He came to stand beside her, close enough to see his reflection in the window—two ghosts framed by the pulse of a heart monitor. “You were betting on me?”
“I was betting you wouldn’t be able to help yourself,” she said, and her mouth curved just enough to suggest she wasn’t sorry about it. “I knew you’d give it a day, but then instinct would kick in and here you are.”
He watched the slow rise and fall of the girl’s chest. “Guess you know me better than I thought.”
“I spent years watching you chase ghosts across this state. You get that look, the one you have right now, and it’s game over.”
He glanced at her. “That so?”
“You’re not here for a visit. You’re here because you see a pattern, smell a puzzle, and a young girl is fighting for her life. You can’t walk away from that.”
He wanted to argue, but she wasn’t wrong.
“Vitals are holding,” Chloe said, switching to business. “She came around earlier. Scared. Thrashed hard enough to pull her IV. It wasn’t purposeful, just instinct. They’ve had to sedate her a couple of times.”
“Photos?”
“Taken. Clothing bagged. Chain of custody’s clean.” She gave him a sharp look. “Before you ask—which isn’t your job anymore.”
“No, it’s not.” Buddy folded his arms, eyes still on the girl. “You said she came around—did she say anything?”
“One word.” Chloe rubbed the back of her neck. “Blue. Nurse isn’t sure that’s what she heard since the girl was so frantic. I’m not convinced, and neither are you, because you’re here.” She held up her hand before he could even open his mouth. “I know you were with Fallon when I texted her because I had lunch with her today, so don’t deny it. She told me you reacted to the word. Told me you went right to human trafficking. Told me you then back-peddled.”
“Okay. She mentioned the word, and yeah, I went there. And so have you and Dawson.”
The door opened behind them, and Dawson’s voice filled the small space before his body did. “Well damn, why couldn’t you have come in last night so I would’ve won fifty bucks?”
Buddy turned. “I was busy.”
Dawson held a to-go cup in one hand, a folder in the other, and the kind of exhaustion that comes from carrying a town on your shoulders. “You planning to make a habit of showing up at my crime scenes?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good.” Dawson’s tone said he didn’t believe him. “I’m not mad you’re here, but this isn’t a reunion tour. And I gotta say this shit, and you know it. So, let's get it out of the way, so we can do what we do best. You don’t touch. You don’t talk to nurses. You breathe near a piece of evidence, and I’ll have you escorted out by Jasper.”
Buddy lifted a hand. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout.”
“True,” Buddy said, “but I’m capable of behaving.”
Chloe snorted softly, still watching the bed. “He’s here because he has a theory on our victims' word choice.”
“Oh, really.” Dawson shifted his weight. He passed Chloe the folder. “Because we’ve got nothing. Lab has her clothing, but there was nothing identifiable. No ID, no wallet, no jewelry. Prints don’t match anyone local or in-state.”
“Nothing in the FBI missing persons database?” Buddy asked.
“We sent a picture over, but so far, no hits,” Dawson said. “We’ve got her photo circulating, but unless she’s got family checking in every few hours, it’ll take time.”
“Someone’s missing her,” Chloe murmured.
Buddy studied the girl’s face. There was something about her jawline—stubborn, even in sleep. “She’s young,” he said. “Too young for no one to notice.”
“Not always,” Chloe said. Her voice softened, just a little. “Sometimes people disappear, and the world just keeps going.”
Buddy couldn’t argue that point. He’d seen it too many times.
“So, tell me your thoughts on what she said.” Dawson inched closer to the window separating them from the private room and the hallway that led to the main corridor.
