Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

computer on the gray metal desk, and wooden chairs. They shook hands, and the man introduced himself as Detective José Miranda.
“You say you have lost your brother,” Detective Miranda said, to her relief, in English.
“My stepbrother,” she corrected. “He hasn’t checked in for a few weeks. His sister is worried that something has happened to him.”
“Mmm,” Detective Miranda replied.
He was tapping a key on his computer. “And you filed your report with the local police?”
“Yes,” she said. “Though they told me that because he was last seen in Nicaragua, there is not much they can do. I was hoping you could tell me something different.”
He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid your information is correct.”
“What if he was running from something? He attacked a taxi driver. What if someone was coming after him, to get back at him, or something?” Cassidy had no idea what she was talking about. “There’ve been murders in Costa Rica, for drug trafficking and smuggling. Could he have been involved in something illegal like that?”
“The report for his assault is here, but it looks like he was fined and then released. I see no drug-related charges.”
“How about heroin overdoses? I hear Tamarindo has a problem.”
The man eyes flashed. “Heroin is a problem everywhere. Tamarindo is not unique.”
“But do your records show if the assault was related to heroin sales, or activity, or if the victim or Reeve ever overdosed?”
Detective Miranda shook his head.
Cassidy switched tracks. “Did Reeve pay his fine?”
“Yes,” Detective Miranda said after a glance at the screen.
“Could he have fled to Nicaragua because he was being chased by someone?”
“It’s possible,” the detective said, though not very convincingly.
Cassidy sat back and sighed. This was going nowhere. “Should I go to Nicaragua?”
The detective sized her up with a look of scrutiny. “I cannot answer that for you.”
“Well, are you going to look into it, at least? He was living in Tamarindo before he disappeared. He’s a U.S. citizen.”
“You could try the U.S. Embassy in San José.”
“No,” Cassidy growled, as her head began to throb. She had spent enough time on this wild goose chase.
“How do you know foul play is a factor?” the detective said, shifting in his chair. “Sometimes people want to disappear.”
“Maybe,” she replied. The poster of the young girl in the hotel room flashed into her mind. “Could he have been kidnapped?”
“Yes,” the detective said. “But from what you say, he came ashore in San Juan del Sur of his own free will and did not come back.”
“So he could have been kidnapped in San Juan.”
“Yes.”
They both sat in silence for a moment. Cassidy knew that if some kind of crime or kidnapping had occurred in Nicaragua more than two weeks ago, Reeve was probably . . . she couldn’t finish the thought. He had called her for help. And she had ignored him, too consumed with her own pain to answer the phone. A feeling of doom pulled at her already raw emotions. What would she tell Rebecca? And her stepmother Pamela?
She squinted at the bright daylight outside the office, the low sun heating the air to a sultry inferno that made her head dizzy and her legs feel like they were on fire. Somehow, she made it to the bus stop, boarded the correct bus, and collapsed into the nearest empty seat. The ache in her chest that had begun to throb in the detective’s office now expanded to her shoulders, thighs, even her ears were ringing. It was too bright, too loud. She curled into a ball, tucking her head down, and tried to close it all out.
When she arrived back in Tamarindo, the bar at Crazy Mike’s Friday night happy hour was gearing up. Rico stood at the front desk, flirting with Aliana. He was shirtless, wearing board shorts, and holding a giant longboard. When he saw Cassidy, his eyes lit up. “You coming out?” he said, tilting his head towards the beach. “Some good rides gonna be had out there,” he added.
Cassidy paused. She had intended to take a long shower and hole up at a corner table so she could get some more work accomplished. A very real deadline for a paper she was writing loomed like a big, black cloud. The bar would be too noisy, she realized. And, after a peek towards the waves, which were lit by a soft sunset glow, she decided that a dose of salt was what she needed. The paper could be put off for one more day.
Cassidy paddled the longboard outside the breakers and sat up to wait. Shading her eyes against the low-lying sun, she took in the other surfers lined up like birds on a wire. The peaks were messy and sloppy, breaking here, then there, outside or inside, but she had no complaints. Behind her, the distant mountains, colored purple and black, with hazy clouds stacked above them, presided over the landscape like a royal court.
A wave came her way, and she swung the big board around, paddled a few strokes, and dropped in. Down the line, a Tico had joined her. Normally, this would be bad etiquette, but the wave’s face didn’t stay open long enough for him to get in her way, and they both swung their boards over the lip before it closed out, and paddled back out. It was Macho, his squiggly curls dappled with tiny drops of seawater that reflected in the sunlight like golden beads.
He grinned at her, revealing his bright, white teeth. “Buenos tardes,” he said.
“Tardes,” Cassidy echoed—keeping it short on purpose. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone and was afraid he would bring up Reeve, or the visit to his apartment he had promised. She didn’t want to see it, didn’t want to know any more about it. The two of them reached the lineup and sat up. Cassidy twisted her hair into a messy bun and secured it with an elastic she pulled off her wrist.
A handful of Tico surfers joined Macho,