My eyes snap up to him so fast that I grow dizzy. Maintaining an impassive tone, I ask, “Was this the first sighting since her abduction?” I shouldn’t have bothered attempting to alter my tone. I sound pissed. Rightfully so. No one sighted Melissa. They dumped her like a discarded toy. She made them millions, yet they threw her out with the trash.
“Yes.” Alex joins me at his desk. “But that doesn’t mean?—”
I cut him off with a growl. The numerous marks on Melissa’s stomach and exposed uterus show she has given birth to many children. He can’t tell me this isn’t a sign that her kidnappers held her captive for two decades, only disposing of her once her womanly clock expired.
I realize the rumblings of my outside-of-hours investigation are reaching the top tier of the bureau when Alex sighs heavily before saying, “I was told to keep you off this case.”
“But you didn’t, because you know the same as I do. I am the best agent to close this case.”
His chin veers toward his chest, and it swells my chest with pride. I’ve straddled the line of lawful and unlawful for years,confident it would get me closer to the men responsible for Cameron’s disappearance. This flexibility lets me play on any team, though it often disappoints men like Alex and our father.
“When are wheels up?”
Alex checks his watch—thewatch I was supposed to inherit. “Around an hour.”
I jerk up my chin, wordlessly assuring him that I will be on that jet, before I spin on my heel.
I’m halfway out of his office when he calls my name.
He doesn’t speak until I turn to face him. “The primary investigator on this case is reluctant to leave. I need you to make her departure a priority.” Suspicion runs rife through my veins when he reveals that this isn’t just a covert operation. It is off the hierarchy’s radar entirely. “You will have a team at your disposal, but for the most part, you will be on your own. I was told not to waste resources on this since they’re not confident the bodies aren’t being dumped stateside after being killed abroad.”
Confirmation of his first request blazes through my eyes before I give him the respect he’s given me. “What’s your gut telling you?”
He scrubs a hand over his bushy jaw before replying, “More is happening in this sleepy coastal community than people believe, and it shouldn’t matter where they were killed. They’re American citizens under our protection, whether on our soil or not.”
“Then I guess this is a good time to tell you that intuition doesn’t tell you what you want to hear. It tells you?—”
“What youneedto hear,” Alex says with me.
His smirk mimics mine, and one thirty years older than me, as he says, “Get this case wrapped up and then come home. Kailany turns one next month, and she wantsallher uncles and aunts in attendance.”
As images of the little green-eyed devil coexisting as his daughter flash before my eyes, I dip my chin before leaving his office with more spring in my step than I entered it with.
2
GRAYSON
The jet touches down with a jolt, adding to the flips my stomach hasn’t been without for the past five hours. I went over the case files a dozen times during the flight, and the details have made a mess of my stomach. It is usually ironclad, except for cases like this. I often picture Cameron as the victim I’m searching for, even when I know it isn’t her.
Take Katie Bryne’s abduction and eventual extraction as a prime example. I told myself repeatedly that Katie wasn’t Cameron, but I never believed it until she walked straight back into the arms of the man who had purchased her when she was barely eighteen.
While shaking my head in disbelief, I shift my attention back to stacking the files into a soft leather briefcase. The lead agent on this case kept thorough and meticulous records. Her notes are detailed and demonstrate her top-notch investigative skills. But this case feels different, more personal. It feels like I am finally close to bringing Cameron home, but also about to lose her entirely—like that makes any fucking sense.
After shaking hands with the pilot, I step off the plane and make my way through the airport of a small coastal communitynot far from San Diego. The salty air that hits me when I wave down a cab is refreshing and rejuvenating—unlike the stale air that greets me upon arriving at the headquarters for this region of the bureau.
The town is quaint, with colorful beachfront houses and a laid-back atmosphere, but HQ is full of overworked employees.
I guess that’s expected. The agents assigned here aren’t on vacation.
I flash my badge at the receptionist, who is making gaga eyes at me, before I veer my steps toward a door marked Supervisor. I rarely “play,” but on the odd occasion years ago, it is never close enough to home to smell the putrid scent of guilt when I can’t hold back an itch for companionship a moment more.
While talking on the phone, Special Supervisory Agent Markwell gestures for me to come in. After dumping my bag at the door, I do as asked. Markwell’s office is modest, blending with the blandness of the rest of the building, but it teems with a sense of urgency. Multiple case files are stacked on his bulky desk, and the top three relate to my deployment to his division.
That is a clear sign he wants this case off his desk as fast as I desire to find Cameron.
Once his call ends, I introduce myself. “Special Supervisory Agent Grayson Rogers. I’m here to relieve Agent…” My words fade when I recall how the files Alex delivered to the jet didn’t have an agent’s name attached to them. They were blank, much like the many reports I’ve lodged about Cameron’s case over the last fourteen years.
Against my better judgment, I say, “I am here regarding case file number 152-SD-54371.”
