Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Needing to stretch, I stand and pace my office. The walls close in on me, the weight of my failure drawing them closer. The wick is almost too short to grip.
For years, I’ve chased shadows, regardless of how insignificant they seemed. Yet there have been no sightings of Cameron in almost seventeen years.
Quitting isn’t an option. I owe it to Cameron and myself to keep searching, though I will admit that I’m growing weary. After traveling the country and reviewing a vast amount of evidence, it’s as if Cameron vanished from the face of the earth.
She’s out there, somewhere. She has to be. I just need to work harder and dedicate myself to her investigation, as I have with many other cases I’ve solved over the last fourteen years.
Renewed, I sit back at my desk and pull out the file for Cameron’s case. Despite having read these reports a thousand times, I scan them again, hoping I might find something I overlooked. Perhaps I will discover the answers I’m seeking somewhere in these pages.
I spend several hours reviewing the file and Cameron’s fear when she was forcibly dragged into the van. Then, recalling my first mentor’s advice, I approach the situation with the innovative, analytical thinking of a seasoned agent.
Eventually, I slouch back in my chair and rub my eyes. Exhaustion is setting in. A glance at the clock reveals it’s shortly after 3 a.m. Although returning home to rest is advisable, I won’t sleep with Cameron’s tear-stained face haunting my dreams. Instead, I pull out a piece of paper and jot down everything I remember from that night—the sounds, the smells, and the lingering despair I felt before Cameron was abducted. I capture every detail.
As dawn breaks, a renewed sense of purpose trickles through my veins. The information I’ve gathered could thrust Cameron’s case back under the spotlight of the agents investigating her disappearance.
After collecting my coat from the rack in my office, I dial a contact in the New York office, then squash my phone to my ear.
“Agent O’Neill.”
“Hey, it’s Grayson.” My tone doesn’t allude to my stomach’s somersault routine. “I’m forwarding you an updated witness recount of the alleged gang-affiliated abduction of Cameron June.” I insert the pages into the feeder of a dated fax machine before hitting the button for the New York subsidiary office. “Can you make sure it’s delivered to the proper people?”
My colleague’s reply proves he’s reached prime retirement age. He isn’t old. He’s just not suitable for this line of work anymore. “What’s the case file number? I never remember the victims’ names. I’m all about the digits on their file.”
I rattle off Cameron’s case file number, which I know by heart, before repeating my request for him to make sure it gets into the right hands.
“And Malcolm…” I let him swallow before I continue, my temper rising. “Learn their names. They’re fucking people, not case file numbers.”
I press the end call button as if it’s an old relic like the fax machine I know will keep my name off Cameron’s file and out of my father’s mouth before I store my phone in my pocket.
As I put on my coat, ready for another eight hours of work in my home office, a familiar voice calls my name. Thankfully, it isn’t my father.
He’s no longer the FBI’s beloved son. He runs the entire show, and if he even suspects I’m working on Cameron’s case, he’ll put me on desk duty indefinitely.
Alex, my brother, wordlessly invites me into his office. Since he’s as anal about the rules as our father is, he began leapfrogging me in the bureau rankings nearly three years ago. I’d care if his new position didn’t limit his fieldwork. All good agents know that the real magic happens outside the office.
Alex is stuck behind a desk for twelve hours a day, and he spends his free time cozying up to his wife, who looks so much like Cameron that being in the same room with her always makes me return to headquarters to update Cameron’s composite sketch.
It doesn’t help that Regan is as feisty as Cameron once was.
The smashing of my back molars reverberates down the now somewhat bustling corridor. I’ve never spoken of Cameron in the past tense before, and I shouldn’t have today, considering it is the anniversary of her abduction.
A wish to forget causes me to speak before thinking. “Can it wait? I’m coming off a double.”
“No,” Alex snaps out. “Because self-appointed double shifts don’t count.” The irritation in his following sentence makes it clear he dislikes his new role. “And I have enough budget cuts to contend with without you cooking the books.” He enters his office, confident I will follow him. I’d push against the shackles as I have multiple times in the past twenty years if he didn’t mutter, “We’ve unearthed a new baby-making syndicate on the West Coast,” before disappearing from view. “I was hoping you might take a look at the files.”