.

I stuck a flyer to the pole and used four thumbtacks to secure it to the wood. The metal ends cut through my gloves and pinched the skin on my thumb. The bulky material made it hard to grab the tacks and by the third pole I'd poked myself at least a hundred times. With my current luck, the blood was pooling beneath the fabric and would freeze into a blood ice cube.

Wonderful visual, Vonnie.

Darkness descended in full on the street, the street lamps the only thing illuminating the path on the quiet road. I'd only been outside a short time-fifteen minutes or less-but the cold cut against my skin. My cheeks had to be a deep shade of red if they weren't already suffering from frostbite. Everything in town closed early in the winter months, meaning I couldn't stop in and get a drink from Anessa, but the diner maintained later hours for those people wanting dinner. They'd have a warm booth.

If I counted the change in my car, I might have enough to afford a sandwich and coffee. If I used the pennies.

I dropped Katy's box beside the next pole and refilled my stash of flyers and tacks before starting on the next flyer. You wouldn't be able to walk in downtown without seeing Brent's face plastered on every pole. After I finished the job, I'd head to the diner and get myself a treat.

My phone rang, vibrating my coat pocket. I slammed in the last tack, biting my teeth through the pain against the sensitive skin on my thumb from the tack abuse. Mick, my mentor's name, flashed on the screen and I hurried to answer while walking with flyers and tacks to the next pole.

I couldn't handle much more cold but still had at least five more poles to flyer just on this side of the street. If I wanted to get out of here before losing a toe, I had to multitask.

"Hey, Mick," I said, holding the phone against my ear with my shoulder and placing a flyer against the pole.

He panted into the phone. "Vonnie, what have you got today?"

I opened my mouth to tell him about my progress on Brent's missing flyers, but this was Mick. He wouldn't consider a missing dog a job. He never commented because he enjoyed cashing my checks, but I'd always gotten the impression he found a woman PI a joke.

Shit.

I moved to the next pole, lost in thought on how to spin this.

"Vonnie!" he yelled, shattering my progress.

"Sorry, Mick. Poor signal. I got a call this morning from a Mrs. Coogs." Thankfully, Mick didn't live in Pelican Bay and names meant nothing to him. "She's got me hunting for her son Brent because the police don't want to get involved yet."

Mick laughed. "Good. Good. Missing person cases pay well. It's best to get in there and solve it before the police get their heads out of their asses."

"Yup." My thumb throbbed as I tacked on the last pin and moved to the next pole.

"Where does she think he went?" Mick pressed, and I sighed.

I didn't want to lie, but I also couldn't get into too many details. "She has it in her head that Brent ran away with the neighbor's... pussy." I bit my lip. Totally not a lie.

Mick burst into a fit of laughter. "Chasing tail has led many men astray. Search the local bars and hotels. More than likely, they didn't go far. Try for a money shot. Remember the saying: You'll get rich quick with a dick pic."

I gagged against the light pole, trying not to picture dicks everywhere. "Right."

Mick disconnected the call without an official goodbye-his standard MO-and I shoved it back in my pocket, ready to head home for the night. Call it intuition or some shit, but something told me Mick wouldn't want to see Brent's penis. It'd be one hell of a shock.

I chuckled to myself and bent over ready to retrieve Katy's box only to come up empty-handed.

"Fuck me," I said to no one.

Shit.