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)
I watch her go, the soft pad of her footsteps fading down the hall. The kitchen feels immediately suffocating without her in it, as if something has sucked the life out of it.
It feels dead.
After scraping our plates and stacking the dishwasher, I concentrate on the mountain of new evidence Crew gifted us. Despite my efforts, my mind continually drifts to Macy. I hate the way her shoulders slumped the more distance she placed between us, and how her smile didn’t reach her eyes. She’s hurting, and although I wish it weren’t true, I’m the cause of her pain.
Her eyes hold the same hurt mine did when I stood outside Cameron’s apartment and heard her move around inside but not answer my request for entrance. It was a hollow, empty ache that made me feel helpless.
But this—this is worse.
At least with Cameron, I can tell myself that she’s protecting her family. But with Macy, I only have myself to blame. I’m breaking her heart, piece by piece, every time I place Cameron first.
I wish I could stop doing that, but I can’t. I have obligations to Cameron that I can’t simply brush off. I made them before I even knew who Macy was.
After what my father did, I owe more to Cameron than I do to Macy. Giving her closure, and perhaps even a second chance, is the appropriate thing to do.
But then why does it feel so fucking wrong?
When I stood outside Cameron’s apartment, knocking, it felt like I was betraying Macy—even with having no clue what the fuck we are. I haven’t contemplated loving someone in seventeen years, and I wasn’t even an adult when I shut down the idea of moving on, so I can’t confidently declare that’s what I felt for Cameron.
I cared for her—a lot—but love? Was it that? Or did her abduction blur the truth like it did the particulars of her file? I painted her a picture of perfection, but that was far from the truth. For most of our three months, our relationship was volatile and horribly one-sided. What Cameron said went. No questions asked.
Although I now better understand my father’s decision, I’m still angry. He could have saved me years of misery if he had been honest. But then I guess it could be worse. I could be in jail, and women like Katie Bryne would still be missing.
I have no fucking clue where I go from here, but I’m confident I can’t fix what’s broken tonight. I can only continue moving forward, one foot in front of the other, and hope that eventually I will emerge from the fog.
The quickest route to clarity is directly in front of me.
After plonking my ass into the seat Macy vacated, I pull Kendall’s file closer and flip through the pages until I find the photo I’m looking for. It’s a picture of Macy and Kendall taken six months before Kendall’s abduction. They’re both grinning at the camera with their arms around each other. You can’t deny that they’re sisters. They have the same eyes, and the stubborn tilt of their chins is identical.
I scan the photo with a portable scanner before attaching it to an outgoing email. I forward it to the contact who has been unofficially working on this investigation for as long as Macy has. I forward it to Crew Grier, Kendall’s once-boyfriend. I leave my contact details, hoping he will be more forthcoming with his investigation when he pieces together Macy’s connection to the case. It’s a long shot, but it’s better than nothing.
The whoosh of my email being sent has only just finished ringing in my ear when my phone vibrates. I dig it out of my pocket before staring down at the screen. The number is unfamiliar, but the area code is local.
I answer on the second ring. “Rogers—”
“Where did you get that image?”
My anger spikes, caught off guard by my caller’s hostility. “Excuse me?”
“The photo you forwarded me. Where did you get it?” His tone is clipped and accusatory. “Who are you?”
My eyes drift to my laptop, and the truth dawns: I used my personal email to contact Crew. “Agent Grayson Rogers. I’m with the bureau. I’m working on a case with Macy Machini. She’s my partner.” My last three words come out more claiming than intended. It can’t be helped. I’ve always had a barrier up when it comes to keeping Macy’s connection with Kendall’s case out of the wrong hands.
There’s a pause, and I can almost hear the wheels turning on the other end. “Partner?” Crew repeats, hearing the ownership in my tone as readily as I do. He’s picturing something more than a work colleague, and I let him. “Why does she look familiar?”
“She’s Kendall’s sister.”
“I know that, dipshit,” he bites out, shocking me with his gall. “I meant familiar as in I’ve recently seen her.” I can’t see him, but I imagine his mouth forming an O when a surprised gasp echoes down the line. “She was the pregnant woman who accosted me and my partner outside the Lamaze class.” His incredulous tone carries an unexpected protective note. “We thought she was going to break our cover; that’s why my partner went in so hard. How the fuck did she know Monica majored in art?”