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)
Crew peers at me over the glasses balancing precariously on his noticeable but still-dainty nose. “Freckles?”
I try to bite back my smile, but it appears anyway. “It’s a long story.”
He dumps his pen onto a file, unflinching when it rolls into his lap. “I’ve got all day.”
My pulse quickens as I graze my bottom lip with my teeth. “It will take longer than a day to unravel… that.” I relish the warmth spreading across my chest, which announces that everything isn’t as lost as believed. Even with Grayson racing across the city to meet with his long-lost love, I am content. That doesn’t mean I have hours to gossip, though. “And we have extremely pressing matters that require our utmost attention.”
Crew hesitates for several seconds. “Rain check?” I feel like I’ve found a lost family member when he mumbles under his breath. “Because if he wants to date my future sister-in-law, he’ll need a thorough once-over.”
I laugh, the jingle foreign and unexpected. “He doesn’t want to date me. We’re friends. That’s all.”
“Hm-hmm. Friends. Right,” Crew murmurs before he gathers his pen from his lap and transfers a handful of notes from the margins in my textbook-sized file into an equally fat binder.
Crew and I spend the next several hours poring over Kendall’s file. He’s so sharp he asks questions I hadn’t even thought of. We’ve connected several dots, and the optimistic flicker I mentioned earlier has grown into a wildfire.
We’re going to find her. I can feel it.
As Crew drives me home, we exchange numbers and agree to keep each other abreast of any developments we unearth. We are collaborating on this case; however, as with my placement on Grayson’s team, my consultancy role with Crew’s agency must remain under wraps.
It is better this way. Safer. This syndicate has nabbed too many victims, and Crew refuses to let them add another Machini to their long list.
Crew gives me a quick, awkward hug at the front door of my apartment, then waits until I’m safely inside before leaving. I wave him off through the lace curtain hiding the incredible view before I head to the kitchen. My plan is chamomile tea while decompressing the day with a slice of pie, but Grayson’s laptop is open on the kitchen counter.
As I gather a half-eaten pie from the fridge, I try to ignore it. He wouldn’t wear camera buttons on a date, so why even contemplate spying? It would be pointless, but you wouldn’t believe that with how fast I secure his laptop and access the surveillance program we used for the Lamaze class stings.
Curiosity wins this round, though I promise to give it a worthier battle when my heart isn’t overflowing with hope.
Surprisingly, Grayson registered the serial number of a button camera in a shirt that looks oddly similar to the one he dressed in after showering this morning.
After a brief swallow, I click on the link on the equipment register. It takes me to footage obtained today around the time Cameron would have left for her appointment. I click the first file of footage in a long list. My position as lead agent on this case requires me to gather and document all surveillance my team receives.
Yeah, right. My spying has nothing to do with my job.
The footage of Grayson checking his reflection in the tinted window of our bureau-assigned sedan proves he’s wearing the light-blue button-up shirt we wired up with surveillance days ago. It is the same ocean-blue color of his eyes, and it clings to the ridges of his body as if tailored for him.
The frantic bob of his Adam’s apple is unmissable when he spots someone in the background of his reflection. Cameron is making her way to her vehicle, her hands minus the appointment card I spotted on her entryway table.
With the button camera’s closeness to the sedan hindering my view, I switch to the building’s security network. In three clicks, I have a perfect view of the parking lot. I zoom in until Grayson and Cameron are the only two people in the frame, then sit back to watch the drama unfold. All I need is popcorn, and I’d have the perfect high-octane entertainment.
Cameron approaches her vehicle, fiddling with her keys, as Grayson watches nervously from the sideline. I hold my breath along with Grayson when Cameron tries to crank the ignition. As expected, nothing happens. She tries again—still nothing.
Frustration doesn’t morph on her face until Grayson approaches her stationary vehicle. He keeps his hands in his pockets, acting casual, while requesting that she pop the hood.
Cameron only winds down the window half an inch. The gap is barely big enough to speak through. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
She doesn’t look at him. Not even for a second.
What is wrong with you?
Grayson remains consistent, forever stubborn. “It sounds like you have a dead battery. Are you sure you don’t want me to take a look?” She brushes off his offer with a brisk headshake. Grayson acts as if he doesn’t understand universal gestures for no. “It could be a loose connection. It will take two seconds to fix, and then you can be on your merry way.”