"It's not. I heard her voice in the background."
Second call: Miles Cameron.
"Miles, freeze the search. She has been found."
"Jesus, Nate. Where?"
"Some woman's apartment. I'm heading there now. Have the reward funds ready for immediate transfer."
"Ten million? You're actually going to?—"
"I said what I said. Make it happen."
The drive took eighteen minutes. I broke the speed limit, but they could send me the bill later.
The apartment complex was worse than I'd imagined: crumbling brick, windows like missing teeth, graffiti crawling up the walls. The black M5 Touring I drove there looked obscene parked on the street. A group of teenagers on the corner eyed it with open calculation.
I didn't care about the car. I didn't care about anything except the fourth floor, apartment 4B.
The stairwell smelled of mildew and old cooking oil. I took the steps two at a time, my heart pounding against my chest. Fourth floor. End of the hall. A door with peeling paint and a yellow notice laid at its feet.
NOTICE TO VACATE.
I knocked. Three sharp raps.
The door opened.
She was younger than I'd expected. Mid-twenties, maybe. Auburn hair escaping a messy bun. Eyes that were more blue than hazel in this light, holding a worry that seemed too deep for tonight alone. Mended jeans. An oversized cardigan that had seen better years. She looked exhausted. She looked kind.
"She's safe," she said simply, and stepped back.
I pushed past her. Scanned the room, it was small and dim, with sparse furniture that looked like it might collapse under a strong opinion. And there, on a sagging couch wrapped in a faded fleece blanket, was my daughter.
My Millie.
The sound that escaped me wasn't dignified. It was somewhere between a gasp and a sob, ripped from a place Iusually kept locked. I crossed the room in two strides, dropped to my knees before her, and pulled her into my arms.
"Daddy," she whispered.
"I'm here." My voice cracked. "I'm here, sweetheart. I've got you."
She burrowed into my chest, small arms wrapping around my neck with surprising strength. I could feel her heartbeat against mine, quick but steady. Alive. Safe. And here with me.
"I'm sorry I ran away," she said, her voice muffled against my shirt. "I just thought… I thought you didn’t want… I didn't want to scare you."
"Don't apologize." I pulled back just enough to look at her face, to catalog every feature, to confirm she was really okay. "Are you hurt? Did anyone?—"
"Miss Claire took care of me." Millie's eyes flickered to the woman hovering near the door. "She gave me soup and her blanket and let me watch TV. She was really nice, Daddy."
I followed her gaze to ‘Miss Claire’, who was standing with her arms wrapped around herself, watching us with an expression I couldn't quite read. Behind her, I could see the kitchen through an open doorway, cupboards hanging open, revealing bare shelves. On the coffee table: two empty soup cans. Two spoons.
The clues and small pieces of evidence clicked in my head. This woman had nothing. And she'd given my daughter the last of her food.
I stood slowly, Millie's hand clasped in mine. "The reward," I said to Claire. "Ten million dollars. I announced it publicly. It's yours."
Her reaction was not what I expected. She actually flinched, taking a step backward like I'd raised a hand to her.
"I'm sorry, what?"
