Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“Not anymore,” he said.
“Not anymore,” she repeated, and her voice was slightly breathless. She stood. “I should…get dinner started,” she said, her finger moving over that chain again. Their eyes met again, held, before she turned away and then scurried to the kitchen.
He lay back on the pillows, grimacing as his body adjusted and his wounds pulled. But despite his physical aches and all the reasons he had to feel worried and upset, his lips tipped into a small smile. He was here, under the same roof with his precious Autumn, and he had no idea how it had happened, but it was real, and it was true. And he found he was thankful he’d put off the final mission. Because although he hadn’t been able to save those teachers, he’d been given some time with her—however long it lasted—some time in heaven before the lights blinked out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mark opened the door to a smiling delivery girl. “Agent Mark Gallagher?”
“Yes,” he said, taking the package she was holding out to him and signing for it on her digital pad. “Thank you,” he said, handing her a tip.
“Thanks! Have a great day.” She turned, heading back down the hall of the building where his temporary apartment was. It was small and cramped and smelled like new paint and old carpet, but it did the job.
He couldn’t wait to get home to his wife and his dog and his house that smelled more like the former than the latter, thank heavens. He couldn’t wait to get back to Jak and Harper and little Eddie, the family that had adopted them—or maybe it’d been Mark and Laurie who had adopted Jak, Harper, and Eddie. And now they would soon add a fourth to their little family. Or maybe they’d all collectively gathered each other and become a unit who had all lost and then gained and understood each other in ways others never could.
And he might get his wish in the next day or so, because so far, there had been no break in the case. The news driveled on and on about what had happened at Deercroft Academy, doing more to divide than anything, each “side” using the loss of life to further their own agenda long before the bodies had even been placed in the ground. Screeching and blaming and generally getting nowhere helpful. Typical.
He brought the package to the writing desk near the window that overlooked an alley and pushed his laptop aside. Inside the envelope were a few thumb drives that had the camera footage from all surveillance in the area of Deercroft Academy from the two hours before and after the shooting. He’d already looked through some of it, and the computer forensics team at the NYPD had looked at more than that, but so far, they hadn’t come up with anything on the white-haired man or the woman in the coral sweater.
They had, however, found the shooter on video and had been able to track him from one of the subway stations to the school. They’d attempted to map his travel to the subway station as well but had lost him. Of course, they didn’t really need to map him considering they had already identified the man and knew where he lived, but Mark would have liked to have had that information anyway, more for his own reasons than anything.
He chose one of the thumb drives based on the time frame—directly after the shooting had occurred—and inserted it into the side of his computer. The drive contained a list of videos, and Mark began going through them again, this time more closely.
He’d gone through half of the footage by noon. Mark rubbed his eyes and got up to make a second pot of coffee in the tiny kitchen. Again, he sat, poring over the images that moved from this angle to that one, disorienting sometimes. Often, he had to pause and figure out where he was looking, only to realize he was looking at the same spot he’d stared at a moment before but this time from a different vantage point. He was almost ready to throw in the towel for the time being and seek out some lunch when he paused, his hand on the mouse, about to click to the next video.
There. He leaned in slightly. A tall head above the crowd, wearing a baseball cap with a few wisps of silvery hair barely showing at the nape of his neck. There for a second and then gone. The man wasn’t just tall, he was markedly tall. Just like Ms. Maples’s description. Mark clicked back through the videos right before and after. He thought he got a glimpse of the man here and there, but it was as if…as if he was walking down the street in a way that would evade the cameras.