Thankful for the question because it required him to push away emotions and focus on facts, Tristan answered, "Not really. I did find two other girls besides the one from the bar who disappeared within the last month, but those three and Natalie don't seem to have anything in common except their ages. One was in foster care …" Tristan paused when he saw Cade's body stiffen at the words.
"What?"
"Nothing. Go on," Cade said, his face impassive.
Blinking, Tristan paused for a couple of heartbeats but then continued. "And the other girl's teachers said she was abused at home. Police believed she and the foster kid ran away, but Natalie and the girl from the bar seemed to have stable family lives. I've been searching all the girls' socials for anything to link them together or for creepy guys making weird comments on their posts, but no luck so far."
"That's an interesting angle," Cade replied thoughtfully. "I wonder if Annabeth has tried that yet."
"Ask her for me, will you? Can you also ask about police reports? Oh, and phone records. Do you think she could hack those?"
"I'm sure she can. I'll let you two talk," Cade said, dialing Annabeth.
Tristan spoke with Annabeth, mentioning every approach he could think of to tie the missing girls together or reveal new information about their cases. However, as Cade guessed, Annabeth was very thorough.
She told Tristan the girls he identified were on her list of likely victims, along with dozens more, and that she had written programs to check for commonalities in the girls' socials with no luck. She had electronically scanned or hacked police, jail and court reports, and phone records of victims. Annabeth had also deployed a spider to automatically search online for info related to any missing girls in the area, but so far had found nothing tying any of the girls to a common person or location.
"What about the guy that took the girl from the bar? Anything on him?"
"Hold on, let me pull Amy Anderson's file. Okay, friends say the guy was named Brandon or Brendon. Early twenties, medium height, medium build, brown hair, brown eyes, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. A police artist tried to sketch him based on the friends' descriptions, but they didn't find any reliable matches."
Tristan considered the new information. "Were there any guys with those names on their socials?"
"Yes, several, but the profile pictures didn't match the sketch. Not too surprising since social media pics aren't necessarily good images of the account holder. Also, he could have given a fake name."
"I had been searching for guys making strange or suggestive comments on their posts. I could continue doing that and see if any guys look like the sketch. Maybe I could also investigate the Brandons and Brendons myself, check out their pictures, see whatkind of interactions they had with the girls. I might be able to spot something your program couldn't find."
"That could be useful," Annabeth said. "I'll send Cade the sketch and a list of names to check."
"Thanks, Annabeth."
Tristan disconnected the call, finally feeling as if he was doing something constructive to aid in the search for his sister.
For the next few hours, Tristan sat on the sofa, bent over the coffee table, eyes fixed on the laptop Annabeth had provided. He hardly moved from the spot, only breaking briefly to eat a sandwich. He was so absorbed in his work, he jumped when Cade called from the kitchen, "Your posture sucks. Your back's gonna hurt like hell. You should sit at the table."
Tristan turned his head to stare. He didn't expect an assassin to be worried about his back aching, another thing about Cade that surprised him. This man saved his life twice, worried about his well-being, and looked cute when he was annoyed.
But he was also a confessed killer.
One who killed predators to protect innocents.
Reconciling all of these facts about Cade started to hurt his brain, so he stopped trying.
Part of him wanted to take the other man's suggestion, but his stubborn, contrary attitude prevailed. "You're probably right, but I think I'll stay here."
Cade shrugged and continued to lean against the counter, drinking water with his feet crossed at the ankles. He had no right to look so casually handsome.
Tristan grimaced and stretched his arms over his head. His shoulders and neck were a little sore, not that he'd admit that.
A moment later, Cade dropped onto the sofa next to him, leaned back and unfurled his long legs in front of him.
God, he was unfairly tall.
"You didn't find anything?"
Dragging his eyes away from Cade's muscled form, Tristan answered, "No."
"What are you going to do now?"
