Leaving their car parked at the curb, Nick and Christian approached a weathered, beige wooden house that had clearly seen better days. It stood slightly askew, its windows grimy and opaque. The scent of decaying wood hung in the air, a testament to years of neglect.

The detectives rang the doorbell, its muffled chime barely audible through the thick wooden door. After a moment, it creaked open to reveal a short, thin woman with gray hair cut close to her scalp. She wore a long, shapeless gray robe that seemed to swallow her diminutive frame. Nick estimated her age to be somewhere between sixty-five and seventy. Her face was set in an expression of extreme displeasure, as if their very presence on her doorstep was an affront.

This, Nick realized, must be Bradley Force's foster mother. Her lack of surprise at their visit spoke volumes – clearly, the police were not unfamiliar visitors to this household.

"What do you want?" the woman demanded, her voice high and grating.

"Good morning, ma'am," Nick began, striving for a polite tone despite the woman's hostility. "We need to speak with your son, Bradley. We have a few questions for him. May we come inside?"

"No!" she snapped, her voice rising even higher. "I haven't seen him in ages. I have no idea where he is or who he's with!"

Her words dripped with indifference, a stark contrast to the heated tone of her voice. At that moment, a black cat slunk out of the house, winding its way around the woman's ankles.

"Damned cat!" she exclaimed, scooping the animal into her arms. Without another word, she simply slammed the door in their faces.

"Well, she's clearly got some issues," Nick thought to himself, shaking his head with a heavy sigh.

"What now?" Christian asked, looking as perplexed as Nick felt.

"Steven's house isn't far from here," Nick mused. "Let's check there. Maybe our guy is hanging out with his buddy."

Steven's residence proved to be remarkably similar to Bradley's – another single-story structure showing clear signs of age and neglect. The only notable difference was its color, or what remained of it. Years of rain had stripped away so much of the paint that it was difficult to determine its original hue, leaving behind a mottled patchwork somewhere between blue and gray. A rusty, unlocked gate stood sentinel before the house.

They rang the doorbell several times, but were met with only silence. Nick took a walk around the perimeter, peering into windows and listening for any signs of life within. The house appeared to be completely vacant, giving the impression that it had been abandoned for quite some time.

"You know, Christian," Nick said, his voice laden with concern, "I really don't like the fact that these two have vanished right after Rose's death. Could they really be involved in this?"

Christian shrugged, his expression a mix of doubt and resignation. "I don't know what to think, Nick. These guys are Grade-A jerks, sure, but murder? Especially Rose, who they've known since school? She's the sheriff's daughter, for crying out loud. I can't imagine they'd have the guts for something like that."

"Maybe you're right," Nick conceded, though he couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something crucial. "But we still need to find them. Let's head over to Jeffrey's place, then back to the station. We need to dig deeper into Bradley and Steven's backgrounds. Clearly, our information on their current whereabouts is outdated."

As they made their way back to the car, Nick couldn't help but feel a sense of urgency. They needed to locate Bradley and Steven before Jeffrey took matters into his own hands. The grieving father's barely contained rage was a powder keg waiting to explode, and Nick feared what might happen if Jeffrey got to the suspects before the police did.